Matter of Truth, A (30 page)

Gods, he’s gorgeous.

He climbs back onto the bed and I lift my hips so he can
slide my skirt off. It’s torturously slow, even worse when he takes his
extra-sweet time with my panties. I’ve gone from trembling straight to
quivering—there’s no doubt from this moment out that I’m putty in his hands.

He stares down at me with hooded eyes for an eternity. I
lean up higher, ready to grab him and drag his mouth back to mine, but he
gently pushes back my arm. “There’s no rush.” His husky voice is like an
auditory shot of lust. I’m molten now.

His mouth lingers on my navel, his warm tongue tracing a
path south and then back up to my breasts. I collapse back against the bed, my
fists curling in the sheets as Jonah slowly explores every inch of my willing
body. Stars explode in my eyelids, each heartbeat close to his ear telling him
wantneedwant
.

He gives me what I crave when his hand slides down my body
and swirls between my legs. I ought to be embarrassed by how wet I already am
for him, but I’m not, not even when he presses a lingering kiss right above the
spot where his fingers are torturing me in the best of ways. Instead, I moan;
the sound brings his mouth back up to mine, and we’re kissing, hotter than
before, and the intensity of it all is too much, because my body supernovas
underneath his hands and touch.

But it’s not enough. Even as my body shudders out in waves,
I snake my hand down between our bodies until I find him, hard and ready.
Despite the urge to take him in my mouth, I need him in me right now more. I
need this connection between us. I need us to finally be one, even though he’s
so big I worry we won’t fit. He gasps at my touch, making me smile. I run my
fingertips lightly up and down the length, delighting in how he’s the one
shuddering now.

His hand replaces mine and he looks down at me, eyes serious.
He’s asking me if I’m ready for this.

I nod slowly but surely. The desire in his eyes intensifies,
which only magnifies my own yearnings.

“You don’t happen to have . . .” His laugh is husky, a cross
between and plea and a moan as he presses his forehead to mine.

I know what he’s asking for. I let go of him and hold up a
shiny, silver square in my fingers that I’ve just created for a brief second
before ripping it open. And then I revel in putting the condom on him, drinking
in the quiet hiss of pleasure that precedes his body shuddering under my
fingers.

He kisses me, lips light and teasing against mine. My hips
buck up, brushing against him, and oh, good lords, I need him right now. Need
him so bad. Slowly, gently, he pushes into me, our eyes locked together the
entire time. It stings for the briefest of seconds, but I embrace the
sensation.

Because this, here, with him—it’s real.

He stops moving and presses his forehead against mine. “Is
this okay?” he whispers, voice strained.

Is he kidding? This is better than okay. I’ve waited for
years to know what it feels like to have Jonah Whitecomb inside me. And it was
worth the wait, although I wish I could’ve had this experience a million times
already. I lift my hips again, driving him in deeper, and the control he’d been
so desperate to hold onto breaks. We come together in a frenzy of sweaty
bodies, kisses, and friction, and pressure mounts stronger than before in me.

This is bliss. This is love. This is better, a thousand,
million, trillion times better than I ever thought it could be. This is—

My body supernovas once more, and the room explodes in a
shower of rainbowed light that matches how I feel. Jonah thrusts into me one
last time, my name falling from his lips, and I lean up to kiss it away so I
can hold it in me, too. Because the way he just said my name, as his
wantneedwant
fills me up, is seriously the best sound I’ve ever heard.

When I wake up, it’s in a panic. My hand shoots out,
fumbling until it hits warm, bare skin.

He’s here. I’m not dreaming. This is real.

Jonah shifts in his sleep, his arm snaking out to pull me
closer until we’re pressed up against one another. My bones and muscles sink
back into the bed I’ve called my own since coming back to Annar in relief. As
my heartbeat slows, I can’t help but watch him, reliving what happened last
night in exquisite detail until my own skin turns warm.

We finally, finally made love. And then we did it again.
And, okay, a third time, too.

I’m achy and low on sleep and yet more content than I’ve
been in forever. It’d been beautiful, so blissfully wonderful that I don’t
think poets or songwriters ever knew what they were talking about when they
attempted to describe what it’s like when two people become one. Because what I
felt last night—what I feel now, safe and secure in his arms, is better than
anything anyone ever described before.

