The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “As you wish.” Marshall lies over me, the bulk of his weight distributed on his elbows as that electric strumming pulses through my veins, my bones and all signs of nausea, the horrific sick feeling I’ve had for weeks, up and dissipates.

  “Oh God, that’s better.” I can breathe for once without the urge to hurl.

  “Skyla.” I glance over to find Gage sitting in the chair behind his desk, the look of distinct irritation on his face. When Tad and Mom redecorated this bedroom for us, they were kind enough to gift us both a desk. Unfortunately, we’ll most likely have to do away with them and put in an entire row of cribs, or open air caskets if Brielle has anything to do with it. That was her alternative choice of bedding for baby Beau.

  “Gage, I can’t help you right now. I can hardly help myself with Marshall on top of me.” My entire body bubbles with relief. My blood flows effervescently through my veins, and I feel physically better than I have for as long as I can remember. “Marshall has gifted me a new lease on life.” One I never plan on giving up. I mouth the word sorry over at my disgruntled husband. “You understand, right?”

  He folds his arms across his chest. His dimples depress right along with his mood.

  Marshall takes up both of my hands and gives a gentle squeeze into my palm.

  “Oh, Marshall!” I moan at the top of my lungs as a wave of luxurious healing pulsates through me.

  “Don’t be alarmed, Jock Strap, just a little acupressure. I know the right places to inject myself into a woman’s body to ensure she’s filled with pleasure.”

  Crap. Marshall also knows the right buttons to push to ensure a husband is filled with fury.

  “This is fucked,” Gage says mostly under his breath, so I let it go for the moment.

  “Just need one more hit,” I stutter. It’s a complete lie. I need Marshall chained to my body. Hell, let’s face it, to my very naked body for the next few months just to survive the outright hostility my stomach is demonstrating. I’ve never felt so horrible. Scratch that. I never knew I could feel so completely wretched on a daily basis. I don’t know how humans do this without a Sector to lie over them and pulsate waves of orgasmic relief throughout their growing bodies. There’s no way on Earth women ever get this sick while expecting, or the human race would have long since died out. I bet I’m allergic to my own children. There simply is no other explanation.

  Marshall flexes his muscles, pressing into me while maneuvering his face near mine before landing cheek-to-cheek.

  That volatile pleasure excels into the stratosphere, and I roar with an intense pang of deliverance from the ongoing trauma that this pregnancy has inflicted.

  “Yes, right there! Oh my God!” I bleat. “Don’t stop!”

  “That’s it. Get the hell off my wife.” Gage plucks Marshall off and sends him sailing into the wall, well, through it, and Marshall dissipates into a blast of nuclear precision.

  “I won’t stay where I’m not respected.” His voice is hollow and distant. “It’s easy to see how having that Fem by your side—in you—is making you ill. If I’m not away on business, I’ll be at your beck and call.”

  “Away on business?” I call after him, but all traces of his glowing cellular structure have up and disappeared. “I am his business.” I cover my face with a pillow before sliding it off. “I’m so sorry, Gage.” I pull him over me as all of Marshall’s good vibrations peter away to nothing.

  “I’m sorry. I should be able to check my emotions. I just want you feeling better. What I don’t want is Dudley copping a feel.”

  “Oh, he wouldn’t dare. Oddly enough, he has the upmost respect for the marriage covenant.” I land a tender kiss to his lips. “And that’s exactly what I have with you.”

  “What’s that chess set doing on your desk again?” He nods over at the haunted game board.

  “Marshall said they were amulets, that they had power. I’ve been tinkering with them, trying to figure out his riddle. Next time he’s around, we need to shake a few answers out of him.”

  “I’ll do the shaking.”

  I pinch his sides, and he bucks. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Do you mind if I bring you comfort the only way I know how?”

  A naughty smile tugs on my lips, but I won’t give it. “I beg of you.”

