“Hanging with the Counts, huh? What’s the topic? How to kiss Wesley’s ass?”
“Nope. Regrouping.”
“Regrouping.” That’s exactly what I thought the Counts would do. “Well then, it looks like we’ve got a faction meeting to get to.”
Arson Kragger’s estate is dauntingly huge, as are most Counts’ homes—at least the heavy hitters. After all, they’re the ones who for years would siphon a little off the top. The Counts are notorious for shaking down the other factions for money to “protect” them. But after the faction war, Celestra was officially restored to power with Skyla as the overseer. Any shit laws they want to put into play will get snuffed out by my favorite beautiful blonde, and they can’t do a thing about it—except, of course, regroup in an effort to go around Skyla. The only silver lining is that some of the good Counts might be moved to rat them out, then Skyla can take them to a higher court, the Justice Alliance.
Giselle bubbles with a laugh as she drags Ellis up toward the oversized leaded-glass doors. “After this, I’ll show you my bedroom. It has a hot tub and everything.”
“Shh. Of course, I’ll go.” He glances over at me, and I shake my head at him.
“Not if you want to keep your balls you won’t.”
“Got it.” Ellis doesn’t bother hiding his smirk. “We’ll probably just take a drive out to Devil’s Peak.” He tweaks her ribs, and she titters out a laugh.
Why do I get the feeling that’s not any more chaste than the hot tub?
The velvet fog moves along with us and streams right inside the doors of the goliath estate as if it too were curious with what the Counts have to say tonight.
The marble floors look freshly polished. The first thing that smacks you in the face when you get inside is the grand staircase crafted from ornate iron—the overall cavernous effect of the home in general.
“Where is everyone?” It’s so quiet inside, I can hear myself breathing.
“Oh, they never hold meetings here.” Giselle is quick with the partial explanation.
“They open a portal and shit like that.” Ellis leads us to the back where there’s a familiar looking scumbag keeping guard over a set of French doors that lead out to the yard, but judging by the dense blue fog, it leads to much more sinister places tonight.
“Ingram.” I step toward the fool who’s guarding the portal. He’s older, hunched over himself, and his skin glows a sickly yellow. “Long time no smell.” I give a bleak smile. Ingram is doing time in the Tenebrous Woods, that’s where I usually see him and—oh shit—I have a feeling I know where we’re going.
“Welcome back, Sir Oliver. Your Elysian duties haven’t been required of you as of late. I suppose you and your ladylove appreciate the benefits of not tending to each other in the tunnels. It’s no ball watching someone you loathe suckling off the woman you love.” He cuts his gaze across the vast room. “I should know.”
Ingram was once married to Ezrina, but that was before Nev—and that’s all I know—all I care to know.
“How can we get out of there if we need to ditch the party a little early?”
He squints. “The rules of Tenebrous are simple. If you’re an invited visitor, you’re allowed to depart at your leisure. Only prisoners are destined to linger.” He waves us through before narrowing in on me with those soulless eyes. “Dare I say, you might be in for a stay.”
That’s what I was afraid of.
We head into the fog as it cools us with its icy tendrils. It covers our skin with an oily film, fills our lungs until we’re choking on it.
The Tenebrous Woods form around us, dark and cloying. A dim lavender moon hangs up above like a sickle as the three of us head to a clearing that sits just outside of the evil woods. This is it, the place Celestra captives have been tormented for years, having the blood sucked right out of their arteries. Wes did it to Skyla, and, as her Elysian, I was forced to supervise.
“Gather.” A familiar voice booms from the front.
“Dude, it’s effing Edinger.” Ellis shakes his head. “My dad thinks he’s the shit.”
“Your dad is right. He is shit.” Most everyone who keeps this place in business is.
We head over to where a large group of Counts are gathered en masse, standing, waiting in anticipation for what comes next.
