The air seems to vacuum out from around me and I can’t catch my next breath. This thing—this competition, this game, this horrific, horrific nightmare has been around since the beginning. We are simply a manifestation of what once was, living out the consequences of someone else’s sins, shouldering their burden while creating our own.
She starts in on an answer, but Marshall waves his hands over my ears once again and they’re right back to sounding like gobbly-gook.
“Get me out of here, Marshall.” I turn away from the two beautiful beings that I have so much love and pity for. “Demetri.” I sigh his name out like the curse it is.
Marshall wraps his arm around my waist as we head back between the overgrown cedars.
“And the point of that was?” I’m almost afraid to ask, but at the same time I think I already know.
“The point is, there are repercussions from their actions that have trickled down from generation to generation. You, too, can feel them. And you, too, can create them.”
“Funny,” I say, wrapping my arms tightly around my favorite Sector. “I just came to the same conclusion myself.” The world around us warps at dizzying speeds. “You’re not taking me back to that first day at the bowling alley, are you?” It comes out dejected as I slowly accept the fate of every rotten thing that has transpired this wicked night.
“I am a Sector who keeps his word, Skyla. Though it tarries, wait for it. If I commit to a cause, I see it through to the bitter end.”
I can’t help but think I’m a cause that Marshall is devoted to seeing through until the bitter end.
The world blinks to life around us, and soon enough we’re floating somewhere near the ceiling of the old bowling alley. Just the sight of that slightly ramshackle establishment has my heart warming as if I were looking in the eyes of a dear friend.
“Thank you.” I brush a kiss to Marshall’s cheek.
He points down and I spot Logan and Gage on their feet, Brielle and me striding in looking so very young, so alarmingly innocent. And there I am, my soul glowing from the inside out like a beacon as my gaze remains firmly on Logan’s.
I was smitten. Yes, I was.
Gage stands a step behind Logan, gazing upon me as if I had just stepped out of his dreams and into reality, and in a way I did. But my heart, all of my energy is pouring out to the fair-haired boy before me. I was already gone, head over heels before he ever said hello. It was that instant. And as much as I would like to believe it was nothing more than a celestial hammer to the head, I can see with my own eyes it was genuine. I know it in my heart as well.
“I can’t hear them,” I whisper to Marshall and he shakes his head, his heavy stare still sunk in their direction.
“There’s nothing new under the sun, Skyla. You know all the words. You’ve played them back in your mind like a song. Your affection is pinned to the correct person. There was a serpent in this garden, too.”
A burst of anguish rips through me. “Don’t say that. I love Gage.” It comes from me weak and sounds more like a question than a fact. “I should have loved him better. I should have given him my all, right from the start. I should never have made him wait so long to have me. There were so many moves, so many things I could have done to secure his loyalty, his entire being. But in the end, the serpent whispered to him, too, sold him on more than one piece of forbidden fruit, and the rest is now imprinted in the annals of Nephilim history for time immemorial.
“I can’t reverse this, can I, Marshall?”
“Not from this vantage point. Certainly not from this point in time.” He buries his heated mouth over the top of my head. “I’m sorry, Skyla.”
“Not from this vantage point—not from this point in time.” I pull back and look to Marshall’s beautiful crimson eyes. “Then I will fix it from another vantage point, from another point in time.”
Marshall sighs, another drawn-out exasperated proverbial toss of the hands. He holds me tight and floats us down to where the four of us stood all those years ago. My feet never touch the ground. Instead, he speeds me toward my old self as I shake hands with Logan for the very first time and I push into my old body, through it, into Logan, and through him as I absorb every last bit of ecstasy emitting from those former versions of ourselves.
If there was a word for how immaculately blessed it felt to have those yearnings, those early pricklings of desire burn through me, it couldn’t come close to the splendor imparted on me. This was the language of God pulsating through my veins, the glory of the triune Godhead alive and well in my being. And then, just like that, I stop abruptly, face to face with the dark-haired, blue-eyed angel that would cause so much carnage one day in my life.
