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

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  The kiss turns hard as I ravish her. I thrust into her as deeply as I can go, causing her to moan into my mouth. Her body is angled perfectly beneath mine. She takes everything I give as I continue to assault her lips, growling from deep within my chest as I make her mine. Beneath me, Nassa’s body arches, desperate for more. I shift my hips and slide in and out of her at a pace that matches our mouths.

  I can feel the beads of sweat forming between my shoulder blades. I sink into her, over and over, deeper with each thrust. Needing to be as close to her as possible, I crave the feeling of her clenching around me. I feel as if our survival depends on it. Present in the moment, we experience every slight movement. Everything happening between us feels powerful and strong. Otherworldly, even. We watch one another as if we want to own every look, every touch and feeling.

  Nassa’s eyes flutter rapidly in pleasure as her grip on me tightens.

  Part of me fights, not wanting history to repeat itself.

  The other part of me . . .

  “It’s okay. Let go,” she rasps out.

  At her words, I send us both over the edge, giving her the pieces of myself that I have left to give. As I do, a deep cut opens within me. My heart realizes I just gave Nassa all of me, surrendering everything I am. And she took it, annihilating me in the process.

  After a moment, we begin to come down, returning to reality. As we do, the darkness seeps back in. Our breathing begins to slow and my flesh cools as I slowly pull out of her.

  Everything around me suddenly feels cold. Like death. Minutes ago, I was on fire, and now, a frigid storm has settled in. I frown. My heart knows the reason. And it hurts.

  Nassa melts into the mattress, satiated. Her eyes are serene as I lean forward and claim her lips. Memorizing everything about her. Taking in the deep green of her eyes, her flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and her messy dark hair, splayed across the gray sheets.

  “Rest,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head, inhaling her lavender scent.

  I roll onto my back, looking up, as the beginning of the end seeps in.

  19

  And We Break

  NASSA

  It is late into the morning by the time I wake up. The rain-filled clouds block the sun’s rays from shining through the oversized windows. Ironically, a beautiful night has turned into a grim morning. I sit up, taking the sheet with me, covering myself as I search Gage’s bedroom for any sign of him. There is none. However, I notice we’re back in his loft, in Paris. Not in the stone state chamber. He must have teleported us while I was sleeping.

  Looking over at his side of the bed, predictably, I find it empty. My palm runs over the sheet; it’s cool to the touch. There isn’t even an indent. It’s as if he didn’t even sleep here last night. I pick up his pillow and inhale. His spicy scent fills me. I drown in it.

  In him.

  “Where are you, Gallagher?” I whisper into the room.

  Tossing the pillow back down onto his side, my eyes fall onto my right wrist and my brows pinch. Confused, I lift it closer and take in the lion tattoo on it, surrounded by swirls of script. What the hell? Instinctively, I reach for it, softly touching the tender flesh with my fingertips, tracing the script pattern: Gallagher.

  Images flash through my mind of yesterday. Each and every touch, every kiss—they’re all ingrained into my soul. And now, apparently, my wrist. I’ve never let anyone that close to me, not like I have with him.

  My stomach flutters at the thought of his lips and hands.

  The way he claimed me.

  Claimed me. Holy shit!

  My eyes drop back to my wrist. “You idiot,” I exhale. “You surrendered.”

  I stand, looking around for my clothes. It’s one thing to need some space with all the conflicting emotions that I am sure are torturing him. But leaving me here, to find a soul tie mark on my wrist, alone like this, it’s fucking shitty.

  After a bit, I notice the pile of my clothes folded neatly on the dresser. Grabbing it, I storm into Gage’s bathroom to shower and get ready. It doesn’t take me long. Once I’m done, I look around his room, pulling together the items I need for the location spell, before I pad down the stairs and grab candles out of his living room drawers.

  Ten minutes later, I find him.

