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

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  In that moment, I hated myself, more than I ever have. Knowing her tears were because of me. I made her think she was just another warm body to help me forget. When she was everything except that. My darkness screamed at me to make her mine.

  So I did.

  I let go of Camilla and all that this studio symbolized.

  Together, Nassa and I rebuilt it, honoring my dead wife’s wishes and legacy.

  “It’s nice to see the protector back in you. I thought he’d long disappeared.”

  “He did,” I scoff. “So, Chancellor at the Royal Academy?”

  He grins at my ungraceful topic change. “Education is my specialty.”

  Henry Davidson and I met years ago at the École d’Architecture in Paris. I was on assignment, protecting Camilla, and Henry was my architecture professor, working on obtaining his doctorate. Recently our paths crossed again while helping Asher with Eve’s protection at the college she attended.

  “Ireland will be a nice change of pace for you, old man.”

  “Perhaps,” the gargoyle replies, knowingly.

  “You’ll love every minute,” I point out.

  “I will. Though, when she’s older, Serena will certainly be a handful.”

  My eyes slide over to the baby sleeping in Abby’s arms. “Most likely.”

  “Regardless, the princess will be in good hands. I’ll see to it myself.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Camilla always was in good hands with you,” I reply sincerely.

  “Change is good. For both of us.” He pats my shoulder before walking away.

  Maybe Henry is right.

  Maybe change is what is needed to move forward.

  Maybe I should come to terms with the fact that aside from Camilla, Nassa is the first woman I’ve let in, and fell hard for. Christ! I’ve been an idiot, trying to live in the past, holding onto a mate who is a ghost. A woman who didn’t have to fight for me. Who couldn’t truly understand who I was, because she wasn’t from my world. A woman who, by no fault of her own, was mortal and therefore fragile. Who left me broken for years.

  Taking a sip of my brandy, I watch the sorceress as she approaches. Nassa is my salvation. I thought it was Eve, but I was wrong. It’s always been her. She may not be my bonded mate, but she is my spirit’s other half. A woman who time and time again has proven that she will fight for me, even when I can’t fight for myself. A woman who understands each layer and dark corner of who I am at my core. A woman who is strong and fierce, and no doubt will leave me more broken than Camilla ever did. From day one, Nassa has seen and loved the protector that no one else thought still existed.

  I don’t think twice about letting my gaze roam over her appreciatively. She’s wearing a long strappy black dress. It has deep Vs in the front and back, which fall right above her pierced belly button and the top of her tight ass. Her hard nipples peek through the silky fabric. The fuck-me heels she’s wearing give her this deceiving sense of height.

  The closer she gets, the more it becomes hard to breathe from her beauty. Her long black hair is straight, parted in the middle, hanging perfectly. It matches her heavy and dark makeup, which is all different shades of purple. My eyes glide over her bare arms, showing off her wrist tattoo—my lion mark and name. Fuck. She looks gorgeous tonight.

  At the sight of her, everything else in the studio falls away. The fear that I am going to hurt her more than I already have is always present in the back of my mind. But I inhale and let it all go. I love her. I love her with every breath I take. Every piece of fucked up heart that I have left. Every last dark piece of me belongs to her. Only her. I am hers.

  And she is all. Fucking. Mine. Forever. The. End.

  “Gallagher.” Her deep voice is sexy and sultry as she says my name.

  “Buttercup.”

  “Having fun?”

  “No. You?”

  She arches a brow. “As much fun as one can have at an art gallery showing.”

  I place my lips at her ear. “Maybe we should go home, so I can seduce you.”

  “As hot as you are, I think Nassa can do better.” Asher walks over to us.

  My shoulders sag. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Revenge.”

  “Revenge?” I repeat, not following. “For what exactly?”

  “Months of you cockblocking me with Eve.”

  Stepping slightly in front of Nassa, I look at him. “I never did that.”

  “Yeah,” he argues, like a child. “You did. Like, a thousand times.”

