A Matter of Truth (Fate, #3)

“I killed somebody,” is what I say in return.

“We killed somebody.” He smashes his hand against the steering wheel. “Lest you forget, that thing tried to kill us. And probably killed loads of other people before today. I’m not mourning its loss, Chloe. I beg you don’t, either.”

I pull in a breath, but it stings. My ribs ache from being knocked over by Cailleache one too many times. “How moronic am I that I never thought about willing any of the Elders out of existence before today?”

He grins, even though there is a nasty cut above his upper lip. “You’re welcome.”

Hollow laughter fills the cab. “Just my luck, right? I have to get up close and personal with serial killers in order to take them out.”

He grunts, wincing. He’s holding himself strangely, like it’s painful to breathe.

I lean my head against the cold window. It feels good. “They’ve killed a lot of people,” I whisper. “They’ve tried to kill the people I love most too many times. So why do I feel so awful right now?”

His large hand falls against my knee and gently squeezes. “Because you’ve got a good heart.”

The rest of the trip back into Anchorage is spent in silence. And even though it seems like I ought to be focusing on what just went down, my mind keeps going back to the argument Will and I had right before the Elder showed up. About how he accused me of only being with Jonah out of some weird sense of obligation.

The more I think about it, the surer I become of what I said. I love Jonah. Not because of our Connection—well, okay, yes, I guess the Connection is responsible for at least us meeting—but because I. Love. Him. He’s smart, and loyal, and thoughtful, and kind, and so many other things that make him one of the best people I know. We grew up together. He was my first kiss. And I stayed with him, even though I was confused over my feelings toward Kellan, because Jonah has always been my safety. In a weird way, he’s also been my most constant source of stability and reliability, two things I’ve craved my entire life. And even though consistency, stability, safety, and reliability sound like boring things on paper, with him, they weren’t. They were what I needed. What I still need.

I have enough excitement in life. I am capable of earth shattering deeds. I need steadiness and acceptance. I need love that can be just as gentle as it can be passionate. The kicker is—I had that, and I foolishly threw it away.

People are wrong about Connections. Connections don’t define you. Having a partner doesn’t define you. Love doesn’t define you. You have to do that yourself. You have to decide who you are, what you want, and where you want to go. But when you do find somebody you want to share your life with, it needs to be for the right reasons.

I don’t want Jonah because of our Connection. I know what Connections do to people. I refuse to let that define me, or, more importantly, us any further. I want to be with Jonah because of who he is. I’ve learned too late to appreciate what he brought to my life. The truth is, I stayed with him, despite feeling like I was being torn in two because I always knew, deep down, who was best for me. And I ran because I thought it was best for him.

I love him.

And it’s time I let him know that.




Cameron hovers over me, arms crossed. Some middle-aged dude who’s supposedly a nurse practitioner that he knows is stitching up my numerous cuts in Cameron’s small, neat managerial office in the back of a fishing warehouse.

Wait. I know him. He’s the guy Cameron insisted on helping me in the hospital during my embarrassing alcohol-poisoning episode. And my assumed feverish thoughts about him were right, because here in the harsh florescent lights of Cameron’s office, I know for sure he’s an Elf—or, at least, part-Elf. Tall, aloof, and classically handsome, Erik Hernandez works quietly and efficiently, with precious little chitchat with anyone other than Cameron. He’s given both Will and I something to numb the pain, hooks us up to IVs to help with the blood loss, and forms neat rows on all our injuries.

He didn’t question our story about the supposed car accident, even though it’s obvious to everyone in the room that we’re lying through our teeth. He doesn’t question our blood types, even though I know mine doesn’t rate on a normal Human scale. And Cameron doesn’t push either, until Erik leaves, taking his old-fashioned black doctor bag and empty blood bags with him.

“I want the truth, and I want it now,” is what he says to us.

Will eases himself onto the couch in the office, wincing with the effort. The pain meds Erik gave us have yet to fully kick in. According to the nurse practitioner, Will has two bruised ribs that could very well be broken, but the best he could offer was a tight wrapping that restricted movement and breath. “We got in a car acci—”