Dark Paradise: A Revelation Series Novel (The Revelation Series Book 6)

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  “As a sainted warrior of Heaven, he is under a divine oath not to.”

  “You know there is no difference between a sinner and saint,” I counter. “One just does shit in front of you, while the other makes deals with the devil behind your back.”

  He dips his chin. “It’s the deal with the devil that I want to know about.”

  I study him for a long time before something hits me in the gut. “Aside from Eve and your overinflated protector complex, why do you really want to open Pandora’s box?”

  Asher’s lips press together. “I get the feeling Serena is somehow involved.”

  My brows pinch. “Callan’s newborn?”

  “Serena is the heir to the gargoyle race and, I am guessing, a target.”

  My gaze roams over him as I contemplate everything he’s saying, slowly putting the pieces together. “And the Academy?” I ask, starting to see right through him.

  “I’m building it for Serena’s protection in the event that I am right.”

  “What if you aren’t?”

  “When have I ever not been?” he counters cockily.

  I’ll give him credit; Asher’s instincts are usually one hundred percent accurate.

  “The attending protectors—” I begin.

  “The gargoyles admitted will be the best of the best. A preselected group. A private army, if you will, designed to protect her. It’s why I need proof first that she is at risk.”

  “Christ, Asher. What about Eve? And your clan?”

  “The Angelic Council and archangels are still widely revered throughout the supernatural world. To move against them without absolute proof will cause problems.”

  “I fully concur.”

  “Because of that, I’ll tell everyone once there is something concrete to tell.”

  I exhale. “I hope you know what the fuck you’re doing.”

  “I don’t,” he bites out. “Which is why I need your help.”

  “It would seem that, once again, against my better judgment, my hot ass is getting into bed with your dumb ass,” I grumble under my breath.

  “Getting into bed with me isn’t horrible.”

  “No?” I question.

  “I’m an extremely thoughtful lover.”

  “Cocky bastard.” I roll my eyes at his response. “All right. Count me in. But in the meantime, you can expect a fucking huge bill from me for the Academy design and build.”

  Watching me, he walks backwards, nodding. “I expected it.”

  “I’ll get you the Academy plans as soon as Everett can work them out.”

  “Thank you.” His voice is sincere and thoughtful. “For everything.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” I groan.

  He stops and lowers his voice. “Then let’s leave it at this. I appreciate that you’re building an iron-clad academy to protect Serena and the protector race’s future existence.”

  Cocking my head to the side, I look him in the eyes, seeing sincerity behind them. “It will be designed as if my own child were going to be attending,” I vow.

  Asher throws me a wicked smirk. “With your heart of stone? That’d be the day.”

  5

  Maleficium Witch

  NASSA

  I blink open my eyes and see a pretty but annoyed face staring back at me from my bedroom doorway. In any other situation, I would throw magic at the being. I don’t. Instead, I rub my eyes and stare back at the Maleficium witch frowning at me.

  Dark magic and powerful sorcery trickles off of her, a stark contrast to her bright porcelain skin sprinkled with a light layer of freckles. At this hour, the witch’s poufy, curly waist-length reddish-orange hair is even more untamed and vibrant than normal.

  “What time is it?” I rasp.

  Reaching over, I turn the lamp on, then grab my cell phone off the end table, checking the time. It’s 4:07 a.m.

  With an annoyed groan, I tiredly roll over and pull the covers over my head, trying to hide before curling up and closing my eyes.

  “Holy crap, Branna. It’s a little early to be just getting in, no?”

  “Aye.”

  I hear her step into my room. She moves closer to the bed and dramatically plops down onto the foot of it, laying down and sighing heavily as if she is completely spent.

  “Why the hell are you still keeping such a crazy schedule?”

  “You know why.” Her Irish brogue is thick and filled with exhaustion.

  I uncover my head, push down the quilt, and look at her. Branna’s grassy eyes are focused on the old knotted oak beams crossing the ceiling of my bedroom, lost in thought.

  “I still think you should ask the council to be switched to the afternoons.”

  She scoffs. “Given what I’ve done, lass, it would be a waste of breath.”

  The witch covens are strict when it comes to using dark magic. Especially when it’s used on or near mortals.

  Or as party tricks, as my best friend likes to do.

  Branna has a slight issue with authority and rules.

  When she drinks elixir, the girl tends to forget coven rules exist and she uses her magic in public. No matter how many times the magic council punishes Branna for her dark rebelliousness, she keeps doing it.

  Her favorite type of magic: glamour. On a handful of occasions and for unknown reasons, she’s gotten her rocks off by changing the appearance of numerous humans—mainly to their favorite celebrity. For forty-eight hours they get to be anyone they want before the glamour wears off and their memory is wiped.

  After the thirtyish Elvis appeared, the council had enough of all the sightings of the King—all done by her magic. As punishment for her Elvis stunt, she was ordered to teach white-magic covens, like mine, the history and intricacies of the dark arts. It’s being done to give the covens’ witches a better understanding of how and why dark magic works.

