A Matter of Truth (Fate Series 3)

by Heather Lyons

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  Today is, without a doubt, one of the best days I’ve had in a long time, and the funny thing is, I have nothing of real significance to show for it. I haven’t gone anywhere exciting, didn’t experience anything new, didn’t even do something as sublimely romantic as watch the sun go down. I simply spend it with Jonah, talking. After breakfast, Cameron and Will give us some space, so we sit in the living room and talk. We’re completely honest with one another, finally opening up about things that should’ve been conveyed a long time ago. Granted, neither of us reopens the can of worms that was my affair with his brother, but everything else is fair game. I lay myself bare about work, family, and the strain of two Connections. And then, to my surprise, he admits he’d also been breaking apart due to work and the Connections, yet held back from telling me because he knew I was struggling under the strain of my own nightmares.

  “The day I came back,” I say, taking his hand in mine, “you mentioned something about how none of us were dealing well with our situation—me getting sick and running away,”—I swallow—“Kellan and his adrenaline highs . . .” I press a kiss against the back of his hand. “Jonah, how were you self-destructing?”

  He takes me in his arms and leans us back into the couch; the strain—or is it fear?—of times past bunches the muscles under my cheek, but, as he gently strokes my hair, he says, “It’s embarrassing to admit, but when I wasn’t with you and worrying about getting you to eat, I’d forgot to do the same because too many other things were on my mind. Slept too little, out of fear of seeing whatever my brother was dreaming about or the atrocities that my actions set into motion during missions. Ran too much, in hopes of finding that groove where I didn’t have to think about anything, only to . . .” His chest rises and falls slowly in the silence that surrounds us.

  I blink back my tears and whisper, “Tell me.”

  “You know that lame excuse celebrities always give when they’re hospitalized? Dehydration and exhaustion?” His scoff smacks strongly of self-reproach. “That was me way too many times during the last year, sitting in Kate Blackthorn’s office, being lectured about how I once more pushed my body to the brink of dehydration and exhaustion, and how one day I was going to collapse where others saw me instead of her office and then I’d really have to explain to everyone what was going on.”

  And I had no idea, because around me, Jonah only ever presented himself as someone completely in control of himself. Kellan and I, we wore our agony on our sleeves, yet Jonah hid his behind long sleeves of responsibility. Still, that’s no excuse—none at all for somebody who lived with him, slept in the same bed as him. I should have known.

  I tell him this, tell him how sorry I am for failing him so completely. I’m being ridiculous, he counters—how was I supposed to see what he didn’t want me to? But it doesn’t matter. I hate that blind, oblivious, selfish girl. “Did Kellan know?”

  Pieces of my hair curl around his fingers. “Yes.”

  “Did Astrid? Or Callie?”

  His head drops down to meet mine; our hair skims across each other as he silently tells me they didn’t.

  So. Just Kellan, because they’re Magical twins and have a hard time hiding things from one another, and Kate, who’s his Shaman. I don’t bother asking about his dad; Ewan Whitecomb has been ignorant of his sons’ lives for years.

  My fingers twist in his t-shirt. “No more hiding things from one another. From this day out, no matter what happens, we need to trust each other enough to be completely honest, to be ourselves, warts and all. To know that we’re not alone. That, no matter what happens with the Council or missions or whatever the rest of the worlds throw at us, we’ll always have each other to lean on.” I disentangle myself so I can face him. “If that’s what you want, I mean. I realize that maybe I’m jumping the gun here . . .” I take his face in my hands. “But I want to be this person for you. I want to be more than just your Connection or your lover—I want to be your partner, if that makes sense.”

  He tugs me closer so he can brush his lips across mine. Tremors of bliss shudder throughout my body—how can he do this to me with such a light touch?

  “I love you, Chloe.” His words are soft and hot against my mouth, the last said for a good amount of time.

  “Exciting, isn’t it?”