There’s no way I ever let it go again.

“I called Cora,” I tell Will as we
fight over the last buffalo wing on the plate.

He looks away from the hockey game on the television set,
his dark eyes undecipherable.

“She’s agreed to go to Glasgow and meet Becca.” I shove the
tasty wing his way; news like this shouldn’t come alongside giving up the last
snack during a game. “I guess the question now is whether or not you want to go
with her.”

He wipes his hands on a napkin before running them down his
face. “Christ. Ask the easy questions, why don’t you?”

I mute the television. It’s just him and me in the
apartment; Jonah had to go into work for awhile, and Cameron is out grocery
shopping.

“How much damage is this Cora going to reverse? How does it
work?”

“I’m not a Shaman, so I can’t really answer that,” I say,
“but I would assume Becca’s spine would be fixed and she’d no longer be
paralyzed. She’d probably be off the ventilator, too.”

“And . . . her mind?”

“Cora can probably repair any brain damage associated with
the crash,” I tell him quietly.

“What about memories?”

“Okay, that Cora will have no control over. She deals in
physiology. I have a friend who is a Dreamer that deals with stuff like that.
Sometimes Emotionals do, too.” I lay a hand against his knee. “We don’t have to
do anything if you don’t want to, Will. I offered simply because I’m tired of
seeing you trapped in this endless loop. It’s not fair that you haven’t had
closure.”

He looks away.

“Two people you loved betrayed your trust.” I’m fully aware
of the irony of me eschewing the unfairness of this situation to him, but I
plow on anyway. “Your girlfriend cheated on you with your best friend. She was
going to have his baby. He died before you could ever confront him about what
he did. She . . . for all intents and purposes, the girl you knew died that
day, too—except her ghost comes back to haunt you way too often, reminding you
of what you guys had. Any confrontation you have with her, any chance you have
at making a clean break is lost when her mind scatters once more.” I lean my
cheek against his shoulder briefly. “You deserve a chance to move on one way or
another.”

After slipping an arm around me, he’s silent for nearly a
minute. “Is it bloody awful that I’m terrified she’s going to want to pick up
where we last left?”

“That can only happen if it’s what you want, too.” I, of all
people, know this lesson too well, so I don’t push him any further today.

“Chloe . . . if you’re not ready, I
can go back to my office and call in to the meeting today.”

I tear my eyes from the glimmering glare of glass on the
front door to Guard HQ approximately twenty feet away. Jonah’s been quiet for
most of the walk from my apartment to where we’re supposed to have a meeting in
fifteen minutes. “What? Don’t be silly. Why would you do that?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair. “You know
why.”

He’s right. Today the Guard and the Elders Subcommittee are
convening; it’s the first meeting we’ll both be in attendance for since getting
back together several days ago. At least forty-to-fifty members of both the
Guard and Council will be present, plus several Métis who came back with Erik
just for the occasion. While this is daunting enough, we’re not worried about
any of them.

It’s Kellan’s presence that has my stomach in knots.

For the moment, Jonah is still living with Kellan in his
apartment, and from what he’s told me, a conversation occurred between the
brothers after Jonah and I decided to give our relationship another try. It
went . . . badly, which is both surprising and predictable all at the same
time. Jonah tried to talk me off the ledge I quickly placed myself on when I
heard they nearly came to blows, explaining that, rationally, they both
understand the situation; it’s just, Connections aren’t always reasonable. If
they were, I would never have run away, nor would have Kellan. Jonah wouldn’t
have shut down. Kellan, Jonah assured me, meant everything that he had promised
that night on the roof. It’s just . . . it’s going to take some time.

Everything always takes time—the one thing we are forced to
suffer through with no hopes of fast-forward or rewind. Like a cruel mistress,
time marches forward with no regard to feelings. All we can do is follow and
pray that each second we live through gets easier like promised.

Before we get to the door, I whisper, “I don’t want to hurt
him.” And myself. And Jonah.

