Roar of the Lion : Celestra Forever After 7

by Addison Moore

  “Sit down.” My voice resonates over the expanse. “You of all people should know I do not adhere to threats, Demetri. That being said, I’m not taking up another lover at this time. Though I find the Sector worthy, I have him in mind for another. Which brings me to my next point. A powerful Celestra will be born, so very close to pure, she shall rule with an iron fist in her pursuit to bring Celestra to victory.” I glance to Demetri. “She shall not be revealed until the appointed time. I’ll provide a decoy or two, and you will be confounded, unable to know which will deposit your people to the ground. One will be the victor and one will be discarded.” I scowl. “I know what you’re thinking. Shall you kill them both? How can you succeed in such a wicked pursuit when my hand is upon one of them?”

  Demetri’s features harden a moment before that smile springs back into place.

  “My love”—he shakes his head—“death is far too simple. There is no challenge. Where is the pleasure? I shall enjoy trying to discover which is which. And I will do my best to divert her with a clever scheme of my own. Surely the Nephilim are no strangers to passion. It is the sharpest sword, the deadliest toxin when utilized for wickedness. How I delight in the fact our love has blossomed and overflowed to include these marvelous beings into the tapestry of our lives. Pity passion itself has stagnated for us. However, only eternity will tell where our hearts wind up at last. There is still so much time for us to love. Forever has entwined itself around the two of us like a cloak.”

  A laugh puffs from me like smoke. “Your imagination is rife with delusions.” The crowd hums with laughter, and I watch as Demetri burns with fury. “Let us proceed with the task at hand. My victor will prevail.”

  Demetri rears his head. “Then why fight? Why put my kind through something wholly unnecessary? I think we’ll leave well enough alone and not waste the energy. I’m not above handing my treasures to you, my liege. You are, in fact, my treasure as well.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “You misunderstand. My victor will prevail. This is my battle cry. However, the Master has laid out parameters. There shall be a reasonable battle. There shall be a Justice Alliance allocated to watch over the Nephilim, managing their ways and making sure there is no blatant disregard for the war conventions outlined. Should you surrender now, it is your given right. Just know that there is a very high chance that your kind will prevail.”

  I look to the faces of the beautiful beings before me. “As you know, there are five Factions—Celestra, Countenance, Noster, Deorsum, and Levatio. They have shared powers of strength and speed, and there are unique talents assigned to each individual Faction as well,” I say. “The weakest of these in powers is Countenance. They are your charges, Demetri. They belong to the Fems. Though they are anemic in power, their numbers are increasing, and soon they will be a majority. Sector Marshall, as you know, you and your kind will have charge over Celestra.

  “A powerful people, quality people,” I tell him. “They have the ability to read thoughts through touch, to transcend time. Some are dream walkers, though that power is being phased out. Only a handful will retain the ability by the time our Savior returns. The rest of the Factions are neutral ground and can be used accordingly.

  “To review”—I take a breath as I look out at the crowd—“should Celestra rule over the Factions then the Sectors will rule the great majority in the heavenly realm and during the millennial reign. Same goes for the Countenance.”

  Rothello nods my way.

  “Rothello of the millennium.” I smile warmly over at him. His long dark hair covers his missing eye. His features are cut and comely, his zest for the Almighty unprecedented. “You may speak.”

  “And what’s to come of the those who aren’t ruling in the heavenlies?” His features harden. “Should Countenance lose their footing, what becomes of the Fems?”

  I set my gaze onto the Falls and their thunderous applause as rainbows blossom from the mist in slow and steady rings.

  “Those that lose their footing will be demoted. The Master has another task for them to accomplish. A far less desirable task. Nonetheless, all tasks in service to Him are worthy to be done.”

  The crowd gives a riotous cheer.

