Inherit (33 page)

My family. A touchy subject I’d be happier just avoiding, so I switch gears. “Can you still make shields?” I watch him flip the grilled cheese, the cooked side perfectly golden.

He adjusts the heat and flicks a quick
boble
around both of us and pulls it tight. “I never did thank you for that, did I?”

“Is it a good thing?” The air between us is warm and filled with the smell of melting cheese, which is surprisingly romantic.

“Sure. It’s another notch on my bedpost of magic tricks.” His smile is supposed to be more amused than it comes off. “You still making scary green shields?”

I commit to my shrug, so it’s a sharp rise and fall of both my shoulders. “I haven’t made one since the one that almost killed you.”

He pops the
boble
to flip the sandwich, lightly charred on the edges, onto an ugly olive green plate for me. As delicious as it looks, I would have faced consuming charcoal to buy myself a few more minutes snug in that
boble
with him.

When the next sandwich goes on, he addresses my comment. “You gotta let it go. You didn’t almost kill me. I was there, ready to fight, just like you were. We’re lucky nothing too crazy happened. But it wasn’t your fault. We live with the unpredictable every day. It’s part of the gig.”

I chew and think about what he said. “So what’s this gig all about? You know, other than almost killing the people you love?”

At the ‘love’ word, he prematurely pulls his grilled cheese off the pan and starts to eat the pale, cold lunch. I assume he’s stuffing his face to avoid answering my question and committing to what he said that day.

Which I get.

That day was its own crazy thing, and all of our emotions were running so damn high.

But then he suddenly hurdles over my insecure paranoia.

“So that declaration wasn’t just because we were about to go into battle?” He swallows the last bite, and it occurs to me that maybe stuffing his face was more about sustenance and fortification for love talk than avoidance of it.

“No. I mean, it wasn’t that way for me.” I get up and put my plate in the little sink. “Was it that way for you?”

“No.” He comes so close behind me, I can feel the heat from his body on my skin. “I thought you’d draw my powers, but you don’t.”

“I still don’t get it. Why is that?” I move a hand down the enticing bulges of his arms because I have no willpower around him. “I drew my mother’s. Hina drew Magda’s.”

“Maybe it’s because of how we feel about each other. You were a baby, so you didn’t love your mother yet. And I don’t think Hina was capable of loving anyone other than herself. But you and me? I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.” The strap of my tanktop slides down one shoulder, and he hooks a finger through it, but he doesn’t pull it back up. Instead, he pulls me closer and the first kiss makes me ball my hands in his shirt and moan.

I turn out of his grasp. “Wait.” My brain is splashing and jumping like a troupe of synchronized swimmers gone giddily renegade. “Wait. What if this is just my witch powers?”

“It’s not.” He kisses up and down my neck. “I wanted you before you had any witch skills.”

“What if this is just because of what we just went through together?” I lean into him, but his kisses lighten.

He turns me so I’m facing him and laughs a little. “Wren. What isn’t because of what people go through together? If you don’t want this, or you’re not ready, that’s fine. But you can’t separate the supernatural parts of our life from the everyday stuff. They’re mixed together, and we have to deal with that.”

“But does it make it easier that I’m…weird? Like, have your other girlfriends been…” I’m floundering.

“Less weird?” he asks unhelpfully. When I narrow my eyes, he kisses my lips softly. “Listen, alright? I think what you can do is badass. And it was a huge turn on to see you kicking ass and taking names. But what I feel about you? It’s about
you
. All of you.” I crook an eyebrow at him and he keeps going. “I love how hard you work. Waitressing, tutoring, making shields, whatever. And I love how you take care of your family, no matter how messy it gets. You’re an amazing friend. Other than calc and debate, you’re a really good student.”

I pinch his ribs and he laughs. “Are you reviewing my application for college or telling me why you like me?” I tease.