Jonah sighs and gently steers me toward the wall. “He knows
that.” I can’t see his eyes behind the dark plastic of his glasses, but I’m
positive they’re filled with just as much guilt as mine are.

I lean my head back against the textured stones of the
grandiose building behind us. “Is he aware we’ll both be here?”

“Yeah.” Jonah’s just as hushed as I am.

I ask what’s pressing heavily against my heart. “Will there
ever be a day in which we won’t have to worry about hurting him? Or hurting
ourselves?” Or me not wanting his brother so much that it clouds my judgment?

He gently touches my cheek. “I don’t know, honey.”

I bite my lip and look up. The sky is hard to see here in
this part of Annar, where all the building reach high and lean toward Karnach.
“I tried to break the Connection to him once in Alaska. Right after I called
you.”

His intake of air is sharp.

“I was . . . gods. Miserable. Freaking out. It occurred to
me that maybe I could will away Connections if I tried.” My smile is
bittersweet. “It killed me to try it, but . . . all I could think was how I
couldn’t tie either of you down to me any longer. How it wasn’t fair to you
guys, that you deserved a better life. I had a few shots of whiskey and then
tried to break the one to him first.”

His head tilts away, like he’s peering into one of the
windows nearby. “And . . .?”

I shove wispy strands of hair freed by the light breeze
caressing Annar back behind my ear. “And . . . I felt even worse than before.
Like I punched myself in the heart. I had another shot and tried again, but all
I ended up doing was making myself so miserable I ended up drowning in
whiskey.”

He’s unbearably quiet when he asks, “Did you try ours?”

It hurts like hell to do it, but I tell him the truth. “Had
it worked with Kellan, I would have.”

Twelve breaths pulled in and out of my chest occur before he
speaks. “We tried to influence each other when you were gone. Make it so the
other didn’t feel the Connection’s pain, so we didn’t care you were gone, or
that we even loved you at all. Or perhaps even convince ourselves that we could
move on, love somebody else.”

Gods, that hurts to hear. I’d hoped for something like that,
of course, but it doesn’t stop the pain of the knife to the chest any less.

“Did it work?” I barely whisper.

He shakes his head slowly, his hand clenching repeatedly by
his side. It’s the first time since reuniting that I’ve seen him do that.

“You two coming?”

We turn to find Will, sipping a cup of coffee. Jonah takes a
step back from me and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Yeah,” I tell him. I
clear my throat. “Are Cameron and Erik already up there?”

“I believe so. They wanted to bring in the Métis reps early
to meet Zthane. They’re bullying me to join their merry little party, you know.
Become official and whatnot.” He takes off his mirrored sunglasses and squints
at us. “Everything okay? You two look like somebody died or something.”

I bark out a quiet laugh. “Just admitting more of my sins.”

Will’s eyebrow shoot up, the paper cup halfway to his lips.

“Chloe,” Jonah says, reaching out and grabbing my hand,
“it’s water under the bridge. Don’t beat yourself up for this, not when we
tried the same.”

I let him pull me closer. “Is it, though?”

Somehow when he tells me it is, I believe him.

Kellan’s deep in conversation with Karl and Giuliana, but
the moment I cross the threshold of the doorway of the conference room, the tug
between us flares to life. He must feel it, too, because he quickly apologizes
to Giules for cutting her off, and then heads our way.

Will quickly dismisses himself to go over to where Cameron
and Erik are talking with Zthane and Astrid. I don’t blame him for wanting to
get the hell away from the complicated mess created by our Connections. And
although somebody calls his name from across the room, Jonah stays by my side.
My heart thumps hard with every step Kellan takes toward us. I don’t know how
to do this. I still love him. I love them both. I don’t know how to—

“Hey,” he says casually, but there is a genuine gleam of
concern reflecting back at me in the blue of his eyes. “Was worried you guys
were going to spend the entire meeting downstairs or something.”

The oh-so-familiar prick of tears attacks me without notice.
He’s trying so hard right now to act normal, like I haven’t basically cut out
his heart and flaunted it in front of him. Like I’m not standing here with his
brother after telling him that, despite our shared Connection, I need Jonah
more.