  I nod to both Sector Marshall and Demetri. “I’m certain you have plenty to strategize over. Don’t let me keep you. I will have my eyes on the Nephilim people. As of this moment I am overseeing their comings and goings, their unity, their clashes. But know this.” I look sharply over at Demetri. “I have chosen sides. And I am for Celestra. Though this is anybody’s race, I can and will do what I can to help Celestra prosper. There is no war I have lost, no battle I have ceded. I do not lunge in haste, yet examine the picture as a whole. I will do what is right when I feel it is time. I will move my pieces with great care, after much thought. Be warned. I am not primed to lose, nor will I.” A full breath of fresh Ahava air fills me. “Do as you must do.”

  The crowd quickly disperses and rumbles amongst themselves. Demetri shouts for Belshazzar to gather the Fems as a majority of them head toward the Elysian Field.

  But Demetri’s jaw tightens as he starts my way.

  Sector Marshall reaches me first, and I glide us over to the sandy shores of the crystalline lake.

  “Your Grace”—Sector Marshall bows his head as a show of adoration—“what is expected of me, and how can I be of service?” Those crimson flames in his eyes ignite. “We must prevail at any cost. No price is too great. I will give whatever you ask, and then I will give beyond that.”

  My lips curve with pleasure. “It brings me great joy to hear of this. Much will be required of you.” I reach up and cup my hand over his cheek. “In the beginning, my heart was split in two. It was you or Demetri, and I chose the darker path. But I know now, you were meant for another. We can both agree on that. And I have chosen whom she shall be. I believe you will be quite pleased. She will be a Nephilim, my own heir. Though you shall not be the only one for her, you will not have a heavy heart. You will find amusement in her, in her chosen suitor as well. For you will indeed be his relation, several generations removed. All of this will be done so that the Sectors will have two parallel lineages. That is the purpose you will serve outside of the spectacular leadership of your people.

  “Do not let your mind be troubled,” I tell him. “She will appeal to your sensual side. And you will adore her. You needn’t be faithful to her until the end. No need to harness yourself before it’s time. But your spirit will bloom under the warmth of her attention, her affection, and her smile. She is no toy, no plaything. She will be mighty. Allow me to reiterate a few of the finer points. She will be of my own flesh. I shall enter the ephemeral realm known as Earth. I shall deliver a child, and she will rule on high. She will be Celestra, mingled with my own kind—almost pure in both respects. Though I will send a decoy as I have said, and she, too, will be a powerful Celestra. And I will utilize her as well. She will be a troubled seed, but her love for Celestra will be a fire that cannot be quenched.” I cast a glance to Demetri who draws ever so near. “Though he will try, he will not succeed. We will be the victors. I expect nothing less of you, Sector Marshall.”

  Demetri enters our midst and the waters lap the shore with a marked violence, a thunderclap of disapproval.

  “What’s this?” Demetri’s smile expands upon his lips. “A meeting of the minds, two powerful minds at that. Strategizing already, perhaps?” He steadies those dark eyes over the Sector’s. “You don’t win this. Contrary to the popular opinion between the two of you, this is my victory.” He sharpens his stare my way. “It’s as good as mine. Now come clean, what’s this whispering of an offspring?”

  A full-bodied laugh bounds from me. “Yes, Demetri. You heard correct. Marshall has been granted rights to procreate—something those you hastened into wrongdoing didn’t think to ask for. Sector Marshall will have a blessed lineage, and I have plans concerning them. I, too, will indulge. At the chosen time, I will take on flesh and bone and live among the hum
ans. I will find a man fit to be my king, and I will have him plant his seed inside me.” I pause to watch the flames of fury ignite behind his eyes. “Demetri, you are indeed a sorrowful creature. Be gone. Sector Marshall and I have much to discuss.”

  “No.” It cuts from him like a threat.

  “No? To which? My finding a man to please me, or my conversation with Sector Marshall? Both shall come to fruition.”

  His jaw tenses, and his body twitches with rage.

  “Your Grace.” He gives a slight bow. “May I ask permission to procure a lineage as well?”

  “No.” I don’t hesitate with the answer.

  Demetri straightens as he looks from the Sector to me.

  “Very well,” he says. “It seems we’ve encountered our fist squabble. I’ll take this to the Justice Alliance and have them decide.”