Shall you pass through him and see what he’s made of as well, Ms. Messenger? Marshall tips his head back as he tosses out the offer, but my eyes and every last ounce of my soul cannot break this hypnotic trance Gage has on me.
No. I don’t hesitate with the answer. If I push through Gage Oliver’s body, it might answer a few questions, the very ones I posed to Marshall just a little while earlier, but here in his distant space and time, looking into those unknowably ocean deep eyes, I see that I am not nearly prepared to have the truth splayed at my feet.
A holy love pours from me to him, and if there is no truth, no reciprocation of what I feel vibrating inside of him, I couldn’t stand to know it. There comes a time in a person’s life when you would much rather hold onto a lie with a strangled grip than embrace the bitter truth and watch as the flames of honesty incinerate your heart. I step in front of Gage as a silent tear rolls down my cheek, but I don’t acknowledge it. Instead, that righteous rage percolates inside of me and I lift my hand and offer my open palm across his cheek, a blow that goes off like a nuclear detonation as the room around us pulsates and thunders, as time crumbles to dust at our feet and the world claps to darkness.
With a jolt, Marshall and I land back in the center of that raucous party at his estate, still going fifty whores strong at this late hour. The ragtime tempo speeds up a notch upon our arrival and I pan the vicinity to find women on the furniture and men doing what looks like a poor rendition of Riverdance in front of the fire. Clothes hang precariously, hair is mussed, and lipstick is most decidedly smeared. Suffice it to say, a carnal good time is being had by all.
I turn slightly and do a double take as Melody Winters gives it up to some old coot in the corner. Her bare thigh is lifted over his hip as he thrusts heartily into her and that red rat’s nest she calls hair is rocking against the wall. Not only does the sight sicken me, but it reminds me of another sickening offense. For a moment they morph into Chloe and Gage. Chloe opens her hot pink mouth and moans so loud it drowns out every other sound in this room. She’s pushing him deeper with her claws spiked into his bare ass as Gage thrashes between her legs like an animal.
Marshall blocks my view for a moment. “It’s not them, Skyla,” he says it stern as if I got a problem wrong on a pop quiz. Marshall was my teacher back in high school. That’s where his earthly charade began, as Mr. Dudley. Mr. Studley Dudley who went on to bed half the girls in the junior and senior class. I guess he had some sexual making up to do, and in his defense there were more than enough willing partners of every age and stage of life. He’s hewn from the heavens, and both his facial appeal and that godly body let you know it. Those feel-good vibratronics didn’t exactly hurt the situation either. Let’s just say he’s been an orgasmic delight ever since he’s popped back onto the planet.
I crane my neck past him and Chloe gifts me the finger as she slowly morphs back into Melody.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I know what he’s doing and with whom.” My chest bucks, but I refuse to acknowledge the malfeasance. It should be me Gage is making love to. How dare he defy me in so many ways in such a short and damning amount of time. My rage rises to new levels and a tantalizing, yet most likely dangerous, idea flits through my mind.
My arms find themselves around the back of Ma
rshall’s neck as I pull him in and move my body slowly against his as if we were slow dancing. Those intense sonic waves that emulate every orgasm I have ever had vibrate deep into my bones and I close my eyes and bite down over my lip in a fit of ecstasy. “Marshall,” I moan his name out with all of my might.
All of my anger, the bitterness, the animosity, it needs an outlet, something creative, something equally destructive.
“Ms. Messenger.” Marshall arches a brow, his crooked dirty smile gracing me with its presence. “I do believe you have ill intentions.”
“I need to get some energy out.” I cock my head to the side. “You don’t approve of my actions?”
“I no more trust your actions at this hour than I do your words. I believe you’ll need some time.”
“Are you rejecting me so soon?”
That devilish smile twitches again, but he won’t give it. “Never. Only a fool would toss you to the wind.” His gaze flits to the floor as if he were sorry for the words as soon as they left his lips.