Kellan sighs and takes a step closer to where we’re
standing. “Chloe . . . don’t . . .” He sighs again. “It’s okay. It’s going to
be okay.”

He can’t promise me that. How can he? How can any of us ever
think it’ll be okay? Because I’ve chosen, and I mean it, and yet . . . the tug
between me and Kellan is just as strong, and I love him, and I love Jonah and—

Jonah’s name is called again; as he leans toward me, his
hand goes to my lower back. “I’m going to leave you two to talk. Just remember,
we’re all on the same page here, honey. No more secrets, remember?”

I nod and then he goes over to where several members of the
Subcommittee are, huddled around an iPad.

The smile Kellan gives me doesn’t reach his eyes. “He’s
right, you know.”

I want to collapse into the safety of his arms, but I hold
back. Maybe some day we’ll be able to do that again, but right now is too soon
for any of us involved. “How are you?”

He ducks his head to run his hand through his hair, the
action eerily reminiscent of Jonah’s just ten minutes before. And then he leads
me out into the empty hallway. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, C
. . . but I need you to try your best not to focus on me in the coming weeks,
starting right about now.”

I also need to try my best not to break down sobbing right
now, too.

“I know it’s going to be hard. I know you’re freaking out
right now, and you’re worried, and confused, and there’s all this toxic guilt
building back up in you.” He holds a hand out, but I think it’s more for him
than me. “The three of us are going to find a way to deal with this. It can’t
be right now, because we’ve got to turn our focus on the Elders situation. But
we will find a way to make all this work. For now, you’ve got to let me find a
way that works for me to deal with everything that’s gone down, and I can’t do
it when I’m worried about you worrying about me.”

Panic blooms in my chest, faster than before.

“I meant what I told you,” he says quietly. “I’m not going
to abandon you. I won’t do that to my brother, either. You two . . . you’re the
most important people in my life. You always will be. But right now, I need to
take a step back and look at ways I can personally deal with this. And you two
need to be focusing on how to repair everything that’s gone down between you in
the last few years.”

I want to cry so bad right now. Just break down and ugly cry
over the unfairness of it all.

Why did Fate do this to me? Us?

“Please believe me when I tell you that, despite what I feel
for you, C—what I’ll always feel for you, and what I
know
you feel for
me—I will never wish for anything other than your happiness. Jonah’s, either. I
may be jealous as all hell over . . .” He swallows hard. “Let’s just say that I
will always want and fight for the best for the two people I love most in the
worlds. If this is what makes you happy, if this is what makes him the same, I
will never stand in the way of that. I almost lost both of you guys over this.
I’m not willing to risk that again.”

“What about your happiness?” I choke out. Because right now,
I’m pretty sure I’d give everything I have to ensure that.

Somebody calls out that the meeting will start in two
minutes; it’s enough to drive Kellan several steps back away from me.

Tiny pieces of my heart chip off with each step he takes.

“They need us in there,” he says quietly. “Let’s let that be
our focus today, okay?”

I do as he asks, even though it hurts to do so. For the next
three hours, everyone in the conference room focuses on the Elders problem. Two
more Métis colonies on two separate planes were attacked in the last week;
three people are in intensive care, two others dead. It sounds horrible to
admit it, but I was incredibly relieved neither colony was Anchorage. Several
Magicals were attacked over the same time period, resulting in one death on the
Goblin plane. All accounts have the monsters constantly evolving into more
humanoid figures. People are scared, and rightly so.

I’d foolishly thought that, once I discovered I could kill
the Elders, the problem was basically solved. Nothing could be further from the
truth. As we’d discovered on the last two missions I was sent out on, the
Elders are careful not to come anywhere near me.

“Councilwoman Lilywhite,” the head of the Subcommittee, a
Gnomish Informer named Johann Baldurrsson, asks in the aftermath of another
round of futile arguing over what we should do to counteract this line of
evasion, “are you certain you must be touching the beasts to eradicate them?”

All eyes are on me. “I’m afraid so.”

Baldurrsson strokes his snowy beard. “There’s no chance
you’re mistaken?”

I feel like I’m letting them all down. “I wish I were. I
tried it, only to fail. I have to be touching them.”

