Crap. “So—I leave you as a charge of the Counts, and you’ll tell me this so-called devastating secret guaranteed to take down my world? Why in the hell should I believe you?” I glance to Wes a moment and my chest cinches because simply looking at him makes me ache for Gage.
“If I’m lying”—her lips curl at the tips as if a smile begged to erupt with glee—“I will let you push me right into that fire.” She points hard at the blaze. “And you can even invite Gage, Logan, and your precious, useless Sector friend to witness the event.”
“And how do we quantify this?” I can’t believe a single noise that squeaks from her throat. Chloe’s native tongue is comprised of fabrication. But, either way, it’ll be a win. Either I’ll have the truth, or I’ll have Chloe Bishop’s body to warm myself with by the fire. A heated rush pulses through me at the thought. Of course, I’ll have to bring some hot dogs to grill and S’mores for dessert because if Chloe Bishop is going to roast, I damn well plan on making a party out of it.
“Your mother is how we quantify it. If she says what I tell you is false, I’ll jump into the flames myself.” She blinks a smile, and all thoughts of a good old-fashioned fireside picnic up and disappear. It would seem Chloe believes she’s about to relay a legitimate fact. It would figure. The one time I’m allotted to kill her by fire, Chloe decides to spew nothing but gospel.
Crap, crap, crap. What am I going to do? God, could I really live with Chloe nipping at my heels for the rest of my days?
A mosaic embedded into the ornate hearth catches my eye. A river trickles down the side of a mountain while a bird hovers in the air—an oversized black raven—Nev—or, in today’s form, Holden Kragger. My mother specifically said that Chloe and Holden could never be together. One surefire way to make certain Chloe doesn’t bother me again is to keep Holden with me at all times. Hell, it’s worth a shot. Now all I have to do is convince Holden of this.
“Sure.” I shrug as if it were no big deal. “I’ll bite. I mean, after all, my mother is an expert when it comes to vetting out the truth.” And what exactly is this truth if my own mother—if Marshall Dudley—is opposed to sharing it? Could it really be that devastating? “Spill it, Bishop.”
“The oath.” She knocks Wes in the ribs with her elbow.
Wesley extends his arm and both Chloe and I place our hands over his.
Wes bears those piercing eyes into mine, and my stomach does a revolution because if it weren’t for that one tiny detail he could be my Gage.
“Do you, Skyla, solemnly swear on all that is holy that Chloe Bishop is to remain a charge of the Countenance under the issue of the original bond, thereby unqualified to be banished to another realm at your will?”
“Only in exchange for this deep dark secret that she’s been taking perverse pleasure in harboring—yes. The Counts can continue to use Chloe as their eternal slave right here in the Transfer.”
“With roaming privileges,” Chloe says it through clenched teeth.
“With roaming privileges as decreed by your captors.” I roll my eyes because, for all practical purposes, everything about this feels ridiculous. I snatch my hand back and pull her in by the thin, silk robe. “What the hell do you know that everyone else is so damn afraid to tell me?”
Chloe presses in with her nostrils flaring, a wicked smile expanding across her face.
“Gage Oliver”—she says his name, breathy, orgasmic even—“your well-placed boyfriend—your husband, Skyla, with whom you’ve became one, until death do you part”—she pauses a moment, and I hold my breath—“is none other than Demetri Edinger’s son. He’s a Fem. And he knows it, Skyla—he knows.” Her smile expands like a rubber band. “Checkmate.”
“What?” I stagger back on my heels. “That’s bullshit.”
“Skyla.” Wes steps in and wraps an arm around my waist. “Let me help you get back home.”
“Don’t touch me.” I try to pry him off, but my knees give way.
“I’ve got you.” Wes pulls me up as the world begins to fade.
“What’s happening?” My feet feel as though they’re sinking through quicksand while my mind grows increasingly fuzzy.
“Pull it together,” Chloe snaps. “You’re about to pass out.”
“Gage is a Levatio.” I shake my head as a sharp bite of nausea rolls through me.