  “Maybe she was just afraid of your big, bad, ugly piercing.”

  “Hey,” he shouts. “My piercing is fucking hot. Ask anyone.”

  Nassa sighs out in disappointment. “How did you even hear him?”

  “Gargoyle hearing.” Asher wiggles his brows at her.

  “It’s too bad Eve hasn’t stabbed you again in your sleep,” I mutter.

  “She wouldn’t. I’m too sexy,” he counters.

  “You weren’t too sexy for the first blow,” I point out.

  “One time. One time and suddenly, I can’t defend myself against my girl.”

  “You can’t.” Nassa steps between us, facing me. “If you need me, I’m going to hang out with Itzy for a little while. All your alpha-male bullshit is making me nauseous.”

  I watch her ass sway as she leaves me alone with Asher, who pushes my shoulder.

  “Not exactly how I saw all that going,” I mutter under my breath.

  “If you want, I can take off my pants and you can suck my pierc—”

  “What. Is. It. You. Need. Asher?”

  “What’s in these puffy things? I’m addicted,” Callan says, stepping over to us.

  “I have no idea. Cream. Salmon. Something like that.”

  “Something. Like. That?” Callan’s eyes go wide. “When hiring a caterer for an event such as this one, getting the damn ingredient lists is key, Gallagher. Come on, man.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Food allergies. Adorable friends who’d like to know what is in the puffy thing.”

  Keegan groans as he stumbles over to us a bit.

  “There he is!” Callan yells.

  Keegan covers his head with his hands. “Would you shut the fuck up?”

  “What’s wrong with him?” I ask.

  Callan snickers. “He isn’t used to drinking as much as he did. Our gargoyle metabolism is crazy. He’s already experiencing hangover symptoms. It’s hysterical.”

  I pinch my brows. “You don’t drink?”

  “Unlike you, I happen to like my liver,” Keegan fires back.

  “Then why the fuck did you down two bottles of tequila tonight?” Asher asks.

  Keegan’s eyes grow hard. “Lunette has been hitting on me. She keeps complimenting the size of my—” He looks around. “You know . . . and she grabbed my ass. Twice.”

  Callan shivers dramatically. “If Kenna sees that, she is going to rip her apart.”

  Asher glares at his brothers. “No violence. It’s Gage’s special day.”

  Callan slaps me on the back. “Speaking of special days. Soul tie mark—”

  “No,” I cut him off.

  Callan pouts, lowering his voice. “Abs loves to throw a bonding ceremony.”

  “There will be no ceremony,” I growl.

  “A party?” he says, hopeful. “With more puffy things?”

  “No.”

  “Weird,” Asher exhales.

  They all share looks, causing me to down the last of my brandy.

  “What is it?”

  “You were practically drooling on yourself at Nassa’s approach,” Callan points out.

  “And she’s wearing your soul tie mark,” Keegan adds.

  “We just thought, maybe you’d like to make things . . . official,” Asher finishes.

  “You three are worse than having sisters. Or girlfriends. What is it with you?”

  Callan and Asher share a humor-filled look. “You do know you’re livi
ng in sin?”

  I frown at Callan’s tease. “Given my nonexistent soul, I don’t give a shit.”

  They all take a step back, looking up at the ceiling at the exact same time.

  “What are you assholes doing?”

  “Waiting for lightning to strike you down,” Asher whispers.

  “Funny. You’re all fucking comedians.”

  “When you finish the Academy, remind us to send Callan in first,” Keegan chuckles.

  “Wait.” Callan frowns. “Why do I have to be the martyr?”

  “You’re the youngest,” Asher states.

  “And if I die, who is going to feed you?” Callan poses. “Eve? She burns water.”

  Asher cringes at the thought. “Good point.”

  “Enough.” I meet their gazes. “No one is getting struck by lightning.”

  “You sure about that?” Asher challenges.

  “And no ceremony. No commitments. No vows. Stop this shit, now.”

  “But, Abby,” Callan reminds.

