A Matter of Forever (21 page)

But we can start with this moment and work our way there.

I marvel at how golden his skin is in our starlight, how just ... breathtaking he is. How, after everything we’ve gone through, after everything we’ve done to one another, good and bad, we’re here, together, our names the same and our future intertwined. I trace the sweeping line from ear to chin to mouth, my thumb dipping between his lips, and tell him once more, not with words from my mouth but those clamoring within the confines of my heart, secret words only he can interpret: how much he means to me; how much he’ll always mean to me.

He kisses me again, and I pity all the women in the worlds who will never know just how wonderful it is to be kissed by Jonah Whitecomb. Long minutes stretch out between us, easily filled with both languid and urgent touches, of my hands memorizing the maps and planes of his body and his mine, even though we already hold close to heart every inch of skin. I gasp when his mouth leaves mine only to travel to one of my breasts, sigh when my blood goes molten as his fingers trail down my belly, between my legs. The stars in the room flare white-hot as I fall apart in his hands, pausing in their dance to transform once more. I ache to return the favor, to bring him to such heights, but as heavy breaths escape me, he cradles my face and kisses me gently.

He undoes me, this man.

I cup his buttocks as he slides into me, losing all those heavy breaths to heart-racing gasps. Our bodies move in unison, worthy of Olympic medals for perfection of synchronized thrust and kiss. Each stroke in and out spirals me further into the wide universe, brings me nearer to that place where he and I are no longer separate entities, where we’re two souls of stardust mixing together to form one, brilliant, beautiful being. Each kiss births new stars above us, each touch carries each of us closer to the perfection of oblivion.

We’ve made love dozens and dozens of times over the last three months. Tonight, though, with my name the same as his for the very first time and our forever stretching out in front of us like a wide, open road we’ll travel together, it feels different. There’s no guilt in this moment. No what-ifs, no should have beens, no wishes to change the past or our situations, no wondering if what we’re doing is right or wrong. So when we instinctively merge into each other’s heads at the same time and our bodies erupt and the stars above us supernova into those pinks and blues and purples I saw in my eyelids earlier, I take hold of this moment and promise

promise

promise that it will stay with us

f o r e v e r.

Two days. Two days filled with some of the best food in all the worlds, coins in the Trevi Fountain, sinful gelato on the Spanish Steps, making love for hours, laughing over how badly I butcher Italian while the language flows off of Jonah’s tongue so easily, and driving by the Colosseum on the back of a Vespa. Two days are all we get in Rome before we have to go back to Annar and face the brutal task of hunting Enlilkian down.

Two days to pretend that he and I are just Jonah and Chloe, that we are like any other newlyweds in history and have no other worries other than writing thank-you notes for wedding gifts received. Except ...
this
is our wedding gift, our escape to Rome while loved ones back in Annar hold back the flood of responsibilities and realities that lay in wait for us for good or bad. After everything that’s happened to me—to us—these last few years, it was surprisingly easy to sway our loved ones to see our point of view and accept what we insisted we were going to do, blessings or no. I’ve been protected, hidden, and I get the reasons why, I really do, but Jonah and I need these two days, these moments of freedom. Astrid gave us the gift of holding the Council at bay for forty-eight hours; Cameron’s turning off our cell phones and hiding them in a drawer; Karl is serving as our gatekeeper, the only one who knows our exact location in case of emergency. Yes, a Tracker can be sent after us, but ... not for two days. We get all of two Guard-free, no one watching over every second days to float in a bubble of normality before we’re expected at a Council meeting to discuss the festering Elders problem.

Every moment of these two days is sacred to us. There is no Enlilkian, no Elders, no Council, nothing but Jonah and Chloe.

It’s funny how two days can feel like mere minutes.

There’s a mini war meeting less than an hour after we arrive in Annar. There are hugs and kisses, but there is no time for small talk. The usual suspects are present, including the Graystones, the Danes, and the Lotuses, alongside the Mesaverdes and Erik; our normally spacious home grows two sizes smaller as I’m forced to create new seating just to accommodate everyone.

Everyone but Kellan, who is still MIA to everyone but his brother. For all we know, he’s cavorting around the planes, convincing Métis to find their way home to Annar. But I do not allow myself to dwell on these possibilities—not now, not when Karl and Astrid bring us terrible news. The Elders attacked and murdered a household full of Magicals on the Elvin plane, including a small child.

Helplessness races through my bloodstream. How much more can we risk? Lose?

“Thierry Basswood was an Elemental,” Karl informs the starkly silent group. Nobody else knows what to say. Do. Helplessness and rage go hand-in-hand inside every person seated in my living room. “Not too powerful, nor influential—more of a middle-of-the-road worker.” He leans forward resting his elbows on his knees as his wife gently rubs his back. “It’s believed that he was most likely targeted to help bolster the loss of Callieache, although he’s officially classified as missing.” His eyes flit toward Jonah. “He was seen crossing into Annar hours before the rest of the family’s bodies were discovered.”

So much inside of me sinks. Had I not erased Enlilkian’s wife, this man, his family ... they might still be alive. And now, they are dead and he is most likely housing an Elder in his slowly rotting body.

Jonah’s hand finds mine. Squeezes, like he knows I’m on the verge of breaking something near us. “Does anyone know where he is now?”

“No.” Karl’s face is set in bleak lines. “Zthane has the Guard searching, but wherever the Elders are holing up here in Annar is still beyond our reach.” His frustration is tangible in the room. “I went and talked to Bios again, but he had no information about the attack. Or, at least claimed he didn’t.”

“Is he still in custody?” Jonah asks.

It’s Raul who answers. “Yes. He’s been under constant surveillance the entire time. What a character that one is.”

