I curl in and hug the letter as if it were my mother.
Brylee is busy texting away on her phone.
“Geez, sorry I bored you,” I whisper.
She looks up, her eyes stained with crimson lines. Tears roll down her face as she shakes her head. “You killed me.” She lunges over and gives me a hard squeeze. “I have to run, but do me a favor—don’t move. I have a surprise for you.” She wipes her tears with the back of her hand. Brylee leans in and gives me a sweet kiss on the cheek. “I hope I’m as lucky as you someday.” She hops up and skips off toward the bookstore.
I sink myself back into my mother’s letter and touch her pretty handwriting, laying my fingers where hers once were. It’s magic like this with her, my hand over hers just like in those final hours. The breeze picks up, it whistles and howls, and I hear her whisper my name clear and high like a knife over crystal.
A body sinks next to me, and a familiar cologne filters through the air. I’m afraid to glance over, afraid to break the delusion.
“Heads, we play Monopoly. Tails, we skinny dip.”
I suck in a breath and look up.
“Ace!” I fall over him with a hug until I nearly knock us backward into the water.
“Let’s preserve this.” He helps me put my mother’s letter back into the envelope.
“You drove all the way down to see me? This is why I love you.” I dot his face with kisses, his eyelids, each deep well in his cheeks—I never want to stop.
“I love you, too. But actually I drove down here to ask where Beueller Hall is?” He flattens a paper that looks an awful lot like an admittance letter.
“Beueller Hall? That’s my dorm.” I hold his gaze hoping he’ll say what I desperately want to hear.
“Good because that’s my dorm, too.” His dimples dig in as he holds that killer grin back just enough.
I pull him up and leap onto him with my legs tight around his waist. Ace spins me, and I lean my head back feeling dizzy and light—head over heels in love.
“I’m on the team.” He melts a kiss off my neck. “Practice starts tomorrow.”
“You’re on the team!” I take a soft bite out of his ear. “I’m so proud of you. I always knew you had it in you.”
“Thanks.” He closes his eyes a moment before digging something out of his pocket. “You never answered my question.” He tosses a quarter into the air and it reflects the orange sunset like a salmon swimming upstream. I catch the coin midair and hold it close to my chest like catching ecstasy.
“Now we’ll never know if we were destined to take off our clothes or barter for plastic real estate.” His dimples go off and seduce me without even trying.
“We are definitely destined to take off our clothes,” I assure him.
“Is that so?”
“It’s a promise.”
“I’m glad you think so because I’ve got a surprise for you.” His dark hair shines in the ever-dimming light. His eyes beam like blue velvet.
“Another one?” Ace was all the surprise I needed.
“I got your roommate to switch with me for the week.”
“Just one week?” Elation blooms in me at the thought of all the things I can do to him in that tiny box of a room.
“It might have been a semester.”
“You’re a master manipulator.” I tighten my legs over his hips.
“I have you, don’t I?”
“You didn’t manipulate a darn thing to get me. I was yours from the day you told me to stay the hell away from your marbles.”
He gives a little wince. “I may have done a little manipulating.”
“Like?”
“Like that day at lake. I was going to make sure it was tails no matter what. There’s no way I was going miss skinny dipping with Reese Westfield.”
I bounce in his arms.
“That’s because you, Ace, are a brilliant man.” I land a kiss over his lips. “You ready for another fake honeymoon?” I bite my lip and nod toward Beueller Hall.
“About that. I think maybe we should have a real one. You know, tear it up over in married housing—show those other newlyweds how it’s done through those paper thin walls.”
“Really?” A breath gets caught in my throat. The world spins in one giant kaleidoscope of color as his words swirl through my mind.
“Yes, really. Would you do me the honor of marrying me, Reese Westfield?”
“There’s not another living soul I’d rather spend my life with. Yes, I’ll marry you, Ace Waterman.”
Ace and I seal the moment with a kiss that redefines every other kiss we’ve ever shared. His hungry mouth lapses into soft, sweet, soulful kisses as his tongue aches for mine to have it.
I pull back and take him in through tears.
“You make me happy,” I whisper right into his lips.
“You make me insanely happy.”
In a small way, my mother played a part in our love story by spurring me on to create this amazing adventure to begin with.
Our special summer was a perfect ending to the old Reese and Ace, and a perfect beginning for the new Mr. and Mrs. Waterman.
I crash my lips into his as Ace and I finally catch our ecstasy.
Thank you for reading, Beautiful Oblivion. If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at your point of purchase. Look for Beautiful Illusions (Beautiful Oblivion Book 2) Gavin’s story coming 2014.
The following is a brief vignette associated with Addison Moore’s paranormal romance series, Celestra Forever After.
*Intended for mature audiences only*
*This in no way offers spoilers to the Celestra Forever After Series*
Marshall is a 6,000-year-old Sector (angel-like being) Skyla is a human with an angelic bloodline of the Celestra Faction.
