Chapter 2 Speak Softly and Carry A Tall Vampire
Flint
“Can you shift?” I roar as I race through the air toward home as fast as my wings will carry me.
“I’m trying, but it’s not working.” Jaxon struggles against me. “Maybe if you let me go—”
“Try a partial shift,” I interrupt.
“That’s what I’m telling you—I can’t do anything right now. You’re holding on too fucking tight.”
“It doesn’t work that way. You can either shift or you can’t, and if you can’t, there’s a reason. Either the injury is worse than you think—”
“It’s not.” It’s his turn to interrupt. “It’s like my dragon is gone. I can’t reach him.”
“That sounds more like the second option. The bullet that hit you was dipped in something that prevents you from shifting—”
“What the fuck?” He stops struggling long enough to stare at me for one second, two. “How is that possible?”
“If that was just a regular attack by humans, it wouldn’t be. But if the dragon clans were responsible for it, that’s a different story. There’s a lot of dark dragon magic the academy doesn’t teach anymore. Including herbs and other magic that can temporarily take a dragon’s power to shift.”
“Temporarily?” he repeats, and there’s a note of fear in his voice that wasn’t there before.
It pisses me off all over again—or maybe still, since I don’t think I’ve ever actually calmed down.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I demand as I push my wings, and myself, to the limits.
Jaxon, fucking Jaxon. Always the hero, even when no one needs one.
Oh, he’d deny it—and has, many, many times—but Jaxon Vega loves to play the hero. More, he loves to be the hero. Even if it means he dies for it.
Just the thought of him dying pushes me to go faster as we swoop through the night sky toward Tribeca and the large skyscraper that has been home to the Dragon Court for longer than I’ve been alive.
Not that Jaxon is going to die tonight—at least not if I have anything to say about it. And not when he did something as wildly reckless as throwing himself in front of a bullet to save me.
The memory of that moment skitters like a nightmare through my mind as I soar higher, my whole body clenching at the thought of what could have happened. What might still happen if I don’t get him to safety as soon as I possibly can.
I can’t stop picturing it. Jaxon’s body going still in my arms as his onyx-colored eyes close for the last time.
The thought shreds me, has fear and fury rampaging through my blood.
Both only grow stronger when Jaxon says, “This is ridiculous,” as he heaves an annoyed sigh. “I’m fine. Even if I can’t shift, I can still get my own ass home.”
His voice—so calm, so reasonable when he just did the least reasonable thing he possibly could have done—has my teeth grinding together as I contemplate dropping his ass over the Lower East Side and forgetting the whole thing.
Because it’s easier to fight with him than admit how shaken I am. “Don’t start with me,” I growl. “Not right now.”
It’s half warning, half plea, but when has Jaxon ever listened to either when he’s got his mind made up about something? Considering what we’ve been fighting about for the last week, I know that better than most.
“I’m just being the voice of reason here,” he says, struggling against me like he actually thinks there’s a chance in hell I’m going to let him go right now.
“You’re way off the protected flight paths that keep us from being seen.
If your parents or the Dragon Council find out we were flying through the city where anyone could just look up—”
“Shut up,” I grind out.
Not because he’s wrong but because I don’t give a damn about magically spelled flight paths right now and neither should he.
He was shot saving me from a bullet. Forget the Dragon Council, I’m pretty sure the dragon king and queen—who also happen to be my parents—will care a hell of a lot more about that than a few flight violations.
And if they don’t, they can all fuck right off.
“I’m serious,” Jaxon continues, blithely unaware of how close I am to losing the last ounce of control I’ve got.
But the fact that I’m normally the chill one who doesn’t get worked up about something unless I absolutely have to doesn’t mean I’m not worked up right now.
Not to mention one tiny step from freaking the fuck out.
All of which I think is a completely normal reaction, considering I can feel Jaxon’s blood leaking over my fingers as I carry him through the air. Just because he’s a vampire doesn’t mean he can’t get hurt. And, lore notwithstanding, it doesn’t mean he can’t die, either.
