The Dragon and the Rose

  “You mean chaste.” Gage corrects.

  It would figure Ellis could preach a sermon on the value of hygienic anal sex and yet botch up the word for purity. Ellis has been around the block with at least half the girls on the island. He once even had a thing for Skyla, but, then, who didn’t. I spear Gage with a look. Lucky bastard. It would figure he’d be the one to land her for keeps, at least for now.

  “Chaste, chassis, same difference.” Ellis digs in his pocket for his never-ending supply of weed.

  “There’s a big difference to me.” Gage flat lines. “You keep your condom collection in check. I want my sister pure as the driven snow up until the day she’s married.”

  Ellis gives a quick wink before lighting up a blunt. “Anyway”—he nods to Liam—“as I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, going backdoor can be fun and satisfying for all involved if done with the correct protective measures. Start in slow, dude, or there’s a good chance she’ll donkey kick you.”

  “Sounds painful,” I say. “For the girl.” I shrug, trying not to obviously discourage Gage from sodomizing Skyla that way. It’s bad enough he’s sodomizing her the traditional way. Just the thought sets my teeth on edge. “Extremely painful.” Exactly how it’s going to feel when I push Ellis’s head through a plate glass window for bringing it up.

  Gage smirks at the idea. “Not when you do it right.”

  The world stops for a brief moment as a flare of rage spears through me.

  Looks like I’ll be pushing two heads through the window this afternoon.

  “I’d better get going.” I hop to my feet and head toward the back. I’ve got a Sector I’d like to add to that window-smashing, head-bashing, list of mine.

  “I’m sorry, man.” Gage steps over and blocks my path. “You okay? I know it’s killing you to have her with me. How do you think I felt when the two of you were married?”

  Is he shitting me?

  “That was three days. Multiply that pain buddy—because this feels like an infinite hell.” I’m not so sure what prompted the honesty. Usually I try to play it off like it’s no big deal, but, after last night, I don’t mind telling Gage the truth. After all, one of us should be dabbling in it.

  I glance at Ellis, trying hard not to grab the nearest knife to disembowel him with for landing us in this anal hell.

  “I realize it was three days—but it hurt, Logan. It was enough to grind me up—so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t discount it.”

  Is that what the Barricade does? Turn people into whining idiots? Skyla is his. He wins.

  “Relax. She’s in your bed. All is right in the world. Isn’t that what you believe?” It comes out far more pissed than intended. “Look, Gage, I don’t give a flying fuck what you do with your wife so long as she approves and isn’t clawing her way out of the bedroom—and up until that moment, she’s yours.”

  His eyes narrow to slits as he tries to digest my words, appetizing as the bullshit he’s slinging these days.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  It’s coming—an avalanche of words is trying to fist its way out of my throat, but I swallow them down.

  “It means be careful where you tread and with whom. You have a beautiful wife who is willing to let me linger in limbo for the rest of her days just to have you next to her. Don’t blow it.” I push past him and head into the fresh Paragon mist that’s taken over Dudley’s yard. Don’t blow it. I shake my head. I think I did just that.

  I find Dudley behind the barn, pointing his bow at an unknown target.

  “I’ve been dreaming of things.” I stagger towards him drunk off all the bullshit that’s been going on in my life as of late. Last night wasn’t technically a dream, but I’m still hoping it might have been. I did have a dream, though, a few nights back, haunting as shit, and now I think I know why.

  Dudley gives an exasperated sigh and nods toward an extra bow lying on the ground as I help myself.

  “You were saying?” He flexes the bow back in his hands. “You had a dream?”

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head. You didn’t have a starring role.” I yank an arrow from my quiver and set it to shoot.

  My chest trembles with the idea of a laugh. Dudley has a hard time quantifying Skyla as anything but his significant other. I guess that’s the one thing we have in common.

  “Did my wife?”

  “No—but her husband did.” I close my eyes a moment with my bow drawn back, the tension threatening to snap my muscles in the same manner that dream threatened to sever my sanity.

  “Sounds like your nephew has you running scared both in and out of your nightmares.”