“He’s a Fem, Skyla,” Chloe shouts. “Did I stutter?”
I look up at Wes with his familiar features, his sweet yet serious eyes.
“Is it true, Wes? Is Gage a Fem?”
“As much as I am.”
“Does that make you—”
“Brothers.” The sound of his voice reverberates straight through to the deepest chamber of my heart. “Demetri is our father.” Wes pulls his lips into a bleak smile and those deep-welled dimples go off like bombs. “Welcome to the family, Skyla.”
Gage
The morning arrives with little fanfare. I’ve been up long before the windows illuminated with the papery light from the sun. The fog is thick as clam chowder today. It’s a wonder the ferry doesn’t run aground trying to get here. All I can think of is Skyla. I want her safe with me, right here in this crap-trap Harrison was kind enough to lend us for thirty glorious days.
A dull smile rides on my face as I hop down to the corner store and pick up some coffee and a box of donuts. Neither Skyla nor I have classes today, so we can hit the grocery store together later and fill up that rusted out moldy fridge. And, despite the obvious hygiene issues, my insides warm at the thought. I’ve craved doing all those normal things with Skyla for so long, and now, here we are about to live out that moment. The future seemed so far off, so incredibly distant just a few months ago and somehow, someway the future arrived out of nowhere and became our reality.
I get back to the apartment and find the door ajar. Harrison sits on the couch, cruising his laptop as if it were his home—and I guess technically it is.
“Dude”—he moans without looking up—“I left two sets of keys on the counter.”
“Thanks buddy. That’s really nice. You want a donut?”
“Nope. I need to watch my girly figure.” He snaps his laptop shut and puts it down on the cable wheel acting as a coffee table. “Can you believe there are like ten guys after your sister?” He shakes his head, annoyed. “I hate high school boys. They’re stupid as fuck.”
“That was you less than six months ago.”
“That’s the problem. I know what I was capable of, and I don’t like that kind of action around your little sis, if you catch my drift. Besides, I’ve changed.” He crosses his arms over his chest looking genuinely frustrated. “Where’s Messenger? You two have a fight?”
“She’s at her mom’s. She’ll be here any minute.” I pop a mini donut in my mouth and sit next to him on the dusty as shit sofa. If we’re not careful, Skyla and I are going to catch a disease living in this dump. “Skyla and I don’t fight.”
“You and Messenger never fight?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug it off. “We had a long bout of silence when that whole DVD thing went down.” I still remember how crappy it felt to watch a five-minute montage of Skyla with Dudley—with Logan, and then, of course, the freeze frame of her awkwardly kneeling in front of Ellis himself, although that proved to be nothing. But that was almost a year ago. “No, I guess we don’t fight.”
“Last week Giselle and I were watching Adventure Time, and I ate the last oatmeal raisin cookie.” He shakes his head as if reliving the memory. “She effin’ lost her shit, dude—over a cookie!” Ellis slaps me on the back. “Just wait. You’ll get yours. There’s not one decent relationship that doesn’t get thrown into the shitter once in a while.”
I give a bleak smile because for once Ellis is right.
Skyla and I are about to get thrown into the shitter in grand style. Only this isn’t some lousy oatmeal raisin cookie we’ll be warring over. Nope. In fact, all hell is about to break loose.
I wish the biggest pro
blem Skyla and I had were over a cookie—or Logan, or Dudley, or anything remotely human—but it’s not. It’s about the devil, and, it just so happens, the devil himself is me.
A set of footsteps thump up the stairs and the door swings open. Skyla walks in out of breath and fixes her eyes on mine, never once blinking over at Ellis.
I jump up and wrap my arms around her waist, inspiring her to take a full step back.
“What’s wrong? Everything okay?” I ask, trying to touch her cheek but she pulls away. Skyla’s face is bleached white. Her hands and lips tremble out of control. “Did that idiot next door say something to you? Did he touch you?”