  “Has Serena,” I counter.

  Keegan barks out a laugh. “Yeah. Not happening.”

  “Ever,” Asher adds with a hard tone.

  “Christ!” I sigh. “I truly pity the fucking idiot who decides to marry into this.”

  “This—” Asher motions to everyone. “Is what it means to have your brothers back in your life. Get used to it, Gallagher. We aren’t going anywhere. Ever again.”

  I lean back like he slapped me.

  It’s been a while since they’ve looked at me as a brother.

  Callan places a hand over his heart. “Dude, that was beautiful.”

  “Besides”—Asher throws me a wicked smirk—“once that fucking idiot appears and tries to marry Serena, you, Gallagher, will be the one we call to hide his body.”

  25

  Hers

  GAGE

  Trepidation and an eerie sense of déjà vu hits me as I stare at the bright moon. It’s full and hanging low. Just like the night Camilla was taken from me. Only tonight isn’t about her. It’s about a sorceress, one who is nothing like Camilla. Standing in front of the loft windows in my bedroom, I stretch my neck from side to side before I feel two hands slide over my bare back. The lion tattoo on it jumps under the warm feel of her soft palms.

  Turning, I look down into Nassa’s eyes and force a smile. “We need to talk.”

  She doesn’t answer right away, running her fingers over my cross pendant.

  “Seriously.” I grab her wrists, stopping her and getting her attention.

  Frowning, she sighs. “You’re wearing black silk pajama bottoms.”

  “I always do.”

  “And only the bottoms.”

  “So?”

  “So? All you want to do is talk?” she asks, in a husky voice that has me instantly hard.

  I close my eyes and try to gain control of myself before reopening them.

  I force out, “Yes.”

  Rolling her eyes, she leans back. “What about?”

  “Just come with me.” I lace my fingers with hers and pull her over to my closet, opening it slowly. Waiting. For her to notice that one side is completely empty.

  Looking in, she takes in the closet and then just stands there, silent.

  My breath hitches, anticipating her response.

  A response. Any response.

  Nassa doesn’t say anything, which causes me to panic. Sadness falls over me at the thought of her not wanting this, wanting me. It hits me hard and settles heavily in my chest. Maybe I misread all of this. Maybe she wants a life away from whatever shitty one I can give her. Not that I’m offering her much. Still. I thought she’d happy about all this.

  “Nassa?”

  “That side is empty.” She points to the right.

  “I know it’s empty,” I snap.

  “We need to talk about an empty closet?” She sounds confused.

  Why does she sound so fucking confused?

  “I mean, if you’re wondering who got rid of all your stuff, it wasn’t me.”

  Frustrated, I look down and get lost in her beautiful eyes, swallowing my nerves.

  She flattens her lips and gives me a perplexed-angry look. “I didn’t steal your stuff, Gallagher.”

  “Honestly,” I exhale.

  Nassa’s eyes cloud with more bewilderment. “Honestly!”

  “No . . . I mean, I cleaned out my closet,” I state.

  Her brows pull together. “Is this a Marie Kondo thing?”

  “Who?”

  “She’s a professional organizer,” she explains, stepping inside.

  I just stare at her, crossing my arms.

  “You know what? Never mind.” She taps the empty hangers and they sway.

  “I took out all the stuff so that it would be empty on this side. There is also an empty drawer in my dresser and bathroom vanity,” I inhale through my nose. “And a little space in my office for all your crystals and candles. Just a small space; don’t go crazy.”

  Speechless, Nassa snaps her wide-eyed gaze to mine and her lips part.

  “Fucking St. Michaels,” I growl, because she isn’t getting it.

  With a shaky breath, she steps further inside the closet, looking around.

  “I’m going to need you to use more words here, Gallagher.”

  “I made space for you in my loft. To keep all your girlie, magical shit in.”

  “My girlie, magical shit?” she repeats in an awed whisper.

