Inherit (25 page)

“I know. It’s just…that’s kind of the obvious black if this whole thing is black and white. But then there are weird grey areas—” Jonas’s jaw petrifies, and I can tell he’s got whatever he wants to say trapped in the strong grit of his teeth.

I wait for some kind of explanation after he trails off, but the seconds tick by and he doesn’t offer anything more. “Okay.” I clear my throat gently. “I have parents who may or may not have abandoned me my whole life. I went years thinking I was completely unloved by two psycho narcissists, but now I might be that little princess whose parents let her get raised in some cottage in the woods so the evil witch wouldn’t find her. But I’m not sure because no one will tell me a goddamn thing. Grey enough for you?”

Jonas chuckles and sucks in a long breath. “That’s pretty damn grey.”

I can practically hear his brain chewing on the
but
. “But what? I know you’re thinking it.”

“That’s sweet stuff. It’s not…deviant.” One hand claws through his hair and makes it stand up at weird angles.

I don’t need to wait for some car to pass to know that Jonas’s ears are on fire, and my curiosity is burning up right alongside them. “Deviant? Deviant like how? There are so many naughty thoughts running through my brain right now. You need to tell me.” I poke him in the shoulder with one finger. He cracks a tiny smile. “Tell me. Tell me right now, Jonas Balto, or I swear I will figure out how to put a spell on you. Eventually. And I’ll turn you into a toad or a honey badger or a sloth.”

He rubs one hand down his face in a long, slow pull, like an old man preparing to tell a haunted tale on a dark and stormy night. I sit up in my seat, every limb tingling.

“It’s weird,” he warns. I lob him an even, expectant look. Oh, I can do weird. I sure can. He nods slightly and starts the formal little explanation of shieldmaiden weirdness. “A magus and a shieldmaiden can bond a lot of different ways. There have been some really famous sibling teams. Sometimes a parent and a child can bond. Sometimes a more distant relative. But there
has to be
a connection. It’s a lot like what you and Loki have. And it can’t be forced. It can’t even always be explained.”

“Are we considered bonded?” My curiosity is peaked. As far as I know, he just volunteered to protect me. Can he do this for any shieldmaiden? Or am I special?

“We have a natural bond,” he explains. “It’s strong, especially considering we haven’t had any bonding ceremonies or done any official links. If we keep working together, it would get a lot stronger. It would get weaker if I started working with another shieldmaiden regularly. The bonds can flow and ebb, and sometimes they can be helped along.”

The thought of him working with another shieldmaiden makes me feel a weird prick of jealousy. “So what’s the problem? What did your family want from you?”

“The connections are delicate. And complicated. It has be—well, it
should
be mutual.” He pulls in a long, slow breath and just comes to a standstill, while I wait, a balloon inflated to full capacity, and each second brings me closer to bursting.

“I get it.” I’m just filling the silence in an attempt to prod him on, hoping my words will be like spurs in the lazy-ass sides of his story. “Sakura tried to force the Loki bond. It doesn’t work.”

“For a witch and her fox, it doesn’t. But for a magus and a shieldmaiden, sometimes some things can kind of, um, kickstart the whole thing.”

His words are slow and dry and boring, so I know, I just know, what he’s about to spill is extra juicy. “How. How can they
kickstart
it?”

“Sometimes relatives do herbal ceremonies, so they both have the same potions in their bloodstreams and it helps the bond form.”

He’s just stalling. “Tell me, Jonas.” I’m leaned so far forward, I’m almost past the zone of acceptable distance you give another person before you officially become creepily intrusive.

“If you aren’t related, you can try sex.”

His slow words suddenly picked up enormous pace and jumbled all over each other to the point that I’m not sure I heard correctly. Cars hum by. Headlights flare up, then settle down the interior of the cab. He shifts, keeps his eyes on the road, chews on the inside of his lip. I brush the hair out of my eyes and try to put my hanging jaw back into place.

“Sex?”

The one word he tried so hard to catapult over takes a long, slow, clear swandive out of my mouth and splashes into the pool of discomfort lapping between us.

“Yes.” He looks at me out of the corner of one eye, maybe hoping that I’ve lost interest and am content to lean my head back and sleep.

“I don’t understand.” I could debate circles around Jonas Balto in class. I almost understand decent amounts of calculus. I’m a tutor. ‘Not understanding things’ didn’t used to be part of my everyday. But sex was always confusing enough. Add magic? Sex
and
magic? I’m clueless.

