The Dragon and the Rose Read online

  “You are quite the magician.” She bites back a laugh as I pull it over myself.

  “It looks like a radio antenna in space,” I muse as my cock wags in all its illuminated glory.

  “It looks like the very thing that every girl at West dreams of.” She smears her sticky chest onto mine. “But I’m the lucky one.” She raises her hips and settles her body over me agonizingly slow.

  A moan escapes from my throat loud enough to rattle the wings around us.

  “I want you to use your strength, Gage.” Her fingers give a quick stroke through my hair. “I want you to have your way with me, as hard and fast as you like.” Her chocolate covered finger dips into my mouth again. “That’s not vanilla you taste, is it?”

  A dull laugh rumbles through me.

  “Challenge accepted.” I bow down and graze my teeth over her neck. I take her in like this with her long, blonde hair covering her chest ever so discreetly, her eyes pale as moonlight in this murky light. Skyla is perfect. She alone redefines beauty, and she’s all mine. My fingers dig into her hips, and I carefully land her over me until her legs are wrapped around my body like a vice. My mouth locks over hers. We sit and rock like that for hours, just taking it slow. We hit our zenith then start all over again. Skyla and I lose ourselves in one another—in paradise.

  The next night, my official birthday, is spent at my parents with a home cooked meal from my mother, shepherd’s pie and green beans, my favorite. Hell any meal would be my favorite with Skyla by my side. I give her hand a squeeze from under the table. As far as dinner parties go, this one is definitely stilted. She wraps her leg around mine, and I wish it were just the two of us. No matter what, this little shindig isn’t happening next year.

  I glance across as Logan and Liam discuss the damage to the Mustang. Little does Liam know why this conversation is stretching out for miles, but I’m willing to bet it’s because Logan has decided to exclude me from it as much as humanly possible. It’s clear he’s still pissed about me burying my fist in his jaw.

  “I had to take the damn door off with my bare hands,” Liam boasts to Brielle’s sister, Brooke, who seems genuinely impressed.

  “Once, Brody had to take the door off my dorm room because I had a dresser that couldn’t fit inside on moving day.”

  Like I said, she seems genuinely impressed despite the fact she can’t stop talking about her ex. Too bad since she’s here as Liam’s date.

  Mom and Dad are unnaturally quiet. I’m guessing it’s because Lizbeth saw fit to bring Demetri as her “date” being that Tad is out of town. And I, myself, am unnaturally quiet for several reasons. Giselle and Ellis are making bizarre hand motions at one another. They claim to have invented their own secret sign language. Mostly it consists of Ellis pointing at himself and then my sister before pounding his fists together vertically—the international symbol for fucking. Someone is about to get fucked all right. I glare at him a minute.

  Mia and Melissa have recanted in detail their argument from last night, inciting Melissa to deny the fact she gave anyone a “blowjob” within the last twenty-four hours. Which begs the question, are we simply dealing with a timeline technicality?

  Or maybe I’m quiet because my mother was thoughtful enough to invite my long lost half-brother, Wesley, and he took the liberty of hauling Chloe out of the dungeon for the night.

  She jabs a forkful of food into her mouth and waves at me with her pinky.

  Drake and Brielle haven’t stopped sneaking little pecks to one another. For whatever reason they’re all hot and bothered tonight, and I half expect them to clutch onto one another in a fit of passion and start going at it for all to see. At the rate this disturbing party is creeping along, it might be worth it. Ethan and Emily said they couldn’t make it—and to them I plan on sending a thank you note. But, I think the piece d’resistance of the night is the fact my mother saw fit to invite Kresely and her breasty pal Grayson. Liam keeps alternating his gaze from Grayson’s left tit to her right because he can’t decide which one to settle on. She’s made it a point to let us know how many magazines she graced this year alone. I saw the movie she made a few years back. Still not impressed.

  “Wow, this party is about as dead as you are, Logan.” Chloe raises her glass.

  “I’m hanging on by a thread,” he contests.