“For all of his protests claiming ignorance, he wasn’t too surprised when we told him, though,” Moira adds.

“But, that’s not ...” Karl’s head dips for a moment before he says, “There’s something else you two need to know. Kate Blackthorn informed us that Basswood’s wife, Tricia, was pregnant—her due date was in a few weeks.”

Gods. Not one, but
two
children? What kind of monsters are these?

Astrid takes a deep breath, her hands splaying across her lap before knotting together. “The baby was not left unscathed.”

Freeze frame. Stop. Just ...
no
.

Erik clears his throat. “Was the ...,”—another soft clearing of the throat—“fetus in the same state as the adults?”

His meaning is not lost to me. He’s asking if the tiny body was wizened and drained, too, a husk of what it once was?

Astrid says, voice barely above a whisper, “Yes.”

I think I want to throw up.

Cora is nearly apoplectic, she’s so upset by this information.

“Fucking outrage and tragedy aside,” Will says, voice low and angry, “what does that mean? I’m sorry to have to ask, but I’m figuring you all aren’t letting us know about this travesty for shits and giggles.”

But neither Astrid nor Karl needs to tell him. I know. It’s suddenly all so clear. I know because that bastard has been telling me about this all along, hasn’t he? All my words shatter and fall out of me. “He’s building his strength, even if just by a ...,” I swallow hard, “tiny bit so he can force my hand to do whatever it is he wants. He’s—he’s ...”

Jonah twists his chair until he’s in front of me, hands cupping my face. “No. Don’t go there. This isn’t your fault, do you hear me? You didn’t do this.
He
did this. These are
Enlilkian’s
choices. They have nothing to do with yours.”

How did I go from such happiness to this? To more children and more families dead, all because this sick monster is desperate to get me to do his bidding?

“Chloe, listen to me,” my husband tells me, shaking me gently until I blink a clearer picture of what’s in front of me. “I’ve felt him. He ... you and I and every other person in this room cannot understand him, cannot conceptualize why he does what he does, because his feelings and reality are
nothing
like ours. There is no compassion, no sense of right or wrong, no humanity in him. He just
is
. Even Bios is different than he is. The only things he truly, and I use this word loosely,
feels
are pleasure and a justification for what he perceives are his entitlements. So, you cannot allow yourself to get dragged down in a sense of guilt over this, because that’s what he wants. He’s been studying you—studying all of us—for a long time now. While he doesn’t quite understand the reasonings behind our emotions, he knows his actions illicit strong reactions. It’s why he hates Kellan and me so much. Emotionals are ... we’re foreign to him. Unnatural. Because he never created our kind. Rudshivar did. To Enlilkian, emotions are nothing more than weaknesses.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He lets go of my face to claim both my hands, grounding me to my chair and the apartment. “Trust me. I’ve felt him. And chances are, he probably would have done just such a thing whether we were gone or not, because he believes he’s owed these powers back.” And then, more gently, “Even from an innocent baby.”

He knows me well. Even still, too much of my personal happiness always seems to come at the great expense of others, and it breaks my heart to think this could be the case again. “Do you think he did this because we left? Because he couldn’t find me?”

Before Jonah can answer, Karl says, “Jonah’s right, Chloe. Whether or not you had been here, that attack most likely would have occurred, even against a baby.”

“But, this baby wasn’t born,” Callie says. She’s shivering, she’s so angry. “How the hell did they know it even had a craft worth targeting?”

Karl doesn’t look at any of us when he says, “I wish I could answer that. Enlilkian is ...” He blows out a hard breath. “Maybe it’s because he’s the first Creator. Maybe he can sense things the rest of us aren’t capable of.” And then, like the words are hard to get out, “In any case, the baby was ... out of its mother when we found it.”

Oh. My. Gods. I—I can’t—

“Who does that,” Cora whispers. “Who treats life like that, like it’s so disposable?”

Anger and frustration flashes in Jonah’s eyes and he leans forward. “I’m so fucking tired of this cat and mouse game. We need to get back on the offensive and hunt them down. Karl, whatever the Guard needs to track down their nest—you will have the Council’s full support. I will make sure the Subcommittee doesn’t block one damn thing you guys request. But it needs to start now, understood?”

Karl and Moira exchange a look. And then, tentatively, Karl says, “We need him back. If this is going to work like I think you want it to, we need him here and on the team.”

Jonah’s eyes close briefly as he takes in a deep breath, like he’s debating which words to best say.

“You know we wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t important,” Raul says. “But the Guard stands no chance controlling these bastards without an Emotional.”

“Kellan isn’t the only Emotional on the Guard,” Callie points out.

“This is true,” Raul tells her. “But he’s the best one we have. The others, as good as they are, are not as nuanced and powerful as he or Jonah. We need a Whitecomb on the team, and ...” He turns to Jonah. “Perhaps I’m wrong,
amigo
, but I’m thinking you are not ready to volunteer quite yet, not with Chloe still being a target and all.”

There is a full five seconds of silence before Jonah says, voice even, like we’re discussing the weather, “You’re right about that. And ... as Kellan and I aren’t currently speaking, I’m afraid I’m not going to be of any help tracking him down. You guys will have to use one of the other Emotionals on the team.”

Wait—what? They’re not
speaking?
I search for his attention, want to ask him what he means by that, but I’m not the only one taken aback by this latest bit of news.

Wrinkles form between Moira’s eyebrows. “But you two are always in each other’s heads. Couldn’t you—”

“We decided,” Jonah continues calmly, but his fingers curling in and out show me his irritation at having to explain himself, “that it would be best to cut off communication for a few weeks. So, even if I remove the mental blocks I’ve put in place, his are still there. Outside of a phone call, there’s no way for me to get ahold of him.”