“A symbol of hope.” I nod. “Now that I can live with.”
“Hope for Eros.” Demetri winks. “You can never deny its true underpinnings, now can you?”
My lips press tightly as they demand to do just that. “No. I suppose not.” I look up sharply to Sector Marshall. “Gather the magistrates of your kind. Call in the Fems. We’ll meet behind the Falls in the sapphire amphitheater to discuss the fate of the Nephilim. Do not breathe a word of what I’ve told you. My lips will be the first they’ll hear it from. Then come back and we three will finish our private discussion.” I tip my head back and examine Demetri as the blue waters sizzle behind him the way they did that day long ago when we first were enflamed with passion. “I will finish here with Demetri.”
A rumble of laugh expels from Demetri himself. “My dear Candace, we will never finish. We are without beginning and without end, an extension of eternity itself.”
I’m afraid we are, in fact, done.
Demetri offers an amicable nod. “If it were true, you would have voiced it and made it so.”
Sector Marshall lets out a vicious growl. “Next time, Your Grace, might I suggest you speak those dry bones to life—or in this case, a beautiful, beautiful death.” He evaporates from our presence and already the sapphire amphitheater begins to fill with his kind.
Demetri and I are dry bones indeed, and these bones need never to resurrect again.
Skyla
Possession
There is a moment once you die when you realize what has truly transpired. You are exhumed from your body, vacuumed, if you will, by a seemingly celestial force—and just like that, you are beyond your corporal frame. And this is that moment for me.
No sooner do I see my body, still locked in Gage Oliver’s untrustworthy arms, the ghost of my deceased sister stepping into my flesh, into my rightful place, than I feel myself pulling out of the room, straight up, through the ceiling, through the rafters of the Harrisons’ mansion and into the navy Paragon sky. It’s my birthday and my death date all rolled into one.
An army of cobalt blue butterflies flutter around me as I rise ever so higher into the stratosphere. I see Paragon growing smaller, the islands that surround her closing in on her like a hug, and the lights from Seattle on the mainland just beyond that.
A panic sets in as every minute that I have lived plays out in my mind’s eye in quick succession. My life zips by like a movie set on fast-forward, nothing but a brief interlude of time. It was the beginning and the end of what I was allotted.
My precious children come to mind. The boys weigh heavily on my heart, my sweet Nathan, Barron, and my baby angel Jaxson. My God, Logan. My mother, my sisters, my whole Landon family. Bree and Laken, their precious children. The Factions in all their brilliant disarray, the sticky government—the state of the fallen world with Gage Oliver at the helm.
Oh dear God, no.
I can’t die.
I can’t be dead.
My family, the Factions, the world needs me. Hell, I need me in the flesh—my flesh, the very one that is being corrupted by my sister, Aurora “Rory” Messenger. The child that Candace Messenger lost in utero.
Rory feels I upstaged her on some celestial level. She truly must believe I stole her destiny, and that is why she so indelicately stole it back.
My God, she put on a show tonight. She threw the celestial world of the Nephilim into a tailspin that I’m not quite sure anyone else could have pulled off. I will be the first to admit it was brilliant down to the bone.
Her plan was simple—screw Gage Oliver and watch the shattered pieces fall where they may. And they fell like a lead balloon over a glass house, leaving a trail of bloody destruction in its wake, or in this case, a trail of justice perhaps. I suppose it would depend on who you asked. And truthfully, if you asked me, due my current unfortunate state, I do not approve of Rory or her schemes anymore. There is no justice in what she’s done. This is a grave error on her part, and by proxy my own. No, I cannot approve of my sister’s actions, especially not after she stood by while Gage sucked the life right out of me by way of his mouth. I certainly know how I feel about that bitch and that bastard. I’m guessing my death was her end game after all. Perhaps his, too.
And now she’s out there. On the loose. Running around Paragon in my coat of flesh.