  Due to the nature of the magic being wielded, all teachings are conducted in secret and at ungodly hours in the magic dimension, hence her utter exhaustion. If any of the dark covens discovered what she was doing, they would label her a traitor, even if ordered to do it by the magic council. When she teaches, she uses a cloaked glamour spell so the witches in attendance can’t identify her or detect the dark magic.

  Dark art incantations take a lot out of her, hence her sheer exhaustion.

  Branna and I met a few years ago at a pub down the street, not too far from here. Drunk, we spent the night with our tongues down each other’s throats. Two days later, we discovered that’s all it was—the elixir and lust—and decided we were better off as friends, rather than romantic partners. We’ve been best friends since, living and working together. During the day, we manage a store, Bodkins Books and Candles. It’s one of the most unique shops in the city of Galway, and is a treasure trove of books, music, comics, and vintage and retro accessories and T-shirts. We also live above the shop in our small two-bedroom apartment. I love living here. Galway is an eclectic mix of brightly painted pubs, vintage shops, and modern eateries.

  Branna was born here in Ireland, her lineage tied to this city.

  “So . . .” She draws out the word. “You’re back?”

  I clear my throat. “I am.”

  “How’s the brooding gargoyle arsehole?”

  Rolling my eyes at her, I sigh. “Gage is . . . fine.”

  She nods quietly, considering my answer with a sour expression. Branna and Gage don’t get along. They barely respect and tolerate each other’s presence in my life. Gage appreciates my friend’s panache for the dark arts, and she likes that he exhibits reckless behavior.

  That’s the extent of their tolerance. I’ve always found their mutual dislike of one another ironic, given they’re cut from the same cloth.

  Outside, the Irish wind howls. Our building is old and the walls of our timeworn apartment are paper-thin, making it almost impossible to get a good night’s sleep.

  Branna turns and lies on her side. Lifting her head, she rests it on the hand of her ben
t arm. Her serious expression—as if I’m the one responsible for all the bad shit in the world—is almost enough to make me want to hide under my quilt. I’m not in the mood for her I told you so speech. Lunette said enough about this matter.

  “I’m all ears,” she says. “Tell me what happened.”

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I contemplate how much I should tell her. Branna tends to hold the bad over Gage’s head whenever she’s near him after we’ve had a heart-to-heart. And while I know she’s coming from a place of protection, somehow it feels wrong.

  “It’s complicated.”

  She lets out a little snort. “When it comes to sexy-as-fuck, dark entities like Gage Gallagher, it always is. Besides, I warned you not to fall in love with the gargoyle, lass.”

  My eyes snap to hers. “I am not in love with him.”

  “No?” she challenges.

  “No,” I spit out. “In lust. In like. In friendship . . .” I trail off.

  Her peach lips twitch. “My mistake. I had no idea there were no feelings.”

  I’m not sure if there are enough words to describe all the things Gage makes me feel, and my feelings for him change minute by minute. Love, however, is definitely not one of those feelings. I respect and like him; I’ll go so far as to say that at times, I enjoy his company. But I have no right, or place, falling in love with his gargoyle ass.

  Branna makes an annoyed face at my silence and taps the bed with her palm to get my attention. “Seriously. How is he?”

  “I dunno,” I say truthfully. “He’s not the same.”

  With a knowing grin, she arches an eyebrow. “He’s not sullen? Mysterious? Smoking hot? Disconnected? Emotionally unavailable? Bossy? Still in love with his dead mate—”

  “Stop it.” My lips flatten.

  “He doesn’t get under your skin and make you all hot and bothered anymore?”

  I groan. “I guess he’s still kind of the same.”

  “Ye don’t say!”

  Rolling my eyes, I pick fake lint off my blanket.

  “It’s strange.”

  “What is?” her accent heavy.

  “Lately, he doesn’t seem as desperate as he was before to destroy himself. I mean, now that he isn’t as busy helping the London clan fuck up their existences, so much so that he fails to realize he is destroying his own, he seems more . . . settled. Less reckless, almost.”

  “Really?”

  “I think the whole thing with Garrick gave him a little bit of peace.”

  “Are you sure he’s not just being on his best behavior in order to keep you around?”

  I shrug. “Maybe.”

  That’s the thing about honest friends; they point out the reality of a situation.

  “Do you really think he’s changed? Or are you just hoping he has?”

  “Does it make a difference?”

  “Aye, lass,” she whispers. “You can’t change another being.”

  My eyes drop, avoiding her shrewd gaze. “Maybe he wants to be different, but he doesn’t believe he actually can. Sometimes, Bran, he seems so normal. Like he has it all together,” I pause. “Then there are the other days, when he disappears inside himself and it’s like the day after her death. The pain is too much for him to actually breathe through.”

  “And what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Is his pain too much for you to breathe through?”

  At my silence, she frowns and meets my gaze.

  “You can’t be his outlet, take on all his burdens—”

  “I’m not. Gage doesn’t talk to me—or anyone else, for that matter—the way he should. He isn’t even being honest with himself about how he feels about her death. He also isn’t dealing or coming to terms with his father’s role in it. He isn’t looking for help.”

  “And if he were?”

