A Matter of Heart (43 page)

It is so, so tempting to say
yes. But, “No. You know this is too important. If I can help stop these things
from killing our kind, then I have to try.” I reach across and lay my hand on
top of his. He goes very still. “I beg you, though—please stop torturing
yourself.” My voice drops. “There’s got to be another way for you to deal with
. . .”

Me, is what I want to say.
Us. Or the lack of us.

He sounds utterly
conversational and unaffected when he says, “See, here’s the thing. As I’ve
told Jonah countless times, I get to deal with my shit the way I want to. But
I’m willing to make a deal with you. You go back to Zthane and tell them you
refuse to ever allow yourself to be bait, including on this mission, and I’ll
find a different way to deal with the fact that you’re apparently still going
to marry my fucking brother, even after what went down between us in Costa
Rica.”

I don’t quite know which
part of that to attack first, so I start with, “That’s blackmail.”

“Is it?” He leans forward.
“I see it more as compromise.”

I’m infuriated. “You know
why I need to go on this mission.”

“Actually, I do not.”

“People are
dying
.”

“As could you.”

I pinch the bridge of my
nose and blow out a sigh. I can see where he’s coming from; I’d feel the same
way if the situation were reversed. But the stakes are too high here. So I
change tactics. I soften my voice and tell him another truth, this one much
tougher to admit, even though he must be aware of it. “It hurts me, knowing you
are doing this to yourself.”

It takes a beat, but he
follows up with, “It hurts me every single time my brother puts his hands on
you. Or you kiss him. Or, hell, even look at him. But as I’ve learned this last
year, you don’t always get what you want, C.” He stands up. “Looks like you
won’t be getting what you want today, either.”

With that, he leaves. And
I’m left behind, wondering just what in the hell happened.

Jonah isn’t listening to me.

I don’t blame him. For the
last five minutes, I’ve been babbling about floral arrangements for the wedding
I haven’t really prepared for, due to an insane work schedule, not to mention
should be postponing. It isn’t fair to continue on, not when I’m so confused.
Not when I cheated on him and haven’t had the guts to tell him the truth. But,
better right now to talk about flowers than the mission I’ve yet to tell him
about. Today is supposed to be a good day. I’ve already fought with Kellan over
this. I don’t want to fight with Jonah, too. I poke at his ribs. “Earth to
Jonah?”

His eyes widen
apologetically as they refocus on me. “Sorry. You were saying?”

We’re at a flower shop in
downtown Annar, where hundreds of buckets filled with flowers rest underneath
striped awnings. It seems very Parisian to me, even though most of these blooms
would never grace the Human plane. “I was asking if you preferred peonies or
daisies. Or if you thought we ought to go ahead and get something truly exotic,
like these Goblin roses.” Which look nothing like any rose I’ve ever seen
before, which is saying something as a daughter of a Nymph.

I already know his answer
before he says it. Whatever you like best, he’ll tell me. Pick what will make
you happy. Jonah would be content if we got Karl to download some random
marriage license off the Internet and held the ceremony in our living room.

If only I could guarantee
such a reaction to the mission.

“Whatever you like best,” he
says to me, pressing a kiss against my temple. “Pick what’ll make you happy.”

I exhale a laugh. He is so
predictable.

And . . . once more focused
on something other than the flowers in front of us. I twist around and pan the
area to discover what’s captured his attention. A café half-filled with coffee
drinkers, a restaurant not opened for dinner yet, a couple alternating between
shouting at each other and groping, and a Dwarven jewelry stand. Does he know
anyone over there?

Wait
.

Could he . . .?

For a year now, every time
we walk by one of the Dwarven jewelry carts littered throughout Annar, I hold
my breath and pray that this’ll be the one where we will find Jonah’s ring. The
one that matches the one on my left hand. The one that gives us the go to
full-steam ahead with our future.

The one that proves I’ve
made the right choice.

Jonah’s played it off,
saying ring or no, our marriage plans are secure, but part of me clings to the
mythology surrounding the rings. His and my ring, matched perfectly, just like
the two people who share a Connection.

It’s fairy tale-ish, if only
fairy tales were absolute and controlled by Fate.

Jonah rocks back on his
heels, his fingers flexing next to his sides. I watch him quietly, hardly
daring to breathe. He’s focused on the jewelry stand. I’m positive of it.

I’ve counted to twenty in my
head when he turns back toward me. My fingers connect with his. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just . . .” His
free hand tugs through the long pieces of hair framing his face. “Do you feel
weird at all?”

I think back to when I found
my ring. It was a siren, calling me to its side. That was one of the best
nights of my life. I shake my head no, a smile slipping across my lips.

His fingers tighten against
mine. I’m forced to endure several more minutes of trying to hold onto his
attention before he’s off, across the street. I’m right behind him, heart
pounding so hard that everyone in Annar must hear it.

He stops in front of the
jewelry stand. The ring on my finger burns against my flesh.

This is real. This is
happening
.

Jonah is statue still,
staring at one of the branches filled with rings in front of us. I’m ready to
burst, I’m so excited.

“Which one is it?” I prod,
nudging his shoulder. I can’t help myself. He’s just standing there staring
when I want to dance.

He turns and faces me,
wonderstruck. And then he kisses me—slowly, deeply, reverently. I melt into
him, consumed by just how much I wish our bodies could merge as easily as our
minds.