  Gage starts in with methodical kisses, his tongue twisting over mine achingly slow, so careful and tender my insides melt with yearning. Gage knows how to stir the passion, bring it to a roiling boil before devouring me in the best way possible. Gage makes love to me with his whole body. His mouth loving me over every limb, over the most tender part of me—and that’s where he lingers, his hair touching over my belly like a kiss of its own. His tongue devours me, swift and greedy, licking me in long, broad strokes. His fingers bury themselves inside me over and over, ratcheting me up from every angle. Gage brings me to a heightened state of pleasure that far exceeds anything that Marshall is capable of doing in or out of those perverse dreams. It’s bliss like this with Gage, touching the stratosphere, riding on the tail of a star. Gage and I are our own galaxy, the children buried deep in my belly, each their own secret solar system.

  We are inextricably related.

  We are our own blessed dominion.

  Happily, Gage and I rouse at the lazy hour of three in the afternoon. We trek downstairs, only to be met with a disgruntled Tad, glasses on, clinging to his laptop with a sunny-colored legal pad next to him and an arsenal of wadded-up papers. Whatever literary adventure he’s embarked on, it’s not going well. The china hutch is placed right back where it belongs with the hideous charcoal and lipstick wall art peering at the room from behind.

  “Whatcha’ doin’?” I practically have a skip in my step. Marshall’s feel-good vibes haven’t quite worn off enough to open the floodgates to Barfland again. I’m feeling more like my normal self and less like a human incubator with a faulty stomach. And the memories of those kisses Gage imparted last night, the ones he buried between my thighs to be exact, still vibrate warm in that intimate part of me.

  “Planning for those damn guests you suggested I invite. They’re both on some kind of hippy-dippy diets.”

  Gage leans in and whispers, “The Interlopers.”

  It’s hysterical that the silly nickname is sticking, but in truth, that is what they are.

  “I think we’d best have a variety, and that way they can pick and choose what they want.” My mother’s disembodied voice drifts from the family room, and I do a quick scan, still unable to locate her. My mother has always been part ventriloquist, but she’s not this good. “In fact, we’ll just have a buffet!”

  “Buffet?” Tad squawks. “I suppose you’ll want actual food at this buff-it and stuff-it. You have any idea how we’re going to pay for this shindig?”

  “More importantly, where are you?” I crane my neck to find her on the floor in front of the television with her legs awkwardly spread eagle in front of her, Mia and Melissa are each at the helm of her feet, gripping at her ankles as if they were about to turn her into a wishbone.

  “Should I ask?” Really that was just me talking out loud. I totally know I should not be asking.

  “She wants to do the splits,” Melissa grouses as she twists my mother’s ankle abnormally to the left, and Mom’s face wrenches in pain.

  “God, you’re going to dislocate her hips! Or God forbid shatter them.” It’s a well-known medical fact that elderly people die within a year of fracturing their hips, not that my mother is elderly, but still, with three children underfoot I’ll need her around for a very long time.

  “No, I’m fine.” Mom is quick to wave me off. “The girls are just helping me out. This is all for Tad.” She whispers that last half, and my nausea makes a momentary comeback.

  “I see.” I glance to Gage with that hold-me look on my face, and he wraps his arms around me tight. I love how he knows me so well.

  “Speaking of the splits.” Mia pounces on my mother’s shin so hard I half expe
ct to hear a bone snap. “Coach Bishop has gotten herself knocked up, and she wanted me to ask if you’d be willing to assist the cheer squad.”

  “Ha!” I belt out the laugh before I can fully even process the madness. “Chloe wants me to assist? I bet she’d love to bark orders at me once again. It’d be just like the old days.” And sadly, I sort of miss those—minus the Chloe part.

  “Chloe is pregnant, too?” Mom’s entire affect dissipates to something shy of envy. “Wow, first Laken and now Chloe.” She shakes her head at both Gage and me. “No offense to those girls, but I’m really proud of you two for waiting before getting into trouble like that. Can you imagine?”

  Trouble?

  “Oh, right.” I give a nervous laugh as Gage increases his grip on me. “I totally cannot imagine my life with children in it right now.” True as God. “But I’m sure it’ll all work out for the young mothers-to-be.” Myself included.