  “Is he my nephew?” I don’t know what the hell Gage is anymore. In that dream I saw a dragon—fierce as hell—licking blood off the ground as thousands of Nephilim lay dying. It was him without a shadow of a doubt.

  “Relax, Oliver. You’re not the prophet around here.” His crimson eyes narrow in on me as if he were reading my mind. “The dragon is.”

  My heart thumps wild as I let the arrow race through the wind before tossing the bow where I found it.

  We step toward the barn, and Dudley grabs a pitchfork and starts shoveling crap as if proving a point.

  “This is what life is designed to do with you right up until you take that final light drive into the sky, young Oliver. Be prepared.” He stabs the pitchfork in my direction. “It comes in droves. I can promise you that.”

  I growl at his ability to shovel both verbal and physical shit.

  “Bitter are we?” He’s clearly reading my mind. Dudley steps back into the corral with that conceited smirk I’ve grown to detest. “You shouldn’t be. We all have our fair share of problems.”

  “Don’t look at me that way. You don’t have any ‘problems’, Dudley. Your every whim is at your fingertips, and you’re running around the time continuum having sex with my wife.”

  “Testy today are we?”

  “You bring out the best in me, sweetheart.”

  “That’s funny.” He leans in—a smile tugging at his lips. “That’s what Skyla says when we’re through.”

  I clock him in the jaw, and he falls back on a pile of horseshit as wide as he is tall.

  “Well, look at that.” I soak in the sight. “Maybe you do have a problem.”

  And with Gage around, so do I.

  2

  Who’s Your Master

  Skyla

  “Please, for the hundredth time, I’m fine.” Not that I haven’t contemplated opening the door to this moving vehicle and implementing the infamous tuck and roll technique that anyone has yet to pull off and survive. I scratch my arms incessantly like it’s some new nervous habit. What the hell was I thinking accepting a ride home from a stranger? On Paragon no less! Holy hell, this could be a serial killer—with a celestial ax to grind against my neck. Although, he seems nice enough. After I practically bit my tongue off and passed out from fright at the idea of being hit by a car, he was kind enough to dust me off and threaten to take me to the hospital. “Left at the light,” I say. I’ll never be so glad to lay eyes on Casa Landon. Clearly this ultra smooth stranger driving me home in the very car he knocked me over with is nothing but nice to the bone. I bet he’s one hundred percent human to boot. I gurgle with a laugh. Now that would be like finding a unicorn on this damn island. I can’t help shake the feeling we’ve met before. There’s something about those dark, brooding eyes, that matching inky hair. He’s handsome enough but not in the demanding, drop-your-panties Oliver kind of way.

  “You sure you didn’t go to West in the last two years?” I’m certain I know him from somewhere.

  “Nope. Graduated half a decade ago. Just finished up at Washington University.”

  “No Host for you, huh?”

  He huffs a quiet laugh without taking those familiar eyes off the road. “Not for this guy. My girlfriend wanted to get as far away from her crazy family as possible, and that’s about as fa
r as destiny took us.”

  Destiny. Now it’s my turn to laugh. Instead, I give a brief wave out the passenger’s side window at my mother in the sky. I bet she’s hard at work right this minute wrecking some poor soul’s future with that destination station of hers. She’s in charge of the Decision Council—specializing in lousy decisions if you ask me.

  “That’s too bad,” I say. “Did she come back to Paragon?”

  “Yup, in fact she’s the reason I’m here. I have a nice life up in Seattle, and I wouldn’t mind getting back to it. No offense to my family, but they’re a little out there if you know what I mean.”

  “Oh, believe me, no one is more out there than the people I’m forced to cohabitate with.” Past tense in my case. I point to the second house on the street and its enormous mountain of a driveway that leads to the cabin-like structure I’ve called home for the last few years. “That’s it.”

  “No fucking way.” He draws each word out slow as January, and all the while he’s eyeballing Brielle’s house.

  “No, no, not that one. It’s the one next door. But if you want, you can let me out here. I can totally walk.”

  “Not on your life. I still think you tweaked your hip. I just finished up my masters in physical therapy. At least let me take a look at it.”