Celestra in Retrograde
ADDISON MOORE
Copyright © 2013 by Addison Moore
This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.
All Rights Reserved.
Celestra in Retrograde
Spontaneous Combustion
Marshall
The sky darkens overhead like a cast iron skillet. I pull a steed from the barn and walk her to the distal end of the property where a view of the grey Pacific waits for me.
“Well, if it isn’t Studly Dudley,” a woman’s voice purrs from behind.
A smile rides low on my lips as I turn.
There she is—stunning as always. A baroque gown sweeps behind her like a wave, the color of sea glass—with a low-cut corset, her bare shoulders pale as the moon.
“Fuck me,” it comes of its own volition, quiet as a whisper.
“You don’t curse.” She digs a sly smile into her cheek as she swings her hips in my direction.
“That’s because you don’t dress like that.” I touch my riding crop to her soft cheek. “Regardless, I was giving an order.”
“Nice to see your sense of humor is still intact.”
She slips into my arms without putting thought to it. Her hand traces up the side of my face, and I press a quick kiss into her wrist.
“Marshall!” My name echoes beyond the barn, straining from the sweetest voice like a chime.
“Who’s the girl?” Her brows dip as if she were genuinely worried.
“You’re the girl.” I press the back of her hand to my lips.
“Correction—was the girl, I’m a woman now.” Her cheeks flex as if there were a thread of jealousy. “Get rid of her. We’ve someplace to be.”
“And where would that be?”
“Salem, Massachusetts—1692.”
“Is this about Rina?” I ask as she tries to pull her hand away, but I keep her flesh close to my lips as if I were about to play her like an
instrument—and, in a few minutes, I plan to do just that. “She doesn’t win the war, Skyla, you do.”
“Marshall!” The girl’s voice vibrates over the clearing, closer than before.
Skyla looks past me and frowns. “Ezrina helped me, I want to help her, too. Besides, Celestra’s in trouble.”
“Celestra is always in trouble.”
“There you are,” the girl’s voice calls from behind—so close I can make out her uneven breathing.
Skyla bears those crystalline eyes into mine. “There’s a brothel involved.”
The hint of a smile plays on my lips. “I’m as good as there.”
“Hey, I’m talking to you, Dudley.” The girl snatches my shoulder, and the one before me evaporates in a lavender fog. “Who the hell was that?” Skyla stands in her own wake and doesn’t even know it.
“None of your concern.” I brush the hair from her face as the long, golden spirals cascade over her shoulders. This version, though stunningly the same, has a far more youthful appeal. It’s locked in her eyes, deep in her soul, the marrow of her bones. Time hasn’t hardened her yet. It will—through pleasure and pain—and I plan on gifting equal doses of both to her future counterpart later.
“Everything is my concern,” she grits it out through clenched teeth, and I try to not crack a smile.
“My, my, someone has an ego.” I whip her over the bottom gently with the riding crop in my hand, and she jumps. “What’s the matter? An Oliver stuck in a tree and you need me to get him to safety?”
“Very funny.” She pulls at a thread at the bottom of her sweater. “It is about an Oliver.”
“Of course,” I mutter under my breath, and she raises a brow assuring me she heard. “What now?” I look past the juniper bushes in search of that luscious, green dress. I plan on untying her corset with my teeth.
“It’s actually the she-Oliver, Emma.” She sticks her finger down her throat, and I hold back a smile. Breaking Skyla of her youth is like breaking a steed, and I have no intention of doing either. “It’s like no matter what, I can’t seem to get her to play nice. I swear that woman has it out for me. Is there anything you know of that can make this better? Can’t you do something to get her to like me?”
“Let’s see.” I straighten as I inspect the storm boiling on the horizon. “Emma has one bouncing baby boy on this spinning rock, and you’re currently servicing him in the bedroom. Is that correct?”
“What is this, a vaginal pop quiz?”
I pull off my gloves and run the leather through my hand. “You’ve corrupted her child, she’ll never like you Skyla—deal with it.” I move past her into the thicket, and she trails along.
“Deal with it?” A series of gagging sounds emit from her. “Did you just tell me to deal with it?”
“It’s nice to know your hearing is intact. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a vixen to catch.”
She latches onto my elbow and digs her feet into the soil like a three-year-old having a tantrum in the grocery store.
“Listen, Marshall. I have a motherfucking huge problem, and her name is Emma Oliver. You were put on this earth to help me, and I swear on all that is holy that if you don’t do something about that witch, I’m going to not-so-accidentally evict her from the planet because she’s making me insane.”
“Language, Ms. Messenger.” I take my arm back with little resistance on her part, and her features soften. Her glowing, pale eyes fill with tears. “Am I really the one you should be running to with this problem, Skyla? Is there no one better suited to help talk you down from committing a felony no less? What about your own mother? God knows you have two to choose from—ridiculous as they each may be.” A bolt of lightning cuts through the ever-darkening sky and touches down in the clearing. It starts a grassfire that quickly burns itself out, followed by a growl from above. “How about The Pretty One? You ever think of enlisting Jock Strap for the duty?”