A throat clears. And then
clears again. We reluctantly break apart and find a teen-aged Dwarf tapping his
foot. “Hate to bust up the make-out session, but I need to close up in five
minutes. Is there something I can help you with?”

We laugh. Jonah finally
reaches out and extracts the fourth ring in on the branch. He holds it up
between us. Our grins are infectious, they’re so large.

I take my ring off and lay
it on top of his. They fit perfectly, despite the size difference. The same
Dwarven wood-gold grooves run from my ring to his and back up to mine.

Puzzle pieces meant to be
reunited.

“Ohhhh—you two are
Connected,” the Dwarf says. He nods appreciatively. “Totes cool, dudes. Always
feels good to help a couple out on the road to happily ever after, you know?”

I slide my own ring back on
and take Jonah’s from him. Then I slide it slowly onto his finger. Just like
mine, his transforms from wood to rose gold.

I am
intoxicated with giddiness. He is too. We kiss, and then kiss some more, our
lips never leaving one another even when Jonah pulls out his credit card to pay
for the ring. Flowers rain down around us: peonies and daisies, Goblin roses,
too. And it snows, even though it’s early summer—light sparkling snow that
matches the night we found my ring. It’s like diamonds are floating around us,
and the air is crisp and heady with fragrance. They keep coming until the world
around me matches how I feel about this moment, like it’s the most beautiful
thing ever.

The last thing a girl ought
to be thinking about when she’s kissing one of the hottest guys in all the
worlds is her father. But here I am, drunk on love and Fate and the taste of my
fiancé’s tongue, and I’m thinking about Noel Lilywhite and the ridiculous
promise he swindled out of Jonah.

Stupid, pointless promise.

I practically rip Jonah’s
shirt off, throwing it behind me. Forget my dad. I have to touch Jonah—not
fabric, but
him
. I love the way his chest feels under my fingertips, all
smooth and hard at the same time. I let my skin commit to memory the planes of
his once more, like I’m afraid I’ll forget such beauty even though I’m positive
there’s nothing in all the worlds that could ever let me do so. I like how he’s
not overly muscled or scrawny, but lean and strong, his body honed from years
of running.

He groans softly against my
neck, licking, then kissing my pulse there. “You have me at a disadvantage,
love.”

I shift on the bed, my lips
curving against his earlobe. “Do I?”

“This.” His hands skim my
sides until they reach the hem of my tank top. “Needs.” He tugs upwards. “To
go. To level the playing field and all. It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

I bite his earlobe,
signaling my complete agreement. And then I reach around and unclasp my bra.
“Fair’s fair,” I whisper in his ear. He groans again, sliding the straps of my
pink lacy bra off until a gust of sultry summer air fills the slim space
between us. I like these groans of his, all soft and sexy and filled with want.
I try to commit these to memory, too, because when I’m old, I want to revisit
them to remind myself of what love sounds like.

He traces my collarbone with
his lips, oh so slowly, before trailing kisses down to my breasts. I shudder in
his arms, fingers digging into his shoulders, everything in me going soft and
hot at the same time when he licks a slow circle around a nipple. I let go of
his shoulders and snake my hands up into his hair, his lovely, black shining
hair that’s blinded me since the night we first met. I arch into his mouth,
tingles and zings racing to the finish line throughout the paths lining my
bloodstream. But it isn’t enough, him touching me—I need to be touching him,
too. Memorizing more of him, even though I could probably draw his body from
every angle yet never do it justice. I twist pieces of his hair into loops
around my fingers before letting go, tracing patterns down his torso until I
reach his shorts.

Thank gods for no buttons
for once.

He gasps when my fingers
curl around his length, and I delight in knowing that I can make him like this,
hard with need and want. Me. No one else. Just me. Is that the Connection that
makes me so possessive? Or the love for him that consumes me?

Our mouths crash together
again, and he’s got us flipped around on the bed so that I’m under him. I stare
up into his eyes, dark blue with desire, and one word rings throughout every
cell that makes me me:
mine
.

My shorts are off, his
follow suit, and we’re in a frenzy, our hands and mouths everywhere we can
touch.
Mine
, I think, as I kiss the base of his neck.
Mine
is
what I think when I drag my nails lightly across the proof of his desire for
me. And then, just as my hand curls around him again, his fingers slide between
my legs and dance until I see stars born in the air above us.

“Now,”
he whispers against my mouth. I surge into his mind at the same time he does
mine, and the orgasm that follows from his fingers and mind threatens to rip me
apart until I’m nothing but star dust.

Later, as we lay in bed,
content in each other’s arms, I admire Jonah’s ring. “It looks good on you.”

He takes my hand and kisses
the place where gold and skin meet. Goose bumps flare up and down my whole
body. “Not as good as yours looks on you.”

I roll onto my stomach and
prop myself up. “We look like we’re already married with them on.”

He turns on his side to face
me, a hand tracing the smooth planes of my bare back so lightly I’m shivering
in pleasure. “To be honest, I feel like we already are.”

“In just two months, we’ll
be nineteen and officially married,” I marvel. I push my guilt aside. It has no
place here, not in this moment. “To think I once teased Karl about the very
same thing.”

He presses a kiss against my
shoulder, and then another closer to my neck. “Love doesn’t come with an
instruction manual or time limits. It’s not one-size-fit-all.”