“Dude, can’t you see she’s pissed?” Ellis pipes up for no reason.
“Skyla what’s wrong?” I step in and take up her hand, but she slips it right back out of my grasp.
“Don’t you know?” Her voices shakes, her eyes bear into mine with insurmountable pain.
The world bottoms out from under me. My stomach cinches in a shock of pain as if someone dumped in lighter fluid. Skyla knows something, and now an errant spark is floating around the room ready to take us both down.
Ellis hops up beside me. “You’re pissed at Gage, aren’t you?” He claps his hands together as if it were some emotional coup. “He ate the last fucking cookie didn’t he?” He whoops it up, lost in his juvenile elation.
“Oh my, God.” She shakes her head with disgust. “You do know.” Her voice booms into me like a kick in the nuts. Tears spring from her eyes as her face darkens a deep shade of crimson. She slaps her hands against my chest. “I trusted you!” She screams it out so loud the windows rattle. “God, Gage, you’re nothing but a liar!”
Ellis steps into her and wraps an arm around her shoulders before reverting his attention to me. “Dude, did you cheat on Skyla?”
“No.” It whips out of me, but I never take my eyes off hers. “I swear, Skyla, I didn’t do anything shady. You can trust me.” I hold out a hand, hoping she’ll take it. I’m afraid if I move too quickly she’ll bolt, and I’ll never see her again.
“I will never trust you again. You are the definition of shady!” Her voice penetrates into my heart like a knife. “How could you? I thought you loved me.” I take a step into her and she inches back. “Get away from me, right now.” She lets out a roar as she hurls Ellis’s backpack at me. She wipes the tears from her eyes while heading for the door. “I thought I knew who you were.”
“Skyla wait.” I pull her back by the jacket, and Ellis cuts between us.
“Dude, give her some space.”
Skyla bolts down the stairs, and I push Ellis out of the way and take off after her.
“Skyla!” I catch up with her on the street and knock us both into a metal door, creating a thunderous clatter.
“I’m sorry.” I stroke my hands over her arms. “I’m so sorry about everything.” I try to lock eyes with hers, but she’s hell-bent on getting away from me.
“Let go,” she screams in my face like a siren before kneeing me in the balls.
“Shit,” I hiss below a whisper. A horrible throb streams through my body, a pain I can only compare to what Demetri’s done to me—to both Skyla and me.
A pair of tatted up arms pull me off her, and Skyla bolts down toward the harbor.
I glance back to find the stoner from last night glaring at me—Rev.
“A little early in the morning to be smacking her around, don’t you think?” He smirks as if he approved.
“I would never hurt her.”
“Save it for the police report. Next time, I’m calling the cops.” He takes off as Ellis huffs his way over.
“Good job.” Ellis gives me a congratulatory slap on the back. “You got your first big argument out of the way. Coming up next—makeup sex. And judging by the way you two just went at it, I’m predicting a mattress meltdown baby.”
I watch as Skyla disappears past the final bend, toward the docks, then slam my fist into the metal door, leaving behind a knuckle-sized dent.
I hate to break it Ellis, but I don’t think Skyla wants anything to do with me ever again. The only makeup sex she’ll be having is with Logan because it looks to me like we’re done.
“This wasn’t about some cookie, was it?” Ellis lands his hand on my shoulder.
“No, Ellis, it wasn’t.”
“Then you’ll have to fight harder to get her back.”
“And how do I do that?” I haven’t taken my eyes off the spot I last saw her, even though I know for a fact she’s not coming back.
“Dude, stalk her.”
I close my eyes a moment as I take in the not-so-sage advice from the clown my sister just might end up marrying someday.
Stalk her. Maybe he’s onto something. I start heading toward the harbor.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to find Skyla. I’m going to Paragon.”
I dematerialize right there on the street and teleport over. I’d hate for Skyla to hop off the boat if she sees me on it. Besides, I’ve got a little explaining to do to my folks.
I’m wondering if Emma Oliver has any explaining to do herself.
