It’s as I push up into a sitting position, knees on either side of his thighs, that I finally manage to pull in a huge gulp of air. It’s also at that moment that all hell breaks loose.

Macy is screaming my name as she scrambles down her tree, and people swarm us from all directions. I’m too busy shaking Flint and slapping at his cheeks—trying to get him to respond—to pay any attention to what anyone else is doing.

At least until he opens his eyes and drawls, “I’m beginning to think I should have let you fall.”

“Oh my God! You’re okay!” I scramble off him. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” He sits up with a little groan. “You’re heavier than you look.”

“You shouldn’t move!” I try to shove him back down, but he just laughs.

“The snow broke my fall, Grace. I’m good.” To prove it, he jackknifes to his feet in one lithe movement.

It’s as he stands up that I realize he’s telling the truth. There’s a Flint-shaped indention in the snow from where he hit. For the first time since moving to this state, I’m grateful for its ridiculous climate. After all, when you’re falling twenty feet, snow is so much softer than ground.

Still, if that’s the case… “Why did you jump after me? You could have been hurt.”

He doesn’t answer, just kind of stands there watching me, a weird look in his eyes. It’s not concern or annoyance or pride or any of the other expressions I’d expect him to be wearing right now. Instead, it looks an awful lot like…shame.

But that doesn’t make sense. He just saved me from a concussion or a couple of broken bones—at least. What does he have to be ashamed of?

“What was the alternative?” Macy demands, voice shaking like she just got back the power of speech. “Let you be hurt?”

“You mean it’s better for Flint to get hurt?” I ask bewildered.

“But he didn’t, did he? And neither did you.” She turns to him with a grateful look. “Thank you so much, Flint.”

Her words make me realize that I’ve been too busy worrying about—and yelling at—Flint to do what I should have right away. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

The words sound awkward after all my admonishments, but they are nothing compared to the look on Flint’s face as he stares over my shoulder into the crowd. It alternates between looking like he’s going to throw a punch and like he’s dying to run away.

I figure it’s because he’s bad with gratitude—I’m terrible with it, so I get that—but as the talking in the crowd dies down and people start parting like a human Red Sea, I turn.

And nearly wither on the spot at the coldness in Jaxon’s eyes. Only the fact that it’s directed at Flint and not me keeps my knees from giving way completely. Because I only thought he was intimidating at the welcome party.

Right now, the look on his face is absolutely terrifying. And the five inscrutable guys at his back—I assume I’m seeing the whole of the infamous Order for the first time—only reinforce the fact that there’s a problem.

A big problem.

I just wish I knew why.

Even Flint, who has never reacted to Jaxon in the past, turns a little sickly looking. And that’s before Jaxon, in the coldest, most reasonable voice imaginable, asks him, “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

It’s the tone even more than the look that has me moving, a frisson of fear working its way down my spine as I position myself between him and Flint before an all-out brawl can take place. I may not understand all the nuances of what’s happening here, but it’s obvious that Jaxon is livid—and more than ready to take it out on Flint. Which makes no sense, considering, “I fell, Jaxon. Flint saved me.”

For the first time, he turns those cold eyes on me. “Did he?”

“Yes! The wind kicked up, and I lost my balance. I fell out of the tree, and Flint jumped after me.” I shoot Flint a stare, telling him to back me up, but he’s not looking at me.

He’s not looking at Jaxon, either. Instead, he’s gazing off into the distance, jaw and fists clenched.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Are you hurt after all?”

A fine tremor runs through the earth, a tiny little earthquake that rattles the tree branches a bit but doesn’t do anything else. I’ve heard Alaska has them, so it doesn’t surprise me when no one reacts. Even I don’t get too excited. In San Diego, we’d have one or two of these tiny ones every couple of months. Flint doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy shrugging off my hand. “I’m fine, Grace.”

“Then what’s wrong?” I look back and forth between him and Jaxon. “I don’t understand what’s happening here.”

Neither of them answers me, so I look to Macy for an explanation beyond my working hypothesis that Alaska brings out the worst in people. But she looks as confused as I do—and about a hundred times more terrified.

As for everybody else…they’re riveted by the drama, eyes glued to Jaxon as he continues to watch Flint who continues to very obviously not watch him back. It’s not the first time I’ve thought of Jaxon as a hunter, but it is the first time I’ve thought of Flint as prey. Other members of his group must agree, because in seconds they’re moving, guys and girls alike, to flank him on either side.

Their obvious support of Flint only ups the tension between him and Jaxon, whose face has grown even more coldly amused.

I’m trying desperately to figure out how to break things up without bloodshed when Macy suddenly snaps out of whatever stupor she’s been in and says, “We should go back to the room, Grace. Make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” I assure her. Like I’m going to leave Jaxon out here when he looks like he wants to rip Flint’s throat out just for breathing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Actually, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all afternoon.” Jaxon takes a step closer until he’s right behind me. He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t even brush against me, but he’s close enough that that doesn’t matter. I can feel him. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”

The crowd recoils at this. Like, I actually see people drawing back, eyes wide, mouths open, faces slack with shock. I can’t figure out what the big deal is unless it’s that Jaxon is breaking up the showdown between the two most popular guys in school before it even begins. Not that it’s even a real showdown, considering the way Flint’s taken himself out of the whole thing by refusing to so much as acknowledge Jaxon’s existence.