  “I would gladly help him. Because I know deep down, if he doesn’t talk to someone, if he doesn’t let someone connect with him, he’s going to disappear into the shadows again.”

  She nods. “Death and daddy issues are a lot to take on.”

  “I know.”

  “You should”—she pauses and swallows—“given your own.”

  My fingers tuck into fists. She’s right, I have my own daddy issues with Mammon. “The thing is, I want to be the someone he confides in and relies on,” I admit.

  “No, the thing is, lass, you’re drowning in him,” she lowers her voice. “And instead of fighting your way to the top so you can take in your own deep breath, you’re waiting for him to pull you out of the water and breathe air into you. When the waves crash over you, and they will, you have to protect yourself from drowning first. Then you save him.”

  Inhaling slowly, I consider her words. Each slices through me, because she’s right. Deep within my soul, though, I know that I’m the only being in existence Gage will let get close enough to touch those dark and dangerous places that hide inside him. To see the part of him that he doesn’t let bleed through.

  And it’s those parts I vow to unshadow.

  6

  Between The Books

  NASSA

  I grab the last of the vintage band T-shirts out of their shipping box and begin tagging and folding them.

  As I place them on the front table, I can’t help but feel peaceful. There’s nothing I love more than the silence of the bookstore after it closes. The haunting indie music pumps through the speakers, and the smell of coffee, dust, and paper fills the air.

  All the lights are dimmed and the fireplace is roaring as the moonlight shines through the two large storefront windows. Aside from Branna, who is doing inventory in the back, the only other beings surrounding us are the characters that sit in the hundreds of stories overfilling our large oak bookshelves.

  I smile, looking around before my eyes settle back onto the new Band of Skulls black tee, making a mental note to steal it.

  A warm breeze flows over me; suddenly my chest feels heavy and breathing becomes almost impossible.

  My shoulders sag and I grip the cotton shirt in my hands tightly as I turn around and my eyes lock with the intense sea-green gaze watching me.

  The warm glow from the fire dancing in the hearth highlights all the hard angles of Gage’s perfect face. The dusting of golden stubble on his clenched jaw is my undoing. I exhale a shaky breath.

  Oddly, there never seems to be enough space or air when he’s around. No matter how much I want to, there is just no escaping his presence in my life.

  “Buttercup.” He smirks wickedly.

  “Gallagher.” I shift in my Converse because it’s so damn hot in here. “You can’t just teleport into my store whenever you feel like it. You know this, right?”

  He licks his lips as he stares at me silently with his unnerving power.

  “I thought we agreed not to hire a clown for tomorrow’s circus-themed book signing?”

  Gage squints at my friend over my shoulder. “Branna, always a pleasure.”

  “For you, I’m sure it is,” she quips.

  He tilts his head toward the door. “I think they’re towing your broom.”

  “Your witch humor is so original.” She snorts. “You truly blow my mind.”

  “You aren’t the first mind I’ve blown.”

  “It’s nice to see you think so highly of yourself.”

  The two of them stare each other down in some sort of weird standoff for a moment.

  “I heard this store had beautiful women working in it.” His eyes slide to mine before shifting back to my best friend. “You must work at the coffee shop across the street.”

  “As part owner of this store, you realize I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone, for any reason,” she points out. “Consider yourself refused service, Gallagher.”

  Gage twists his lips to one side. “That’d be new for you, refusing to service someone.”

  Lowering my chin, I scowl. “That’s enough. Both of you.”

  It’s well known t
hat Branna goes through partners like most change hair color, but I don’t like that he’s using it as an insult, or throwing it in her face. Regardless of their below-the-belt jabs, I’d prefer they be try to be respectful while insulting each other.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispers maliciously. “Jealous I get more girls than you?”

  And there goes any hope for respectful repartee.

  Gage steps toward us and I protectively jump between them, turning to face Branna.

  “Don’t you have an appointment?” I manage out of a tight jaw as a warning.

  She tilts her head, her vibrant hair slipping off her shoulder. “I can be late.”

  “No.” I force a smile. “You can’t. You should head out.”

  An indentation forms between her eyebrows as she concentrates on me, places her hands on her hips, and lifts her chin. “Fine. I’ll be in the magic realm if you need me.”

  “If Nassa needs anything, I’ll give it to her,” Gage bites out behind me.

  Branna takes her eyes off me, returning her attention to Gage. A fake, slightly angry grin is plastered on her face. “What she needs, you will never be able to give her.”

  I reach out and pull her into a tight hug before they kill each other. “You drive me crazy.” I tighten my grip.

  Holding me, she whispers in my ear, “It’s not me that drives you crazy.”

  “Stop,” I plead.

  “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I assure her. “Be careful tonight.”

  “Always. Besides”—she pauses and looks at Gage—“it’s you who needs to be careful.”

  “Branna,” I warn.

  “Beware of wolves who hide their tears, lass.”

  After pinning me with a hard look, she steps away from me and chants under her breath in Latin before dissolving into thin air, leaving glittering orange dust in her wake.

  “She still working off her punishment?” Gage asks, and I turn to face him.

  “Yes,” I blow out on a long breath. “What are you doing here?”