“A fool did toss me to the wind, and I was caught by the power of my own wings.” I nod up at him. “I’ve absolved myself from needing a man psychologically—but I’m far from needing one physically.” I’m not sure I believe the former. First of all, my heart is aching with such a horrific pain, and that could only be sponsored by the fact I love Gage. I hate that I love him, but I do. And furthermore, I rather like the idea of revenge fueled sex. I lift my own brow at the wily Sector, but he pretends not to hear me.
A wry smile comes to my lips. I’m fine with it. I rather like our little cat and mouse game anyhow. It distracts me. Sleeping with Marshall would infuriate Gage. Maybe I should call Logan and invite him for a threesome.
Marshall flinches as if I struck him.
Hell, I should drag Ellis Harrison into the mix, Coop, and Wesley. My heart stops cold at the thought. No, not Wesley. God, not Wesley. Wesley is essentially Gage’s twin in every way. The thought of Wesley Edinger grinding over me, his heavy lids pried open enough just to spy on me to see if I’ve got my gaze locked over him, makes me shudder. Wes is greedy that way. A complete narcissist. He’s so insecure, I bet he demands Laken keep her eyes feasted on him the entire time he’s filling her with his semen.
He’s disgusting. The entire situation he’s embroiled Laken in is disgusting. He was so desperate to have her, it wouldn’t surprise me at all to learn that Wes arranged for the feds to kidnap my poor friend just to wipe her memory clean of her true love, Cooper Flanders. But per usual, things worked to Wesley’s advantage—as most things do—and now they have a kid together. A little girl named Charlie who happens to look exactly like Cooper Flanders, aka her real father. The truth will come out, I’m sure, and it will backfire spectacularly in Wesley’s Demetri-inspired face. Just like marrying Chloe will backfire on Gage. I’ll make sure of it myself. I might be devoting every free moment of my life from here on out to get my people back where they belong—to the top of the celestial food chain, but I will make a glorious hobby out of making Gage and Chloe’s existence miserable. I’ll make sure they’ll both rue their own skin, let alone each other’s.
“Marshall?” I take a deep breath and my chest presses hard over his. “Remember that time you were telling me that once we were married, should we argue, it would be conducted naked and in bed?” I don’t waste any time in getting right to the point.
His head inches back, his gaze pinned to mine with suspicion. He takes a moment to glance to the rear of the house as if assessing whether or not he indeed issued the decree. And hell, I can’t remember if it was him either. It could have been Logan or Gage for that matter. Lord knows I’m in an unfit headspace to recall anything correctly. But that’s neither here nor there.
I pull Marshall down toward me by way of his slick silver tie. “Well, Professor Dudley—” Marshall is a professor at Host University, but he still teaches part-time at West Paragon High. I have a feeling we will all gravitate back there one by one. I can feel it calling us, our mascot Cerberus barking in the night, howling with grief because he misses his children. “Tonight is your lucky night. I feel an argument coming on.”
If Gage is having sex with someone else, then so will I.
A dark laugh rumbles from his chest to mine. “There will be no thundering beneath the sheets for the two of us, Ms. Messenger. Not this horrific evening. You are hardly in the correct frame of mind.”
“I am exactly in the correct frame of mind.” My hands slide down his back and I give his rock-solid bottom a hearty squeeze. “And besides, we don’t really need a bed, now do we?” I purr as I hike up on my tiptoes.
“Ms. Messenger, the fine gentry is staring. You are causing quite the celestial scene.”
“The fine gentry can go screw themselves and they are, Marshall.” There’s a slight whine to my tone and I don’t like hearing it. “Why should they have all the fun?”
“Is this how you’d like our first time to be?” He’s openly frowning at me, inspecting me with his eyes slit to nothing as he tips his head back. “Revenge for Jock Straps’ stupendous blunder?”
My heart wrenches when he calls him that. It’s a pet name, an insult really, that Marshall has had for Gage right from the beginning. Marshall always seems to stray from calling people by their formal monikers, most people anyhow. I take that back. Marshall is rather hyper formal.
