“That’s what I was trying to tell you. He didn’t save you.”
“That’s impossible—he wasn’t even on the branch with me.”
Jaxon narrows his eyes in an are you kidding me kind of way. “He wasn’t underneath the chandelier with you, either.”
“So what? He got one of the shifters to half break the branch before the snowball fight, knowing it was going to be windy?”
“More like he got one of his dragon friends to start the wind that caused all the problems. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Grace. The dragons can’t be trusted, and Flint absolutely can’t.”
“That makes no sense. Why would he dive off that tree branch to keep me from hitting the ground if he was trying to kill me?”
Jaxon doesn’t answer.
My stomach tightens up as something horrible occurs to me. “He did save me from falling, didn’t he?”
Jaxon doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks away, his jaw working for several seconds before he finally says, “It was Cole who was responsible for dropping that chandelier, but it’s a hell of a coincidence that Flint made sure you were walking in that direction instead of sitting with the witches. And I don’t believe in coincidences. As soon as I prove it, I’m taking care of him, too.”
The uneasiness becomes a full-fledged sickness as I remember the look on Flint’s face after I thanked him for not letting me splat all over the snow. And how fast Jaxon got there after I fell. “You’re still not answering the question I asked you, Jaxon. Did Flint jump out of that tree to save me or did you somehow knock him out of that tree?”
Jaxon avoids my eyes for the second time in as many minutes. Then says, “I wasn’t near the tree.”
It’s my turn to grind my teeth together. “Like that would stop you…”
“Well, what was I supposed to do?” he demands, throwing his arms up in the air with as much emotion as I’ve ever seen from him. “Let you fall? I figured if I stopped you in midair and brought you gently to the ground, it would freak you out even worse—not to mention leave you with a bunch of questions no one was prepared to answer.”
“So you made Flint dive after me instead?”
“I threw him under you, yes. And I’d do it again. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if that means taking on every shifter in this place. Especially any of the dragons who might have the power to kick up a wind like the one that broke that branch.”
Oh my God. Flint didn’t save me. For a second, I think I’m going to throw up. I thought he was on my side. I thought we were friends.
“I’m sorry,” Jaxon tells me after several seconds. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I can’t have you trusting him or any of the other shifters when they’re trying to hurt you. Especially when I don’t know why yet.”
“All the shifters,” I say, thinking again about what went down in the study lounge. “Including the alpha.”
“Including the alpha.”
I don’t know what to say to him right now, especially considering everything he’s done to keep me safe from that very first night. Even before he knew that we were going to matter to each other. It’s that thought that drives me to rest my head in the crook of his neck. And whisper, “Thank you.”
“You’re thanking me?” he demands, stiffening beneath the kisses I keep pressing into the sharp line of his jaw—and the scar he works so hard to keep hidden. “For what?”
“For saving me, of course.” I pull him closer, skim my lips over his cheek and along the scar that started this whole discussion, dropping a kiss every couple of centimeters or so. “For not caring about the credit and only caring about making sure I’m okay.”
He’s sitting rigidly now, his spine ramrod straight with discomfort over what I’m doing. What I’m saying. But I don’t care. Not now, when he’s in my arms. Not now, when I’m overwhelmed by the feelings I have inside me for him.
It’s those feelings that have me climbing onto his lap. Those feelings that have me straddling his hips with my knees on either side of his thighs and my arms wrapped tight around his neck.
And those feelings that bring us right back to where we were before Jaxon called a halt—with me kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. Long, slow, lingering touches of my lips to his brow, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Over and over, I kiss him. Taste him. Touch him. Over and over, I whisper all the things I like and admire about him.