“It’s just a scratch, and the Council—”
“I don’t give a fuck about the Council!” I snap as we finally close in on the Dragon Court.
“You’ve made that abundantly clear over the last several weeks,” he shoots back. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t give a shit about you and their flight regulations. They’ve been on us since we got to court, sending these fuckers to mess with us while they wait for us to screw up—”
“And you just handed it to them on a golden fucking platter when you jumped in front of that bullet!” Because I can still see the way his body jerked when that bullet slammed into him, I tighten my arms around him, pulling him even closer to my chest. Then I repeat the question he still hasn’t answered. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
For a second, the silence between us is loaded enough to ache. To shatter.
But then Jaxon snarls, “I was thinking that he was about to blow your chest wide open!” He struggles against my hold. “Now let me the fuck go. I already told you I can get there on my own.”
“What are you going to do if I don’t?” I taunt, tightening my grip to make sure his struggles get him absolutely nowhere.
He may be a vampire, but right now I’m a very pissed-off dragon.
Which might not normally matter, as we’re pretty evenly matched, but add in the bullet wound along his left side and I’ve definitely got the advantage.
He responds with a flash of fang that’s impossible to miss.
Which I answer with a roll of my eyes and a not-so-teasing, “Don’t promise things you’re not willing to deliver.”
He stills, just for a moment. Then his jaw tightens like he’s locking something away.
His eyes narrow, and his teeth snap together with an audible click—exactly as I expected. And while he stiffens against me, he doesn’t say another word as I make a beeline for the Dragon Court’s roof.
A layer of sadness squirms its way through the anger and the outrage, but I ignore it as my feet hit the smooth cement of the rooftop patio. And then I’m striding toward the stairs, shifting as I go.
By the time I throw open the rooftop door, my wings are gone.
With a furious but now silent Jaxon in my arms, I take the steps two at a time, still getting used to my new prosthetic.
I think about heading to my family’s apartment, but it’s late and my mom doesn’t need to see this.
So I go down one more flight of stairs to Jaxon’s suite instead.
“Key?” I growl as I come to a stop in front of the dark cherry red door. I’ve got a key of my own in my front pocket, but my hands are currently filled with my exceptionally outraged boyfriend.
One look from his narrowed eyes lets me know what he’s thinking—namely that I can go fuck myself—and I return the look with interest. “I can do this all damn night,” I tell him in a voice deliberately devoid of the fear that is still stalking me like prey.
“You’re the one attempting to bleed out on my mother’s very expensive carpet. ”
That gets him moving, exactly as I thought it would.
With one quick wave of his hand, the lock and the door click open. “You’re going to have to put me down eventually.” This time, the words—and the tone—are all threat.
“I’m shaking in my shoes,” I answer dryly, and I am. But not because I’m afraid of him. No, I’m shaking because visions of that bullet striking just a couple inches to the right keep flashing through my mind.
“You should be.”
I carry him through the living room and bedroom to the large bathroom and set him on the vanity so I can get a better look at his side.
“Take off your shirt,” I demand.
He lifts a brow. “I prefer it if a guy buys me dinner before ordering me to take off my clothes, thank you very much.”
“That’s a damn lie.” I snort. “We both know you prefer to buy dinner.”
His teeth flash again, only this time it’s in a quick grin that gets my already too-fast heartbeat pounding even faster. Even before he grabs the bottom of his T-shirt and pulls it over his head.
Normally, a glimpse of Jaxon’s flat stomach and V-cut is all it would take to have me yanking him against me for very different reasons, but right now I barely notice them.
I’m too busy staring in horror at the “scratch” on his side that’s really more like a one-inch-deep gouge big enough for me to stick a couple of fingers in.
For a second, I’m pretty sure I’m going to puke. Not from the wound itself, but from the fact that Jaxon is the one who’s wounded. And I let it happen.
What the hell kind of gun was that, anyway? No wonder I’m covered in blood.
“We need a healer.” I start to reach for my phone, but Jaxon stops me with a hand on my arm.
“You don’t need to get Grace all freaked out when I’ll be good to go in a few hours.”