Logan will figure it out. He’ll come looking for me in the heavenlies. I’m sure of it. But deep down in my spirit, there’s a niggling feeling that I should be wary of awaiting anybody’s rescue. If Gage Oliver taught me anything, it’s do not lie down and hand someone else your power while hoping for the best. I must rely on my God, on myself. I wouldn’t even put the woman who birthed me in that equation—although, as the sky darkens in hue around me and the stars seem to turn into silver streaks as I rise ever higher into the heavenly expanse, I’m betting I am very much going to need Candace Messenger on my side.
To my right I spot dark figures, static in the sky, figures of men with large suits of what looks like armor covering every inch of them. There is no fear in me as I continue to soar heavenward through the universe, so mind-shatteringly fast that the stars turn into lines all around me.
No, no. I shake my head as I become acutely aware of my disembodied state—this temporal frame, my spirit. In my mind’s eye, I can see myself as if this were all a dream. I seem to be taller in stature, my muscles well-defined. My hair is long and golden, each strand shimmering and alive. My wild mane is tamed and perfectly curled in neat little coils. It’s as if I’m an improved physical version of myself, without a natural body to go along with it.
Logan comes to mind once again and my heart aches for him. He’ll marry again. Probably Lexy. And oddly, this doesn’t bother me.
The thought of him sleeping with Lexy would have sent me in a rage in my natural body, but now I can see it for how—well, for a lack of a better word—infantile that angst would have been. To be angry about Logan having sex with Lexy feels silly, unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
I don’t feel possessive over him the way I did on Earth. Somehow I understand that our time had come and gone and he was free to be with whom he wished, and yet that doesn’t dampen my affection or my strong as steel love for him. I do my best to shake that far too accepting feeling out of me. Because deep down, I refuse to accept it. I want my fierce feelings of possession back where they belong—inside of me, boiling my blood.
I must hold onto how I would have felt on Earth, in my body. I must not acquiesce to death’s ridiculous demands. The other side is luring me, soothing my spirit, lying to me by telling me all will be well without me. And perhaps if I were anyone else, and the fate of the Nephilim didn’t hang in the balance, I might have believed it.
Perhaps if I were married to someone else I would have been able to give him away for as little as this sweet song death is humming in my ear, but I am married to Logan Freaking Oliver, the great love of my life.
Fate moved time, and space, and death out of our way. The deepest oceans of time were split in two so we could walk through them. I don’t die in a whimper at some kegger at Ellis Harrison’s house. This is not how I go down.
Perhaps some would call dying in the arms of the man you love a beautiful death, and I cannot deny loving Gage. If the circumstances were different, if he wasn’t the very reason I’m dead, yes, it would have been a beautiful thing to die in Gage Oliver’s arms, all of his affection being poured into me by way of his lips. But as I gleaned long ago, his love is a toxin that he loved to administer by way of his kisses. It was something I had become addicted to, his voracious, poisonous brand of love.
Even while I was fading, lingering in that precarious place between that world and this, he was filling my head with lies, telling me it was all for my benefit, for the benefit of our love, for our precious family, which he poured gasoline over and lit with the match of his rejection. He watched us burn for a solid year, and instead of putting out the flames, he extinguished my soul
from the planet.
I will never comprehend the evil taking up residence inside him. How had this come to pass? How can this be? Who in the hell is Gage Oliver, anyway? It doesn’t seem plausible. None of it. Perhaps I too died the moment Gage Oliver had his head sliced off that day at the masquerade ball, and the rest of what I thought had transpired was some sick, senseless, twisted nightmare that will inevitably lead me to the throne room of God.
Gage.
My conscience cannot comprehend where everything went wrong. The harder I try to unravel this ball of knotted yarn, the farther back in time I go, right up until the night of his conception. Odd thoughts begin to claw at my conscience.
Why did Candace Messenger crawl out of the heavenlies and take up a corporal form to birth me?
My God, why did Demetri do the same to conceive Gage?
Not one celestial being dropped down from heaven for Logan—unless—unless that’s right—Logan was conceived in a sense far before us all. Of course, he was—through Marshall’s lineage.
