by Shae Mallak
"Okay, okay," Greg said. "Jonah should only be a few more minutes and we can—"
"I just want to go home," I whimpered pathetically. I needed to see the twins. I needed to be somewhere familiar. I couldn't stand in the noisy street in my underwear much longer or I was going to collapse in exhaustion.
"Okay," Greg said again. "Nathan, will you tell Jonah where we're going?" he asked.
"Of course," he nodded. "Do you need a ride to the house?" he asked after a second.
"If we could," Greg agreed. "Jonah can take my car back when he's done here." Greg kept one arm around my shoulders as he escorted me over to the black SUV, gently helping me into the back seat before sliding in beside me. I was asleep before we reached the house, my head nestled on Greg's shoulder.
TWENTY-SIX
I slept like the dead and didn't wake until the following afternoon. I wasn't the only one, either, finding Jonah fast asleep beside me. I didn't even wake when he came in the night before, it seemed. I blushed thinking it was the first time Jonah and I slept together and I wasn't even aware of it.
I could hear screams coming from downstairs but for the first time in my adult life wasn't immediately moved to go investigate and clean up whatever mess the twins created. Instead, I rolled carefully over, mindful of my sore rear end, and pillowed my head on Jonah's bare chest, absently trailing a finger down his chest and up again.
"You have got to stop torturing me like that," he growled sleepily. His chest rumbled beneath me when he laughed and he moved his hand over to caress my cheek. "How are you?" he asked seriously.
"As good as can be expected, I guess," I replied honestly. "Did everything get sorted out last night at your house?" I asked.
"Yes, love," he assured me. "Between you and Kinney's testimony and the cameras in my house, the police and the council are satisfied with the truth. Trent's been blamed with your father's death as well as both attacks. If he had lived he would've been given several life sentences, I expect, not to mention an execution from the council. If Kinney hadn't killed Trent, there would've been a queue of people ready to do it—and I would be the first in line."
"Why didn't you tell me you asked Kinney for help?" I asked, bringing up the subject again. Jonah scowled and I was afraid he would refuse to answer or start another argument about it, but after a few minutes, he took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then answered.
"I was afraid," he said finally. "Afraid if you knew I was working with Kinney again you wouldn't trust me."
"And you didn't think lying to me would reap the same result?" I scoffed.
"I know, I should've told you," he admitted. "But I never thought—"
"You'd get caught?" I prompted.
"I'd get arrested," he corrected me. "There was a chance Kinney wouldn't be able to help at all, and if so I didn't think it necessary—" he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ev," he sighed. "I was wrong either way—and look where it led! Oh, Ev, if I could've stopped it... god, when I saw the footage, I wanted to burn him to ashes!"
"You—you watched it?" I croaked.
"I won't let anyone touch you ever again," he promised vehemently. "I won't even mark you—"
"What?" I sat up a little and stared at him in confusion. "You don't want to mark me? But you said—"
"Of course I want to!" he declared. "I thought maybe, after what happened, you wouldn't want me to—"
"But what about all the other dangers you spoke of before?" I asked. "Everyone else who wants to use me or whatever because of what I am? You said since I'm not officially fully claimed or whatever... Trent isn't the only dangerous threat, right? That's what you said..."
"Well, no, he isn't the only potential danger," Jonah admitted. "But I can find another way to protect you," he insisted. "I won't make you feel like you have to do anything. Just knowing you love me," he smiled, "Is more than enough for me. We'll figure the rest of it out."
"Really? You would do that for me?" I rolled over until I was on top of him, straddling his hips and leaning down over his chest, my face hovering dangerously close to his.
"Silly woman," he laughed at me. "Don't you know? I would do anything for you!"
I rewarded him with a kiss and it quickly deepened, our tongues tangling as our hands desperately explored each other. His fingers trailed tantalizingly up my spine then down again and over my—
"Ow!" I hissed, automatically moving my butt away from his hands. He winced, realizing what he did.
"Sorry," he grimaced. "Forgot—well, I didn't forget per se, just in the heat of the moment—Sorry," he repeated. I rolled off of him carefully to lie on my side next to him. "Can I—" he reached for me again. "Can I see?" he asked softly. I blinked a few times in surprise then wordlessly rolled onto my stomach giving silent permission.
"The doctor said when it's healed it'll be unrecognizable," I offered as he carefully tugged down my panties. "Just a little spot on my—ah! What are you—did you just spit on me?"
"Dragon spit," he said, gently rubbing it over my butt cheek, "Best cure for burns. You should barely have a mark in a day or two." He moved my panties back up and laid down beside me. "Lucky for you—well," he grimaced, "Not lucky, but—well, I was going to say dragon-breeders don't burn easily," he explained. "It takes a lot for a brand to truly take on the skin of a dragon-breeder. A horrible choice for a medium, mark-wise."
