“Of course we need Council blessing. I already planned on talking to Jonah after our meeting today. He knows what’s at stake. He’ll go for it if we make sure we—”

  “Are you insane?” The papers in front of Kellan go flying as he shoves himself out of his seat. “He deposed Belladonna for simply saying something. Banished him for plotting that may or may not have been based in fact. And yet, you think he’ll just go along with you purposely sending Chloe out like a lamb to slaughter?”

  Hold the phones. They’re talking about me?

  “The Elders have only ever repeatedly targeted one Magical,” Zthane says calmly. “It serves to reason that Chloe would be our best option for attracting their attention.”

  “You’re wrong.” Kellan leans down, palms flat against the table. “They’ve targeted me and my brother multiple times, too.”

  “By association,” Zthane argues.

  “Can you be absolutely certain of that?” Kellan asks. “Because it didn’t really feel that way any of the three times they’ve tried to kill me.”

  Karl clears his throat. “They’ve gone after her five times.” Kellan glares at him when he holds up five fingers and begins to tick them off. “There was that first car chase, then the San Francisco fiasco.” He still holds this grudge, because I wince at his stern frown. “The battle here in Annar. The failed portal attempt. And then in India a few months back.”

  “I was locked in a building that second time,” Kellan hisses. “For all you know, they could have been coming after me and Jonah then, too. It’s not like we endeared ourselves after we tortured them that first meet and greet.”

  I’m blown away—not so much by the fact that the Guard wants me to be a goat tied on a rope, waiting to be a dino’s snack, but because Kellan is publically going after someone for daring to put me in harm’s way. Which is exactly what I chewed Jonah out for. And I’m still not down with him—or anyone—fighting my battles for me.

  “What would I have to do?” I ask before Zthane can counter Kellan. “If I agree to this?”

  Kellan finally looks at me, astonished. Beyond furious.

  “Well,” Zthane says, clearly relieved to switch his focus to me, “we’d take you to a location and make your presence known. A team would accompany you and be watching at all times.”

  Kellan is nearly apoplectic, he’s so livid.

  “The goal of the mission would be to either imprison the group, like we did here in Annar, or follow them and discover their home base. Either way, it would be a win-win situation for us. Any intelligence we can gather on these things can only help us.”

  “Plus, it would give us a chance to try out multiple crafts on them that maybe haven’t had a shot before,” Karl adds. “As of right now, there aren’t a whole lot of us that are truly effective. Non weapons are pointless. We need to do some test runs on what mixture of crafts will serve us best in battle.”

  “I was thinking of asking Jonah to come along, anyway,” Zthane says to Kellan. “The two of you have always been some of our most effective weapons against these monsters.”

  Kellan snaps, “If you think he—”

  “I’ll do it.”

  All eyes turn to me.

  But mine look up at Micah and Penny. “Too many people have died because of these things. I’ll do it. It’s my choice, after all. My decision,” I stress. “No one else’s.”

  Zthane’s exhale is pure relief. Kellan gives me one last look filled with disapproval, before going back to ignoring me for the rest of the meeting.

  He tracks me down afterwards, though. I’m not even five feet from the Guard HQ entrance when he grabs my arm. “What was that in there, C?”

  “That was exactly what I was going to ask you.” I yank my arm away, even though it feels so good to have contact once more. “Why is it that you and Jonah think I’m so helpless?”

  He has the nerve to pretend to be confused, which only pisses me off. “I’ve never once thought you helpless.”

  “You argued that I was too . . . I don’t know, fragile to do this small job!”

  “Small? That’s what you think this is?” He herds me to a nearby café and motions for me to sit down. I cross my arms as he drags a chair over so we’re sitting next to one another. “I’m sorry if you misconstrued my meaning in there. I most certainly do not think you’re incapable of any assignment.”

  “Really.”

  “Stop being a brat about this. Yes, really. But what Zthane is asking of you is dangerous. That’s what I object to.”

  It’s the opening I’ve been waiting for. “Well then. Since we’re voicing our objections over dangerous activities, I vehemently object to your belt.”

  He’s exasperated. “I’m serious, Chloe.”

  “As am I. It makes me . . .” I can’t even think of a good enough word to describe my feelings over this, so the word I pick is inferior to how I truly feel. “Sick to know that you keep track of how many times you break yourself into pieces.”

  “These are two different sets of circumstances. Can we—”

  “Is it? Because I’m pretty sure that me, on a mission to help Magical kind, surrounded by an entire team of gifted Guard, is a far safer bet than you jumping out of planes or bridges just for the sole purpose of smashing bones.” I motion to his belt, which is obscured by his plaid button down. I hate that damn belt. “And you mark them. Like they’re somehow badges of honor.”

  He takes a deep breath. Runs his hands through his hair. Drums his fingers against the table. “We’re not talking about that right now. We’re talking about the mission you just agreed to.”

  I refuse to let him switch subjects. I’ve been silent on this for too long, afraid to piss him off, but I’m done with that. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Kellan. It’s not healthy.”

  He closes his eyes for a long moment. They’re starkly honest when he opens them. “If I stop, will you promise not to go on this mission?”

  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.”

  “I’m not complaining, silly.”

  Another kiss is pressed right below my ear, followed by another slow lick that drives me crazy in want. “I never said you were.” He leans back and gives me one of his smug grins. “As a matter of fact, I rather think you’re happy about today’s turn of events.”

  “Is that an official Emotional diagnosis?”

 

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