  I stand in the perfect blades of grass, everything around me blurring into the background. The lush trees, the white stone benches, the well-manicured landscape, and the bright blooming flowers—all of the beauty fades away. Exhaling, I stare at Gage’s back. His shoulders are tight and tense under his black button-down dress shirt. Endless silence surrounds us. It’s supposed to be peaceful here, but instead, it’s all just sad and dreadful.

  As I watch him slide his hands into the front pockets of his dress pants, that all-too-familiar feeling of his tortured sadness settles in my chest. The ice creeps into my veins as I take in the cemetery. I look up at the sky, watching as the dark gray clouds settle in, ready to release the rain. I stare at the somber overcast and take in a deep breath as a sharp ache tightens around my heart and chest, threatening to tear me apart. That’s the thing about loss, about death. The grief is always there. A constant reminder of solitude.

  With measured steps, I approach him.

  When I finally step up to his side, I exhale but remain silent.

  “How did you find me?” he asks quietly, staring at Camilla’s grave.

  “Location spell.”

  I try to fight off the annoyance of his constant pull to her, even in death. Silent, I stare at the three black roses—the color of death—on her grave and my heart shatters.

  “Why three?”

  He doesn’t turn or look at me. Instead, he stands, rigid, focused on the stone lion statue sitting on top of her grave marker. The gargoyle who protects her, even in death.

  “One for her. One for me. One for us,” he whispers.

  I reach for him, placing my hand on top of his, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

  Trying to provide him with some sort of comfort.

  Gage’s eyes drop to my hand before he pulls his away quickly. Not wanting my reassurance, he looks back at her gravestone, not giving my presence any consideration.

  He’s too consumed by his own thoughts to care.

  “This is what happens to everyone who loves me.”

  Taking in his words, I wrap my arms around my body, but don’t reply.

  “You need to understand the reality of my existence, and what it means to truly live in it. What it will bring you. Look,” he demands. “Look at what the reality of loving me means. It’s staring you in the face, Nassa.” His voice cracks. “My hands, and heart, will always be covered, stained, with her blood. Nothing,” he bites out, “will ever change that.”

  Around us, a light rain begins to fall from the sky. I stare at the droplets of water settling on the black roses, like the tears of Heaven. As much as I want her ghost to disappear, it won’t. She will always be a daily reminder to Gage of what he lost. No matter how much I try to ease the pain, the misery, the hurt, unlike the rain, I can’t cleanse him.

  “It’s the price we pay for being who we are,” I rasp.

  “You need to run, far away from my world and me.”

  “I AM PART OF YOUR WORLD!” I lose it. “FROM IT!” His eyes snap to mine and I release a frustrated growl. “And nothing you say or do, Gallagher, will change that.”

  He works his jaw in agitation. “I’m better off alone.”

  Throwing my hands up, I release a humorless laugh. “You are—”

  “And you’re better off without me tainting your future.” He cuts me off.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “That’s my choice. Not yours.”

  He pales and tilts his head at me in that predatory way an animal does right before it attacks. Gage tightens his jaw before he unbuttons his shirt and pulls the material aside, over his left shoulder. Our eyes meet. Torment fills his gaze as the light mist hits his skin.

  “It’s my choice too,”
he says in a detached tone. “This makes it mine.”

  My lips part as I stare at the lion tattoo over his chest with Llughnassad scrolled around it. Confused, I pinch my brows. A soul tie mark, wrapped in a protector symbol.

  I step toward him, but he steps back. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

  “You can push me away, but I won’t leave.”

  “I don’t want your pity. Your concern. Or your fucking love. Leave me be.”

  I shake my head at his attitude. “You’re the one who soul tied us!”

  “To save you! Not to make you mine,” he roars. “This”—he points to the mark—“ended any ties I had left with Camilla. It took her from me all over again. You did that.”

  Bile rises in my throat. “Fuck you, Gallagher.”

  Seething, he stares at me and doesn’t respond, which causes me to snap.

  “You know what? Fuck you,” I spit out. “She’s gone. Camilla has been gone for a long time. Her ghost is a shadow that you’re clinging to. It’s not real. I know you loved her.” My voice is thin as the tears threaten. “She was your mate and I accept that. I admire, and am so fucking jealous of, how fiercely you love her. You always will; I get it. But that mark wouldn’t have appeared if you didn’t love me too.”