  “Like I said.” Chloe gives a tired smile as she tracks her gaze to Skyla. Maybe Skyla will stab Chloe in the throat with a fork as a gift to us both on our shared birthday weekend.

  “This party is just fine.” Mom says tight-lipped. “Barron, why don’t you start us all off with some polite dinner conversation. Something that might be of interest to us all.” She nods to Kresley, her favorite pet, and Grayson, Boobs McGee, as Liam affectionately calls her.

  “All right.” Dad drops his fork, and it lands with a rattle on my mother’s fine bone china. “Demetri—how are efforts moving along to exterminate thousands of Nephilim—some of which are seated at this table?”

  The soft murmur in the room stops cold.

  I do a quick sweep of the cast of characters that showed up and quickly access he’s safe enough to continue with the conversation.

  “Dude”—Ellis slaps his hand on the table—“I thought that Steel Barricade bullshit was just a fairytale.”

  Ellis chose not to join the Barricade. I could add up on one hand how many Counts chose to abstain—excluding Logan, of course. Mr. Goody Two Shoes. I take a sip from my root beer. My mother always made sure Logan and I had a bottle of root bear on our birthdays. I think she did it to make us feel like men, and now I simply do it because it reminds me of good times. Besides, I happen to like the sugary burn as I pour it down my throat. Skyla slit Logan’s face open with one of these bottles. I wonder if he still likes the taste?

  Demetri leans back in his seat as he shoots a cool glare at my father—that even-keeled grin still set over his face. Demetri could slice you open with the smile in his eyes.

  “Why don’t you ask your son?” Demetri folds his hands over the table. He’s laying down all of his proverbial weapons, giving my father all the rope he needs to hang himself. “Or perhaps I should reword that so you might understand. Why don’t you ask my son?”

  “That’s it.” Dad rises. A look of rage blankets his expression. “I’m sorry, Lizbeth, I can no longer carry on with this farce. Demetri, I bid you, please—” He holds his hand toward the exit because my father is too kind a soul to ask anyone to leave his home.

  “Son?” Demetri swivels his head in my direction. His eyes are filled with laughter mocking my father for having the audacity to confront him. My father has balls, I’ll give him that. “Seeing I’ve been denied the right to every major event in your young life—would you mind if I stayed for cake?”

  Lizbeth leans in. “I think that’s a perfectly reasonable request.”

  She would.

  Shit. I know for a fact if I kick him out on his ass, he’ll clam up, and I’m already so close to finding out what he’s really up to. Demetri isn’t nearly as invested to off the other factions as Wesley is. He seems to have an ulterior motive. He couldn’t care less if the other factions live or die.

  My eyes fall heavy on my father, and I compress my lips hoping he feels the apology I’m sending. “I think cake sounds good right about now.”

  “Why don’t I get that?” Skyla jumps up. She’s about as eager to end this fiasco as I am. “Giselle, do you want to help?”

  They disappear into the kitchen, and Mom clears the dishes like she’s a contestant on a game show—clear the table in under thirty seconds and win a brand new car.

  “Gage, how is your back?” Lizbeth seems genuinely interested as the baby in her arms begins to squirm beneath her blouse.

  “It’s not the best.” I shoot a look to dear old Dad. Demetri is responsible for these shit genetics. He said so himself that his own back is worthless. Ironic since he’s a powerful demon—the word angel seems too demure a word to equate wit
h him.

  “You know what I think you need?” Lizbeth has a twinkle in her eye that lets me know she’s up to something. “A bigger bed.”

  Kresley growls before I can answer, and I catch her staring down Chloe. “What are you looking at?” Kresley is conveniently seated between Wes and me, which has prompted a few icy barbs from the queen B herself.

  “You were right, Wes.” Chloe brushes her off with a wave of her hand. “Laken is far more beautiful, far more intelligent than this preppy wannabe. I can see why you said it was a hands-down no brainer to leave Kres for Laken.”

  Grayson lifts her hand as if initiating a smack down, and Chloe catches her by the wrist.

  “Touch me, and you will leave without an arm,” Chloe seethes. “Ask Skyla. It doesn’t feel so good.”

