And that, right there, is exactly why I’m not afraid of him.

I’m only a few steps away from him now and I take them slowly, under his watchful, worried gaze. “So how do you feel about what just happened?” I ask.

His face closes up. “I don’t feel anything about it.”

“You sure about that?” Finally, I’m close enough to go for it. I reach for his hand, grab on tight. The second our skin touches, he jerks like he’s being electrocuted. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he just stands there and watches as I lace our fingers together. “Because you look like you feel a hell of a lot.”

He takes a step back even as he holds fast to my hand. “It had to be done.”

“Okay.” I take a step forward. If we keep this up, it’s not going to be long before I have him pinned against a bookcase the same way he had me pinned against that chess table on my very first day.

Poetic justice, if you ask me.

“You should go.” This time, he takes two steps back. More, he drops my hand.

I feel the loss of his touch keenly, but that doesn’t stop me from closing the distance once again.

Doesn’t stop me from reaching out and resting a hand on his hard biceps.

Doesn’t stop me from softly stroking my thumb up and down his inner arm. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” He nearly strangles on the word, but this time he doesn’t move away from my touch. From me.

And while there is a part of me that can’t believe I’m doing this, that I’m all but throwing myself at Jaxon, there’s another part of me just waiting for him to give in.

It’s the same part that’s encouraged by the fact that he’s barely coherent at this point.

The same part that can’t help but feel—and be happy about—the small tremor running through his body.

The same part that desperately wants to feel Jaxon’s mouth once again on my own and is determined not to leave here until I find out.

“I don’t believe you,” I whisper. And then I take the final step, closing the last of the distance between us and pressing my suddenly trembling body flush against his.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he tells me in a voice that’s low and tortured and anything but cold.

He’s right. I don’t have a clue how much I’m asking of him. But I know if I don’t ask, if I don’t push, I’ll never get another chance. This will be the end of the discussion.

More, it will be the end of us.

And I’m not ready for that. I don’t even know if there is an us, or what will happen in a day or a week or three months, if there is. I only know that I’m not ready to walk away from him—or whatever happens next. Which is why I reach for him again and whisper, “So show me.”

Long seconds pass, minutes maybe, and Jaxon doesn’t move. I’m not sure he even breathes.

“Jaxon,” I finally whisper when I can’t take the agony of waiting. “Please.” My mouth is nearly pressed against his.

Still no response.

My confidence—shaky at the best of times—is about to desert me completely. After all, there’s nothing quite like throwing yourself at a boy and having him turn into a human statue to make a girl feel wanted.

But I’ve got one more attempt in me, one more chance to get Jaxon to understand that I trust him, no matter what he did in that hall. That I want him, vampire or not.

Two months ago, I would have walked away—run away, really—prepared to hide under my bed forever. But two months ago, my parents weren’t dead, and I didn’t yet realize just how fleeting, how fragile, life really is.

And so I swallow my fear and embarrassment as I slide my hand down Jaxon’s arm to his hand. Once more, I lace our fingers together before lifting both our hands to my chest. I press his palm flush against my heart and murmur, “I want you, Jaxon.”

Something flashes in his eyes. “Even knowing what I am?”

Confusion swirls through me. “I know who you are. That’s what matters.”

“You say that now, but you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“So show me,” I whisper. “Give me what I’m asking for.”

His eyes darken, his pupils blown completely out. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it. I need you, Jaxon. I need you.”

His jaw clenches, and his fingers tighten reflexively on mine. “Are you sure?” he grinds out. “I need to know you’re sure. I don’t want to scare you, Grace.”

My knees tremble like some medieval heroine at the intensity in his voice, in his eyes. But I am not going to blow this now, not going to mess it up when I’m this close to getting what I want.

This close to having Jaxon as my own.

So I lock my knees in place, look him in the eye. And say as loud and clear as I have ever said anything in my life, “What scares me isn’t you being a vampire, Jaxon. What scares me is the idea that you’re going to walk away and I’m going to go my whole life without knowing what this could feel like.”

And just like that, Jaxon strikes. Hands grabbing, fangs flashing, body wrapping itself around me so quickly, I barely understand what’s happening. He whirls me around—my back to his front—tangles his hand in my hair, and pulls my head back.

And then sinks his teeth into my neck, right below my jaw.

   48

Is That a

Wooden Stake in Your Pocket

or Are You Just

Happy to See Me?

For one second, two, panic immobilizes me. Makes it so I can’t feel, can’t think, can’t breathe as I wait…for pain, for emptiness, for death.

But as time goes by and the agony I’m expecting doesn’t come, my adrenaline stops shooting like a geyser, and I realize that whatever Jaxon is doing to me doesn’t hurt at all. In fact, it feels really, really…good.

Pleasure like molten honey pours through my veins, lighting up my nerve endings and swamping me with an intensity, a need I never imagined existed. My already weak knees give out entirely, and I sag against him, letting him hold me up with his long, lean body and firm arms as I tilt my head to give him better access.

He growls at the invitation, a deep, rumbling sound that burrows deep inside me even as the ground shakes a little beneath my feet. And then the pleasure increases, lighting me up, turning me inside out, making me tremble even as I forget how to breathe. How to be.