  Gage fixes his now damp shirt, looking at me as if I slapped him. “What the hell is it going to take, Nassa, for you to realize I am not someone who can be loved anymore?”

  Through the raindrops, I slowly step closer, holding up my palms in surrender. “Don’t you see? You aren’t unlovable or broken. In all your grief, you just think you are.”

  “I need you to go.” His voice is full of desperation. “Leave me.”

  “I’m. Not. Her,” I speak softly.

  “STOP!”

  “I’m not going anywhere, or leaving you.”

  “Then let me leave you,” he begs. “Let me leave you alone.”

  “No.”

  He rakes his hands through his wet hair. “Tell me what to say, to make you leave.”

  “Nothing. There is nothing you can say or do that will convince me to leave you.”

  “Regardless of the soul tie mark, I’m not yours to worry about,” he replies in a low, pointed tone. “I’m hers.” He roughly motions toward Camilla’s grave. “Only. Hers.”

  I feel myself flinch as a deep pain slices through me. I lower my shaking voice, holding back my tears, begging him to listen to me, to reason, with my tone. “You know, Eve once asked me, if there was a small spark in your heart, would I want to give mine to you.” I pause, my eyes shifting to Camilla’s grave. “I told her you didn’t have a heart to make room for me in. Just broken pieces from the destruction of a life before me. I was wrong about your heart. But I wasn’t wrong about you not choosing to save me if I was drowning. Because right now, I’m drowning. And you’re walking away. I told her,” I whisper roughly, “that I would never ask you to pick me. To choose me. To love me, because you wouldn’t. I knew you wouldn’t. How could you, when your heart still isn’t yours to give freely? Mark or not, you’ll always fight this. Us. You’ll always break us.”

  “Your point?” He grinds his teeth.

  My eyes meet his vacant stare.

  There is no life behind them, just emptiness.

  “Love is someone seeing something inside of you that only you know about yourself.” I step closer to him, sadness marring his features. “I see you, Gage. All of you.” I shake my head, dejected, giving him a small goodbye smile. “It’s too bad you don’t see me. At all.”

  20

  We’re Done

  NASSA

  Numb, I play with the bandage I wrapped around my wrist and stare at the fire in the sunken living room, waiting for the protectors who usually lurk in the shadows. Outside, lightning strikes and thunder booms. The flashes illuminate the room, as well as the sleeping city outside. The storm hasn’t let up all day, the rain steady, even here in London.

  “Okay, I have a ton of candles,” Eve announces, walking back into the room.

  The electricity went out hours ago, before I arrived, but she’s just now realizing how dark it is in here. Dazed, I watch her place each candle down before she lights them. Seconds later, Abby walks out of the guest room, where Serena is sleeping peacefully, and follows Eve around, rearranging all the lit candles in groups by size and color, humming.

  Eve stops and frowns at her. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re placing them down . . . everywhere,” Abby points out.

  Confused, Eve looks around. “Yes,” she draws out. “I am.”

  “They should be strategically positioned, in groups of three, to look pretty.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” McKenna snarls, walking in. “They’re just for light.”

  “No,” Abby huffs and places her hands on her hips. “Ambience too.”

  I sigh and curl up on the couch, watching the shitshow that is the St. Michael women. Two of them are actually gargoyles—Kenna and her cousin, Abby. Eve is half-human, half-divine, and is Asher St. Michael’s mate. Kenna and Abby are mated to his brothers, Keegan and Callan. The London clan is the reason for the all the drama with Gage.

  “What’s with the sorceress’s sour mood?” Kenna places two wine bottles and four glasses down on the coffee table, watching me. “She seems more sullen than usual.”

  “Says the ice queen,” Eve mumbles under her breath, and Abby giggles.

  “Why not just ask me? I am sitting right here.” I point out my presence.