  “The Justice Alliance isn’t an open court. They are strictly overseeing cases from the Nephilim community. You do not qualify. Should one from your designated Factions have a bone to pick with another Nephilim—that is a different matter.”

  He takes a breath, rocking back on his heels as he evaluates his position.

  “Grant me this gift, Your Grace, and I will not ask for another. Though you will use your might to advance Celestra—the fruit of the Sector, the fruit of your own womb, allow me equal footing on this one matter. You are wiser. He is stronger than me. Give me a fighting chance to lead my Faction and my people to victory.”

  My gaze settles over him for quite some time.

  I nod. “You will go to the Father if I dare deny you. I can see it in your eyes, read it in your heart. Do as you wish in that regard, but you are forbidden from mating with anyone in the Faction you hold charge over. Heaven help us if a Fem and Count have a child.”

  “The power they would hold.” Demetri swoons at the thought.

  “The possible wickedness they could breed,” I counter. “That is your only stipulation. But I suspect out of desperation you won’t observe the edict I lay before you. It will be a testament of your character if you do.”

  “Very well.”

  He gives a sly wink, and I should doubt he gave me his word. Nothing good ever comes from his mouth, not anymore.

  Demetri leans my way. “Might I ask who this man might be that you have in mind to procreate with? Shall we take a look at Tears Over Humanity to gaze upon the future?”

  “No. That is my well. You are not welcome to use it. Cry your own tears. Capture them for your own pit. I’m sure you’ll have more than enough tears for two or three. You can gift them to your children one day. Wouldn’t that be special?”

  Sector Marshall chuckles. “Demetri, shed enough tears to fill oceans in the ephemeral plane.”

  I nod to Demetri. “Why do you ask about this future man of mine? Does it pain your spirit to think of me immersing myself in someone other than you? It should. And that knowledge will spur along my pleasure all that much more. He will be a fine man. A well-rounded individual, comely, with kind eyes and an easy spirit.”

  Sector Marshall curls his lips as he looks to Demetri. “Everything you are not. If that’s not a spear to the heart, I don’t know what is. How about we make our way to the fount of refreshment? The rest of the Sectors are already imbibing Eden’s wine. I’ll pour you a glass myself, Demetri. You might need two or three to resurrect your ego.”

  Demetri growls as he examines me with a newfound malice.

  “Very well.” His lips curl as he looks my way. “But why take on a coat of flesh?”

  “Women carry children, Demetri,” I tell him. “It’s human biology. I’ll need to take on flesh if I want to have a proper birth. The two of you need only a moment of pleasure and the work is done. It will be a nine-month sentence for me. Such is the curse of a woman.”

  Demetri traces my features with his eyes. “So you will live.” He nods. “And die.”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “But I’ll be walking in as a full-fledged adult. I’ll have that advantage.” I glower over at the devil among us. “I suppose you’ll arrange for a quick demise. I am your enemy. I expect nothing else.”

  “Never,” Sector Marshall roars, and I silence him with a lift of my finger.

  “Time will tell,” I whisper. “Though I have the ability to carve out destiny for others, it is not for me to decide how long my own flesh will wander the Earth.”

  “I will procure children of my own that will rule the Factions,” Demetri snorts. “And my people will have their proper seat in the heavenlies.” He offers a brief nod as he says it.

  A ripe anger burns through me, heated as a furnace.

  “Be gone,” I utter. “I’m no longer amused by your presence.”

  He bears his gaze into me like a punishment. “I’m no longer amused myself.”

  Sector Marshall and I watch as he stalks off in a fury.

  “It is almost a pity to see him so riled up, so filled with rage,” I say. “Almost.”

  “He won’t prevail.”

  “No, he won’t.” I look to the handsome Sector before me. “We must secure this victory in any manner we can.”

  “Your Grace, if you are headed to Earth to have a child, he’ll know it’s your seed that’s destined to lead Celestra to victory. I’m afraid he won’t give time to the decoy. Your daughter, though a gleam in the eyes of existence, already wears a target on her back.”

