Chapter 9
Jaxon
I wake up the next morning with my mind racing and my body curled protectively around Flint. His head is pillowed on my left biceps, his right hand entwined with mine, and his long, warm back is pressed against my chest.
It feels good. He feels good. So good that, for a few minutes anyway, I manage to quiet my own head and focus on this one, perfect moment instead.
Usually, Flint wakes up with the sun and I’m the one left behind in the bed reaching for a spot that went cold half an hour before.
But not this time. This time, he’s sound asleep, and it’s my turn to watch the way his face scrunches up in a dream.
My turn to listen to the snuffle snores he makes when he tries to bury his face in my arm.
It’s all the invitation I need to pull him closer. To hold him tighter. To breathe him in as I gently stroke my thumb over the pulse point at the base of his wrist. His heart goes wild at the touch, and I lean forward, pressing my face against the curve of his neck.
The first thing I notice is the slow, steady, tempting pump of blood just beneath his skin.
I ignore it and focus on how good he smells instead, like warm mint and the cool, fresh sweetness of a summer lightning storm.
It’s part bodywash, part dragon, and one hundred percent Flint. I can’t get enough of it.
I can’t get enough of him—not of the way he smells or the way he tastes or the way he feels. More, I can’t get enough of how he makes me feel.
Safe, when I never feel safe.
Like I’m home, when I’ve never had a home before.
Flint murmurs in his sleep, twisting restlessly. I relax my hold in case that’s what’s bothering him, then nuzzle his neck and press reassuring kisses to the sweet, tempting bend between his neck and his shoulder.
My fangs explode in my mouth at just the memory from last night of his blood pouring over my tongue. Because it’s early and my willpower is at an all-time low, I tilt my head just enough to scrape them gently over the soft skin behind his ear.
His breath comes out on a gasp as he wiggles against me, and for a second I’m tempted to go deeper just so I can feel the sweet, dark heat of him pouring down my throat.
Just so I can feel the very essence of him filling up every tiny crack and empty spot inside me.
Another scrape of my teeth, another sensual wiggle of his body against my own.
And fuck. Just…fuck. My whole body is on high alert, every cell I’ve got screaming at me to wake him up, to roll him over, to plunge inside him and drink like it’s been months instead of hours since I last felt him in my mouth.
Instead, I roll away. I’m afraid if I start, I’ll never stop. I already took too much of his blood last night—there’s no way I can drink from him again today. Especially since I normally limit myself to once a month.
It’s a sore spot between us, the thing we argue about more than anything else as Flint tries more and more outrageous ways to tempt me into drinking from him.
But my role here in the Dragon Court is precarious enough without putting a giant flashing arrow above my head that screams vampire.
Not that I think anyone ever forgets what I am, but in training there’s a difference between knowing I’m a vampire and constantly being reminded of it by my inability to go in the sun.
As long as I limit myself to drinking animal blood, I can do what any other trainee can do.
But the moment I drink human blood, I’m stuck inside for at least forty-eight hours, until I completely metabolize every drop.
And with the dragon clans as worked up as they currently are, the last thing the crown prince of the Dragon Court needs is a boyfriend whose presence reminds them just how different he is.
Something tells me the ship has already sailed on that worry, though. It comes from the same part of me that told Flint I should leave last night to protect him and the entire royal family. To stall, if not totally eliminate, the threat of yet another war.
He wasn’t happy about the suggestion, even though it’s a solid one. In fact, he flat-out refused to even think about it. But it was that vehemence that tipped me off. That, combined with the way he kept dodging my questions about his meeting with his father, told me all I need to know.
Namely, that I’m not the only one who thinks I’ve overstayed my welcome. The dragon king—and maybe the queen—feel exactly the same way. The fact that I love their son doesn’t matter, not when there’s no mating bond to prove it. No mating bond to give them a reason to let me stay.
“You’re thinking awfully hard for seven fifteen in the morning.”
I open my eyes to find Flint looking over his shoulder at me, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. “Or I’m sleeping.”
“Nah. There’s a certain energy you get when you’re brooding.” He grins at me, but there’s a wariness to it that breaks my heart. Almost like he’s waiting for another shoe to drop.
