His sighs and drops his shirt. “Distractions.”
My eyes slide over to Sam. Several people are chanting her name as she downs glass after glass of saké in rapid succession. So. Sam must be a Shaman, then? And apparently one of the group Kellan hangs out with that Jonah disapproves of, which I now can totally understand why. It occurs to me that maybe she might’ve come to the hospital more out of friendship than on Belladonna’s orders. Even still, knowing what I know now, my opinion of her hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s only lowered.
She enables them. They can go crazy and try their hardest to destroy their bodies out of some kind of twisted love of adrenaline, and she’ll be there to put the pieces back together.
“You know, Sam never gets drunk,” Mac murmurs, also watching. “It’s one of those Shaman things. Her body is always trying to correct whatever is wrong.” His fingers scrape over the stubble on his chin. “Poor girl.”
Does that mean Sam is trying to escape from something, too? And if so, if this is a requisite of this group of Guard, what does Raul need a distraction from? A quick glance over at the Spaniard and Cora shows only typical Raul—exuberant and flirtatious. Even Cora is happy.
I’m about to ask Mac about Raul when I notice whom Sam has decided to drape herself across. It’s Kellan, looking pretty gorgeous himself in a messy, I-don’t-give-a-damn way. He’s laughing, and so is she, and so are all the people surrounding them.
When did he get here?
A myriad of emotions hit me too many directions. I’m incredibly disturbed by what Mac just revealed to me, horrified by what Kellan is putting himself through. Curious about Raul, who I’ve only ever known to be happy. Irritated by Sam for too many reasons, petty and possibly justified, while sympathetic, too. And pissed off she’s got her hands all over Kellan, and that he’s allowed it.
Even though I picked Jonah.
I toss out a random excuse to Mac and bolt in the opposite direction, away from these things that can only bring me trouble. Undeterred, he’s hot on my heels, asking what’s wrong, but my feet, my Conscience tell me that I need to go.
“Chloe, wait.” Mac grabs my arm, and I collide with a couple making out. They shoot us quality death glares before resuming their efforts at tonsil hockey. “What’s going on?”
Being an Informer and working in politics all the time, Mac is often too savvy for his own good. Even drunk. I attempt to tug my arm free, but he’s got a good grip. There’s way too much concern in his eyes, and I just can’t deal with it. Not now. Not if I’m going to make it through tonight.
I need Jonah. Where is Jonah?
Mac’s arm is suddenly yanked away. Kellan is standing there, no longer laughing. “Want to explain to me what you’re doing?” he asks in a low voice that somehow manages to rise above the music.
Mac blinks in surprise, but recovers quickly enough to show his annoyance. “What’s your problem, Whitecomb?”
Okay, this is going nowhere good and fast. I shove myself in between them. I cross my fingers and hope that a hastily erected shield to block my emotions will hold. “Kellan! When did you get here?”
His focus remains on Mac, expecting an answer. Mac, though—Mac looks like he has no plans on answering it.
So I offer up a big smile, the stupid cheerleader smile Kellan knows all too well. “Mac and I are good friends. We’re just talking.”
The tension in Kellan’s shoulders eases. “Where’s my brother?” He doesn’t let me answer, though. He glares at Mac, asking, “Do you mind?”
“Actually,” Mac begins, but Kellan cuts him off, telling him that Sam is looking for him.
Which is a total lie; both of us know it right away. But Mac relents. “Don’t think you’re getting off the hook that easy. Talk later?” A quick kiss is pressed against my cheek before he leaves.
“You let Maccon Lightningriver kiss you?” Kellan asks after a long, uncomfortable moment.
He should talk. Some beautiful girl was practically climbing all over him minutes before. “We most certainly were not kissing.”
Is that . . . jealousy I see? “Does Jonah know about you and Maccon?”
Now I’m flat-out exasperated. “There isn’t a”—I flash air quotes here—“me and Maccon. We are friends.”
Kellan laughs at this. “Right. And I’m sure you are perfectly aware of just what Maccon Lightningriver and his”—he has the audacity to mimic my air quotes here—“girl friends happen to do with one another.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. I practically hiss, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I were,” he says. “I happen to know that just last night, he went home with three different girls—at the same time, mind you. None of whom were his fiancée.”