  “Demetri knows me well enough to heed to the decoy. Besides, who’s to say my decoy is a decoy after all?”

  He leans back and examines me. “Would you deny your own child the right to lead her people to victory?”

  “Maybe I would. Maybe I have something entirely unexpected up my Celestial sleeve.”

  7

  Skyla

  Paragon wears her dark clouds like a robe. If the rain isn’t pounding to the earth, the fog has permeated it, smothering it with its dove gray affection. And that’s exactly what’s happening at the moment.

  I watch from across the street of the Landon house as it appears and disappears as the mist swallows it whole and then spits it out. The evergreens spear skyward like arrows that point to God—to the heavens where Gage Oliver saw fit to send my soul.

  I shake my head at the thought. Here I had believed with all of my heart that I was the love of his life, I was his everything. And now I am nothing but a roaming spirit.

  Thanksgiving has passed. It came and went without me while I was in the heavenlies vying for mercy from my glacier of a mother. But she ultimately delivered, and a handful of people know exactly where they can find me—wearing Chloe Bishop’s body like a winter coat. It’s officially December, and the air already has a wintery bite to it.

  I make my way across the street, up the steep driveway, up the porch that I’ve climbed a thousand times before. Logan and I spent the night at Whitehorse—same bed, no kisses, just lots of warm hugs. I’ve never been one to control myself around Logan Oliver, but Chloe has provided a strange barrier between us. And now we’re back at the Landon house. He’ll be here with Jaxson, and I’ll be here sleeping wherever I can find a space. Logan swore he wasn’t going to touch Rory again, and unless Gage filled her in, then she won’t know who’s really lurking in this newfound skin of mine.

  I press my hand to the door a moment as if I were checking for a heartbeat. An owl sounds off in the woods to my left and I glance that way in time to see a single cobalt butterfly flutter past me. It makes my heart ache for simpler times gone by. All those years wrapped in Gage Oliver’s arms up in the butterfly room, they were all for naught—his love was a deception at its finest.

  An icy breeze whips by and ushers me back to my present reality. I give a few rapid-fire knocks, and no one comes to the door so I let myself in.

  “Hello?” I call out, but there’s so much chaos coming from the family room, it’s no wonder they can’t hear me.

  Please, Messenger, Chloe practically gags. Why so formal? Storm the castle and head to the refrigerator just the
way I do. And after you’ve secured yourself a refreshment, have a chat with Em and Bree. That’s the Bishop way.

  I roll my eyes. You’re forgetting your pit stop to stab me in the back.

  She laughs at the thought. I save you for dessert. I prefer to set you on fire last. Speaking of the white witch, there she is seated at the counter stuffing her face with—donuts?

  “Oh wow, those look good,” I say above a whisper as I enter the room. Drake and Ethan are playing video games while the little ones, Misty, Beau, and Ember, are fighting over toys in front of that giant TV.

  But that’s not what holds my attention. I’m shocked to see my mother and sisters huddled in the corner of the family room, looking over at Rory while whispering amongst themselves as if they, too, suspected something. Rory sits at the bar noshing on a donut while eyeing the pink box of pastries in front of her as if she were about to strike again. And believe me, I’m tempted to strike right along with her. But instead of heading for the box of sugary goodness, my new feet take me my sisters’ way instead.

  “What’s going on?” I don’t hesitate to ask.

  Mia looks so much like me, a younger, perhaps a little more hardened by life version of me, with her stony features and that sharp look in her eyes. Melissa looks like her brothers, Drake and Ethan, same pronounced widow’s peak, dark hair, and devil may care look in her eyes. She’s a powerhouse of emotion. And then there’s my mother. Her strawberry blonde hair looks freshly washed, and her marble blue-green eyes are wide with fright.

  “Chloe”—Mom leans in—“we think Skyla is having a tough time right now.”

  “Yeah.” Mia nods, looking in Rory’s direction. “We think she has postpartum depression.”

  Mom scoffs. “Why do you have to make it sound so serious? She’s just got the baby blues. For some reason, she’s not able to bond with Jaxson.”