A Matter of Truth (Fate, #3)

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 experience 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.”

He wipes his hands on a napkin before running them down his face. “Christ. Ask the easy questions, why don’t you?”

I mute the television. It’s just him and me in the apartment; Jonah had to go into work for awhile, and Cameron is out grocery shopping.

“How much damage is this Cora going to reverse? How does it work?”

“I’m not a Shaman, so I can’t really answer that,” I say, “but I would assume Becca’s spine would be fixed and she’d no longer be paralyzed. She’d probably be off the ventilator, too.”

“And . . . her mind?”

“Cora can probably repair any brain damage associated with the crash,” I tell him quietly.

“What about memories?”

“Okay, that Cora will have no control over. She deals in physiology. I have a friend who is a Dreamer that deals with stuff like that. Sometimes Emotionals do, too.” I lay a hand against his knee. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, Will. I offered simply because I’m tired of seeing you trapped in this endless loop. It’s not fair that you haven’t had closure.”

He looks away.

“Two people you loved betrayed your trust.” I’m fully aware of the irony of me eschewing the unfairness of this situation to him, but I plow on anyway. “Your girlfriend cheated on you with your best friend. She was going to have his baby. He died before you could ever confront him about what he did. She . . . for all intents and purposes, the girl you knew died that day, too—except her ghost comes back to haunt you way too often, reminding you of what you guys had. Any confrontation you have with her, any chance you have at making a clean break is lost when her mind scatters once more.” I lean my cheek against his shoulder briefly. “You deserve a chance to move on one way or another.”

After slipping an arm around me, he’s silent for nearly a minute. “Is it bloody awful that I’m terrified she’s going to want to pick up where we last left?”

“That can only happen if it’s what you want, too.” I, of all people, know this lesson too well, so I don’t push him any further today.