“I wasn’t going to. We do have healers of our own, you know.
Ones who will know an antidote to whatever they dipped that bullet in that’s making it impossible for you to shift.
” I try to ignore the tiny little flare of jealousy that comes with the mention of his former mate.
Not to mention the self-loathing that follows closely after.
It sucks being envious of one of my closest friends.
The whole thing is ridiculous. How can I be jealous of Grace when she’s wildly in love with Jaxon’s brother and he’s even more in love with her?
The short answer is, I shouldn’t be. But the long answer? The long answer is…complicated.
Because Grace knows what it’s like to be mated to the guy I’ve loved most of my life. And even though they’re not mated now, even though the whole thing was a deception, she still knows what it was like to belong to Jaxon. And what it was like for him to belong to her.
I don’t have that—and I’m just beginning to come around to the fact that I may never have it. After all, we’ve been together since June, and the mating bond still hasn’t snapped into place. And since the resistance isn’t coming from me, I can only assume it’s coming from Jaxon.
Funny how that is, considering he showed no such reticence with Grace.
I think that entitles me to at least a little pique.
After all, the guy I’m desperately in love with, the guy I would tear down the entire Dragon Court brick by brick for, either wasn’t meant to be my mate or doesn’t want to be my mate.
Okay, so maybe it’s more than a little pique.
Still, angry or not—hurt or not—Jaxon needs to be taken care of. So I bury the tiny flare of jealousy down deep and pull up the weekly schedule to see which of the Dragon Court’s healers is on duty tonight.
Jaxon, in the meantime, decides to take things into his own hands. Big shock there.
“I really am fine,” he tells me as he jumps off the vanity. And promptly stumbles just the slightest bit.
“Obviously,” I deadpan as I grab his elbow to steady him. “You look great.”
He ignores the help and the sarcasm. “I’ll just clean it in the shower and slap a bandage on it.”
“You’ve been bleeding for nearly half an hour,” I tell him incredulously. “You really think a little Bath and Body Works is going to fix you right up? What’s next? A glitter bath bomb and a Band-Aid?”
“I’m pretty sure the Bath and Body Works is yours,” he replies as he unbuckles his belt and rolls his black jeans down his long, muscular legs. “Hot vanilla, isn’t it?”
“Actually, it’s Warm Vanilla—” I start. But then Jaxon’s reaching past me to turn on the shower and his bare torso brushes against my arm. My words turn to dust as my breath catches in my throat like I’m some kid who’s never even kissed a guy.
Which is ridiculous. We’ve been together like this a hundred times in the last few months—well, like this sans the bleeding most of those times—which means I should be used to the way he looks by now. Used to the way he feels.
And still a shiver that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with how hot my boyfriend is works its way down my spine. Even pale and bleeding, he’s the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen in my life.
Not that I’m about to tell him that.
I settle for, “You are such an asshole.” I nod to the black tube sitting next to my gold one. “Sorry we don’t all shower with Gucci Guilty.”
“Don’t be.” He grabs my neck and pulls me in, until my body is almost flush with his. “I like the way you smell.”
His obsidian eyes snag mine, start to pull me under. I can feel myself sinking into him and the heat that burns between us, but I drag myself back at the last second. “If you don’t want me to call a healer, you’re at least going to have to put up with me cleaning your wound.”
I pull my gaze away from his, then force myself to squat down and rummage under the sink for the first aid supplies we’ve used way too many times since we got here. It’s harder than it should be, considering all I really want to do is make sure he’s okay.
“Damn it!” he snarls. “I already told you, I don’t need a fucking nurse!”
“Just like you didn’t need someone to help you get home,” I snarl right back.
“Just like you don’t need a healer. Just like you don’t need anyone or anything but yourself, right?
Not you. Not Jaxon Vega, the big, bad vampire prince who takes care of everyone and never lets anyone take care of him. Believe me, I get it.”
I slam the alcohol down on the counter, follow it with a pack of gauze, some antibiotic cream, and a bandage big enough to cover his wound. Then growl, “Now sit down, shut up, and let’s get this done.”