“And yet, with each touch, you risk your own life,” he
murmurs. “Which leaves us at quite the quagmire. How do we send in our assassin
when, chances are, her life is just as at risk as theirs?”

I want to argue that it’s my risk to take, that it’s my
responsibility to go out there and at least try, but I see the point he’s
making. If I die, not only with Magical-kind be thrown into a tailspin, but so
will the worlds we govern. My death is nothing but chaos for all involved. That
said . . .

“I don’t think they want to kill me,” I admit. “Cailleache
made it seem like they want me in particular taken alive.”

“That frightens me every more,” Astrid says. So far, she’s
spent the majority of the meeting quiet, taking notes. Here she is, though, and
there’s no hiding the worry in her lyrical voice. “Our history with the Elders
shows they are thirsty to eradicate anybody with Magical blood—everyone, that
is, but a Creator.”

Uneasy silence follows these words.

Will’s the first to break it. “Chloe told me a story once,
of how some early Creator stripped these beasties of their bodies and whatnot.
What if they think a different one will reverse what’s been done?”

I’m aghast. “They could
never
make me do that.”

“Ah, but that’s the thing.” Zthane taps his pencil against
the table. “They’re constantly evolving. We don’t know what they’re capable of,
Chloe—except their ability to kill powerful members of our kind. The
possibility that they
could
make you do that is something we cannot
discredit.”

“So what’s our option here?” Maccon Lightningriver asks.
“Because from where I’m sitting, it’s sounding like you are all claiming we
don’t have any viable options right now other than to sit on our hands. People
are dying—Magicals and Métis alike. What’s to say the Elders will stop with our
kinds? What happens when they spill into the general populations?”

Baldurrsson says quietly, “We cannot risk the Creator. Until
we can absolutely guarantee her safety during such confrontations, we shall not
sanction any such missions. Until then, we will simply have to play defense the
best we can.” He turns to the Métis members sitting nearby. “What are the
chances that we can convince your colonies to relocate to Annar? Our boundaries
are secure.”

Erik is the one to answer. “Although there are those who are
heartened by recent attempts by Annar to mend past wrongs, there are still many
Métis who fear and distrust Magicals. I’d say . . .” He turns to his
bleak-faced colleagues. “Maybe twenty, thirty percent could be easily
persuaded. Others will need to be swayed, while pockets of Métis will never
agree to such measures.”

Baldurrsson rubs his forehead; the long hairs of his
eyebrows go askew. “Some are better than none. Nightstorm, we sanction the
process of bringing Métis families into Annar as soon as possible.” His weary
eyes flick my way. “Councilwoman Lilywhite, your immediate task is to expand
the boundaries of Annar to create room for an influx of citizens, as well as
new housing.”

“Is that what the Métis will be?” a representative of the
Russian colony asks, his accent harsh. “Will they be considered equals or
simply poor refugees who must line up for handouts from the mighty Magicals?”

Astrid is the one to answer. “The Council meets tonight to
discuss just this matter. This Subcommittee has been tasked to decide whether
or not diplomatic ties with your colonies are within the best interest of
Annar.”

The Russian frowns. “And?”

“And,” Baldurrsson says, “it is our recommendation that
anyone with Magical blood, no matter the percentage, be afforded full
citizenship.”

“What about the discrimination we have been subjected to?” a
representative from one of the Dwarven colonies asks. “What is to stop Magicals
from devaluing our kind, as they have always done before?”

“For one thing, you need to stop thinking of this as an us
verses them situation,” Jonah says. It isn’t the first time he’s voiced his
opinion today, but he’s been selective about what he argues about. I love that
he doesn’t go crazy like some of the other people, high on emotions with
precious little logic. He’s been levelheaded the entire time. Focused. I could
not be more proud of him. “That only exacerbates the problem. Why should any of
the Métis want to come here when their own leaders propagate their differences?
You have to remind them that they belong here, too. That, just because they
can’t practice Magic, it doesn’t mean Magical blood doesn’t run in their
veins.”

The Dwarven representative grunts, but in the end, it’s
decided.

Annar will open its arms wide to its lost children.