“Good evening,” Edinger purrs with that forever grin he wears. “I’m sure you’re wondering what a Fem is doing at a Countenance roundtable, but I assure you, brothers and sisters, I come in alliance. As you’re all aware, Celestra has made significant strides these last several months. The Countenance has done well to stay under the radar. And, with the formation of the Steel Barricade, you’ll prove once again there is only one power under the sun that deserves rightful reign. Tonight the Counts and the Fems are one—as we shall be forever. And now, I give you—my son.”
Wesley steps onto the makeshift stage of elevated soil. I’d like to turn him on his head and bury him in it. He’s dressed from head to toe in black, with his large boxy shoulders, those menacing brows that draw a line straight across his forehead. He’s got Gage down to a science, right to his every mannerism.
It’s hard to believe I’m living in a world without Skyla by my side, in a world where Gage has a wicked doppelganger—and here I am dead and yet only slightly alive. It’s like I’m trapped on a dysfunctional roller coaster, and can’t get off. Just looking at him nauseates me.
“Brothers and sisters of the night, Celestra has taken much from us.” His voice swims into the woods and dissipates with the breeze.
The crowd stirs in agreement.
“We have bent over backward, trying to please our faction brothers by protecting them against the greed and puritanical mocking that Celestra has imparted on us for far too long.”
“What the hell is he talking about?” I whisper to Ellis, but he proceeds to ignore me, mesmerized by this cheap Gage lookalike.
“We’re on the brink of a revolution.” Wes gives a fist pump and inspires a few in the crowd to do the same. Beating air—that’s all they’ll ever do. “It’s time to separate the sheep from the goats. The Countenance has been divided for far too long. Those of us who choose to see the demise of Celestra must also desire to see the downfall of every remaining faction, including those of our own who choose not to side with us.”
Shit. And there it is.
“This is the dawn of a new era,” he shouts. “One in which will see the rise of the Steel Barricade and the prosperity of those who take shelter in its wings. But be warned. Those who choose to step away from the former shell of the Countenance and join our ranks will have an oath to abide by. There is no turning back. Traitors will be tried before the Council of the Elders and disposed of accordingly. Know this—once you side with the Barricade, you’ll not only save your own life but that of your children and the lineage of those yet to come. And if you choose not to side with us and remain a member of the former faction, you, too, will share the fate of your Nephilim brothers and sisters. Gone are the days of war and strife. At the end of this revolution, there will only be one faction on earth left to rule, the new Counts, those who partake in the covenant of the Steel Barricade—and we shall live in peace forever.”
Somehow I doubt peace plays into this at all.
The Steel Barricade. The Counts are splintering. It sounds like one big, giant shit storm is about to hit.
And what the hell do they think the other factions are going to do in the meantime? Lie down and die?
The crowd begins to mingle. Wes looks past the throngs of people and darts his eyes right into mine. “Your final decision will be required at the dawn of the New Moon ceremony.” He gives a dry smile and looks so much like Gage in the process I think I might hurl.
“How are we going to stop the other factions from standing in our way?” A voice shouts from the crowd.
“Strategies will be discussed after the new covenant is in place.” Wes keeps his eyes fixed on mine. “Trust me—the
other factions will never know what hit them. The bloodshed will escape our hands. That’s the beauty of the plan. We, ourselves, will never have to carry it out.”
Sounds downright brilliant.
I glare right back at Wes.
He said everything he wanted me to hear tonight—what everyone wanted to hear.
I wonder if he could truly deliver.
I’m betting he can.
9
Sick as Sin
Skyla
All week Gage is listless. His back is healing, but his spirits are down. I try to make an appearance at the Landon house as much as possible, but I’ve been sleeping at the Oliver’s to be near Gage.
Of course, Emma would eviscerate me if she knew I was sleeping with Gage. I’ve convinced her that I’ve taken up residence in Logan’s room. Each night I rumple the sheets because God knows Emma is running a morning inspection once we leave for school. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was looking for mattress impressions, checking to see if the sheets are still warm. But even spending just a few minutes in Logan’s bedroom is about all I can take. Emma has striped his scent away with the manic sterilization methods she refers to as housekeeping. I ventured into his closet one night and hugged his clothes, as many as I could scoop into my arms just to be near him again. That’s where Logan’s scent lingers like a ghost—in those empty flannels—those T-shirts sitting like deflated balloons on hangers.
