Chapter 14 Jax
JAX
The barometer is dropping. I feel it in my teeth.
It’s a deep, dull ache in the marrow of my jaw, a warning that the sky is about to crack open. The air is so heavy with electricity that the hair on my arms stands up, static dancing across my skin. The swamp is holding its breath, the insects silent, waiting for the violence of the storm.
The Wolf likes the storm. The Wolf wants to run into the lightning and scream back at the thunder. But the Man is tired. The Man is frayed at the edges, worn thin by six days of sleeping so close and smelling a woman he can’t touch.
I push through the cypress knees, mud sucking at my boots. I’m doing the perimeter sweep, checking the sensors Remy set up.
Three shadows detach themselves from the tree line ahead.
"Alpha," Vance grunts. He’s a big male, thick-necked and prone to thinking with his fists. He’s holding a rifle loosely in one hand, looking miserable in the humidity.
"Report," I say, not stopping.
"Quiet on the north ridge," Vance says, falling into step beside me. "But the boys are talking, Jax. They’re seeing those trucks on the levee. They’re seeing the blockade."
"Let 'em talk," I growl. "Talk don't cost nothing."
"It costs morale," Vance counters. He stops, forcing me to turn. "Look, Jax. We respect the Truce. But we’re bleeding out here. We can’t hunt. We can’t fish. And for what? A Duval stray?"
My jaw tightens. "She ain't a stray. She’s under my protection."
"She’s a Leech," Vance spits the word. "She’s one of them. Matilde’s blood. Why are we risking the Pack for a creature that would drain us dry if she got the chance?"
"She ain't like them," I warn, my voice dropping. "Watch your mouth, Vance."
"I'm just saying what everyone is thinking," Vance presses, stupidly bold. "Maybe we hand her over. Matilde pays the bounty, the siege ends, and we get back to—"
I grab Vance by the throat and slam him into the trunk of a water oak.
Thud.
The impact shakes the tree, sending a shower of dead leaves down on us. Vance chokes, his eyes going wide as he claws at my hand. I don't let go. The Wolf is right there, snarling in my ear, demanding I tear out the throat of the thing threatening what is ours.
"You suggest trading her again," I snarl, leaning in until my nose touches his, "and I bury you in the marsh."
"Jax..." Vance wheezes, his face turning red. "Jesus, Jax. It’s just a woman."
"She ain't just a woman!" I roar, the thunder overhead cracking at the exact same moment. "She’s my Mate!"
I freeze.
Vance stops struggling. The other two wolves, who had been hanging back, step forward with slack jaws.
I drop Vance. He slides down the tree, coughing, rubbing his neck. He looks up at me, horror dawning in his eyes.
"Mate?" he rasps. "A Duval? You mated a Duval?"
"I didn't choose it," I say, backing up, my hands shaking. The secret is out. The dam has broken. "But the bond is there, and I’m doing my fucking best resisting it. You give her to Matilde, you’re killing your Alpha."
Vance stares at me. Then he looks at the others. The disgust on their faces is plain. In the bayou, mating outside the species is taboo. Mating with the enemy? It’s treason.
"The Elders won't stand for this," Vance whispers. "A vampire queen in the Pack? It starts a war, Jax. A civil war."
"Let the Elders talk," I say, turning my back on them. "I handle my own business. The law is the law: Mate comes first."
"Jax!" Vance calls after me. "You’re compromising everything for her!"
I ignore them. I plunge back into the brush, putting distance between me and the judgment in their eyes.
I need to hit something.
I tear through the undergrowth, moving fast, letting the branches whip my face. The frustration is a chain in my gut. They don't understand. They see a name. They see a bloodline. They don't smell the vanilla and brass. They don't feel the pull that feels like a fishhook set deep in my heart.
A mechanical buzz cuts through the sound of the rain.
I stop.
Above the tree line, a drone hovers. It’s sleek, black, with a red thermal eye scanning the ground. Gregor’s tech.
It spots me. The red light locks onto my heat signature.
"Found you," I growl.
I take off running, leading it west, away from the cabin. But I can't outrun a drone on two legs. Not in this mud. And I can't let it track me back to the Pack.
I need speed. I need violence.
I yank my belt buckle open, fingers fumbling in my rage. I kick my boots off, shoving them under a log. I strip my jeans and shirt in seconds, leaving them in a pile.
I close my eyes and let go of the leash.
Shift.
The pain hits like a freight train. It starts in the spine, a cracking, grinding realignment of vertebrae. My jaw dislocates and elongates, popping loudly. Fur bursts through my skin, thick and black as the swamp night. My muscles tear and reknit, denser, stronger.
I fall forward onto my hands—onto my paws.
I yank my head back and open my jaws, a silent scream of agony that turns into a growl.
The world shifts. Colors fade to grey and motion. The unique smell of the swamp explodes—I can smell the worms in the mud, the ozone in the clouds, the battery acid of the drone above.