  My eyes snag on his sharp jaw, his handsome features that contort into that familiar feel I can’t quite put my finger on. I’m pretty sure Gage wouldn’t want Mr. Physical Therapy putting his masters degree on my hips.

  “My father-in-law is sort of a doctor.” Of the dead, but I leave that part out. “I’ll have him check it out tonight.” Unfortunately, I’ll be headed that way for dinner—the Oliver house not the morgue. Although considering Emma is at the Olivers, the morgue doesn’t sound half bad. Corpses in general have been less judgmental of me. I still haven’t had a chance to return Gage’s text, but telling your husband you’ve just been hit by a car is probably the kind of thing you should do in person. Besides, Gage will be twice as insistent that I go to the ER and get checked out. I hate hospitals almost as much as I do clowns and Fems. Something in me lurches. My fear of clowns has mostly come under control thanks to the Jedi mind trick Barron taught me regarding turning the table on my fears. And, well, I happen to find myself married to a Fem, so there’s that.

  “You’re not going to believe this.” He laughs as he pulls his car high up into the driveway precariously close to Ethan’s glow in the dark paint job shenanigans. I’d warn him that he might lose the first layer of his glossy red coat, but my curiosity is piqued as to what he might say next. “I actually used to live here.” He breaks out in a grin that shows off his gleaming white teeth, and then I see her—Chloe’s face has been hiding beneath his like a ghost the entire time.

  “Gah!” I scream so loud I nearly peel the paint off the exterior myself. I wail my way into the house and shut the door behind me as my heart jumps into my throat.

  “Hey?” He gives a few short knocks before letting himself in. “It’s just me. What the heck was that about?” His eyes widen as he takes the place in. “My God, some things never change.”

  It’s slightly horrifying to see this solid, male version of Chloe taking up space inside the house.

  “You’re him!” I pant. “The He Bishop.” I mean, I knew Chloe had a brother, but he was persona non grata for so long he was like a fractured fairytale or some horrific myth. Hell, Chloe could have made him up. She lied about so many damn things it was hard to keep it straight. The last thing Ma and Pa Bishop should have ever done was procreate.

  “The He Bishop?” A pleasantly amused grin takes over as he continues to gawk at the furniture and overall layout of Landon central. “So you know my sister. Word on the street is—”

  “She’s banished.”

  He ticks his head to the side. “I didn’t know she was going to Host.”

  I scowl at him a moment. “Don’t you play dumb with me. You’re a Count.” I suck in a breath. “Oh my, God! You’re not a Count…you’re a—”

  He eyes me suspiciously as if he’s not sure whether or not to trust me with this delicate information.

  “I belong to the Celestra faction.” He holds out a hand, and I shake my head at the sight of it.

  “No thanks. I don’t want any. No offense, but I’ve had enough Bishop to last a lifetime—two lifetimes. In fact, you’d better run along or I’ll have to call my husband to come kick your ass. Better yet, I might be forced to kick it myself. I can’t take any chances.”

  “Who’s your husband?” he asks, following me to the edge of the hall where a swell of men’s voices rumble from the dining room. I peer over to find Tad with two others standing around, shaking hands as though they’ve just concluded business. He’s smiling like an idiot—quite literally, actually—with a frozen grimace. Scary. He’s downright jovial. I don’t like happy Tad. Happy Tad makes me suspicious.

  “Oh my, shit.” I recognize the two men as Morley Harrison and Arson Kragger. Who knew Casa Landon was playing host to an asshole convention.

  God! What kind of mindfuck have I stepped into? It’s like Logan’s dream-romp was some kind of twisted rabbit hole, and now the entire universe is upside down. I duck back in the hall with the guy unfortunate enough to share Chloe’s DNA. “Gage Oliver. I married Gage.” A twinge of sadness spears me because, quite frankly, I miss the Gage I married.

  His brows peak, and I see her now in his face, legible as any cursed day. Chloe has been there hiding in plain sight all along.

  “You married Gage?” He jerks back as if I slapped him. That reaction must run in the family. “I take it you and my sister aren’t close.”