Mom called earlier. She said she was cooking something special for dinner and asked if Gage and I would join them, so that night we head over.
“Check it out.” Gage parks behind a familiar, yet sinister, looking Rolls-Royce Phantom.
“Perfect, Demetri is here.” I bet my mother is cooking up something special for dinner. Herself. “We’ll eat and run. No use in rubbing elbows with the enemy longer than we have to.” We get out, and Gage takes up my hand. “Let’s get this over with.” I feel sick to my stomach knowing I’ll be trapped in a room for the next solid hour with my least favorite Fem. “This is precisely why I hate Mondays.”
“It’s Tuesday.” He plants a kiss on my cheek.
“Believe me, Demetri has the ability to make any day feel like Monday.”
“I still don’t want you to hate Mondays. Every day is special with you in it.” He presses a tender kiss to my lips.
Great. Now I feel like an ass for cutting down an entire twenty-four hour period that occurs in rotation, especially knowing that there might be a limited supply of them in our marriage.
Gage cranes his neck back at the vehicular money slaughter of Demetri’s. “Holy, holy. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s my mother he’s trying to impress. My mom and Demetri have a twisted relationship that crosses all sorts of inappropriate lines.” I pull Gage in and hike up on my tiptoes. “I’m so glad we have a totally normal relationship.” My cheeks burn with heat. “I know it wasn’t always that way, but it is now. Thank you for making me so happy.”
“Thank you for letting me.”
We share a sweet kiss that celebrates how normal we are. Sometimes there is nothing more beautiful.
Gage and I trudge up the long driveway hand in hand. Our secret lingering between us in the form of his grandmother’s wedding ring.
“You know, maybe we should tell them.” I look up at Gage as the moon washes the shadows from his face.
“It’s entirely up to you.” Gage inverts his dimples as if he were leaving the ball in my court.
Maybe we shouldn’t. I mean, Emma and Barron have just as much right to know, and they’re not here.
A tiny smile digs into my cheek.
I’m not sure why, but I’m a little giddy over the fact we might be spilling the matrimonial beans to my mother first. A brief wave of guilt washes over me. I shouldn’t feel giddy, I should feel terrible that the Olivers aren’t here to share our good news. God—Emma is my mother-in-law. I take a breath because God knows the last thing I needed was another mother.
“I mean, then, of course, we’d go straight over to your house and break the news as well,” I say. “Imagine how freeing it will be.” And then Emma couldn’t say squat about me sleeping in the same bed as her son. I’m sure the idea would still freak her out, but I hate sneaking around behind their backs.
“If it feels right, go with it.” Gage lands a warm kiss right on my lips. His tongue mingles with mine, and a searing heat rips through me. It makes me wish we could steal away to the butterfly room for an hour or two—better yet, leave early and put his mattress springs to the test. Gage probes my mouth with strong, determined lashes. His hands clasp tight around my waist as his careful sweeps intensify. He pulls back, glassy eyed. “You got me going.” He tugs his jeans down a notch.
“Well then, let’s speed this dinner along, so I can finish what I started.”
We walk into the over bright home with its peeling wallpaper and scuffed wood floor in the hall. The air is thick with an undiscernibly meaty tang, and a bevy of voices roar from the dining room as if Mom is hosting a small army.
“Gage!” Mom gasps at the sight of him. “We’re so glad you could make it. How are you feeling?” She rushes over and lays her hands over his as if he were made of blown glass.
“I’m fine,” he reassures. “Skyla has been taking excellent care of me.”
“As long as you’re healthy and your medical needs are met—I’m happy.” Mom pats him on the shoulder. “Please tell your mother I said hello.”