Marshall had an offspring somewhere in that haunted seventeenth century. And Marshall is the key to Logan.
I am part Caelestis. Gage is part Fem. Logan is part Sector. And there it is. The holy trinity of celestial warfare. It’s as if I can see the pieces to the puzzle manifesting before my eyes. Yes. The triune Nephilim monster that I will never comprehend.
But why not have Marshall be Logan’s father?
Another thought hits me, strong as a thunderbolt. Marshall is determined to marry me. My mother all but sold me to him for a song.
Of course.
And my mother knows the celestial laws regarding marriage better than anyone. She was, after all, in the front row when the Holy Spirit taught the class. A woman is not to marry a father and a son. I’m willing to bet the body I no longer have, that Marshall and Logan are exactly as far apart in relation deemed appropriate by the Master for me to partake in marrying them both.
Yes. That is my mother’s game in a nutshell. I’m to marry Logan, then Marshall, and bear them both children. I’m not sure if Marshall was in on it the way she and Demetri were. Why do I get the feeling Demetri has more at stake here? I could feel it in the bones I no longer possess.
Something extra nefarious is going on with Demetri.
Something personal…
Demetri loves my mother—my other mother, Lizbeth. However, my celestial mother isn’t all that crazy about Lizbeth. But she does tolerate her. And I think she once mentioned that she handpicked Lizbeth for my father after her death. I was an infant when the Counts, driven by the Fems, set my mother, Candace, on fire and killed her. The only true way to ensure a Celestra stays dead is to burn their bodies. It leaves no room for healing.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
And that is the end of a Celestra’s story. Or in this case a Caelestis’.
Demetri is downright obsessed with my earthly mother. But why? Why her? Sure, she’s beautiful, but the world is rife with beautiful women.
My father loved her. Oh, how he loved her. And if Lizbeth Messenger Landon is anything, she is the epitome of loveable.
She is a Nephilim, so I can see the allure.
Demetri and my father seem indifferent to one another—no big rivalry there. If Demetri loves Lizbeth so much, why didn’t he shove Tad Landon out of the way when she was grieving my father? Surely she would have fallen under his spell way back when.
Tad is the equivalent of softened butter. Demetri could have sliced right through him with one wicked glance.
No. Demetri waited. But why?
Or maybe he didn’t wait. Maybe he was forced to wait…
Maybe someone cock-blocked him from my mother. And does cock-blocking work in reverse like that?
Now that’s something I would need to talk to Bree about.
My God, Bree, my beautiful best friend—Earth and all of its beautiful people. What I wouldn’t give to know the planet again, to be a part of you, to watch a sunrise, see the moon from that distal vantage point, to taste a kiss from Logan Oliver’s lips, from my precious trio of boys. They need me as much as I need them.
The stars fade out from around me as the sky grows a pale shade of lavender.
Demetri floats to the forefront of my mind again like some demonic bruise, as if he were haunting me even in this disembodied state.
Demetri loves Lizbeth Landon. So bloody what. Let him have her. Just give me back my life.
But that knot demands to be untangled, a fine gold necklace, so dainty and so twisted it would take a miracle to return to its natural state. Why didn’t Demetri move a celestial mountain for Lizbeth Messenger before she became a Landon? Why?
Why in God’s name is this tearing apart my brain as I journey upward, journey home? Another ploy of death? An unremarkable distraction to pacify me, to keep me from causing a celestial riot? Perhaps. But it feels like a nasty itch that demands to be scratched.
Why hadn’t I pondered this so intensely before? Are my thoughts stronger now that I’m no longer bound by the firing of neurons and synapses? I’m assuming so. But you would imagine I would be preoccupied with grander things than this.
I bypass the depths of dark space until the sky begins to take on a light blue hue and something akin to adrenaline courses through me.
I am going to see the face of God.
I am going to see Sage.
Just one look.
Just one glimpse.
And then I’ll ask to go home.
I must go back.
I must.
It is nonnegotiable.