"Lucky me," I grumbled.
"Bad choice of words," he frowned.
"Then what is yours?" I asked curiously, poking him in the arm.
"My what?" he asked absently, already exploring my body again with his curious hands.
"How do you do your mark, then?" I asked more specifically. "Your medium, as you say. If it's not a brand like Trent did, then what is it?"
"I told you a mark can be loads of things," he grinned.
"Yeah, but what's yours?" I pressed, then narrowed my eyes at him. "Why won't you tell me?"
"Why does it matter?" he countered, kissing my shoulder.
"Because it does," I retorted with a scowl. He moved a little and kissed me between my shoulder blades, then slowly started trailing little kisses down my spine. "Because I—" I faltered when he flicked out his tongue to lick me, sucking at a spot beneath my left shoulder blade. "I'd like to know what you're doing before you—oh, don't stop that," I moaned. "Before you do it," I finished.
His lips went still against my skin as my words slowly registered for him. "You do?" he asked hesitantly. He sounded like he was afraid I'd change my answer again.
"Yes, a girl likes a little warning," I teased.
He went back to kissing and sucking on my back a little longer, nibbling at the spot before laying beside me again, rolling onto his back and pulling me over with him so I was once again laying on his chest.
"My mark," he said softly, moving a hand to massage one of my breasts and rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger making me moan in pleasure. "Is what is called a shadow," he said.
"A what now?" I frowned. He chuckled, moving his attentions to my other breast and earning more noises of pleasure from me.
"A shadow," he repeated. "There aren't very many who can do it, but it's a trait passed down through my family."
"What is it—oh, Jonah, don't stop," I moaned.
He grinned but moved his hands behind my back instead and sat up with me straddling his lap. He carefully cradled me there for a few seconds then leaned me back and dipped his head down until his mouth was covering one nipple.
"It's the—" he murmured, his mouth still half-sucking my nipple. "ability—" He moved to the other breast and gave it the same attention. "to transfer—" I moaned and rolled my hips against him and he growled hungrily into my chest. "God, you're amazing," he said breathlessly.
"To transfer what?" I pressed. I put both hands on either side of his face and moved him away from my breasts and back up to my mouth. My skin prickled all over with heat and my soft center was burning for wanting him. I could feel he was
hard and wanted me just as much.
"It's—it's hard to explain," he said, thrusting his hips up harder against mine. I clung closer to him and spread my legs wider for him. "Can we—mmm," he groaned appreciatively. "Can we talk about this later?" he grunted. In a swift movement I was laying on my back and he was removing my underwear.
"God, yes," I agreed.
I didn't intend to sleep with Jonah—not just sleep, but sleep. I kept expecting to have a panic attack halfway through and be too traumatized to go through with it. But being with Jonah was like nothing I ever experienced before.
The two men may be the same species—is that the right word?—but they couldn't be more different. Jonah may be manipulative and slightly shady, but he was honest about it. He never pretended to be anything other than who he was—except when he was keeping his dragon secret from me, but that was actually an understandable omission. Trent, on the other hand, was a master deceiver—he fooled everyone for a long time. He was in my life for almost three years and I never once suspected he was anything but a genuinely nice guy, not the kind to be driven to such drastic, violent measures.
But Jonah! He was nothing but gentle and attentive and...damn it all, sexy as hell! He knew where and how to touch me in a way that had me craving and begging for more. Not once was I reminded of my experience in the office. He took me higher and harder than I'd ever been before and when he finished, I returned the favor.
It was almost dinner by the time we crawled out of bed and rejoined the world. Greg gave us a smug, knowing look when we stumbled down to the kitchen at almost five o'clock but he quickly scampered away after one glare from Jonah, muttering an excuse about checking on the twins outside.
Jonah started a new pot of coffee—we both agreed it was necessary despite the time—while I searched the refrigerator for leftovers. One of the nice things about having Greg around was the ever-present leftovers. He was admittedly a better cook than myself. I had yet to experience Jonah's self-proclaimed chef skills but I was pretty sure I wouldn't have to wait long before he took over the kitchen. After only a few minutes the two of us were once again sitting at my kitchen table with two forks and a container of food between us, two cups of coffee at our elbows.
"We'll need to start thinking about the funeral," Jonah said after a few minutes of eating in silence.
"Funeral?" I stared at him, momentarily stunned. Why would I want anything to do with Trent's funeral? The man wasn't even worth the salt in my tears.
"For Otto," he prompted after a moment. Oh. Right. Dad. "They'll release the body soon, with the case solved. Do you want me to tell them to send it to Walworth's?" he asked. My confusion was clear. "The funeral home," he provided a second later with a small frown of concern. "Maybe I shouldn't have brought it up," he said apologetically.