“Will do.”
I give him a little wink. I’ve made sure every one of his needs have been met. And believe me, that boy has one erotic need after another, nightly—and quite often in the morning, too. The afternoons aren’t bad either.
Brielle and Drake walk into the room, and we head over. Drake goes on and on about his new business venture—selling hand painted pots down at the harbor.
“The tourists eat that shit up.” His head bobs like a chicken. “Dude, that’s where the money is at. I tell you what”—he leans into Gage like he’s about to do him a favor—“I’ll let you in on the ground floor. Come work for me.”
“And what? Paint ocean scenes all day for you?” Gage crosses his arms over his expansive chest, most likely to keep from decking Drake.
“Nah, man.” Drake smacks him in the stomach. “I got Em doing that. I need someone to sit at the landing and set up shop a few hours each day. It’s wearing me out just sitting around. My DVR is getting constipated if you know what I mean.”
Good grief. Does Drake honestly expect Gage to drop out of school and sit by the dock of the bay, wasting time?
“Time for dinner!” Mom bleats and spares us from having to endure any more of Drake’s get-rich-quick schemes.
Ground floor. I shake my head.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” Bree whispers as we head toward the table.
“Shoot.”
She gives a nervous look to Drake. “Maybe later.”
God, I hope they won’t be in the market for another infant casket anytime soon. That was the bassinet of choice for their last infant—Beau. Drake and Bree tend to march to beat of a different crypt keeper.
Demetri is quick to snatch the seat next to my mother, smack between her and Tad. Who does that? Wicked Fems, that’s who. I suppose it’s allegorical—his bodily intrusion just as real as the emotional one.
Darla, Brielle’s mom, is present and busy suckling on a bottle of cooking sherry in the kitchen. Can’t say I blame her. I’d feel the need to punish my liver, too, if I ever entertained the idea of marrying a Fem.
“Let’s get this circus underway,” Tad belts it out with a thumping applause. “I’ve got a date with my mattress in exactly one hour. And then it’s lights out for everybody.”
Mia and Melissa protest by way of audible groans.
“I hear ya, hon,” Darla drawls it out in that faux country accent of hers. She looks just like Brielle with the exception of her pixie cu
t hair and ability to deflect morons. “I got a date with a power tool, and there ain’t nothing that hunk a steel won’t do to please me.” She gives a smug look to the tool sitting across from her, the Prince of Darkness.
“Well, at the Landon house, we’re conserving energy,” Tad interjects. “Every night, at eight o’clock sharp, I run out the back and kill the power to this place.”
Geez. Is that the fun I’ve been missing? Texting by candlelight?
I glance over to Gage. He’s going to think we’re idiots. Scratch that—he knows better—we are.
“I hate it here,” Mia quips as she and Melissa take their seats.
“Oh, stop.” Mom shakes her head. “It never ends. One day you’ll see how much your father and I do for you, and you’ll appreciate living under this roof.”
“That’s right.” Tad doesn’t waste any time doling out food onto his own plate first. “Just try to take two steps outside that door, and see how fast you come back. You’ll be soaking wet, starving, and homeless in less than a half hour. Rent isn’t cheap around these parts.”
I raise a brow to Gage. That’s something we hadn’t even considered—getting our own place. Although, as much as I hate to admit it, Tad is probably right. But, now that we’re man and wife, it would be nice to have a place to call our own.
Hey, maybe Host has married housing? God, that would be great! I’d have my own kitchen—my own little corner of the world to decorate—and, most importantly, Gage and I would have our very own bedroom.
Ethan and Emily saunter in, and it’s not until we’re all seated do I even notice there’s an extra child rolling around in the playpen. Ember is lying next to Misty, and they’re touching hands and cooing. Misty rolls into her and suckles on Ember’s fist for a while. I’d say something, but it looks harmless, and it’s probably better than her suckling Mom’s boob at the table. The only boobs I’d like Gage to gawk at are mine.