  “Everyone was up my ass. There was talk about being struck by lightning.” I snarl through my ramble. “I thought about it. And I really don’t want you being struck by lightning. That would suck. For us both. So maybe . . .” I lift my gaze and meet her startled one. “You could just . . . I don’t know. Live here. With me—”

  “Stop talking.” Her voice is hoarse.

  “But you said to use more words.”

  “Gage—”

  “Is that a no?”

  She takes two steps toward me and jumps at me. I catch her and she wraps her legs around my waist. Her hands go around my neck as she tugs me toward her, capturing my lips in a searing kiss. My arousal presses against her core at her response and I kiss her over and over again. I am hungry for her, starving for more of her taste.

  Shaking, she pulls away a little. “You want to live together?”

  “If you want to.”

  “I do want to,” she says quietly.

  “The creepy bird stays with Lunette, though.”

  She rolls her eyes. “So, you did all this for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you want me to live here, with you?”

  “You. Not the bird.”

  “As your—” she stops herself.

  “Mine,” I animalistically growl, finishing for her. “As mine.”

  Her eyes widen. “Careful, Gallagher. It sounds like you’re getting territorial.”

  I grip her ass tightly, jerking her body to mine. “You were mine before either one of us knew it, buttercup. And I don’t give a fuck what anyone says—you belong to me.”

  Nodding slowly, she bites her bottom lip as I kiss my way down her neck. As I do, my shoulders relax. Her response finally brings me peace. For once, wanting her in my life, as part of my daily life, doesn’t bring me shame or cause me to panic. It makes me . . .

  Hers.

  With a desperate need, Nassa brushes her lips against mine. Her mouth is hot as her lips devour mine. She feels dangerous and tempting all at once. Like, with her, I’m at risk of burning and never being able to cool off. Our naked bodies are bathed in moonlight. She’s seated on my lap, in the middle of my bed. We assault each other’s mouths, which we’ve been doing since we left the closet.

  Savoring the feel of her in my arms, I slide my hands up her sides, causing her body to rise above mine, before I pull her back down. She squeezes her thighs around me as the sensations build between us. Her movements are slow as she relishes the feel of me inside of her. Eve
ry time her body slides against mine, I push deeper into her.

  “Ride me,” I whisper into her ear. “Hard.”

  Her mouth meets mine in a long, languid kiss as she rolls her hips over me, over and over again. Moaning, Nassa moves against me, harder and harder. Needing air and control, I release her lips and drop my forehead to her shoulder, panting against her neck.

  “Fuck,” I breathe. “Just like that,” I growl.

  Loud, hard pants escape her lips as she rides me. I grip her hips, guiding her pace as I bite down on her neck, thrusting into her, joining us as one. My need for her tonight is almost violent in nature. My lips graze her ear and she lets out a rough whimper as the aching sensation intensifies between us with each thrust. I place one of my palms against the middle of her chest, encouraging her to lean back a little, staring at her.

  “Watch me fuck you,” I order.

  Her eyes hold mine and her lips part as I slow my pace, pushing into her harder and deeper with each unhurried thrust. With each breath, she brings me closer and closer to the edge. When she cries out my name with her orgasm, I feel my blood surge as I find my own release, and something epic shifts between us.

  After a moment, she collapses against me, spent.

  I take her mouth in a punishing, all-consuming kiss.

  One full of love for her.

  26

  So Few Survive

  NASSA

  Heavy tape is slapped hard over my mouth. I try to breathe through the pain. Everything in me hurts, but I keep my head held high as someone binds my arms to the wooden armrests on the black leather medieval chair positioned in the middle of the room.

  Cuffs snap closed on each of my wrists. I’m sweating. It’s overly warm in here, thanks to the nine fireplaces. The excessive heat is also the reason for the beads of sweat forming on my brows. Large hellhounds pant and pace around me, moving in slow circles. They snap and drool at me every so often. Swirling in the air, the scent of sulfur mixes with the metallic odor of blood. I try not to gag since my mouth is taped shut.