It’s a complex question, to be sure, but also deceptively easy. “Our history.” I shove the cut chicken toward him. “And what that meant and still means to me.” His mouth opens, but I continue, “But more than that, my heart told me its truth. It told me that, when I looked to the future, I wanted him by my side.”
“And yet you still love Kellan.” It isn’t a question, though.
“I do,” I admit readily. Gods, how I do. “And there’s history there with him, too. But as wonderful as that history is, it doesn’t lead to the path I want to look back on when I’m old.”
His head tilts to me as he adds the chicken to the pan, along with a dash of Astrid’s wine. “If Jonah weren’t here, though. If it’d just been Kellan ...”
I don’t take offense to his questions. This isn’t about him questioning whether or not I chose the right man to stand by me in my life. “The thing about history,” I tell him, “is that sometimes it’s best to carry it over and continue forth, and other times it’s best to leave it in the past.”
“That’s incredibly unhelpful. You’d make a terrible counselor.”
I playfully swat his arm. Then, more soberly, “You need to decide what makes you happy, Will. Only you can do that.” I nudge his shoulder with mine. “For what it’s worth, I do have an opinion. But that’s all it is—an opinion. Yours is the one that matters.”
He’s quiet for a long moment as he places a lid on the pan. “What about hers?”
“One person’s opinion does not a relationship make. It takes two to tango.”
“Something smells awfully good.”
I turn to find Jonah strolling into to the kitchen looking like if he has to be on a phone one minute longer, he might run screaming from the apartment. “As a thank-you for letting him arrange our kitchen,” I tell him, “Will has graciously agreed to make us dinner.”
Will rolls his eyes. “Ah yes, that’s exactly how it went down. Surely, there was no Chloe saying,”—and here he attempts a falsetto—“Oh, Will. I’m so hungry and we have nothing to eat. Please feed me. Please. You don’t want us to starve, do you?”
My fiancé looks down at the lonely plate of cookies plaintively. “You ate them all, didn’t you?”
Whoops. The three that I left him didn’t quite make it back to the office.
“She did,” Will says cruelly. “She might have even licked the crumbs off the plate.”
I wander over to where Jonah’s standing and lace my fingers through his empty belt loops. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“Later,” Will stresses. “When I’m safely downstairs.”
I press a quick kiss against Jonah’s mouth. “He made pancakes this morning for your brother and we weren’t invited.”
I love that Jonah actually pretends to look wounded at this.
But Will rolls his eyes again. His sadness retreats, at least for the time being.
Later that night, I wander out on the balcony just outside our bedroom. Karnach, the rotunda in the middle of Annar that houses the Council, is lit up like a fairy tale before me. I lean against the rails and stare out at it, marveling over how, no matter how many times I see this sight, I’m always dazzled.
“Whatcha doing?”
Jonah’s come to join me outside, looking exhausted, which makes sense; after dinner, he’d been called into yet another videoconference. I worry about this stress load, and of how the Council asks so much of him at just twenty years of age. Most of the kids our age we went to high school with are probably at college right now, living it up. They’ve chosen their career paths and are working toward them; perhaps they’re even still undecided. They’re most likely dabbling with part-time jobs and going to parties and clubs with their friends. They’re not being asked to oversee the welfare of quadrillions of people on seven different planes of existence. I envy them these years, as they get to choose their paths.
Jonah and I will never get to choose what our careers will be. We’ll never get to choose not to be on the Council; I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. And now here he is, dog-tired after twelve good hours of meetings, when I’m sure so many other twenty-year-olds are playing video games and drinking beer with their buddies. I think that’s part of what I love most about him, though. Jonah is one of the strongest, best people I know.
I motion him to join me at the railing. “Just thinking.”
He tucks wispy hairs behind both my ears. “About?”
“About how glad I am to be here with you.”
Parts of me go liquid and golden and warm when his dimple appears. “Yeah?”