I can’t blame him. We’ve dodged a hell of a lot of shoes in the last several years.
“I was enjoying holding you,” I say, because it’s true. “And dreading getting up.”
“Now that I believe.” He rolls over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek before sitting up. “Unfortunately, the crown prince can’t be late for training. It sets a bad example.”
He says the last in the same heavy Bronx accent that Dante, the head of the training program, has. He shoots me a grin, like he’s waiting for a laugh.
So, I give it to him, even though laughing is the last thing I feel like doing right now. Or, at least, the second to last thing. Leaving him tops the list.
But all I say is, “Good thing I’m not a crown prince, then.”
“Close enough,” he answers with a snort. “But you can stay in bed an extra twenty minutes, since you don’t also have to grab breakfast—”
“You can’t defend the Dragon Court on an empty stomach,” we both say at the same time in the same heavy Dante accent.
“Exactly.” Flint stands up and does a series of quick full-body stretches that have every one of his muscles bunching in a way that has my mouth watering for a lot more than blood. Which I’m pretty sure is the whole reason he did the stretches in the first place.
I roll over and close my eyes to reduce temptation—and to make sure he isn’t late.
For all his joking around, Flint takes his role as heir to the Dragon throne very seriously.
It’s why we’re both training with the dragon guard even though we don’t have to.
He wants to be able to protect his people in whatever way necessary, and I want to be able to protect him.
No matter the cost.
Five minutes later, he’s brushed his teeth and tossed on some workout gear. “See you out there,” he calls on his way out the door. Even though I keep a few breakfast things stocked for him, he prefers to do breakfast with the other cadets.
One more way for him to build bridges while so many of the dragon clans are only concerned with blowing them up.
My phone rings about two minutes after he’s gone, and—because I think it’s him, texting to tell me about something funny he saw on his way to breakfast—I pick it up without looking at it.
Then sit straight up as a familiar—and unwelcome—voice says, “It’s bloody well time you answered the blower, dear boy. I was about to call in a witch for a little portal assistance. I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks.”
Damn it. The last person I want to talk to right now is Reginald. As one of the highest-ranking members of the Vampire Council, he’s taken it upon himself to badger me about the whole empty-vampire-throne thing we’ve got going on now that Grace has made sure my parents are permanently removed.
I keep telling him he needs to talk to Hudson about it, but apparently my brother is no more interested in talking to his pompous ass than I am. Maybe Hudson really is smarter than he looks.
“Are you still there, boy-o?” Reginald’s phlegmy voice demands.
Which seems like a perfect excuse to hang up on him—or, you know, have the call “drop.” But then he’ll just spend the rest of the day calling back, and the last thing I want right now is to have to explain this Vampire Court drama to Flint.
He’s got more than enough going on in the Dragon Court right now.
So I bite the bullet and answer, “I’m here, Reggie.”
“You know I hate it when you boys call me that!” he sputters. “But I’ll let it go, considering how good it is to finally hear your voice, boy-o.”
The irony of him complaining about Hudson’s and my nickname for him in one breath then continuing to call me boy-o with the next isn’t lost on me. But—like everything else with dear, old Reginald—it’s not worth the fight.
“What do you want, Reginald?” The sooner I get him to cut to the chase, the sooner I can get out of here and down to the training center.
Flint isn’t the only one who thinks it’s important to be above reproach—especially right now.
“You need to come back to London, boy-o.” It’s more order than ask, and that gets my back way the fuck up.
“That’s not going to happen. My life is here now.” And even if it isn’t—even if I end up having to leave—I’m not going back to London. Back to the Vampire Court, where so many fucking atrocities have taken place.
Reginald wants me to forget that he and several other of the Council members were right there with my father, plotting domination no matter the cost to any of the other species.
The more damage they could cause, the better.
And now I’m supposed to give a shit about the fact that things are falling apart on them?
I don’t think so. Not when these are also the same people who were okay with Cyrus torturing my brother and sister if it turned them into better weapons.
Just the thought has fury rising inside me. I take a breath, do my best to tamp it down before I end up causing another damn earthquake. At some point, seismologists are going to start wondering what the fuck is going on in Manhattan.