“Yes,” I hiss to his face. “I will have my revenge and I will have it with you. You and I both know it wouldn’t be our first rodeo under those sheets. You’ve taken me in more ways, on more days than either of my previous husbands combined, and you know it.” It’s true. Marshall has claimed me in my dreams, and God, those were no mere nocturnal wanderings. They were real in every sense of the word and he knows it. Marshall has found a sexual loophole and he’s thrust right into it, and right into me by proxy. “And furthermore, I am your spirit wife, the one you have pledged your celestial devotion to. You are also my spirit guide or spirit spouse or spirit whatever—the one who I can command to do my spectacular bidding. So you see, I have double charge over you and I have full say in how we end this long, horrible night.”
“It’s morning, Skyla. The sun is cresting the horizon.”
“Lucky for you, I do love my morning sex. There isn’t a more invigorating way to start the day.” A horrible sadness envelops me because morning sex happened to be my favorite with Gage. Most of the time I would simply wake up and find myself already having sex with Gage. Of course, I was always a willing partner, and what he started I almost always showed up to finish. I teased him on more than one occasion that he was my alarm. Big Ben. I had called his most prized member that on a few occasions. Now, ironically, Gage himself had morphed into one big dick.
Unfathomable how far we have fallen. Unrelenting this nightmare he’s trapped us in. It’s as if he never considered the cost. What could be worth the price he’s paid? A seat on some ridiculous throne? And why in the name of all that is holy and right would he drag the queen demon, and nail her down by his side? He nailed her, all right. In my very presence, he took Chloe and made her his wife.
My head tips back with a groan.
Focus.
I jerk forward and look Marshall Dudley in the eye. Marshall rarely smiles. His spoken words are laced with razor sharp barbs. He oozes testosterone without trying. His hair is golden, his features hewn from marble, and that body can make an entire legion of angels break out into a hallelujah choir. Marshall is a man’s man. Tough as nails, get to the point, get the damn job done, and the only job he has to do at the moment is me.
“Nice segue.” He lifts a brow, his face otherwise bored by my internal diatribe.
I give a weak shrug. “It was worth a try. And for the record, I do like that you listen to my thoughts.” Mostly. “Besides, the old Gage would rather take off his skin as if it were a sweater than have me bed you.” My lids drop a notch as my gaze penetrates his. There is something decidedly intrusive about looking straigh
t into Marshall’s fiery red eyes, something intimate, something far more intricate than foreplay that happens to my body.
“You’re laying it on thick,” he says, and with every inflection of his voice those vibratronics quiver through me in sharp, jagged waves and my body bucks with ferocity.
“Marshall.” His name escapes my lips, lower than a whisper, as I shiver right down to the core. “You don’t play fair.”
“Was that enough foreplay?”
“Nothing is ever enough with you.” I dig my hands into his lapel and rip off his jacket in one easy move. About ten different women shriek, either with approval or disgust at my brazenness, but I don’t care which. Hell, for a blissful moment I forgot they were in the room. “Get rid of them.”
Marlena henpecks her way over, her head jutting between us, her lips moving, shouting something about a mockery.
“Oh, shut the hell up,” I hiss before hiking up on my tiptoes and crashing my mouth over Marshall’s.
Is this revenge, Ms. Messenger?
A dull laugh thumps through me. This is my emancipation and I am ringing that bell.
I’m not entirely certain I believe it, but I’ve already crawled out of my mind, leaped outside the bounds of sanity—so far outside of where I’d thought I’d be just a year ago. How I grieved for my sweet husband. I willed him back to life with the command of my love. How I regretted it with everything in my being just a few short hours ago. The deepest pit of hell has nothing on the pain that Gage inflicted upon me. He cut my people to nothing, and then he took the knife to my heart.
I launch my tongue down Marshall’s throat as if I were performing exploratory surgery, seeking an answer, an elixir, a savior.
The din of the music and the laughter become scarce, and the temperature of the room goes from hellish to heavenly. I pull back and give a few blinks, only to find the surroundings have shifted and here we are nestled in his cavernous chambers, the oversized bed covered with emerald jacquard, Marshall’s chest panting wild and dangerously so close to mine.
All Hail the King (Celestra Forever After Book 6) Page 5
