“You know what else is normal?” Jaxon asks as he bends down so his mouth is only a few scant inches from mine.
“I have a pretty good idea,” I answer, tilting my face up so that our lips can meet.
“Look at us,” I whisper against his mouth a few seconds later. “Being normal.”
He scrapes a fang across my lower lip, gives me a sexy look that turns my insides to mush. “Almost normal.”
“I’ll take that.”
He grins. “Yeah, me too.”
He moves in for another kiss, one that makes my head swim and my knees tremble, and I can’t help but melt against him. I’ve never been big on PDA, but Jaxon has me breaking all the rules, and I’m pretty sure I’m doing the same for him. Especially if Lia’s right and we really are mated.
Not that I’ve told him that yet. I mean, the boy’s already terrified of this whole relationship thing. If I bring up a word like mate—something Macy spent a long time explaining to me a couple of days ago—I’m pretty sure the earthquake Jaxon generates will crumble the school.
It’s Mekhi’s turn to snark about how sick he is of being late to class because some people can’t keep their lips to themselves. Jaxon flips him off, but the words must sink in, because he pulls away from me and reaches for my backpack.
“Come on. I’ll walk you to class.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I glance at the clock. “You’ll be late to physics.”
He shoots me a give-me-a-break look. “Somehow I’m sure they’ll survive without me for five minutes.”
I’m not so sure about that, but I know enough about Jaxon—and the sudden, stubborn set of his jaw—to know when to argue and when to let it go. Besides, letting him walk me to class comes with an extra perk. With him next to me, no one is going to bump into my still aching shoulder or any of my other injuries.
It’s a win-win situation.
At least until we pass a small group of dragons on our way out of the cafeteria. Jaxon ignores them, and I try to, but Flint is right in the middle. And he’s trying to catch my eye.
I want to ignore him, I really do. But like I told Jaxon the other day, there’s a part of me that understands why he did what he did. I mean, I’m not ready to start roasting marshmallows with him again, but I can’t hate him, either.
And I can’t ignore him.
Instead, I let my gaze meet his for a couple of seconds. His eyes widen and he gives me the grin that’s been making me laugh since my first day at Katmere. I don’t laugh this time, but I do smile just a little as I walk on by. And for now, it’s enough.
I kind of expect Jaxon to say something about what just happened as we weave through the halls, but he doesn’t say a word. Guess I’m not the only one learning to compromise. I squeeze his hand just a little harder in a silent thank you, but he just kind of shakes his head in response.
It all feels very normal, and very right.
I know Jaxon still worries—and will continue to worry—that his being with me makes me a target. And there’s a part of me that knows he’s right. That I will never be safe if we’re together.
But no matter what he thinks, it’s not Jaxon’s job to protect me. I’ve known from the first day that he wasn’t meant to be the hero of my story. And I am more than okay with that.
Because he smiles now in a way he never did before. He laughs. And, on occasion, he even tells me a really bad joke or two. I’ll take that over safe any day, especially when safety can be snatched away at any moment.
Which reminds me… “Hey, you never did tell me the punch line of that joke from the other day.”
We stop a few feet away from my classroom, partly to take advantage of the now nearly empty hallway and partly in an effort not to freak my whole Brit Lit class out again.
“What joke?” he asks, puzzled.
“You know. The pirate one. Remember? What did the pirate say when he turned eighty?”
“Oh, right.” Jaxon laughs. “He says…”
I never do get to hear the punch line. A flash over Jaxon’s shoulder catches my attention. It’s followed immediately by a noxious and eerily familiar cloud of black smoke. I start to stumble backward, to drag Jaxon with me. But it’s too late. Because when the smoke clears, someone who can only be Hudson Vega is standing there, a giant broadsword in his hand—aimed straight at Jaxon’s head.
The horror on my face must register, because Jaxon starts to glance over his shoulder. But the sword is already swinging. There’s no time for him to even see the threat, let alone react to it.