I don’t even bother trying to keep up. If I’ve learned anything in the last couple of days, it’s that when Jaxon Vega wants to disappear, he disappears, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Instead, I turn in the other direction and head back to the castle.

Now that I have a set destination in mind, the walk seems much faster than my original wandering did. But I still can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that I’m being watched. Which is absurd, considering Jaxon went in the other direction and Lia disappeared right after her argument with him.

The feeling stays with me the whole time I’m outside. And something else is niggling at me, too, something I can’t quite figure out. At least not until I reach the warmth and safety of the castle—and my room. It’s as I’m peeling off all the layers I’m wearing that it finally hits me.

Neither Lia nor Jaxon was wearing a jacket.

17

It’s Discretion,

not Diamonds,

That’s a

Girl’s Best Friend

“You sure you’re up for this?” Macy asks several hours later as I grab a sweatshirt from my closet.

Is she kidding? “Not even a little bit.”

“That’s what I figured.” She heaves a huge sigh. “We could cancel if you want. Tell everyone you’re still not over the altitude sickness.”

“And have Flint think I’m chicken? No thank you.” I actually couldn’t care less if Flint thinks I’m afraid or not. But Macy has been so excited about this snowball fight that there’s no way I’m going to take it away from her. The fact that she offered to cancel because she knows I’m not into it only makes me more determined to go. “We’re doing this snowball fight and we’re going to…”

“Kick some butt?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of not make complete and total fools of ourselves, but way to think positive.”

She laughs, as I intended her to, then bounds off the bed and starts layering up big-time. Which…finally, someone at this ridiculous school who has some sense. Between the jerks I met the first night and then Jaxon and Lia, I’m beginning to think everyone in this place has some bizarre immunity to cold. Like maybe they’re aliens and I’m the ignorant and fragile human living among them.

After we both finish getting dressed in—I counted this time—six layers, she herds me toward the door. “Come on, we don’t want to be late or we’ll totally get ambushed.”

“Ambushed. With snowballs. Sounds fantastic.” San Diego has never looked so good.

“Just wait. You’re going to love it. Plus, it’ll give you a chance to meet all of Flint’s friends.” She checks her makeup one more time in the mirror by the door, then all but shoves me into the hallway.

“All of Flint’s friends?” I ask as we make our way through the halls. “Exactly how many people are going to be at this thing?”

“I don’t know. At least fifty.”

“Fifty people? At a snowball fight?”

“Maybe more. Probably more.”

“How does that even work?” I query.

“Does it matter?” she answers, brows raised.

“Yes, it matters. I mean, how can you possibly keep track of that many people trying to throw things at you?”

“I don’t think you keep track of them so much as try to flatten everyone you come across without being flattened yourself.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe the altitude sickness is coming back.”

“Too late.” She links her arm through mine and grins. “We’re almost there.”

“So can you be a little more specific about who all is going to be there? Anyone I’ve already met—I mean, besides Flint?”

“I don’t know if Lia will be there. Cam won’t—he and Flint don’t really get along. It’s a…thing.”

I think about asking exactly what kind of thing she’s referring to, but the truth is, I don’t care if Lia shows up. Or Cam. There’s only one person I’m trying to find out about, and since Macy isn’t getting there herself, I guess I really am going to have to ask.

“How about Jaxon?” I keep my voice light even though, after our encounter earlier, my heart is pounding at the mere mention of his name. “Is he going to be there?”

“Jaxon Vega?” By the time she gets to the second syllable of Jaxon’s name, her voice is little more than a squeak.

“He’s the one we saw in the hall that first day, right?”

“Yeah. Um…yeah.” Macy gives up any pretense of chill—and of walking, as it turns out. Instead, she turns to me, hands on her hips, and demands, “Why are you asking about Jaxon?”

“I don’t know. We’ve met a couple of times, and I just wondered if he was into snowball fights.”

“You’ve met Jaxon Vega a couple of times? How exactly did you meet, considering I’ve been with you almost all the time since you got here?”

“I don’t know, just walking around the school. It was only a few times.”

“A few times?” Her eyes almost bug out of her head. “That’s more than a couple. Where? When? How?”

