No Use Crying Over Spilled Tea
Everything kind of fades after that, so that I have no idea how much time passes before Jaxon shoves me away from him. I hit the bed and tumble onto it, where I lay, dazed, for several seconds.
Until Jaxon snarls, “Get up, Grace. Get out now!”
There’s a wildness to his voice that cuts through the lethargy, at least a little. An urgency that has me opening my eyes and trying desperately to focus on him.
He’s towering above me now, fangs dripping blood and face contorted with rage. His hands are curled into fists and a deep, dark growl is coming from low in his throat.
This isn’t my Jaxon, the voice inside me all but screams.
This caricature from every B vampire movie in existence isn’t the boy I love. He’s a monster, one teetering on the brink of losing all control.
“Get out,” he snarls at me again, his dark eyes finally finding mine. But they aren’t his eyes, not really, and I shrink back at the soulless, bottomless depths staring out at me even as the voice deep inside me echoes his words. Get out, get out, get out!
Something’s wrong with him—really wrong—and while there’s a part of me that’s terrified for him, right now there’s
a much bigger part that’s terrified of him. And that part is definitely in control as I scramble off the bed, careful not to make any movements he can interpret as the least bit aggressive.
Jaxon tracks me with his eyes, and the snarling gets worse as I start inching toward the door. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t make any attempt to stop me—just watches me with narrowed eyes and gleaming fangs.
Run, run, run! The voice inside me is full-on screaming
now, and I’m more than ready to listen to it.
Especially when Jaxon bites out, “Get. Out.”
The fear and urgency in his voice cuts right through me and has me running for the door, to hell with worrying if that will trigger the killer in him or not. He’s already triggered and if I don’t heed his warning, I’ll have no one to blame but myself. Especially when it’s obvious he’s doing everything in his power to give me the chance to escape.
With that in mind, I stumble to the door as fast as my shaky legs can carry me. It’s heavy, so I grab on with both hands and pull as hard as I can. But I’m weak from blood loss and it barely budges the first time. I can feel Jaxon getting closer, can feel him looming over me as I try desperately to find the strength to make the door move.
“Please,” I beg. “Please, please, please.” At this point I don’t know if I’m talking to Jaxon or the door.
He must not know, either, because suddenly his hand is there on the door handle, pulling it wide open. “Go,” he hisses out of the corner of his mouth.
I don’t have to be told twice. I scramble over the threshold and through the reading alcove, desperate to make it to the
stairs…and as far from this evil incarnation of Jaxon as I can possibly get.
It’s a small alcove, only a matter of feet between me and freedom. But I’m so light-headed right now that I can barely stand upright and I sway with every step I take.
Still, I’m determined to get to the stairs. Determined to save Jaxon the pain of having killed another person that he cares about. Whatever is happening right now isn’t his fault
—even as messed up as I am at the moment, I can see that something is very, very wrong.
But there will be no convincing him of that if anything happens to me, no way of getting him to believe that this— whatever this is—isn’t completely his fault. And so I dig deep, push myself harder than I ever have before in an effort to save myself…and in turn, save Jaxon.
I use every ounce of energy I have to make it to the top of the stairs, but I do make it. Crawl down them if you have to, the voice inside me yells. Do whatever you need to do.
I grab on to the wall, push myself around the edge of the stairs, and prepare to take my first shaky step down. Except I slam right into Lia before I can ever take that step.
“Not feeling so good, Grace?” she asks, and there’s an edge to her voice that I’ve never heard before. “What’s the matter?”
“Lia, oh thank God! Help him, please. Something’s wrong with Jaxon. I don’t know what it is, but he’s losing control. He’s—”
She slaps me so hard that I stumble into the nearest wall. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” she says. “Now sit down and shut up, or I’ll let Jaxon have you.”
I stare at her in shock, my sluggish brain struggling to process this sudden turn of events. Clarity hits me only when Jaxon races out of his room, snarling, and the terror sweeps through me.
I’m pretty sure Lia’s no match for Jaxon on a normal day—no one is—but now that something’s wrong with him, I’m not so sure.
“Jaxon, stop!” I yell, but he’s too busy positioning himself between me and Lia to listen.
“Get away from her!” he orders, as things start flying off the shelves around us.
Lia just sighs. “I knew I should have made the tea stronger. But I was afraid it would kill your little pet, and I couldn’t let that happen. At least not yet.”
She shrugs and, in a singsong voice, says, “No worries,” right before she pulls a gun out of her pocket and shoots Jaxon straight in the heart.
