“I’ll have you won’t I?” My voice quivers. “How could I ever have a broken heart with you in my life?”
He presses in a heartfelt kiss.
“Good answer,” his chest rattles with a little laugh. “You’ll always have me, Skyla.”
“Hey,” I push back and examine him in the blanched moonlight. “When I came to Paragon why didn’t you, you know, step up and claim me?” I want to laugh at the caveman mentality of it all, but, in all honesty, we could have avoided a lot of heartache—not to mention an entire faction war.
He takes in an enormous breath and holds it.
“I thought that maybe you’d come to me. Once I was sure it was you, it was too late. You and Logan were locked at the hip, and I didn’t want to get in the way. I knew the visions were right—that it would all work out.”
“It did,” I whisper, pressing my cheek against his. I want to absorb all of his grief—turn his past heartbreak into joy unspeakable.
“Remember that day at the mall? You were eating ice cream, and I told you that I’d marry you someday?”
“Yes.” I’ll never forget the sadness Gage would exude every time we were together. Now I know why.
“I guess it was my way of intervening. Anyway, it was lame.”
“No, it wasn’t. The truth is, I’ve always felt something for you. And right about now, I’m regretting ever looking in Logan’s direction.”
“Don’t,” Gage closes his eyes and bumps my nose with his. “I’ve had other visions, Skyla.”
“Tell me.” I settle back against the pillow as though he’s about to tell me the best bedtime story ever.
“I’m not ready.” There’s that sadness again. “I may never be.”
***
The sun casts its pall on the morning—tries with futile desperation to pull apart the taffy haze, and make its light known to the bubble of our universe. Paragon is like the underbelly of a rock, cool and liable to the things of daylight. Ours is a sinister world covered under the wing of some mythological creature who supervises our comings and goings, attests to the anomaly of the island with its covenant to darkness.
I crank open my window and call for Nevermore. I wait in eager anticipation, watch with awe as his mass of shadowed wings glide into the foreground. He ducks inside and I close the window to trap in the warmth. Gage’s woodsy cologne still lingers thick in the air from the night before.
“Skyla,” he croaks, pulling in and out his wings as though he were adjusting them.
I give a few soft strokes before settling my hand on the flat of his back.
“Tell me everything.”
What is my life to you? My days are long over. There is nothing that should intrigue you.
“You have my blood racing through your veins, we’re connected. I want to know all about you.” And whatever the hell landed him trapped in the body of an overgrown bird. “You said you were a Count. Maybe start there.” That more than a little freaks me out, but I’d hate to make him feel bad about his specie demotion. The last thing I need to worry about is having my eyes pecked out by an angry raven.
Very well. I say these things not to frighten or titillate, just mere facts of who I once was and how I managed to land my soul in this morbid estate. He shuffles from side to side when he says it.
I’d hate to hurt his feelings but I can hardly understand him.
I originate from a distant past. Had I remained, I would have perished long ago. As a young man, I favored a girl who captured my heart. She was a Celestra and held fast to her kind, always following the rules, engaging in the rivalry between factions when necessary.
“So, this is a love story,” I sit on the bed and beckon him next to me.
I believe this is more of a tragedy. My love and I were not able to be. I fought to have my status renounced and help my love in a battle for her life, and her faction. I was a great warrior and achieved the massacre of hundreds of my former people.
“You killed Counts…and you did it for love?” Logan flashes through my mind, wielding his weapon of mass destruction at all those New Moon festivals a few weeks back.
I gave everything for love. Unfortunately, the justice alliance didn’t feel we were vindicated in our efforts, and penalized both me, and the one to whom my heart belonged.
“What happened?”
It’s long and sordid, the details both grisly and disastrous. The sentence was particularly harsh as they deemed it necessary to display us both as examples for those considering treason.
“Why did they punish her if she was going against a rival faction?” Logan specifically told me there were laws in place to protect against stuff like that—unless, of course, he reached down into his bucket of lies to fish that one out.
She moved without permission of the council.
“She went rogue.” I so like her. “But sometimes the faction leaders make stupid decisions.” They are so prone to making stupid decisions.
Agree. Nevertheless, we chose to forego the warning in lieu of saving her race. After that, the punishment was abrupt, and severed our love for eternity. I was cast into the body of my quickest capture.
“And she?” I swallow hard in anticipation.
She was allowed a season. She married a daft fellow, had four children, two perished at birth. Then one day when the justice alliance saw fit, they took her.
“Took her?” I straighten. “Like for her blood?”
No, they destroyed her flesh. She has been handed immortal servitude. They malformed her beauty and forbade me to see her again.
“And you? You live forever as this raven?”
The raven lives as long as it’s not slaughtered. Natural death will not overcome me. I’ve averted many a hunter’s arrow.
“What happens when the raven dies?”
It will be as though I never existed. My soul eternally departs.
I press my hand against my chest.
“What was your name?”
The one who once bore a human moniker has perished, he will be Nevermore, and that is my name.
“And the name of the girl you loved?”
His head ticks upwards, his black dots for eyes peer into mine.
Surely you must know by now.
The name of my beloved.