  I make a face. “I take it you and your sister aren’t close. What’s your name again?”

  “What’s the matter? ‘He Bishop’ not working for you anymore?”

  Arson and Morley bump into us in the hall, and Arson is quick to slap the He Bishop on the shoulder.

  “Brody Bishop? This can’t be true.”

  Brody, that’s it.

  He straightens with that smug ‘Chloe’ look on his face, and I think I’m going to be sick.

  “Home at last.” He laughs motioning around the place as if he owns it.

  He does seem nice. I’ll give him that. And he seems strangely real and downright jovial in comparison to his bitter weed of a sister. Maybe this Bishop isn’t so bad? After all, he didn’t kill me when presented with the opportunity, and, for sure, he’s not feeling any strong sibling bonds toward his sister. Weird since she was dead for so long. You’d think he would have at least sent a card. And he might have, but I’m not in the mood to probe. Right now, I simply want the entire Count coven out of my face.

  “What’s going on?” I hiss at Tad who’s still wearing that fake grin he plasters on whenever he’s in the mood to kiss some serious ass.

  “I’ll tell you as soon as they leave.” He lets the words stream out the side of his mouth like a bad ventriloquist. Both Morley and Arson shoot him an amused look.

  “We’ll let you catch up on old times.” Arson glances around the place with a sorry look before tapping Brody on the shoulder. “You know what’s excepted of you.”

  Ha! And there it is.

  “I knew you were up to no good,” I whisper as soon as Morley and Arson drift to the door.

  “Oh, and Mrs. Oliver is it?” Arson looks down at me with his looming seven-foot frame (well probably not seven, but he’s so unnaturally tall it might as well be a hundred). His white hair glows like a flame.

  “Yes, it is.” I say it staunch with false bravado because I’m not so sure anymore. My arms light up like flares, and I itch them raw with worry.

  “We’ll be seeing more of you in the very near future.” He tips his imaginary hat, and they take off like apparitions melting into the fog.

  “What was that about?” I sag against the cool wall yet to recover from the ping pong of traumas the last twenty-four hours doled out.

  “Tha
t was about me getting a promotion!” Tad jumps in the air, and his feet touch in that awkward way only cartoon characters can achieve when they leap for joy. Figures. Tad laughs all the way upstairs. “I’ve got to pack my bags! I leave on my first official business trip for Althorpe in just a few days.”

  Brody gives a shit-eating grin as if he knows far more than he’s letting on.

  “Well?” I push past him as I make my way to the refrigerator. “What’s expected of you? Spill. You owe me that much don’t you think?”

  “It’s stupid. Some binding agreement I may have gotten myself wrapped up in back in the day. I’m brushing it off.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I slam the fridge in haste. “There’s not a binding agreement on this planet you’re ever going to get out of, so you might as well stand up and fight like a man—or in this case a twisted angel.”

  His cheek twitches as if he were debating it. “I promised the Counts blood if they ever needed it in exchange for something they did for me. Told you it was stupid.”

  I wonder if he knows the Counts reserves are running on empty? And judging by Arson’s face, Brody will be their new refill station. Better him than me.

  Brielle and Drake come in from the back, dirty with their hair in a bird’s nest, looking overall bedraggled and miserable. There’s a giant rectangular patch of weed-free yard in the distance, and, for whatever reason, the two of them decided to play landscaper for the afternoon.

  “Brody!” Brielle leaps onto the He Bishop, and he gives her a happy spin. “Where’s my sister? Brooke are you here?” Bree hops down and does a spastic search of the vicinity.

  “Nope.” He looks equally deflated as Bree. “I’m not exactly sure where she is. I’m hoping to track her down myself.”

  Not only did I forget all about Chloe’s brother, but the fact Brielle has a sister catches me off guard as well, until I remember she’s been away at college the entire time I’ve known Bree. Strange how she never came home for holidays or summer vacay, but then again Brody mentioned something about her trying to get away from her family and knowing how spectacularly insane Brielle’s mother, Darla, can be, I totally get it.