  Jonah bends down and peers at a photo stuck in the corner of my vanity mirror. It’s the Moose gang at our bowling alley back in Anchorage and everyone is smiling wide, our arms around each other. Well, I’m fake smiling, because I couldn’t really smile then, but it was a good night and an even better memory.

  I really miss those people.

  He taps at the bottom of the photo. “Those shoes are hideous.”

  I laugh and pull a box out of my closet. “Voila! The world’s tackiest yet most awesome pair of bowling shoes.” I dangle one purple and turquoise shoe on the end of my index finger.

  He takes it from me and eyes the Z on the back. “For Zoe?”

  “Shut up.” I snatch the shoe back and try my best to look stern, but I really want to break down in giggles. “I fully realize I suck at aliases.”

  “You really do.” His dimple deepens, and I go all melty inside. “It’s amazing you managed to elude the Guard as long as you did.”

  “Yes, well. It wasn’t like I was thinking clearly when I made all my paperwork.” I box the shoes back up. “Also, I have another confession I’ve just realized I haven’t made yet.”

  He sits on the edge of my bed, alarmed, which I get, considering how much we’ve shared already today. “Should I be worried?”

  “Weelll . . .” My cheeks heat up. “Technically, you funded my trip.”

  All these cute, scrunchy lines form on his forehead.

  I sit down next to him, lacing our fingers together. “Kellan told me once that you guys hide money in all your houses. When I left, I went to one and found the secret box you had there. I didn’t take everything in it, but . . . I took a lot. Okay, most of it. Obviously you haven’t discovered that, right?” I twist my head to study him, looking up through my eyelashes.

  He’s shocked. “Which house?”

  I take a deep breath. “Rome.”

  I worry when he’s quiet for a long time, because Rome is a sacred place for us, but then he laughs. Really laughs. I’m bewildered, because I thought for sure he’d be pissed. I had to tell him, though. There can’t be any more secrets.

  “You aren’t mad?”

  “Maybe if I’d learned that four months ago I would be.” His dimple taunts me. “Today, it’s just . . . wow. It just figures that that’s how it was.” And then, more serious, “I have one last confession, too.”

  I brace myself. This could be the moment he decides to tell me that, when I was gone, he met somebody. Did things that—no. I refuse to think about it. And if he tells me this is what happened, I’m just going to have to deal.

  “Maybe you running away was the best thing to ever happened to us.”

  Ohhh. I’d only thought I was melty before. Now I know I am. “Yeah?”

  His hand curves around the back of my head, and he leans in, the smell of him, all spice and mint, flooding my senses until I go lightheaded. This is love. This is true love. This isn’t Connection love, or Fate love, or anything other than an old fashioned case of being hopeless, deliriously in love. I know the difference now. “You know what you want, right?”

  Gods, yes. Him. Preferably naked right now, and in me, on me, and around me, but I’ll take a kiss, too.

  I nod slowly.

  “I used to think I did, too,” he says, his breath warm against my mouth. “I was wrong. I only thought I knew what I wanted.”

  “Do you now?”

  “Yeah, I think I finally do.”

  It’s becoming increasingly hard to breathe, but not because I’m crying or upset. He’s stealing my breath away. “What do you want, Jonah?”

  His lips are so, so gentle ag
ainst mine, yet every last nerve in my body flares to life. “Everything you mentioned earlier. I want to be able to come home and lean on you. Know that you’ve got my back. I want to be the same for you. I want us to be lovers. Best friends. Partners. Because, it’s you I want. Not my Connection, not a Creator, but just Chloe Lilywhite.”

  You have me, I want to say. You’ll always have me. But I don’t think I could get a word out right now if I tried. I’m pretty sure it’d just sound like a moan.

  “This you,” he continues, lips flutter soft against the corner of my mouth. A finger traces down my neck, down my chest until it’s over my overworking heart. “The one who finally knows what she wants.”