  Kenna gifts me a fake smile, her sapphire eyes narrowing. “So you are.”

  Eve walks over and sits down next to me on the couch as Abby and McKenna sit in the chairs across from us. “Stop being bitchy, Kenna. She’s going through something.”

  “What?” Kenna asks.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Abby sighs and leans forward, pouring the wine.

  “Ah”—Kenna looks me over—“no.”

  Abby passes out the glasses and we settle in. They love this—girl talk and mending all the problems. They used to fix Eve and Asher’s messes. Now, I’m apparently the hot mess that needs a cleanup crew, which is why I came to them.

  Branna wouldn’t understand.

  They do.

  All too well.

  Especially Eve.

  “Should we order Chinese?” Abby suggests brightly.

  “Indian,” Eve responds.

  “Pizza is already on its way,” Kenna states.

  “I’m not hungry,” I sigh.

  Surprised, since we usually eat a ton of gross, fried food, they all stare at me, frozen.

  “It’s the traitor, isn’t it?” Kenna asks in a clipped tone, referring to Gage.

  At the thought of him, I zone out.

  It hurts my heart just thinking about him.

  As much as I knew Gage would do it when he saw the mark, it devastated me that he used it to push me away. I hate that he thinks he isn’t worthy of having anyone love him again. It’s frustrating and annoying all at once. Still, in my heart, I know he doesn’t truly mean it. He wants to love me, and be loved back.

  The hold Camilla has on him, though—it’s a wall.

  Kenna places the pizza boxes and fries on the table, getting everything set up, and I frown, not having realized it was delivered. I came here not knowing where else to go. I’d be lying if I said I was okay, that I wasn’t feeling humiliated, angry, sad, and confused.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask in a flat, detached voice.

  “With Gage,” Eve says slowly. “Discussing the contents of the treaty.”

  On the baby monitor, Serena quietly snores and coos blissfully in her sleep.

  “So you all know?” My voice holds no emotion.

  “We do now. No thanks to you.” Kenna narrows her eyes at me.

  I roll mine. “I was sworn to secrecy.”

  Abby waves it off. “We know how it works, Nassa. Just ignore Kenna.”

  “Good luck with that,” Eve mutters under
her breath.

  “Aren’t you worried about Serena and what the treaty says?” I ask Abby.

  She smiles and shakes her head. “Trust me, that stubborn kid is going to be just fine. Aside from all of us, her uncles and father will make sure of it.” Abby tilts her head at me.

  I offer her a small smile, hoping she’s right.

  “So will Gage.” Abby winks at me. “Despite what he says or does, he loves her.”

  I frown, catching on to her double meaning. “No,” I exhale. “He doesn’t.”

  Eve shifts next to me. “You are disputing his love for Serena, right?”

  “Right,” I lie. “He tolerates her. When she isn’t drooling. Or trying to love him,” I ramble. “Or save him from himself. When she isn’t trying to pull him out of the dark.”

  “Sounds more like Rulf. Not Gage,” Abby laughs.

  Kenna’s face scrunches. “That’s a lot of fucking responsibility for a newborn.”

  Abby shakes her head, amused, and pours more wine in Kenna’s glass.

  “What about you?” Eve brings her wine to her lips.

  “What about me?”

  “Does Gage tolerate you too?” she counters.

  Unable to figure out where to start, I decide it’s better to just show them. Slowly, I unwrap the bandage on my arm and reveal the soul tie mark sitting on my wrist.

  All three of them freeze, stunned as they stare at it.

  “What the hell is that?” Eve whispers.

  “After all this time, she’s still asking basic questions,” Kenna grumbles.

  “A soul tie mark,” Abby exhales. “Gage’s, to be specific.”

  “How?” Eve places her wine down, leans in, and grabs my wrist for a closer look.

  “It’s a long story, but basically, Gage tied his lion spirit to my demonic soul.”

  Abby’s perfectly manicured brows pinch. “You don’t have a demonic soul.”

  “Apparently, being Mammon’s kid, I do.”