I tug him closer. “Yeah.”
As the mild breezes gracing Annar’s gorgeous summer nights lately blow around us and stars wink in the inky black sky above, our mouths meet, hot and lovely. His fingers tangle in my hair, twisting gently; mine run down his arms to the waistband of his shorts, and then lower still to dip below the band and trace light lines meant to serve as promises.
He pushes me against the railing, hips blocking me in as he deepens the kiss. I lose myself in this, in him and how my body is floating and burning and aching all at once. I tug his shirt up; his lips leave mine long enough for the t-shirt to whisper off. And then they’re on my neck and my head falls back, and I can’t help wonder if those stars above could be from him.
My hand trails down to cup him; I love that he’s already hard, that I affect him just as strongly as he does me. Matching moans come from both of us as I squeeze gently but firmly and he nips my neck.
I build us an invisible screen out here on the patio, one that allows us to see out but no one to see in. And then I make us a lovely, wide couch.
My hands wander across his bare chest; even now, even after all these years, he takes my breath away. I push against his golden skin, push him away from the railing, toward the couch. His mouth is on mine once more, and my thoughts scatter so freely in these winds that we lose our way for several long, hot minutes. But eventually, I get him right where I want him.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, and goose bumps rise and fall all over my arms on this sultry night. But I shake my head, wagging a finger at him. Soon, but not quite yet.
An amused eyebrow rises as he leans back on the soft cushions, propped up on his arms.
A half smile curves my lips; I snap my fingers and a small table appears next to the couch. I snap them again and a stereo comes to rest on the wicker. Yet another snap has music drifting and mingling in the breezes around us.
And then I return the favor and take his breath away when I slowly tug my shirt over my head. I toss it to the side, swaying to the beat playing. One by one, I strip off my clothes in front of him until nothing is left. I take my time, reveling in how my body moves to the music and how glazed his eyes become with each new part of my body revealed.
I slowly, deliberately make my way to the couch, straddling him as I bend down to capture his mouth with mine. If I thought he was hard before, it’s nothing compared to now—the cotton of his shorts straining tightly against my bare flesh. As soon as his hands reach up to wrap around me, I lean back and wag my finger again, pushing him back with my other hand. “Uh-uh. Just relax.”
I want to laugh at the look he gives me, like relaxing is the very last thing in all the worlds he want to do right now. It’s okay. I’ll have him relaxed right when I need him to. “No touching. Not until I tell you it’s okay.”
I swear, wildfire rages through my veins at the look he gives me then. Because this look? It’s all about possibilities I can’t wait to cash in.
I bend down and lick a line from the base of his neck up to just below his ear. He groans softly, his head falling back against the couch cushion. I lower myself gently until I get another groan. My kisses, feather light, tease until he’s trembling beneath me.
“Chloe, please,” he whispers against my mouth.
He’s been such a good boy, keeping his hands where I’ve told him. But I’m not quite ready to give him exactly w
hat he wants. I take my sweet time exploring his body with my mouth and hands, reveling in how hard and fast his heart beats beneath my touch and how heavy his breaths become. When I fear I might combust, I slowly, slowly unzip his shorts and fold the sides back.
Well now. How fortuitous. He’s gone commando today.
I take him in my hands; he gasps. I love this sound of his. I love knowing that he makes it because of me. I challenge myself then—no giving in until I get a good, solid three of these delicious gasps.
I let go momentarily so I can sink down against him. I get a gorgeous moan, but it’s not the same. So I kiss him, hard and deep, leaning up slightly so I can run my nails down his length. Bingo.
He whispers my name again; I cut him off by reclaiming his mouth with mine just long enough for his eyes to drift close. I want him to see the stars he always brings to me. So, I trail kisses down his neck, to his collarbone, my hands spreading out across his chest.
