Actions have consequences, and murder attempts mean there will be hell to pay. Even if I don’t yet know what kind of hell it’s going to be. I do know, however, that he’s going to give me some kind of answer about this debacle before we leave. Or I’ll tear him limb from fucking limb right here, right now.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” I demand when he finally has the nerve to look me in the eye.
Flint doesn’t answer me right away—the coward—and I start to ask again, more forcefully this time. Except Grace steps between us before I can and whispers, “I fell, Jaxon. Flint saved me.”
It’s like setting a rocket off inside me. Finally hearing my name on her lips feels damn good, but listening to her defend Flint is about to make my head explode. “Did he?” I ask, reverting to sarcasm in an attempt not to tear Flint apart.
“Yes! The wind kicked up, and I lost my balance,” she implores. “I fell out of the tree, and Flint jumped after me.”
I’m about to question the veracity of that statement—from Flint’s point of view, anyway—when Grace reaches out and touches his shoulder like he’s the big, brave hero who saved her. “What’s wrong?” she asks, and it burns my ass. “Are you hurt after all?”
There’s a lot I want to say to that, but I can’t. Not here and not now, so once again I lock it down deep and pretend that it isn’t there.
Seconds later, a small quake rips through the earth.
Behind me, Byron says my name—quietly—and I shut that shit down fast. It’s harder than it should be, considering the only way I’ve gotten through everything I’ve had to do for the last year is to lock down my emotions until I forget that I even feel anything at all.
I’m not sure anyone even noticed the quake, because no one says a word. Instead, Flint shrugs off Grace’s hand and says, “I’m fine, Grace.” Which means he’s smarter than he looks.
Except she’s not buying it. “Then what’s wrong?” she asks, looking back and forth between us. “I don’t understand what’s happening here.”
There’s nothing to say, so I don’t answer—and neither does Flint, probably for the same reason. Grace looks confused, and everyone else around us looks like they’re seconds away from rubbing their hands together with glee—even as the dragons move into place behind Flint, making sure the Order and I know that they have his back.
Like that will matter if I decide to destroy him.
Macy must sense the growing danger, because suddenly she pipes up from nowhere. “We should go back to the room, Grace. Make sure you’re okay.” Her voice is a lot higher than I’ve ever heard it.
“I’m fine,” Grace assures her, once again looking between the dragon and me like she thinks I’m going to do something stupid. Which, not going to lie, I just might if we don’t get the hell out of here and soon. Then she continues. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And yeah, that’s not going to work for me. Not when she’s here surrounded by who knows how many people who want to hurt her. Or worse.
I take a couple of steps closer to Grace until I’m right behind her, so close that I can smell the warm cinnamon and vanilla scent of her. “Actually, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all afternoon. I’ll walk you back to your room.”
No way am I letting her go anywhere alone.
The crowd recoils at my words. Like, I actually see people drawing back, eyes wide, mouths open, faces slack with shock. Not that I blame them. I’m acting way outside the norm now. Everyone wants to watch, but no one wants to get in my way.
Smart move. With the mood I’m in, the first person to challenge me might very well end up dead. Or at least with two very distinct marks in their neck.
It’s a feeling that is only reinforced when Grace says, “I need to stay with Flint. Make sure he’s really—”
“I’m fine, Grace,” Flint grates out from between clenched teeth. “Just go.”
“Are you sure?” She reaches out and tries to lay a hand on his fucking shoulder again. But this time I’m there between then, preventing her hand from landing. Then I step forward, moving her slowly, inexorably away from Flint and back toward school.
She doesn’t object, though the look on her face holds about a dozen questions. Maybe even more.
“Come on, Macy,” she says, eventually reaching for her cousin’s hand. “Let’s go.”