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.

Slowly—so slowly that I almost don’t notice it at first—he relaxes against me. The rigidness leaves his spine. His shoulders curve forward just a little. The hands that were fisted on the bed loosen up and wrap themselves around my waist.

And then he’s kissing me, too, really kissing me, with open mouth and searching tongue and hungry, desperate hands. He pushes closer, and I arch against him, pressing my mouth into his until his breath becomes my breath, his need becomes my need.

I slide my hands under his shirt, stroking my fingers along his smooth skin and the lean muscles of his back. Jaxon groans a little as I do, arching into my touch. And then my phone goes off at the exact same time there’s a heavy pounding on Jaxon’s door…

The sounds break the spell between us, and he pulls away with a laugh. I hold tight to him, not ready to let him go. Not ready for this to end. He must feel the same way, though, because his hands tighten on my waist even as he presses his forehead to mine.

“You should get your phone,” he says as it continues to ring. “Foster’s probably freaking out because he doesn’t know where you are.”

The pounding on the door grows harder, more commanding. “Or he’s freaking out because he knows exactly where I am.”

“Yeah, there’s that, too.” He grins at me, his hands lingering on my waist for just a second as I start to climb off his lap. “You want to get the door or should I?”

“Why would I…?” Horror sweeps through me. “You don’t think my uncle is the one pounding on the door, do you?”

“Not sure who else you think it would be, considering his beloved niece was last seen in the company of the guy who just picked a fight with every wolf shifter in the school.”

“Oh my God.” I look around for a mirror so I can fix my hair just enough that it doesn’t look like I’ve spent the last hour making out with a vampire, then kind of stop in shock as I realize that there’s nothing even resembling a mirror in here. “So are the old stories true?” I demand, combing my hair with little more than my fingers and a prayer. “Vampires really can’t see themselves in mirrors?”

“We really can’t.”

“How is that possible?” I tuck my shirt in and make sure my hoodie is pulled down over my hips. “I mean, how do you know what you look like?”

He holds up his phone. “Selfie, anyone?” He moves toward the door, which is practically vibrating under the force of my uncle’s knocks. “Is this seriously what you want to talk about right now?”

A little bit, actually. Now that the whole vampire thing is out in the open, I realize I have a million questions. Things like how long do born vampires live—or are they immortal, like the stories suggest? Which leads me to wonder if born vampires age the same way, or is this a baby Yoda thing, where their maturation is much slower than non-magical humans? And if it is, exactly how old is Jaxon? Also, did Mekhi not come into my room today because he was being respectful or because he couldn’t cross the threshold without an invitation?

There are more questions buzzing in my brain—so many more—but Jaxon is right. Now isn’t exactly the time to be thinking about any of this.