“Stop calling them that.” Her voice jumps like she might cry. “And why is everything about my life so ridiculous to you all the time? I thought you’d always be here for me.” She backs away and stumbles over a fallen branch. “I thought you were the one person I could count on.” Her voice breaks right along with my heart.
“Give me your hand. I’ll walk you to the house.” I pick up her fingers only to have her yank them back.
“I can walk myself. I’ll get out of here so you can get back to your forest fantasy.”
“Our forest fantasy.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not there yet. I have a very real problem and it just so happens to be set in this day and age. I thought you’d be more than happy to help me, but you know what I’m hearing from you? I’m hearing fuck you, Skyla!”
“Mouthy little thing, aren’t you.” I growl, tracing her features out with the riding crop. “Dirty mouth at that.”
She lets out a roar of frustration, snatching the stick and attempting to crack it over her knee before tossing it into the bushes.
“Well fuck you, Marshall.” She turns and runs into the murky night.
“That’s precisely what you’re about to do.”
“Good God.” A female voice pants from behind, and I turn to find her eminence glowing soft as a pearl—Skyla. “I remember that day. It didn’t help when you snuck into my room later and tried to kiss it and make it all better.” She steps in and rubs her thumb hard over my lips, her lids hooded low with the glaze of lust in her eyes.
“Yes, well, what I really wanted to do was take you over my knee and initiate a proper punishment.”
Her lips give a dangerous curve. “It’s never too late.”
My stomach cinches in lieu of a laugh. “Let’s get to task.” I set to grab her waist, and she glides back a good ten feet.
“You’ll have to catch me first.” Her teeth illuminate like white flames, her laughter ricochets throughout the island, careless as a breeze.
“I’ll gift you a head start.”
“You know where to find me.” Her face glows as her skin becomes transparent as vellum.
“1692. My least favorite year.”
“To the best little whorehouse in Salem,” she sings it out like a battle cry, the sound of laughter on her lips.
“To the best little whore.”
“Hey, I heard that.”
“I was hoping you would.”
“Marshall is here!” A blonde harlot cries out from on top of the piano, and the girls in the vicinity swarm in our direction with their matching crimson dresses, their black corsets strung so tight they resemble telephone poles at the waist.
Skyla rolls her eyes. “Like flies on—”
I press a finger to her lips. “Now, now, Ms. Messenger. I’ve had enough of your salty tongue for one evening.”
She gives a gentle bite over me until I take back my hand.
“One evening, and two centuries,” she adds.
“Touche.” I wave my gloves at the burgeoning crowd of heaving bosoms, and they part like a carnal Red Sea. “Take us to your leader.”
“Would you stop?” Skyla swats me over the chest. “Nobody really says that.” She turns to the blonde hussy. “Clara MacHatter, please.”
“She’s with a customer.” Her penciled in brows pull up to her scalp.
“Matter’s not,” I say.
Skyla holds out her hand to silence me, and I’m only mildly amused at her bravado.
“Where the hell is she?” Skyla never takes her eyes off the yellow-haired floozy as the room fills with gasps and titters.
“Who do you think you are speaking to me that way?” She steps in and thrusts her chest at my lovely bride, and suddenly I want nothing more than to see some estrogen fly.
“I think I’m Skyla Messenger—a woman from a very different time and place, and I know for a fact the kangaroo court that runs this town is going to raid this hellhole come morning, and the entire lot of you are going to hang as witches—unless, of course, I intervene.” She digs her finger int
o the girl’s downy chest, and it disappears an inch into her flesh. “I also know that what goes on in those bedrooms involves a little more than a fleshly exchange, doesn’t it?”
The room stills, not a bosom heaves.
Skyla leans in close. “This silly prostitution ring you have is a ruse to get the Counts to protect you in exchange for your blood, but you’re wrong, in fact, you’re bloody wrong because the Counts will never protect you. After they string up your bodies, they’ll be right below—lancing your flesh—with a chalice at the ready. Is that what you want?”
A younger girl runs from the back. Her eyes turned up in horror, her lips trembling with fear. “It’s not true, is it?” She doesn’t take her eyes from the woman squaring off with Skyla.
“Of course, it’s not true. Celestra and Countenance have an understanding. So long as you’re under this roof, you’re forever safe.” She cuts Skyla a look that could easily slit her throat.
“Safe forever?” Skyla huffs a laugh.
“Very well,” I intercede and pull Skyla back until her bustle crushes against my waist. “Consider yourself warned.” I motion for the man at the piano to lift the spirits with his efforts, and the noise fills the cavernous structure to pre-hurricane Skyla levels. I glance back at the harlot in yellow. “May we trouble you for a spare room?”
“Third to the left, up the stairs. Sheets on the floor once you’re through.” She flicks a finger under Skyla’s chin before looking to me. “Eh—I can give you one better than this.”
“Excuse me.” Skyla is quick to swat her away.