  What I want is for him to kiss me. So, I grab his face in both hands and crash my lips into his, and all of those nerves that just lit up with a tiny kiss burn white-hot when his tongue enters my mouth.

  I have never, in my entire life, been so turned on and in so much need as I am in this moment. I want him. I want him so much that it’s hard to think of anything else. I get up, my lips still on his, my tongue still swirling around his, and rotate so I’m straddling him on the bed. Gods, he tastes so good.

  If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to seduce this man. We no longer are bound by any stupid proclamation from my father insisting we wait until marriage to have sex. That said, I am painfully aware of what Kellan told me once, of how when they lose control physically during love making that they can feel one another. Kellan knows that I’ve chosen Jonah, but I refuse to pour salt into the wound we share. So I decide to build a shield around us, one much like the one I used to use to mask my emotions from the twins, one that hopefully will keep the link he has with his brother out.

  He breaks away, trailing his tongue and mouth down my neck. I arch into him, heat spreading through all of my limbs until I’m trembling. When he gets to where my shoulder and neck curve together, his teeth graze my hot skin, sending shivers skittering down my spine. My fingers dig into his shoulders, curving around until there’s no way I’ll let go of him again.

  Our mouths meet once more, not gently, and I marvel at the intensity of what his kiss alone can do to me. I’m on fire, soaring, diving, exploding, suffocating, and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. I suck his bottom lip in my mouth, and he gasps. It’s possibly one of the best sounds I’ve ever heard. I swallow this sound, wanting to keep it in me forever.

  It’s my turn to gasp as his fingers dance down my sides until reaching the bottom of my t-shirt. I let go of his shoulders and raise my arms high so he can slide my shirt, oh so slowly, off me. I shiver when the cotton grazes my fingertips on its way to the floor.

  “Cold?” he whispers into my ear before gently biting the lobe, which prompts another shiver.

  All I do is laugh quietly, because cold is the last thing I am right now. Besides, turnabout is only fair. I slide my own fingers down his hard chest to grab the bottom of his shirt and pull it off.

  Here’s the thing. I’ve seen Jonah Whitecomb in various stages of undress countless times before. It’s not like I haven’t ever seen him naked or ogled him prior to this moment. But tonight, marveling at how handsome he is, how perfect his chest looks, I can’t help but think I never truly saw him before. I want to tell him, but again, no words come. I simply stare in his eyes, my heart thumping painfully against my ribs.

  Memories flash brightly through my mind, of the first time I saw him in my dreams. Of our first kiss. The first time I cried and he wiped away my tears. Finding both of our Connection rings. The first time we merged. Skinny-dipping in Tahiti. Out of order, all important, big or small, and I’m trembling because I was a fool to ever think that this person here wasn’t the one for me.

  His hands curve around my waist and slide upwards, twisting until they cup my breasts. Even through the thin fabric of my bra, his fingers scorch deliciously into my sensitive skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs.

  What I am is yours, I want to say. Instead, I kiss him again, putting everything I’m feeling into this tango between our mouths. When he unclasps my bra, it’s my turn to sigh into his mouth. He swallows my sound just like I did his; I like how we are keeping these pieces of each other. Making them part of us.

  My bra joins my shirt on the floor, and I shiver again because his eyes have darkened as they travel slowly from my face to chest. I arch closer, needing him to touch me. And the moment his mouth finds one of my breasts, and his teeth graze my nipple, I very nearly collapse. Every part of me burns blue like a newborn star.

  Suddenly, he’s flipping us around on the bed so I’m lying down and he’s over me. My hands go to the buttons on his shorts. If somebody knocks on my door or calls, I will kill them. Literally kill them with my bare hands. But I’m so shaky that he needs to take over, the dimple teasing me even though his smile is gentle. I prop myself up on my elbows and watch him remove his shorts and then his boxers, and I swear to everything good and holy in all the worlds, it’s the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen.

  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 experie
nce 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.”