Suddenly, we’re flipped, with me on my back and him over me. I yank his head down to me and there are no more games, no more teasing. My tongue strokes his and we are going for the gold in kissing. His shorts come off and then he’s right where I need him, moving inside of me. Hip to hip, thrust to thrust, our bodies dancing in perfect harmony to the music filling the air around us. Gods, I love this man.
We explode together, right on cue. Even though we didn’t merge, my mind splinters into a thousand, happy shards of bliss.
I’m panting hard, searching for my breath, when Jonah says in wonder, “I can feel you.”
I laugh tiredly. Contentedly. “I can feel you, too.” He’s still in me, as a matter of fact.
He gently cups my face, brushing his lips against me. “No. I can feel you.” A hand comes to lazily trace my breast before resting over my heart. “Your emotions, love. Right after you came.”
It’s my turn to gasp. “Yeah?”
His head ducks briefly to brush a kiss across a nipple. And then, there’s the dimple, making me want to swoon all over again. “Yeah.”
Thank the gods. I jump into his head; he enters mine. Long minutes later, we explode again, this time so strongly I’m nothing more than a quivering puddle of ecstasy afterward. Sweaty and tired, I tangle my body in his so we can drift off to sleep together.
My happiness knows no end.
Despite everything, I float in a haze of bliss over the next few days. Cameron says I’m nesting, which I thought was something only birds and pregnant ladies did, but apparently so do new homeowners. I spend hours picking and choosing new furniture to decorate with, colors for walls, art to sigh over. Friends and loved ones come over to visit; impromptu mini parties are thrown to celebrate. Caleb comes to visit, and though he has no idea what to say about somebody else’s voice being in my head, even if just momentarily, I love seeing my old friend. But here’s another nice thing about being a homeowner—you get to christen your new home over and over again, in every single room.
I go out to lunch and shopping with Callie, ignoring the Guard that follow us around. Cora and I go to the movies, Lizzie and I to the park to attempt rollerblading. While I’m constantly monitored, I feel so free, just so damn happy. I don’t even mind that Sophie and I have yet another run-in at the grocery store, or that she makes lewd comments about what Jonah and Kellan’s bedrooms look like. I just brush her off and go back into my happiness bubble.
There are even some moments with Kellan that don’t hurt lately. When Jonah gets called into meetings, sometimes his brother and I will hit up our favorite hot dog stand and eat way too many. We laugh, and it feels so good. Just so wonderful, like ... like everything is turning out exactly how it should.
Which is why when things go bad it stings all the more.
Many of the Métis colonies built of half Magical, half non families across the planes have begun to migrate to Annar after a series of Elder attacks over the last year. Just weeks before, I worked day and night to help expand Annar’s boundaries to include room for new housing for our newest citizens. That said, the Council didn’t want to risk Métis immigrants feeling ostracized or segregated during their immigration, so all new apartment complexes were opened to the general public for purchasing, too, thereby opening up slots in older districts to help integrate old with new. Maybe it’s because Magicals’ lives are so very regulated that any change is a shiny, desirable new treat, so many within the city-state limits chose to move into the new region. Businesses are looking to the influx of new labor to join the workforce or expand it. That’s not to say there aren’t lingering prejudices against our newest residents, or long-held grudges and resentments; far from it on both sides, in fact. But it warms my heart to know there are people trying.
Nymphs, Tides, and other crafts have been dispatched to landscape the new regions; discussions during Council meetings have taken place to even erect a new mountain range and river system to buttress the new district. This has the Seasons and Elementals living in Annar in a delighted tizzy; the thought of a ski resort all to our own is more than alluring.
Annar, for the first time in millennia, is evolving, even if kicking and screaming.
While the Council debates whether or not to include Métis delegates as part of our whole, a separate, official Métis Council comprised of members from all planes has been slowly coming together. It comes as no shock that Erik and Cameron are founding members; their advocacy for Métis-kind is nothing less than admirable. Jonah and I have offered to throw any and all support we have behind them; various influential friends have also agreed to step up and do so, too. We cannot remain a stagnant society any longer. Change must occur, and there must be people willing to stand up for what’s right. I’m proud of each person I talk to that offers to lend his or her weight to the Métis cause.