He grabs me tight around the waist. “Oh. You want the roses with the bread?” His voice goes low, and I’m relieved that my buckling knees correspond with his walking me backward and laying me on the bed. “Fair enough.” He lies next to me, propped on one elbow, his light eyes concentrated on my face. “You’re beautiful. I guess it’s shallow, but I’ve basically been in a constant state of checking you out pretty much since I first started noticing girls.” I feel the blush burn through me, and it morphs into breathy giggles I’m too happy to be embarrassed about. “When you started dating that asshole JR, I used to fantasize about, like, him being a jerk to you and me going up and just clocking him in the mouth. Then, you know, winning you over and kissing you in front of everyone.”

My heart flutters. “Really?”

“Yeah, I know. Pretty pathetic. But, once I thought it all out, you didn’t seem like the kind of girl who’d go for all that caveman violence. If I misjudged you, let me know, though. Because I’d still love to deck JR.” His usually cool, calm face glows with rampant blood-violence.

“That’s seriously the part of your little fantasy you want to focus on now?” My question makes him drop his arm next to me and shake his head.

“Nope. You know what? Maybe it was a stupid fantasy anyway. Because I’d rather kiss you here, with no one looking.” His kiss is long, slow, and sweet. “Good?”

I nod and kiss him again, losing myself in his mouth. My fingers twitch at the bottom of his shirt, and I drag it up his back and over his head, then rub my hands down on either side of his spine, dipping into the waistband of his pants and pulling back to grip his shoulders.

“Wren.” My name is half sigh, half moan on his lips. “I love you.”

I’m a ribbon spinning off its spool, I’m a tightrope walker performing her first net-less routine, I’m a bitter orange rind baked sweet and chocolate-dipped.

“I love you. I love you, Jonas.”

The tank top swishes over my head and floats to the floor, my skirt is expertly undone and abandoned to the edge of the mattress. There are clasps and buttons, zippers and waistbands that need to be peeled back and pulled down, but we make quick work of every piece of clumsy clothing, and it’s just Jonas and me, skin to simple, honest skin.

“There’s nothing fucked up about you.” He leans his forehead to mine and breathes too hard, too fast, his words shaky. “You’re perfect. Every inch of you, inside out, is exactly what I always hoped for. And I feel…so damn lucky to be with you.” He kisses my lips, drags his mouth down and sucks softly along my neck and around my shoulders. His fingers splay wide over my ribs and press up, slowly, until he’s cupping my breasts and kissing a long trail along my skin until it heats up and feels like it might burn off my body at any second.

I drag my hands up and down his back, slowly at first, but then with more bite. He moans into my mouth and catches my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and snagging it with a quick nip between his teeth. I want him closer, but I don’t know.

We are supernatural and ordinary all at once. Sex is a crazy mass of confusion when you’re both just ordinary. What will it be like if you’re both supernatural? A few kisses changed Jonas for good…what will sex do?

“Everything okay?” His voice is raspy, but controlled.

I feel the length of him, hard and hot against my thigh, and every single part of me is starved to feel him.

“I changed you. The kiss. It gave you shield power.” I’m going for rationality and distance, so why are my hands appreciating the awesome mass of muscles at his back?

“You did.” He kisses my ear and his lips tickle me. “Do you want me to use it now?”

“Use it?” The tickle evaporates the logical thinking part of my brain.

Instead of answering, he forms a long, body-hugging
boble
around the two of us. What was close and delectable before becomes a focused, intimate promise of complete oneness. It’s like I dove under his skin and can feel the minute flex of his muscles, the strength of his bones, and the warm hum of his blood, surging from his heart, that perfect heart that loves me.

“You broke the
boble
I made around us that time in your truck,” I accuse irrationally.

“It’s hard enough being pretty close to you all the time. Being in a
boble
with you? I’m lucky I didn’t lose my damn mind. Do you have any idea how crazy you’ve been driving me the last few months?” His hands smooth down along the space between my ribs, down the dip of my bellybutton, then veer over and grab my hips tight. The blue of his eyes loses its glacial lightness, and reflects in a burst of bright, hot color how intently he wants me.

“I’m not unlovable,” I say as he presses his mouth and hands everywhere I want, exactly how I would have wished for it if I knew what I wanted to wish for.

“I love you, Wren. You’re completely lovable.” He kisses my eyelids and I relax. “You’re sexy.” His mouth traces my temple. “You’re unfuckingbelievably hot, and you can’t even imagine how happy I am to be right here with you.”