Ezrina.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Feast
Tad organizes a dinner party at a ritzy downtown restaurant worthy of a wedding reception, only there’s no blessed union to celebrate. Instead, there’s a wicked soul parading around as a Landon at the center of this feast.
Tad is beyond amazed that Ethan hasn’t taken off without being leashed down and has pulled out all the stops for this boisterously lavish affair. Mom invited Brielle and Drake, Darla and their shared love, Demetri, the Olivers, which brings my love to the table, Gage, Logan the traitor, and, of course, Marshall who my mother not so secretly worships from afar. Holden invited Emily who, in turn, came equipped with her perennial demonic accessories, Chloe, Michelle, and Lexy—bitch squad deluxe.
“Not a Kragger in sight. I’m almost insulted,” Holden says, looking indifferent to the festivities unfolding before him. He smirks into me as we enter the grand room in the back of the restaurant. “I’d give Pierce a call, but then he wouldn’t be welcome, would he?” he whispers, rife with sarcasm.
“Technically neither are you.” I should have him and his brother incarcerated for the psychological and physical trauma they’ve caused me. I’m sure Tad would hate me forever if I was responsible for putting Ethan behind bars, but I have a feeling that’s the direction our relationship is going anyway.
I can’t help but notice the subtle changes Holden has already made to poor Ethan’s body, the new cropped haircut much like Holden past, the botched beauty school dropout highlights, which make it look like a bird conducted its business on multiple occasions, not to mention the fact he’s been lifting weights and downing muscle milk more than he eats real food. It’s like he’s ge
tting ready for a prison riot or mass annihilation of those he lives with. God—I never even thought that Holden might slaughter us all in our sleep.
“I’m still so glad you’re back! We should celebrate like every week.” Melissa hops up and down. The curls in her hair defy gravity as she continues to ply him with her affections. Between her and Mia’s hairspray addiction, there’s a generous layer of ozone evaporating daily right here above Paragon.
“Off,” he shoves her away.
Melissa stalls a moment. Her large doe eyes vacillate with emotion as she struggles not to cry before bounding over to Mia. Holden is getting away with everything just because he’s sporting Landon DNA.
Marshall steps forward and pulls out a chair for me.
I’ve got a beef with the pretty Oliver. Were I human, he would have disfigured my oral cavity. Dental work would have been in my future. Marshall gives a sharp look.
“You know what they say, a tooth for a tooth,” I glance over at Logan.
I take a seat and both Gage and Marshall swoop in on either side of me. I can tell this peeves Gage to the point of insanity, but I’d much rather have Marshall beside me than Logan.
You know how I feel about people disrupting my property, he glances down at my arm.
Ironic because the only reason Logan bashed Marshall’s face in, was to protect his so-called property—me.
Chloe sits on the other side of Gage and takes up his hand. Mom’s jaw drops, baffled by this bizarre display of events.
“I do know how you feel about that, Mr. Dudley,” I add his proper moniker in the event anyone is listening. “He’s mistreated you that way before, and I don’t recall a drastic punishment.” Mistreated—more like beat the shit out of him. The only punishment Marshall doled out was to put him on a ceiling time out for twenty minutes.
I fought back—it was a just effort on both our parts. I’m afraid he’s disregarded my warning to refrain from violence where I’m concerned. It appears I have recompense to initiate. He picks up the wine list from the center of the table and peruses the selections.
God. Marshall is going to make Logan pay. I look over at him frowning at something Lexy is filling his head with. He’ll be lucky if he has a head when Marshall is through with him.
The waitress passes out menus.
I’ve never been to this Italian restaurant before with its wine cellar located precariously over our heads. Of course, it’s discretely interwoven with vines and illuminated grapes interspersed like an expanse of purple stars, but one little earthquake, and the possibility of one of us leaving with a concussion is almost guaranteed.
Holden knocks his menu onto the table a few good times to get everyone’s attention. “I’m going to make this easy,” his eyes dart up to the waitress, “we’ll take one sampler platter for each of us.”
“I don’t want that,” Melissa cuts in.
“My damn party,” he quips, closing his menu with finality.
Tad scans down the menu and coughs a moment at the price.
“Good call, Son,” he tries to save face. “We can split, three, four, between the lot of us.”
“Do the math, genius, there’s eighteen people at the friggin table.” Holden hands the menu to the waitress. “Eighteen sampler platters.”
Shit.
Holden is, well, being Holden, and if Tad doesn’t die eating a giant plate of deep-fried everything, the grand total of tonight’s bill will annihilate him, for sure.
Tad gasps for breath. “That’s forty—”
Mom jabs him in the ribcage before he can balk about the forty dollar a platter price tag. Forget the fact that the Landon family can’t afford college or diapers for the critter they’re cooking up in a Petri dish—they can’t afford to eat this or any other meal for the next solid month.
“We’re more than happy to give you whatever you wish on your special day.” Mom forces a smile.
Holden motions for the waitress once again, whispers to her while pointing at the wine list. Funny, since half the table is well below the legal limit, including himself.
Fascinating display of wealth and power. Marshall looks unimpressed with Holden’s tactics. Has regret set in over your nonsensical quest to find that disaster a new home?