The sky around me flashes white as lightning, brighter than a nuclear explosion, the sun in all its intensity knows no such resplendence.
And then, as if it hits me for the very first time, the gravity of what is about to transpire weighs heavy on me.
I cannot see the face of God and live.
This is not like any other trip I’ve taken to Ahava, to the throne room. This is something altogether different. This time it’s personal. And my own life is truly in the balance, although some might argue that was a fight I lost in Gage Oliver’s arms just moments before.
Who could help me? Who could rescue me?
Two names come to mind, and without thinking, I shout Marshall Dudley’s name with all that I am worth.
I think deep down I understood Candace Messenger would not, could not care for me the way that he would. Even though I’d like to believe the contrary, I understand this right down to the very depths of my soul.
It is Marshall. It will always be Marshall who will love me with my best interest in mind. And dear God, it had better be so.
The scenery around me transforms, and I’m standing in a cave of red jasper. A bright light shines from the end of the cave, giving it a tunnel effect, and I see an arm held out my way.
“Ms. Messenger,” a warm voice says my name, and I take up his hand and step on out, only to see Marshall Dudley standing tall and proud, gleaming and gorgeous beyond belief in a white three-piece suit. His dark blond hair is slicked back, and his cauldron red eyes are boiling with delight. His high-cut cheekbones, and handsome features are far too comely to comprehend.
“Marshall!” I wrap my arms around him tight while bubbling with laughter. “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone. I thought maybe I’d see the Master or the Son, and if I did, I was terrified I’d have to stay.” I pull back and shake my head at him. “I’m not staying, Marshall. They can’t make me. I’m not done on Earth. Where’s my mother? Doesn’t she care? What in the name of all things good and right is she thinking letting Rory and Gage get away with murder—namely mine?”
Marshall’s brows pinch, but that seductive smile he’s known for is staunchly glued in place. Marshall isn’t an angel, he’s another created being entirely known as a Sector. I first met Marshall when he came to Earth and played the part of my math teacher at West Paragon High.
Believe me, this tall stack of muscular celestial glor
y didn’t go unnoticed. And there was a brief moment of time where Marshall let down his guard and bedded every woman that was open to the idea. He’s since cooled his celestial jets and claims to be waiting for me to fulfill the rest of his randy needs. But, seeing that I’m currently down one corporal frame, he might have to wait forever on that one.
“Ms. Messenger.” He tips his head my way. Marshall has never been one to use my proper name, which technically would be Mrs. Oliver. I think in his own way he enjoys referencing me by my older, perhaps purer moniker. That and the fact he has zero respect for my ex-husband Gage. Not that I’m about to give Gage an iota of respect any time soon either. But seeing that I’m engaged to marry Logan in just a few weeks, I will definitely be Mrs. Oliver once again.
“Oh, I love you more than words can say, Marshall.” I pull back and take a moment to inspect the gorgeous terrain as we step fully out of the jasper cave of the Transport.
The Elysian Field is just to our left, verdant and shimmering, and each blade of neatly trimmed grass is a shade of bright lime. I take a moment to watch the newly arriving souls run with joyous haste as loved ones are reunited on the grassy field.
“Would you look at that?” I say, holding him tightly with an arm still cinched around him. A part of me is afraid Marshall will up and fly away, and believe me, he’s more than capable. “Speaking of reuniting with loved ones, where is my father? Where is my sweet angel, Sage?”
Marshall’s expression sours at the thought of my brassy daughter. Sage died in utero. It turns out, I was pregnant with triplets for a time, but she didn’t develop very far and was reabsorbed into my body. The boys thankfully made it. But let’s just say my relationship with Sage in the spirit world, though scant with time, has been more than a little rough around the edges. When Gage turned into the monster of Paragon, she happily sided with him and all of his wicked ways. The worse the decisions he made for my people, the louder she seemed to cheer him on. It’s safe to say Sage is a daddy’s girl through and through.
Roar of the Lion : Celestra Forever After 7 Page 3