“Why are you being so weird about this?” I’m seriously beginning to regret bringing Jaxon up. I mean, she was freaked out over Flint, but it was a fun kind of freaked out. Right now, it looks more like she’s going to blow a gasket. “He was in the hallway; I was in the hallway. It just kind of happened.”

“Things don’t just happen with Jaxon. He’s not exactly known for being talkative with anyone outside of—” She stops abruptly.

“Outside of what?” I prompt.

“I don’t know. Just…”

“Just?” I ask. She smiles a little sickly but doesn’t say anything else, and it annoys me. Like, seriously annoys me. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“You start sentences and then never finish them. Or you start to say something and halfway through change what you were saying to something else entirely.”

“I don’t—”

“You do. All the time. And honestly, it’s beginning to feel a little weird. Like there’s some kind of secret I’m not supposed to know. What’s going on?”

“That’s ridiculous, Grace.” She looks at me like I’m a few snowflakes short of a snowball. “Katmere is just, you know, full of all kinds of weird cliques and social rules. I didn’t want to bore you with them all.”

“Because you’d rather I commit social suicide?” I arch my brow at her.

She rolls her eyes. “Social suicide is the last thing you need to worry about here.”

It’s the first real thing she’s said since we started this conversation, and I jump on it. “So what do I have to worry about, then?”

Macy sighs, low and long and just a little sad. But then she looks me in the eye and says, “All I was going to say is that Jaxon’s not very friendly with people who aren’t in the Order.”

“The Order? What’s that?”

“It’s nothing, really.” When I keep looking at her, silently pushing her to continue, she sighs again, then adds, “It’s just a nickname we gave the most popular boys at school because they’re always together.”

I think about the guys Jaxon walked into the party with and the ones who were with him in the hall when Flint was carrying me to my room. At the time, I remember thinking that Jaxon looked like the leader, but I didn’t think much of it. I was too busy trying not to stare at him.

Based on my recollections, Macy’s explanation is reasonable. Still, there’s something about the way she says it—and the way she’s looking everywhere but in my eyes—that makes me think there’s more to the story than she’s letting on.

Although, standing in the middle of the hallway doesn’t seem like the best place to keep pushing at her, especially since we really are going to be late if we don’t get moving.

With that in mind, I start walking and Macy does, too, but she sticks close to my side. I give her a weird look, wondering what she’s up to, at least until she asks in a kind of stage whisper, “Have you met the others, too?”

“The other guys in the Order?” I feel a little ridiculous just saying the name out loud. I mean, they’re twelfth-grade students at a boarding school, not running a monastery in Tibet. “No. I’ve only met Jaxon.”

“Only? You mean he was alone?” Now she doesn’t just look worried; she looks downright sick.

“Yeah. So?”

“Oh God! What did he do? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“Jaxon?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice.

“Of course Jaxon! That is who we’re talking about, right?”

“No, he didn’t hurt me. Why would you even think that?”

She throws her hands in the air, frustration and fear evident in every line of her body. “Because he’s Jaxon. He’s a one-man demolition crew. It’s what he does!”

“He was…” I shake my head, try to think of the right word to describe our interactions. Then go with generic because I figure Macy won’t get it anyway. “Most of the time he was actually kind of…interesting.”

“Interesting?” This time she looks at me like I just said I wanted to bodysurf the Alaskan tundra. “Okay, I’m confused. Are you sure we’re talking about the same Jaxon?” She pulls me into the nearest alcove, then grabs my hands and squeezes them tightly. “Really tall, really gorgeous, really scary? Black hair, black eyes, black clothes, and a smoking-hot body? Plus the arrogance of a rock star…or the self-proclaimed dictator of a not-so-small country?”

I’ve got to admit, it’s a pretty good description—especially the arrogant part. And the really gorgeous part, even if it doesn’t take into account a lot of the things that make him so attractive. Like his eyes that see way too much and the way his voice gets all dark and growly when he expects things to go his way. Not to mention the thin scar that turns him from merely pretty to sexy af. And also scary af. “Yeah, that’s him.”