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“You’re all insane sadists, you vamps.”
“And masochists, don’t forget,” he mumbles.
“Is that an attempt to make mefeelfor you? No thanks.”
“Empathizeis the word you’re looking for,” the jackass says. “And I was trying to mollify you.”
“If you don’t shut your trap right the hell now, bat-boy, I’m leaving you here and going for a smoke.”
He gives an unsteady chuckle. “You’re sensitive, aren’t you, wolf? And by that, I mean touchy.”
“You can shove your vocabulary up your ass, Marais D’Aube. Not all of us lived in palaces and had private tutors growing up.”
“No? I thought you were the heir of one of the big werewolf dynasties.”
“I am. Do you ever shut up?”
He’s right. Iamtouchy. And cranky. And it’s not fucking helping that I’m half-carrying him, his scent soaking into my skin, his gray eyes so close I can see fragments of blue in them, like windows into the sky.
Opening my stride, I drag him toward our dormitories, then have to stop again when his knees buckle. “What the hell, Ash,” I mutter when his head lolls against my shoulder. “You’re a vampire. I didn’t slam you into the wall all that hard.”
But of course I had. I had half-shifted, and besides, when you have a wound, all it takes is a well-placed hit to re-open it.
I know that. I’ve had experience with that.
Fuck.
Turning, I lift him over my shoulder, much like Emrys did with Sindri when the damn fae was wounded and had been flat on his face. Ashton mumbles something against my back, which means he isn’t fully out—which is good, andstop caring, Jax, damn you—as I hurry through the entrance and up the stairs. I’m carrying him over my good shoulder, but the other one sends stabs of pain through my neck and chest as I stagger down the corridor toward his room. Fucker is damn heavy, all hard muscle and sinew.
“Open your door,” I growl, stopping in front of it and starting to lower him. Fuck, my shoulder.Ow. “Disable your wards.”
“This keeps… happening,” he breathes and leans against me, one arm looped around my neck like we’re lovebirds or something. His dark lashes are lowered, casting shadows on his pale cheeks. “What if one of us is unconscious and the others can’t go into his room?”
“You stay the fuck out of my room,” I warn him as he reaches down to his bloodied thigh and swipes some blood for the spell. “No matter what.”
“Why, hiding a hot piece of ass under your bed?”
It startles a snicker out of me. “Yeah, right. Figures that would be your first thought.”
“You know, if you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.” He fiddles with the ward, drawing symbols in blood on his door, the dark wood drinking it thirstily. “Mark Twain? No?”
Who is this Twain guy? And is Ashton implying that I’m lying?
“Just open the damn door,” I snap. “In fact, now that you’re on your own two feet I’m not needed here anymore. See ya.”
“Wait.” The door swings open but instead of entering, Ashton braces a hand on the doorframe, his ring gleaming dully. “Jax, I need blood—”
“No.” I shake my head for emphasis. “No way.”
“Then bring me someone who can help me.”
“Who? You call your own slaves to heel, D’Aube. I’m outta here.” I lift my hands. “I’ve helped you more than I should.”
“Jax—”
“You vampires,” I seethe, losing the last of my patience with him, “have no fucking right to ask for anything else after what you did to me, all right? Stay out of my way. I mean it.”
“Then,” he whispers, “help Mia.”