  “You keep those rubber baby stoppers on hand, young man!” Tad scolds from the table, and both Mia and Melissa groan in unison. “The last thing we need is another mouth to feed.”

  “Or three,” I whisper as the room starts to spin.

  “Come on, Lizbeth”—he motions for her to stand—“we don’t have all day. There are fine highfalutin establishments to visit, falls to be had, lawyers to be called. I’ve got one right here that says Call before you fall! And he offers a comprehensive plan of action guaranteed to earn us millions! Millions! Can you believe that? Tad Landon, a millionaire! We’re going to be rich, Lizbeth!”

  Call before you fall? Just crap.

  “You will not do this.” I try to block my mother’s path, but a light bulb goes off in her head, and she’s already on to her next thought. When my mother gets an idea, you can see her eyes spinning as if she’s hit a jackpot—usually an empty one.

  “Demetri’s summer soirée!” she shouts as if she just won the lottery.

  “God, yes!” And just like that, I’ve hopped onto Tad’s genius plan. “You can bilk him for billions actually.” The truth is, all she would have to do is ask, and Demetri would print the money in his living room to gift her.

  “Not that, Skyla. He’s hosting an event next Saturday. We’ll simply move our party to the following day. That’s how we’ll get the food for our get-together.”

  Tad growls at the mention of the nefarious demon. “I like Skyla’s idea better.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m the party planner for his big bash. I’ll simply order twice the amount of food we’ll need and take the leftovers home for our own party the next day. He’s forever encouraging me to take whatever I need.”

  Like sperm.

  A small wave of nausea pulses through me. Why would she think it’s okay to host an event with someone else’s sperm? Gah! I mean leftovers. Namely her lover’s leftovers. My stomach churns again.

  “God”—I whisper to Gage—“we’re all going to get food poisoning from the macaroni salad.” Another dull wave washes over me, and I clamp my hand over my stomach. I’ve never been a fan of the mayonnaised-glibbery noodles. “We need to leave.”

  “I’m taking Skyla out for a bite.” Gage ushers toward the hall.

  “Wait!” Mia calls out. “What will I tell Coach Bishop?”

  I think on this for a moment. “Tell her to find a permanent replacement.” She doesn’t belong at West. She doesn’t belong on Paragon. My goal is to make that happen one day. I don’t need my mother to do it, but I just might need the added boost to my powers that these precious little beings floating in my tummy offer.

  I have a feeling Chloe’s eviction is going to be Fem-tacular.

  Of all the places on the island to eat, I choose the Gas Lab. For one, the food is pretty damn great now that Ethan has all but been voted out of the kitchen. And two, Nev refuses to take my money—which in and of itself is an irony since my mother used my meager inheritance from my father to get this gas bag up and running. Not that it’s a gas bag anymore. It’s a bona fide treat.

  “What will it be?” Nevermore, who for whatever reason I still find very hard to call Heathcliff, waits patiently. But I’m too distracted to peruse the menu properly because Logan and Marshall are off in the corner with Brielle of all people. I’m not sure if I should find this combination of company charming or alarming—perhaps a little of both.

  “Surprise me!” I give a manufactured grin. “No garlic or chicken, though.”

  “And hold the box.” Gage tweaks his brows at me.

  We wait until Nev disappears before breaking out our we-have-a-secret goofy grins. I suppose half of our friends already know, but still—three babies!

  “We should be terrified,” I whisper, pulling his hand over to me and giggling into it.

  “We shouldn’t be terrified. Those kids should be terrified because they’re going to have us as parents.” His dimples wink at me. “You’ll be a great mother—already are.”

  “You’ll be a great father—already are.” My voice grows somber as a dull ache fills my chest. “Tell Demetri whatever it is he wants to hear—you know, just to make sure you see your grandchildren one day. I don’t care about the destination game my mother plays.”

  A cool breeze whistles past my bare ankles as Coop and Laken walk in.

  “Coop dawg.” Gage slaps him five, and I pull a seat out for Laken as they join us.

  “How are you feeling?” Her eyes glitter with joy for me, and I feel that much closer to her.