“You can, you know, try to make a connection, uh, happen, I guess, by having sex. Like a magus and a shieldmaiden can try to strengthen what they have through sex.”

His painful stumbling should make me take pity on him, but my morbid curiosity is too high at this point. “Okay. I guess I get that. But why would your family care about that?”

“There was a girl, Wren.” His voice is loud and right on the edge of that place where frustration turns to pure aggravation. “She was powerful. My family wanted an alliance, but there was no natural connection. None. So they wanted me to, you know, try to make one. They wanted us to try.”

“Your family wanted you to have sex with some girl so you guys could be some sort of shieldmaiden/magus power couple?” I press my lips together and bite down hard when it becomes clear as a freshly wiped window why he didn’t want to come out and say it. Every complaint, every crazy experience I had gone through with my family was distinctly…not fucked-up compared to this. “What about the girl? Was she as disgusted by the whole thing?” Righteous outrage tingles right down to my toes.

Jonas rubs the back of his neck harder, taps the steering wheel, gives a jerky couple of looks to an imaginary something in his rear view mirror. “This is a stupid conversation. I mean, I said no, I’m here now—”

“She wanted to?” I interrupt, amazement dulling my words.

Jonas shoots me a slightly annoyed look. “You say that like it’s so unbelievable.”

“Sorry,” I rush to say. I’m not really sorry, just completely boggled. “It’s just so medieval. Like some kind of creepy supernatural version of arranged marriage. Not that you aren’t hot and all, but seriously? I mean, did they plan on booking you a hotel room or something? Was she going to, you know, use protection? I mean, what if your little spell never took, but she got knocked up? Or what if she’s one of those shieldmaidens who’s been around the shield with more than one magus, if you know what I mean? It’s wrong on so many levels.” I press my fingers to my mouth, pondering the entire strange scenario.

Jonas’s grin is half-cocked with pure amusement. “No hotel. It has to be done in a blessed space prepared by a priestess. Protection is usually used, as far as I know. And she was a virgin going into this, which is one of the many reasons I said no. Maybe we can talk about something slightly less uncomfortable?”

I try. I wrack my brain for something, anything to talk about, but what the hell could I follow that up with? Instead of frying my brains trying, I grab the
boble
around my neck and sink back in the seat, replacing images of Jonas and Shieldvirgin with images of Bestemor and Vee and that nice, normal life I once lived and hope I can manage not to forget.

By the time we pull down the twisting, bumpy road that will bring us to our destination, I’m lulled and quiet, nestled in that space between sleep and wake. We finally wind up outside a small, dark cabin, and Jonas gestures with one hand.

“Home sweet home. At least for tonight.” He gets out of the car and slings both our bags over his wide shoulders, and I scurry behind, unsure what I should be most scared of: the regular nighttime forest creepers like snakes and bats and bears? Or the giant evil crows, wicked crazed cousins, and shieldmaidens with a vengeance who have more recently turned me into an uber paranoid basket case?

My feet fly, my head is ducked, and when I get inside, I lean heavily on the door, panting with relief. Jonas takes a quick inventory of my face and smiles as he lights some old pioneer-type oil lamp.

“You’re safe here. This cabin is surrounded by birches.” I lift a questioning eyebrow and his eyes meet mine, blue and cool in the warm flicker of the firelight. “Birches are a natural protector of shieldmaidens. And probably witches too. Your powers will be mostly off the radar here as long as you don’t bring out any big-gun type shields.”

He leaves the lamp on a scratchy table with two wobbly benches. There are a few cabinets, an old sink with a pump, and a stove that requires matches and wood. This is beyond rustic.

“
Mostly
off the radar?” My voice is jittery and nervous, which gives my words a chalk-squeaking-on-a-chalkboard quality.

Jonas walks over to the old brown plaid couch that basically encompasses the entire “living room” area of the space, collapses onto it, and lets out a long, exhausted sigh before he explains. “You are weirdly powerful. So I’m only
mostly
sure I can keep you under the radar.” He lifts his head off the cushion, those blue eyes pierce into my heart like a javelin, and the room holds its breath, waiting for what he’ll say next. “But I
am
completely sure that if anything evil so much as breathes in your general direction, I will rip it the fuck apart. Don’t worry. I’ll do anything I have to to protect you.”

