Hotbloods (Hotbloods #1)

Free will. That term seemed to mean something to him, I realized, as I recalled his answer to a question I’d asked the day before. “Every creature in the universe is born with free will. We can choose to be different, even if we share the same anatomy.” It had struck a chord with me then, and it did again now, given that free will was the only hope I had to carve out a life for myself that was different than my parents’. Even though this man and I were from entirely different corners of the universe, it was a sentiment we both clung to, it seemed.

Though, I imagined his daily battle had to be much more difficult than mine. After all, I hadn’t been brought up to be a literal beast. He had his whole physiology to contend with, too.

It made me consider Navan’s personality in a new light, and I felt that I finally understood him better. I thought back on all the behavior I’d observed so far in him, like that first encounter when he’d shown us his fearsome true form—and how, in spite of that, he’d been insistent to the point of being fanatical that we not be harmed, and that we take the Elysium voluntarily rather than being forced to. Shortly afterward, he’d engaged in a candid negotiation with me, and agreed to my terms to give us more information. Then he’d been a gentleman and arranged for us all to be placed back in our bedroom (I couldn’t blame him for Jethro deciding to take a slurp out of me along the way). None of this behavior was characteristic of your average Vysanthian, clearly—Jethro alone had proven that, and I imagined that Jethro had to be one of the much nicer coldbloods inhabiting that world, given that Navan hung out with him. His upbeat and sometimes quirky comments, which I’d found odd at first, also made more sense now.

It was obvious to me that all of this was Navan practicing. Practicing using his free will to go against his grain, defy his natural instincts. There was an undercurrent of roughness to his manner, but from what I could tell, he’d learned to control it. To become a master of his circumstances, rather than a victim of them.

He’d even gone so far as to figure out how to change himself physically, with his special heating formula, to become the virtual opposite of what he was in every respect.

All of it made me wonder if he’d been like this his whole life, or if there had been a time when he was just like the rest of his kind. And if it was the latter, what had caused him to make the change…

Whatever the case, I’d gained a newfound respect for him, because I knew how hard it was to change yourself—especially without any real support system around you. Sure, Navan had a brother and an almost-brother he was close to… and a rather questionable best friend… but the rest of the time he was surrounded by creatures who were clearly the exact opposite of what he was trying to be.

That also explained his earlier comment regarding why he wanted a ship that was better than everyone else’s—so he could get away, be in his own space, think his own thoughts. He didn’t have the luxury of two amazing adoptive parents, or access to a psychologist whenever he felt like having a chat. He’d had to struggle through this by himself. I couldn’t imagine the strength of character that must have been required. It’s what true bravery was, in my opinion. Having not only the self-awareness but the courage to recognize you ought to change, and then preparing to go to war with yourself every day to achieve it.

I only realized I’d been staring at him too long when he widened his eyes at me, as if to ask what the matter was.

I looked away, embarrassed. “I just…” I began. “I think you’re very brave, that’s all.”

He frowned at me, apparently unsure of what to make of the compliment. And quite rightly so. It sounded totally random.

“I mean,” I hurried to try and clarify, “I think the way you’re choosing to use your ‘free will’ is… noble.”

“Oh, don’t get all mushy on me,” he said. “I’m not doing anything… I have a lot of bad blood to make up for. I’m not actually that stellar of a guy.”

I frowned. “I don’t think you’re so bad. You just flew me all the way to Alaska, in your arms.” I thought back to all the guys that I’d gone to high school with. Not one of them—even if they’d had the ability—would’ve done anything even close to that. “That’s pretty stellar.” I paused. “And…I feel safe with you.”

A pained expression crossed his face as he sighed. “Don’t feel too safe. I’m not a great protector.”

I would’ve thought he was just fishing for compliments, except that he seemed completely unable to accept a compliment, and that pained expression was still etched across his face.

I swallowed, not really sure what he meant by it, or how to reply. But even if his actions were driven by guilt, it still made him a better person than the rest of his kin—who apparently didn’t even seem to feel guilt, and deemed it their God-given right to exploit others.

I wasn’t quite buying his self-deprecation, but I let the topic go. As it turned out, we didn’t have much time to continue our conversation anyway.

Barely three minutes later, he cleared his throat and nodded toward a large rock protruding from the dark, icy ground. “We’ve arrived, so I suggest you hold on tighter.”





Chapter Thirteen





I realized as we were descending that we’d already passed over the glittering village I’d spotted earlier in the distance, and it was now behind us. My stomach lurched as we soared downward, dropping out of the sky faster than I was comfortable with. I held on tighter, while Navan’s arms pressed in harder around me.

I shut my eyes for the last few feet, and opened them again only when I heard Navan’s feet crunch against the snow. I was glad we’d been blackberry picking when the whole Ianthan-Jethro incident happened, since it meant I was wearing long pants and sneakers. Still, I was grateful that Navan kept holding me, since my attire was not exactly snow proof.

Ianthan’s dark figure approached.

“Over there,” Navan muttered, gesturing to the large rock protruding from the ice, some ten feet away.

He carried me in silence, until we reached it. It wasn’t an awkward silence, though; I didn’t feel the need to try to think of something to say. It felt natural, which almost made me laugh out loud—here I was, being carried in the arms of a coldblood who had just flown me from Texas to Alaska because I’d imbibed a potentially dangerous substance. Nothing about this was normal, or natural, yet being there in his arms felt exactly that.

He stopped at the rock’s base and began brushing against the snow with his boots, revealing a metal trapdoor. He put me down, though made sure I held on to his shoulder for support, because my knees were shaky. I pulled the coat closer around me, and watched as Navan pulled open the secret trapdoor, revealing a storage compartment underneath that contained a steel trunk, which was about four feet by five feet in size. He heaved it out onto the snow and opened the lid, revealing a treasure chest of countless small silver vials, sectioned into dozens of compartments with exotic names that held no meaning to me.

Navan studied the assortment of vials for a few moments, before pulling three out, along with a glass beaker. He poured the three liquids into the container and shook it before pushing it toward me.

I clutched the beaker in my hands.