  The lights in the room go out as Skyla and Giselle come in carrying a cake that’s all but on fire. They start in on Happy Birthday encouraging everyone else to sing along in a weak, forced manner.

  “Make a wish!” Giselle bounces enthused at the idea of being granted a wish once a year.

  I pull Skyla in and give her a soft kiss.

  “I already have everything I need.” I blow out the candles, and a plume of smoke fills the room.

  “We’re going to die of smoke inhalation!” Mia fans her face and chokes.

  “You’ll live,” Skyla admonishes. She bears hard into my eyes as if she knows something. “We’re going to live a very long, happy life.”

  Skyla seems so sure of it. I know she wants it. It’s not unreasonable to want your husband to grow old right alongside of you, but her outright defiance to the future we both know will come is a little unnerving.

  I take it back. I do have a wish. I wish to grow old with Skyla.

  And you can have this, son. I hear Demetri’s voice clear as day in my mind and glance up. His smile expands, uncomfortably slow, promising me something that Candace herself said I could never have. Accomplish all that your brother asks of you tonight, and your wish will be my gift. You have a beautiful bride. It’s a shame to put her in the hands of another.

  Demetri is right. Skyla is my gorgeous, sweet bride.

  Logan barks out a laugh at something Liam says. Our eyes meet for a brief moment. His smile diminishes quickly as he openly scowls at me.

  He wishes he were me. He’s just waiting on the sidelines for me to fall off a cliff so he can step into my shoes—my bed—and manhandle my wife.

  Not going to happen.

  I glance at Demetri.

  I’m in.

  Logan

  The sky burns a brilliant amethyst as I float above the island, above the fog, above all of the misery and agony I’ve come to associate with Paragon lately. I lie on my back, gazing at the spray of stars you never get to witness while buried in the mist. A song strums through my heart as I marvel at the magnitude, the girth and width, the finality and exponential expansiveness of God’s great universe.

  Gage’s birthday party was uncomfortable to say the least. By the time the night ended, I was actually rooting for Chloe to tear someone from limb to limb. It was tough as hell being in the same room with her—my killer—with Wesely her love slave—Gage’s doppelganger—and who could forget his self-proclaimed father. It’s true, though, whether or not we like it, Gage is the genetic heir to the Edinger misfortune. And God do I miss Gage. I miss the boy I grew up with. The one who used to worship Skyla right alongside me. Of course, I liked him a little better when Skyla was mine, but who am I kidding? I like him just the same after. I guess that proves a woman could never come between us. And if there ever were a woman who could tear down kingdoms, realms, and relationships, it would be Skyla. But now she’s staring down the barrel of gifting evil its own dominion—I’ve never prayed so hard that Skyla would come to her senses and leave Gage. As long as he’s pinch-hitting for the enemy, he can’t be trusted. But I’d never say it to her. After all, she’s swept up in destiny’s design—so am I.

  Cooper appears from nowhere, sort of looking like my doppelganger.

  “Coop, my man.” I slap him five.

  “Sweet.” He marvels at the night sky from this vantage point. It’s usually Skyla I pull into my nighttime wanderings, but, after the last carnal disaster my nephew got himself into, I think I’m doing everybody involved a favor.

  I had Dudley come to the party tonight as my unofficial guest—told him to keep it invisible, make sure Demetri wouldn’t suspect a thing. He said Gage is up to something big this evening, so I texted Coop and asked him if he wanted to ride shotgun.

  Dudley appears in all his Sector swagger, white and shining, blinding as the fucking sun.

  I cover my face with my arm. “This isn’t Vegas. Dim the light show, would you? By the way this is Cooper. I’m assuming you’ve met. Excuse him, Coop, he’s just being his usual rude self.”

  “I am a lot of things, rude is not one of them.” The volume decreases on his brightness but not his ego. What Skyla ever sees in him is beyond me. “Where to? Straight to stupid—or are we making a side trip?”

  “Side trip?” Dudley is anything if he’s passive aggressive. “Is there somewhere we should be?”

