He glances my way for one second, two, and his eyes are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Not blank. Not ice. But fire. A raging inferno blazing in his gaze.
“Jaxon,” I say again, softer this time, and for a moment, I think I’m getting through.
At least until he turns his head, cutting me off. Blocking me out.
Seconds later, he reaches out a hand, and Cole is once again brought to his feet. This time, though, the entire room holds its collective breath as we wait to see what comes next.
It doesn’t take long for us to find out.
Cole starts struggling, eyes going wide and fingers clawing at his throat as Jaxon reels him in. Slowly dragging him closer and closer until Cole is once again standing directly in front of him. Eyes bugging out. Livid red scratches on his neck. Terror in his eyes.
It’s enough, more than enough. Whatever Jaxon is doing, whatever point he is trying to make, he’s done it. Everyone in this room knows what he can do.
“Jaxon, please.” I say it softly, not sure if he’ll be able to hear me but unable to keep silent when he’s so close to killing this boy. So close to destroying the shifter and himself in one moment of careless rage.
Everything inside me tells me to go to him, to get in the middle of him and the shifter before Jaxon does something he can’t take back. But when I try to move toward him, it’s like I’m running straight into a wall.
Unable to rush forward.
Unable even to take one single step.
It’s not me—I can move or walk however I want—but there’s an invisible barrier in front of me, as strong as stone and twice as impenetrable.
No wonder Flint has made no move to interrupt this nightmare. He must have known the wall was there all along.
It’s Jaxon’s doing—of course it is—and I’m furious that he’s done this, that he’s cut me off from him and his fight so completely. “It’s enough, Jaxon!” I yell, pounding on the wall because I can’t do anything else. “Stop. You have to stop.”
He ignores me and terror swamps me. He can’t do this. He can’t—
Suddenly, I lurch forward as my hand and arm slide right through the mental barricade that Jaxon erected.
“What the fuck?” Flint breathes from beside me, but I’m too busy trying to get Jaxon’s attention to respond. Or pull back.
“Jaxon!” I all but scream his name this time. “Stop. Please.”
I don’t know what’s different—if it’s because I somehow pierced through the barrier or if he’s reached the same conclusion I have. Either way, whatever psychic grip he’s been using on Cole disappears. Now standing under his own power, the shifter nearly falls to his knees even as he drags loud, painful-sounding breaths through his abused throat and into his air-starved lungs.
Relief sweeps through me—and the room. It’s finally over. Everyone is still alive. Some are more than a little worse for wear, but at least they’re a—
Jaxon strikes so fast, I almost miss it, fangs flashing and hands grabbing onto Cole’s shoulders as he leans forward and sinks his teeth into the left side of his throat.
Someone screams, and for a second I think it’s me, until I realize my throat is too tight to make a sound. Seconds pass—I don’t know how many—as Jaxon drinks and drinks and drinks. Eventually the shifter stops fighting, goes limp.
That’s when Jaxon finally lets him go, lifting his head and dropping Cole into a limp heap on the ground.
The guy’s pallor is frightening, but he’s still alive, eyes wide and frightened, blood trickling from the fang marks on his neck, when Jaxon looks out over the room and hisses, “This is the only warning you get.”
Then he turns and walks straight toward me, without so much as a backward glance.
And when he takes my elbow in a grip that is as gentle as it is unyielding, I go with him. Because, honestly, what else am I going to do?
47
The
First Bite
Is the Deepest
Jaxon doesn’t say a word as he escorts me down the hall—and neither do I. After what I just saw, I’m too… I don’t know what. I want to say “shocked,” but that’s not the right word. Neither is “disgusted” or “horrified” or any of the other descriptions—any of the other emotions—that someone who’s an outsider might expect to feel.
I mean, watching Jaxon nearly drain that guy wasn’t what I would call pleasant, but he is a vampire. Biting people’s necks and drinking their blood is pretty much par for the course, isn’t it? It feels hypocritical to freak out now just because I got to see it up close and personal—especially when Jaxon obviously had a reason for what he did. Otherwise, why go on a rampage like that? And why announce to the whole school that this is the only warning they’re going to get?