  “Usually not so great, but I’m hanging tough right now.” I shrug a little at Gage because we both know whose magic touch we can thank for getting me out of bed.

  “She had a slimy Sector roll all over her.” Gage is still not impressed with the less than kosher methods of reducing my nausea. “But I was there and supervised the entire fiasco.” He shakes his head at Coop. “Dude, I don’t know what’s worse—watching Dudley getting physical with my wife or watching that nutcase of a doctor sodomizing her. When the time comes, do yourselves a favor and either get a female doctor, or a male equivalent of a goat.”

  Coop barks out a laugh. Coop is a dark blond, same cut features and cunning good looks as Logan. Coop could easily pass for an Oliver in that respect. He’s part Celestra and Noster, so he was able to help in the Faction War. I couldn’t think of anyone better for Laken—especially not Wes.

  “How’s the wedding coming along?” I’m convinced that I’m just as excited for them as they are.

  “Great.” Coop gives a slow nod.

  “Not so great.” Laken cocks her head at him as if daring him to tell the truth. “Our venue had a roof leak, and now we not only have to make last-minute changes, but we need to contact everyone on the guest list and somehow reroute the entire event.”

  “We’ll send a text,” Coop offers. “It’s a small wedding.”

  “A text?” Laken looks as if she doesn’t know if she should laugh or cry.

  “I think it would be fine.” I pat her on the hand. “In fact, it screams modern bride. Just make sure you add hashtag wedding.”

  She rolls her eyes. “And hashtag disaster, hashtag screwed. Anyway, that’s what we’re doing today, scouting for a new venue.”

  “You can have it outside,” a familiar voice chimes from behind as Logan flashes his killer smile before pulling up a chair. “You can have it at White Horse—on the beach.”

  “Really?” Laken’s eyes sparkle with instant tears. It looks like we’re both wearing our emotions out in the open—a vest of feathered armor.

  “I don’t mean to be a killjoy”—Coop leans in—“but what if it rains? I’ve been on the island for a couple of years, and I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen the sun—and at that it was just an impression.”

  It’s true. Paragon loves to play in the rain, have her every orifice washed and licked by the dismal skies. It’s their crooked love affair I’ll have to thank when my children one day ask me to describe the solar unit the rest of the planet bathes in—otherwise k
nown as the sun.

  “I might be able to take care of that.” I glance out the window at the dull day and stare pensively at the western sky. A dark shroud moves over the already moody canopy above, and lightning sizzles outside the window. “Oops. Looks like rain.” The words tremble out of me. I haven’t tried messing with the weather until now, but I remember Gage having that capability. “I’ll get it right.”

  “Be careful,” Gage warns. “That was the one trick your mother did not care for.”

  “Skyla,” Laken says it breathless. “My God.” She pats her chest a moment as if she’s shelving her thoughts. “Yes, White Horse it is, as long as I can coordinate with my weather girl.” She says that last part sarcastically. “I think I’ll have tents on hand just in case.”

  Bree saunters over, a pissed pout on her lips. Brielle is the queen of wearing her emotions on her sleeve.

  “Well, look what we have here!” Her voice is high and peppered with an accusatory tone. “Two knocked-up besties and their husbands.” She looks to Logan. “Don’t worry, hon. That covers you, too.” She makes a face at me.

  I’m about to say something to set her straight until I spot Marshall having a spirited chat with Nev and Ezrina, and a part of me wonders what that’s about.

  Nev comes by and drops off an omelet the size of my head, brimming with veggies and cheese. It’s perfect, and surprisingly, I feel as if I can devour this monstrosity in one sitting.

  He leans toward Gage and Logan. “Would you gentlemen mind stepping over to the counter? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “Does this concern the Barricade?” I’m just about to get up myself.

  “No.” Nevermore shoots a quick glance behind him. “It has to do with a certain young man’s bachelor party.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” Coop raises his hands to rebuff the idea.

  “Actually, it’s not me.” Nev nods toward the so-called Slimy Sector whom I feel as though I owe my new lease on life to. “Sir Dudley would like to do the honors.”