“Of course.” Speaking of regret, and heartbreak, and disaster—I reach under the table and clasp Marshall’s hand, spilling all I know about Nevermore and Ezrina.
It was do justice, he winks at me. Don’t you agree?
No, I don’t. I think love should win every single time, I say.
Love like Chloe and Gage?
“Hell no,” I say a little too loud.
“Skyla!” Mom’s eyes bug out while Mia and Melissa ogle me like I’ve gone insane.
“It’s a new cheer,” I offer, smirking over at Chloe.
Chloe’s eyes shine in my direction. She just loves this make-believe bubble she’s squeezed the rest of us into.
I squeeze Marshall’s hand. I want Chloe dead.
Not a chance with that protective hedge welded around her neck. You’ve chosen your bed, and perhaps the future bed of your almost lover.
I blush. OK, I want Chloe’s affections redirected—preferably in your direction.
Not my type.
“Not your type?” I say out loud. Tad eyes me with suspicion. He probably thinks I’ve ingested a hallucinogenic from my imaginary stash. Every woman on the planet is your type.
Come now, even I have boundaries. Certain girls suppress my appetite—one of which you are not. He gives an open wink.
“Marshall,” Demetri takes a moment from attempting to bewitch my mother, “tell me about this horse ranch of yours.” He gleams in all his dark splendor. Come to think of it, Demetri and Chloe would make a great couple—a couple of heartless assholes.
“Equestrian arena,” Marshall breathes the words out, bored by the effort. “I house show horses, offer lessons on the side. If you’re interested in riding, I’ve got the perfect horse for you.” She’s yet to be broken, holds the promise of paralysis.
Marshall’s a genius.
“And you teach?” Demetri fans his fingers in a downward direction.
“I do a multitude of tasks. Are you in town as a guest, or have you chosen to extend your stay?” Marshall pins him with a harsh stare. If it wasn’t apparent that the two are on the outer fringes of an honest friendship, it is now. The room hushes to a whisper as though we were witnessing a show down at high noon. I hope there’s a spirit sword involved, and death.
“The women of Paragon beguile me.” Demerti’s dark eyes sparkle in this dim light. There’s a perennial smile that plays on the outskirts of his lips. His entire demeanor drinks down this clash with Marshall.
“Lovely as they may be, you have a home elsewhere,” Marshall snaps. “Might I suggest you tend to it?” It comes out a command rather than a question.
There’s a pregnant pause. The whispers around the table fade to nothing.
“I don’t allow others to dictate my actions,” Demetri doesn’t break his hard stare in Marshall’s direction. “I did it once to my misfortune. I don’t take orders anymore.”
Orders, like from Chloe, orders? Does he regret listening to her and setting the wheels in motion to kill my father?
No, Skyla, Marshall rubs his hand over mine discretely.
Just like with Logan, I can never remember he’s listening.
Demetri most certainly does not regret his actions towards your father. If you must know the truth, he is directly responsible for the tragedy. No middleman,just one hundred percent Demetri-fueled hatred. Chloe was the gasoline—he was the match. That man, my love, is himself the proprietor of you father’s death in every way.
A guttural groan emits from somewhere deep inside my chest. The room spins slightly, the world downshifts into slow motion as I look up towards Demetri.
“No,” I whisper as though I were hearing the news for the very first time, as though my father dying were a current e
vent and I had somehow witnessed the atrocity firsthand. I pick up a knife and dart it across the table like a javelin. It glides off his coat and lands precariously in my mother’s lap.
“Yes!” Holden gloms onto the concept and lobs the free dinner rolls in a dozen directions at once.
The bitch squad indulges in the debauchery and outright melee ensues for several minutes with flying forks and spoons, an errant knife in my direction by Chloe, until Tad stands and gives an obnoxious whistle, fans his arms out in front of him like a referee.
It’s in that moment—the nexus of the storm, that I turn to Gage and indulge in one long mouthwatering kiss. I don’t spare a soul from my public display of lingual affection. It’s not only my F-U to Chloe, it’s the only thing in the world that will quell my appetite for destruction, for murder, and take me away to a well needed reprieve, if only for a moment.
It’s Gage who repels, gasps before cutting a worried look at me as though I had butchered someone for sport at the table.
Dinner arrives.
Tad leads us into the blessing which is full of admonishments, suggestion for Holden’s behavior and, for the love of God, for men to stop hitting on his wife.
There’s that.
The noise level drops once again, the sound of voices are replaced with the clang of dishes, knives and forks scrapping against our plates in haste.
An army of waitresses bring out fourteen bottles of their finest champagne, and Tad’s face bleaches out as they’re set on the table.
He doesn’t say a word, but you can see that he wants to. He strangles Holden with his eyes just enough to assure him he’s crossed the line.
“Nothing but the best for me, right Pops?” Holden expands his hands over the feast as though he were claiming dominion.
“Nothing but the best,” Tad grits it through his teeth.
Demetri stares over at me—callous and cold—holds the butter knife I speared him with and twirls it with his fingers like a baton.
“Excuse me,” I say, before heading to the restroom.