  “Just enough to feast your eyes, then we’ll be off.”

  The stars are replaced with a galaxy of electric blue wings, the sound of a soft voice sobs nearby, and I know exactly who that voice belongs to. The butterfly room forms around us, and we find Skyla sitting on a comforter hunched over herself, her back bucking with emotion. She straightens her shoulders a moment exposing her very naked, perfectly beautiful chest.

  “Whoa.” Coop turns around.

  Tucked in her lap is the picture I gifted her at graduation last year. It’s Gage and me on either side of her at our last football game at West. Skyla stands in the center looking cute as hell in her cheer uniform. Those were the magic years, and we didn’t even know it. We were all playing for the same team back then, and now here I am, dead—Gage has made a covenant with darkness, and Skyla is naked and alone, wondering where the fuck her husband went yet again. But she knows. Her body folds over the picture as she brings it to her lips and gives the frame a light kiss.

  I lean in and touch my fingers to her hair. This is the exact same scene from a few months back, when she was asking me silently to forgive her for wanting to marry Gage, to keep him alive all of her days. And now here we are again, and her heart is breaking because of the goof she gave it all up for. I glance up at Dudley for a moment and wonder why this scene is on repeat in her life. Maybe the tears come from something deeper than Gage’s seeming deception. Maybe it has more to do with me than I care to imagine. I can’t bear the thought that I bring Skyla pain. A part of me wishes I never gave her this damn picture. My heart caves in just seeing her like this.

  A part of me wants to tell Dudley to take Coop home, that I can handle things from here, but I know that will only lead to me trying to comfort her in ways that I’m no longer welcome to.

  Skyla gives a shivering sigh and glances upwards as if sending up a prayer.

  Coop nods. “You want us to leave?”

  “No.” I fall to my knees before her, look into her watery eyes that light up the room like sirens. “I got this, Skyla. I promise you, I will not let you fall. Your people, our people, they will achieve all they were meant to. They will live to see many good days because my love for you is stronger than all of the evil this universe can manufacture, all of the evil that others are seduced to employ. They don’t stand a chance, Skyla. We win. I promise.” I lean in and kiss her on the lips, and she gives another ragged sigh. “Our love wins.” I motion to Dudley, and the butterfly room dissipates in a spiral of cobalt wings the exact color of Gage Oliver’s eyes.

  The Tenebrous Woods form around us, just as gnarled and burnt out as Demetri’s heart.

  “There’s Wes.” Coop fills his chest with a lungful of hate. “Why don’t we just torch the place and free the captives? I’m done with this shit.”

  D
udley grunts. “I hate to echo a sentiment filled with violence and profanity, but I concur.”

  “For one, it’s probably torch proof and two—” I look around at the dimly lit, depressed, repressed, possessed world around us and wonder why the hell not? “Can we really get the captives out?”

  “Of course, not,” Dudley strides ahead. “They’d burn to the ground right along with this prison, but I honestly don’t think too many would mind the flames. Death comes slowly when you desire its presence.”

  “Never mind.” We follow Wes to the outskirts, well past the woods, past the stone altar where he and Gage swore their love for one another, to a dull lavender horizon in a desolate field with steam rising from the ground. “What is this?” I try to take in the magnitude of despair this place exudes.

  “This, my friend, is just over the heart of Hades. You’ve heard the expression hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Your feet press over the fury of a thousand scorned hearts, all of them crying out in agony through the fires of hell. Hades is one place my services are not allowed to tread. It’s special invite from the Master. He’s visited the captives on an occasion or two. As for me, this is as close as I care to venture.”

  The faint sound of moaning, of shrill screams and horrific cries for help emanate from deep in the ground. My heart pounds like a lunatic just wanting to get out of Dodge. The terror this place invokes doesn’t make me wish this horrible destiny on my worst enemy—not Chloe, not Demetri, not Wes. It’s funny how easily “go to hell” can roll off your tongue, but the blackness, the pit of despair, the heat of the eternal flames makes the reality far too frightening to consider.