I am massive. I am the apex.
I launch myself forward.
I don't run; I flow. My paws strike the earth with barely a sound, four legs driving me forward with a speed no human can match. I am a shadow moving through shadows.
The drone whirs, adjusting its altitude, trying to keep the heat signature in frame.
Chase me, machine.
I tear west, toward the deep marsh. I leap over cypress knees that would break a man’s ankle. I slide under fallen logs without slowing down. The mud doesn't suck at me; I move over it.
I hear them behind me now. Heavy boots. Human breathing.
"Target is moving west!" A voice crackles over a radio. "It’s fast! Moving at forty miles per hour!"
"Take the shot if you have it!"
A crack echoes—a rifle shot. A bullet tears through the leaves to my left.
I push harder.
I lead them into the sinkhole territory, where the ground is treacherous. I hear a splash and a curse as a Hunter goes waist-deep in the muck.
Clumsy.
I reach the edge of the sinkhole. It’s a wide, gaping mouth in the earth, filled with black water and razor-grass.
I skid to a halt, digging my claws into the soft bank. I turn.
The drone dips low, hovering twenty feet above the water, its red eye searching. It thinks I’ve gone to ground.
I crouch, muscles coiling like steel springs. I calculate the distance. The wind speed. The angle.
The drone buzzes closer. Fifteen feet. Ten.
Now.
I launch myself into the air.
I hit the apex of the jump, gravity momentarily suspended. My jaws snap shut around the plastic casing.
Crunch.
Plastic shatters. Metal crumples against my teeth. The taste of lithium battery acid bursts in my mouth.
I fall back to the earth, landing heavily on all fours, spitting the wreckage into the mud.
The Hunters break through the brush twenty yards back. They stop, staring at the massive black wolf standing over the broken drone, eyes glowing gold in the dark.
"Contact lost!" one screams, backing up. "It’s the Alpha! Fall back!"
I let out a roar that shakes the trees, a sound of pure, unadulterated dominance. They scramble backward, tripping over themselves to get away.
I watch them go. Then I turn back toward the cabin.
By the time I get back, the storm has broken fully. The rain is coming down in blinding sheets.
I shifted back a mile out. It hurts worse than the turn. I’m naked, dragging my clothes in a bundle.
I stop at the edge of the clearing. The cabin sits on its pylons, dark and silent.
I pace.
I walk the length of the clearing, then turn and walk back. The water runs off my hair, soaking my skin, but the fire inside me is burning too hot to notice.
Mate.
I said it out loud. I gave the truth power. And now the Pack knows. The clock is ticking faster now.
I stop under the cabin. I listen.
I can hear the rain hitting the tin roof. I hear the settling of the wood. And over it all, steady and frantic, I hear her.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
Her heart. It’s racing.
She’s awake. She’s scared.
The Wolf stops pacing. The Wolf makes a decision. The Man tries to fight it—tries to tell me to stay outside, to stay cold—but the pull is too strong. I need to make sure she’s still there. I need to make sure she’s safe.
I climb the stairs. I don't bother being quiet. I throw the bolt and shove the door open.
The air inside is stiflingly hot, thick with her scent—that burnt sugar smell that drives me insane. Lightning flashes, illuminating the room in a stark, blue-white strobe.
She’s on the mattress. She’s sitting up, her back pressed against the log wall, her knees pulled to her chest. She’s wearing that thin white tank top, and in the flash of lightning, I see the dark outline of her nipples against the fabric.
She doesn't have the knife. She’s clutching the sheet.
I lock the door. Click.
I stalk to the bed.
Miranda tracks me. Her eyes are wide, the violet looking almost black in the shadows. She doesn't say a word. She doesn't tell me to leave. She knows better.
The mattress groans as I put a knee on it.
She flinches, but she holds her ground.
I crawl onto the bed. I’m dripping wet, bringing the smell of nature and violence with me. I loom over her, bracing my hands on the wall on either side of her head, caging her in.
I don't touch her. Not with my hands. Not with my body. I force my muscles to lock, keeping myself inches away from her skin. If I touch her now, I won't stop. I’ll ruin everything.
I lower my head.
I inhale.
I run my nose along the curve of her jaw, down the line of her throat, stopping right over that starburst birthmark. I breathe her in, filling my lungs with her, flushing out the scent of the swamp, the Hunters, and the doubt of my Pack.
She trembles. A small, jagged sound escapes her throat.
"Jax," she whispers. It’s a plea, but I don't know if she wants me to stay or go.
I move lower. My face brushes the soft cotton of her tank top, right over her stomach. I can hear her gut churning with nerves. I can smell the arousal spiking off her, mixing with the fear.
I bury my face deep in her stomach, pressing my forehead against the soft warmth of her belly. I close my eyes, clenching my jaw until my teeth ache, letting the sound of her racing heart surround me.
"Mo coeur," I whisper into her skin, the words vibrating against her ribs. "You are killing me."