The magic hums through me as he talks and kisses and touches a path that allows me to finally grab hold of the meaning of
toe-curling
. The
boble
I form is an unintentional second skin around us, inside his, and it’s like we’re in a universe where we’re the sole occupants.

His fingers are rough against me, but not as rough as mine are on him. “I have terrible hands,” I whisper as I trail my fingers down past his bellybutton.

He sucks air through his front teeth. “No. They’re perfect. Soft little manicured hands don’t fit you, Wren. You’re too powerful. Too hardworking. And so beautiful. Did I mention that? You are so damn…ahh…Wren.”

Jonas tilts his hand down and leans against my shoulder while I touch him gently. “Good?”

“More.” The word grits out between his locked teeth.

I hold tighter, rub harder. “Better?”

“Almost perfect.” He takes my hand and moves it aside, reaches for a condom from his side-table drawer, and rips it open. He rolls it on, then fits himself against me, his eyes bright with hunger and sweetness and love. “Do you want this?”

“Yes.” For a second, I let my eyes flutter shut, but I change my mind and decide to look right at him. He draws me close into his arms and the universe contracts to just the two of us, wound together inside the
boble
.

He moves inside of me, and I drop my head back and flex my hips up. His moan sinks against my neck, and I pull him closer around his shoulders, locking his body tight against mine. I can smell the salty tang of his skin, I can taste the sweet press of his tongue, and I can feel him against me, in me, with me. He moves slowly, and the world locks around us.

We roll over and I’m sprawled on top of him, his hands on my hips, our bodies moving together. For one long press and slide of his body against mine, there’s the full, shaking hum of perfection that makes me rub my mouth hard on his and cradle him close as a wave of utterly perfect explosions winds through me like the most delicately furious
boble
s and
tentakkel
s.

“Jonas, Jonas, Jonas,” I gasp against his mouth.

He rolls me back under him, his light eyes focused on me, his arms collecting me close when he buries his face in my neck and shudders.

We lock around each other for the next few minutes, our breathing manic, then slowed down. He takes my hand in his and links our fingers together.

“What powers does a magus have?” I ask, nudging kisses against his shoulder.

“Persuasion. Healing. Protection chants. Super coolness. Extreme sexiness. Why?” He traces kisses along my forehead.

“If you can make shields, maybe I picked up some of your mad skills.” He smiles and raises his eyebrows and I raise mine back. “I’m thinking we should try this again. Like, now.”

His smile turns into a chuckle. “I like that idea.”

“Is that my stolen magus persuasion or just guyish horniness?” I laugh as he tickles my ribs with the light brush of his fingers.

He shrugs. “Like I said, the supernatural and ordinary get mixed together. There’s no way to tell what’s working when.”

And, before I can ask anything else, I’m sucked back into Jonas’s sweet, hungry kisses.

Chapter 31

In my first act of teen rebellion, I stay the night in Jonas’s shed. I do text my mom to let her know where I am, but I turn my phone off after I hit send, and don’t think about anything except the way I fit perfectly in his arms when we spoon and how I’ll never know if I have magus persuasion skills if I use Jonas as my test subject, because it’s way too easy to get him to do whatever I ask.

In the yellow bright morning, Jonas is frying eggs in his boxer briefs, and I get the enjoyment of watching from my cozy spot on the mattress.

“Morning, beautiful.” He leans over to kiss me, spatula in hand, smile sitting wide and loopy on his face. I tug on his neck before he can pull away and kiss him for a few more long, blissful seconds.

“I love this place.” I sigh and look around, well aware that my rose-colored glasses about this shed are probably based on all the romance I’ve experienced in here.

“This place is a dump.” He slides the eggs on a plate and hands them to me. “I need a better job, fast, or I’m gonna freeze my ass off when winter comes.”

I want to tell Jonas that I think it would be cool if we got a place together, but I don’t know if that’s moving way too fast or if I’ll really be ready to move out of Bestemor’s house. Or what my parents will say.

My parents.

The bite of egg I just took suddenly congeals on the way down my throat, and only the thought of hurting Jonas’s feelings after he made me such a nice breakfast encourages me to keep on eating and pretend I like it.