Logan
A sea of dark clouds roll out above Paragon like sextons hauling in an entire fleet of caskets. The long coffin like shadows stretch over the island, pressing and final, as if they were about to seal us from the light of day forever.
I give a brisk knock to Barron’s door before letting myself in the house.
“Logan!” Emma wraps her arms around me. “The most horrible thing happened at the Landon house last night.”
“Emma.” Barron scowls from the kitchen as I walk on in. “Do take a seat.” He motions to a tower of pancakes. “Help yourself.”
“Liam has a guest,” Emma says, plunking down a plate and fork in front of me. “I thought they might be hungry with the way they worked up an appetite all night long.”
“Please, excuse him.” I’m guessing his guest is Michelle Miller. It looks like she’s finally gotten over her obsession with Dudley. Or at least for Liam’s sake I hope so.
“No need to be sorry, I welcome it.” She lands a cup of coffee before me and takes a seat. “It washed away all memory of Skyla’s cries for help the other night.”
“Yes, well”—I stab three pancakes with my fork—“Gage seemed to have that situation under control.” Can’t believe I just went there. The last thing I want to do is discuss my nephew’s prowess in the bedroom—especially since the one he was coupling with happens to be my wife. The truth is, I can’t stop thinking of Skyla in any other way. She’s still my wife—my life—always will be. “So I have news.” I fill Barron and Emma in on the twisted DNA scheme Wes is working to pull off.
“Dear God.” Barron’s face loses all color. “Do you think the government will detain the Nephilim?”
“Of course, they will.” Emma clutches at her pearls. “They’ll think we’re aliens ready to take over the planet, and they’ll cage us all like animals. Barron, do something.”
“Does Skyla know?” Barron grips his lenses as if trying to focus in on the situation. “She can take them to court.”
“Not yet. I plan on telling her soon.” I can’t wait to see Skyla again, but I’m not too pumped over the crappy news I get to share with her. “I’m hoping to—”
A thunderous knock erupts over the door followed by a rattle and then a body bursting into the kitchen.
“Gage!” Emma jumps to her feet and is quick to coddle her baby boy.
Gage lands in the seat beside me with his eyes etched out in crimson, a fire brewing in each one.
“What’s happening?” Emma panics. “Has Skyla done something?”
He swallows hard. Gage picks up my coffee and downs it in three easy gulps as if he needed to caffeinate just to get the words out.
“She knows.” He plunks the cup down and cuts a look from me to Barron.
“Shit.” I push my seat from the table to get the hell out of h
ere. If Skyla ever needed me it’s now.
“Don’t.” Gage pulls me back in. “She’s on the ferry. I’m guessing she’s headed to Dudley’s.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. His face is pale. He’s shaking like an addict. I’ve never seen him so jacked up—so afraid and pissed all rolled into one. “I need you to help me do this.”
Emma leans in filled with suspicion. “You need him to help you do what?”
Gage takes a lungful of air and lets it out slow like a steam engine. “I need you to be honest with me. Tell me exactly who you think my father is.” He bears into her point blank. “Am I Barron Oliver’s son?”
A thicket of silence coagulates around us. It locks us in a paralysis that stretches out the possibilities of Gage’s paternity—something I would never have dreamed to wonder.
“Emma?” I tap my fingers over the table. “This is easy. He’s Barron’s son.” I can’t for a minute imagine Demetri grunting over my brother’s wife. He’s a Fem. It’s obvious he found some other way to procure an offspring.
“Gage.” Barron extends his hand toward his son. “At the time I met your mother, there was a question.”
“What?” Gage bounces back in his seat, his face blanching out like he might be sick. That makes two of us.
“You are my son.” Barron nods. “I’ve raised you. I was present for your birth.”
“But not the conception,” Gage deadpans.
“We never questioned who you belonged to.” Barron continues digging the hole. “We knew of a possibility, but we were married soon after and—”
“Bottom line”—Gage pounds both hands down over the table and sends the pancakes flying—“what the fuck happened?”