We’re meeting with many of them today down in Kellan’s apartment since the Guard still recommends I try to stick close to the building at least part of the day for another week or so. Trackers are combing Annar for signs of Jens Belladonna, but have so far turned up empty handed. So here I am, sitting once more in Kellan’s apartment, desperately trying to cling onto all the happiness I’ve allowed myself to accept over the last few days, only to find it dissipating like air out of a balloon with the news Erik shares with us: the Elders have attacked and demolished one of the Métis colonies resisting immigration on the Elvin plane.
“We were in contact with them as recently as a week ago,” the nurse practitioner is telling us. “It’s a small colony, four families in total, but they were stubborn.” A harsh laugh escapes him. “A delegate was dispatched to try to better lines of communication after they accused those moving here of being traitors to our kind.” He scrubs a hand across his face. “And now ... nothing. Our delegate’s body is missing; pieces of the others were found scattered through the farmstead commune they shared. A few nons were found, too; we think they might have been seasonal workers.”
The room has fallen silent; so many faces are bleak or angry.
“You should have come to the Guard immediately,” Zthane says. “We—”
“Would have done what?” One of the Russian leaders, a stately man named Evgeni, barks in his harsh accent.
“A Guard should have accompanied your delegate,” Zthane counters just as angrily.
Evgeni pretends to stroke his neat goatee thoughtfully. “Ah yes, I can see how that would have gone over. These Métis believed us already to be dancing with the devil; how do you think they would have received just such a devil into the very homes they refused to abandon?”
Zthane’s skin flushes dark green. “It wouldn’t matter what they thought if they were kept safe.”
“Because you Guard are so good at keeping your own kind safe,” Evgeni sneers. “There have never been Magical deaths at the hands of the Elders, have there?”
I fear Zthane might strike the Russian down with a lightning bolt right here in the apartment.
“Arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere.” As quie
t as it is, Cameron’s no nonsense tone dares somebody, anybody to contradict him. “Neither is blame. What’s done is done. We must look to the future now and how we can protect the other colonies from just such an attack.”
Karl says, “He’s right, though. It’s hard for us to formulate plans to keep Métis safe outside of Annar; nons, too, if we can’t guarantee the safety of Magicals, either.”
“Do we know yet what the Elders are gaining from Métis deaths?” Jonah asks.
Kate Blackthorn, sitting side by side with Astrid, shakes her head. “So far, from what I can tell, it doesn’t appear what we term,”—she flashes air quotes—“life essences or crafts are being drained out from the bodies we’ve found and examined. Métis simply don’t have enough to warrant an extraction.”
“Wait,” Will says. “What do you mean have enough?”
Erik wraps his hands around the neck of a beer bottle he’s been nursing for a half hour and he leans forward. “Kate and I have been working in tandem, alongside other medical professionals, for the last few weeks trying to study the physiological differences between the Métis and Magicals.”
I had no idea about this.
“Technically, we’re biologically the same,” Kate says. “Métis blood cells are altered, just as ours are. They are resistant to many of the same diseases we are, vulnerable to the ones that affect us the most. Plus, many Métis are prone to lengthened life spans just as Magicals are. While we have much more experimentation and observation to do, the only difference we find is within craft possession and usage. Even nons who have ... uh ...” She glances over at Cameron. “Mated, for lack of a better word, with a Métis have altered blood cells. It could be due to body fluid exchanges. For example, Cameron here is no longer simply Human. He’s more Métis than non nowadays even if he doesn’t have a Magical bloodline in his past.”
“Also, it turns out,” Erik adds, “some Métis have hints of crafts within them.” He turns to Will. “It’s why you’re so good with metals.”
A Matter of Forever (Fate #4) Page 6