Jonas, calm, steady, sure Jonas, suddenly transforms into something wild right in front of my eyes. My breath crashes out of my lungs like I just fell flat on my back ice-skating on a frozen pond. His eyes move up and down over me, openly possessive, and I glide to his side like he has a direct line to my body that shoots through any resistance with a single tug.

Um, why the hell would there be any resistance?

The stress and craziness of this long day, coupled with the insanity of all the weeks before it, suddenly feels too heavy. I want to forget. I want to lose myself. I want to feel completely safe and sane. I want, right now, what I’ve wanted so many times, but could never have.

I want Jonas Balto, all alone with eyes on fire just for me.

I sit close and face him. He’s tensed as a runner at the starting gate, but when I lean close, he snatches back.

“What’s wrong?” I put one hand out and run it along his arm, not pushing hard enough to feel the muscle under his shirt. I want to get closer, but he isn’t inviting me.

His eyes go bright with fierce apology. “I want…you. I can’t even tell you how much I do. God, I’ve wanted you for a long time, Wren, but it can’t be now. Being your magus means I have to protect you. And if I’m not focused, I put you at risk. I won’t do that.” He drags my hand off his sleeve and pulls it right over his heart, hammering like a metronome on speed.

I scoot inches closer to him, push my hand harder against the solid muscles of his chest. “I thought you said that if a magus and a shieldmaiden have sex, it makes them some kind of power couple?” I can feel that my eyes are glowing gold. I wind my arms around his neck and hook my leg over his, so I’m on his lap. It feels like I’m making an inverted shield, like I’m coiling a powerful
tentakkel
through my arms and legs and netting Jonas in with my power.

His lips go slack. “Not like this. It has to be a ceremony. It has to be consecrated.”

“Why?” My voice is husky. I run a hand under his shirt and feel the flat, solid expanse of his abs. His skin jumps under my hand, and I rub harder. “Has anyone ever tried? I don’t need the incantations when I make my shields, you know. I’m powerful.” I rub the tip of my nose on his, then duck my face closer and kiss him, softly on the cheek, my lips pressed to the blond stubble sprouting in fine prickles along his jaw.

His hand reaches up, grabs my wrists, and circles them like human cuffs. “You’re not just a shieldmaiden. You’re half witch.”

I don’t know for sure if he meant the word ‘witch’ to sound like an insult, but it singes the edges of my ears. “You have something against witches?” I attempt to keep my tone jokey, but the words fall and clank like a heavy chain dropped between us.

“Witches are extremely powerful, and one of the things they’re best known for is their ability to draw power.” His hands loosen on my wrists and he rubs his thumbs up and down the silky skin at the edge of my palm. “I have no idea if we’d bond and become some kind of power couple…or if you’d drain all the power I have.” His eyes lock on mine and all the hot, heavy, vixenish power evaporates out of my body. “If you drain me, I can’t protect you. Which is the one and only reason I’m saying no to this. And I want you to know it’s hard as hell to say that to you right now.”

I tug out of his grasp, scoot off his lap, and curl into the far corner of the couch. “Wow. Sorry. Seriously.” My head hangs, and I feel the weight of not knowing who I am bend my spine. “I’m a loose cannon, huh?”

His smile twists somewhere between absolute regret and resigned amusement. “Just for now. We’ll get you back to Loki, maybe you can go see your grandfather in Japan, and we can get this all cleared up.” He reaches a cautious hand out and brushes my hair back. “I’m not sure I’m right, you know. Maybe I’m over-thinking this whole thing, and we’re cool. But I can’t put your safety on the line like that. I won’t.”

I nestle my cheek against his hand and a sudden rush of inspiration waterfalls through me. I need to learn who I am and what I can do. So I can find Loki. Save Bestemor. Boot Sakura back to her island home. Keep my parents protected. Also, I need to figure it out so I can be with Jonas without draining him or needing his protection.

“I need to try to channel Vee,” I tell him, sitting up straight on the moth-ball scented couch. “How does it work?”

His blink is a lazy dip and drop of his eyelids and the smile that spreads across his face is so slow and sexy, I want to lick it up like the melting drips of an ice cream cone in a heat wave. “Focus on her energy, the way her voice sounds, an image of her, and make a
smør
. Stretch it as far as you can, and try to distribute the power as evenly as possible across it, okay? Like imagine you’re trying to throw a fishing line from you to Vee.”