"No, no," I shook my head. "Normal life continues—I have to deal with it eventually." I took a fortifying sip of coffee and collected my thoughts over a few bites of chicken and rice. "Walworth's is good," I nodded. "I guess I'll need to go choose a casket," I sighed, dreading the task. Picking a casket made his death too real. I mean, I knew he was gone, but actually burying him made it more final. A strange thought, I scoffed to myself. What was more final than death, after all?
"I'll go with you to make the arrangements," he offered. "I'll have to catch up on some business in the morning, but tomorrow afternoon should work. Is that okay or is that too soon?"
"Sooner rather than later, I think," I answered. "Does it ever get easier?" I asked him suddenly. He frowned at me, not comprehending my question. "Losing your parents," I clarified. "Does it ever get easier? Mom died three years ago and there are still days I feel like my chest is going to explode I miss her so much."
"The ache never goes away," he replied softly. "You can learn to function despite it, but it never goes away."
"I was afraid you'd say that," I mumbled into my coffee, taking another sip. "So, what do I do now?" I asked next.
"What do you mean?" he replied around a bite of chicken. A dab of sauce dropped onto his chin and I chuckled at him as I reached over to wipe it off and sucking it off my finger with a smack of my lips.
"I mean, now life is supposed to return to normal routine, but it can't. Not really. Not after everything that's happened. So what do I do now? Go back to cleaning office buildings every other night and filing papers for eight hours a day?"
"If you want," he shrugged. "But you don't have to. You can do whatever you want, Ev," he said.
"And if I don't know what I want?" I replied uncertainly.
"You have plenty of time to figure it out. No one is forcing you to decide today. Although, I might make a suggestion, if you want to hear it," he offered. He stuck another large bite of chicken in his mouth and chased it with coffee.
I pointed my fork at him. "And that would be?" I asked curiously. "And if you say marriage or kids or anything in that vicinity, I will poke you with my fork," I warned.
"What's wrong with—ow!" He shot his hand under the table away from my wayward eating utensils. "I wasn't going to say any of those things, actually," he scowled, rubbing the back of his hand dramatically. I rolled my eyes. "I was going to say you could go back to school," he said. He mentioned the same thing during our hike and I blew him off, dismissing the idea almost immediately. Of course, at the time I thought I was doomed to die and law school would really have been pointless. "Only if you wanted," he added carefully. "There's nothing holding you back."
"But the twins—" I protested.
"Are getting old enough to take care of themselves a little more," he retorted. "And there's Greg and me to help out. And you could do part time or night classes or something. Adults and parents go back to college all the time, juggling full time jobs and kids and things."
"And if I don't want to go back to school?" I queried. "Then what?"
"Then you don't go," he shrugged like it was the easiest, most obvious answer. "You find a different dream."
But it felt more complicated than that. I couldn't go back to what I'd been doing, scrubbing floors or filing papers all day. But if I didn't get a degree in something what else was there for me to do? Stay at home and scrub floors instead? Live off of Jonah's generosity for the rest of my life like some pampered trophy wife? Not that I was even his wife yet.
Did he expect me to marry him now? I mean, it was still only three days ago—four now? I lost count in the chaos of things—that I met him in the first place! But I did say I loved him and I did sleep with him, but it didn't mean I was ready for a quick trip down the aisle! I wasn't a Disney princess; I didn't marry someone after only three days!
What was my dream? Once upon a time, it was to be a lawyer like my father. I still loved law, to be fair, but was the life of a lawyer still what I wanted? Jonah was a successful, wealthy business man—although I still had no idea what kind of business he actually did—and he was constantly working. And, based on my memories from my childhood, when my father was a successful lawyer back in the day, he was always working long hours and missing games or plays or whatever because of work. I knew he was important and admired him for what he did, but it didn't keep me from being disappointed when he didn't show up to opening night or for graduation. Is that what I wanted?
I refused to be the one to check out on my family in pursuit of something as meaningless as money. So where did that leave me? It wasn't an easy task, finding a new dream.
"I don't even know where I would start," I murmured to myself.
"Well," he thought for a moment. "You start by asking yourself what you want out of life."
"Happiness," I answered immediately. "I want me and my family to be happy."
"Then your next question is how do you accomplish that?" he prompted. I frowned into my coffee cup. It wasn't as easy to answer that question. "Whatever your answer," he continued seriously, "I will be right beside you, Evelyn, as long as you want me, helping you every step of the way."
"What's your ans
wer to that question?" I asked, turning the tables on him. "All your success, all your money—does that make you happy?" He drained the rest of his coffee and finished off the leftovers before he gave me an answer.
"I used to think it did," he replied finally, standing to put the dishes in the sink. He left them there and leaned against the counter, staring at me contemplatively.
"And now?" I prompted when he didn't say anything else right away.
"Are you going to stab me with a fork again when I give you the answer?" he asked with a crooked grin.
"Surely I'm not the only thing that makes you happy," I frowned.
