Crave (Crave, #1)

by Tracy Wolff

“Lia’s had a plan all along. It’s why she brought you here.” “She didn’t bring me here, Flint. My parents died—” “Don’t you get it? She killed your parents to get you here. We knew it for sure as soon as you arrived and the wolves got close enough to smell you.

Lia out is one thing. Taking Jaxon out when we realized he was involved in the plan was another thing entirely.”

Some Call it Paranoia, But I Call it an Evil Bitch Trying to Use You as a Human Sacrifice “Don’t say a fucking word,”

Sticks and Stones May Break Your Bones, but Vampires Will Kill You

Lia obviously has other plans, though, because she walks toward me with the knife. Her blood is still gleaming on the blade and I have an oh God, please let her clean it off before she touches me with it moment. Which seems absurd considering: One, shouldn’t I be praying that she doesn’t come near me with it at all? And two, what does it matter when I’m already covered in her blood, my blood, and some stranger’s blood? What’s a little more at this point?

To be honest, I’m beginning to feel a little like a mummy here.

“Wow. You’ve been awake fifteen minutes and you’ve called me a drama queen and now accused me of having a god complex.” He raises his brows. “You sure you aren’t mad at me?” “I’m sure,” I tell him, pulling his face down to mine so I can kiss him.

And the worst moments of my life weren’t when I killed Hudson. They were when I finally regained consciousness on that altar and realized I’d taken too much of your blood. That moment—and all the moments it took for me to get you here? Those will always be the worst seconds, the worst minutes, of my life.”

“Say you believe me. Say you know it’s not your fault. Say—” “I love you.” I gasp, then let out a slow, shuddering breath as tears I don’t even try to hide bloom in my eyes. “Or you could say that. You could very definitely say that.” “It’s true,” he whispers. “I’m so in love with you.” “Good, because I’m in love with you, too.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Jaxon warns. “Or I’m going to take you back to your room, and we’re not going to do what I brought you here for.”

He just rolls his eyes at me. But he does wiggle his butt a little—which makes me laugh. A lot.

Because when the smoke clears, someone who can only be Hudson Vega is standing there, a giant broadsword in his hand—aimed straight at Jaxon’s head.

So, in the end, I do the only thing I can do. I wrap myself around him and spin us around so that my back is to the sword. And then I close my eyes and wait for the blow I’ve always known would come.

“I think you’re going to have to accept that you can’t get to her,” Foster says, and for the first time I realize that he looks and sounds nearly as bad as I do. “I think we’re going to have to accept that she’s not going to come back until she wants to.”

“She’s saving me, isn’t she?” I whisper, barely loud enough for myself to hear it. But Foster hears it, and he braces a hand on my shoulder. “I think she might be.” There’s no might about it. Because Grace loves me. She’s already saved me once.

“I’m going to find a way to stop him, Grace. I swear. And then you’re going to come back to me. Because I need you. I need you to come home to me.”