The Dragon and the Rose Read online

  “I saw the way you were looking at her this morning when we came downstairs.”

  “So why’d you leave her with me?”

  “Because I trust her.”

  A simple huff pumps through my chest. “Maybe it’s me you shouldn’t trust.”

  Gage glares at me, making his dissatisfaction with my word choice perfectly clear.

  “I’m kidding.” I hold up a hand between us before things get physical. “That’s not why I brought you here. This isn’t about Skyla. In fact, I’m not surprised you dragged her into this. You want me to look everywhere but here—believe everything but the truth.”

  He folds his arms across his chest with a resolute boredom. “And what’s the truth?”

  “The truth is, this is where it all began.” I glance down at the rocky shore below. “That’s where Chloe’s body was buried in a shallow grave.” I nod toward the harbor. “That’s where the Skyla first stepped off the ferry. Those two things shook us to the core for the worst and for the best. “Chloe started a path of destruction all because of her hatred for Skyla. She knew how important Skyla was before any of us had a clue.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Skyla is the reason both you and I are in existence.”

  He closes his eyes with a look of disbelief on his egotistical face.

  I shake my head. “You actually believe you’re here for another purpose, don’t you?”

  “What’s the fucking point?” He barks so loud his voice vibrates through my clothes.

  The urge to throttle him—to toss him to the waiting rocks below is overwhelming.

  “I’ve figured out exactly what Wesley’s game is.” I pant the words out in jags. Not long after Gage took my body, I knew where this was headed even if Wes or Gage couldn’t see Demetri’s twisted tracks. “Demetri is hand feeding him every thought, his every next move. That’s how he works. He walks you along and speaks his refined words, whispers in your ear until you believe his ideas are your own. It’s a brainwashing technique, and it’s not even a good one.”

  “You don’t know Wes.”

  “And you do? Do you know him like you know me? Do you trust him like you trust me? It’s like I’m shouting into the wind because God knows Demetri isn’t around to tell you to listen.”

  He bolts up and twists his fist into my shirt, bending me over the railing while the rocks threaten us below.

  “You listen to me, and you listen good,” he seethes. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “If we step to the left, there is no rail. You could toss me over like you want, just know that I’m taking you with me.”

  He gives a little smile. “You think we’d end up in the Transfer?”

  “I’m not feeling that lucky.” The one thing about a Treble that sucks is that I can feel all the pain and never quite get killed. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to live out the rest of this Treble in a coma. His features harden to flint. His eyes slit to razors of hate—into the eyes of a stranger. “I’ve lost you, haven’t I?” A vibrant pain radiates through me. I feel like tossing myself over the edge just to escape it.

  “You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you?” He lets go of me with a gentle push. “You can convince Skyla that I’m too wicked to be with and step right into my shoes. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? My DNA is the perfect set up for your little plan.”

  My little plan. I want to laugh in his face. I’m not the one stealing corpses and gifting them to the enemy.

  “You and I both know you joined the Barricade, Gage. Who’s your enemy?”

  His head cocks to the side. His curious eyes never leave mine.

  I twist my fists in his shirt, mimicking his actions. “Remember this in your darkest hour”—I boil the words right over his face—“and it will arrive, Gage—once you come to your senses and realize how many left turns you’ve made—how fast and efficiently you’ve managed to fuck everything up—I want to you to remember these words. Skyla is the answer to everything. And then I want you to put on your big boy pants and act fast because by the time you realize this, it will already be too damn late.” I head back to the truck and fire up the engine before zooming out of the lot. He could teleport home in broad daylight for all I care.

  And since Skyla is the answer to everything then she’s in a lot more danger than any of us ever imagined.

  8

  The Gift

  Skyla

  Brody is human—one hundred percent angel free. I’ve always suspected those Bishops were anything but angels, but, unfortunately, this reverse exorcism was performed at the hands of Ezrina.

  “A couple days ago he was a perfectly good Celestra,” I say to Laken as we sit outside a coffee shop at the mall. The carolers are out in force, and people are pushing and shoving their way to find last minute treasures to regale their loved ones with. Tomorrow night is Christmas Eve. “And, after Ezrina administered the elixir, she washed his cells clean—just not like she was hoping. Chromatophobia really does seem to be the key.” I pause to take a nice long swig of my eggnog latte. “Mmm…How come I can’t seem to replicate this at home?” I hold the cup out to the light as if it held the answers I was looking for.

  “Would you stop?” She giggles taking away my coffee. “You were just getting to the good part. So is this real? Ezrina’s stripped him of his angelic standing?”

  “I don’t know about that, but for sure he lost his powers. You should have seen him ranting and screaming, I didn’t sign up for this! And then shedding bona fide tears in front of Brooke like a baby. Technically, he did sign up for this. Ezrina told him he was going to be a hero, and, believe me, he would have been, but things sometimes don’t turn out the way we imagine. He still holds the Nephilim marker with the exception he’s completely human in every capacity—subhuman if you ask me. He is a Bishop, you know.”

  “Believe me, I get it.” Laken looks sickened by the idea. “I may not want Wes, but something about that demon he’s hooking up with really gets up my craw.”

  “Mmm.” I moan as I take another sip. “I know. Chloe has a way of corroding all she comes in contact with. I really don’t know how Wes can stand her.” I do a quick sweep of the sky for Holden. “Damn useless bird. I should pluck off all his feathers.”

  “Maybe a feather is all you need. And if it works, give one to me would you?”

  “Not a bad idea. So how are things with you and Coop?”

  “Never been better.” She twirls her cup. “He’s been acting a little secretive lately. Still not sure what that’s about. But he’s been extra attentive in every capacity. I’d say we’re more in love than ever.” She bites her lip for a moment. “Our alone time is off the charts if you know what I mean.”

  My mouth falls open. “Good for you. Gage and I have been a little wild in that department too, and it’s all thanks to Brielle.”

  Laken glances over my shoulder, and her smile is quick to dissipate.

  “What’s because of me?” Bree swoops in with a hug and falls into the seat next to me. Giselle pops up from behind and gives a sheepish wave before pulling up a seat as well. We haven’t said much since the incident. Freaking Ellis.

  Two things are very wrong with this picture: One, Bree and Giselle are not shopping buddies per say. And two, they happen to hold in their possession matching Naughty Hawty No peeking until Christmas! shopping bags. Laken and I, on the other hand, did very little shopping. There was a sale at Penbrooks, and they had rows of Tiffany’s bangles on sale—cool, sleek silver bracelets that looked amazingly beautiful. I so wish I had the money to buy one for all the girls in my life. I even thought of popping it on my emergency credit card, just one for Emma. Maybe then she wouldn’t look at me like some predator who’s holding her son’s head hostage between my legs.

  Laken leans back in her seat and folds her arms as she gives Brielle a tired look. “Skyla and I were discussing something private.”

  “You said I helped.” Brielle looks puzzled by t
he fact she could help with anything.

  “It was that vanilla thing.” I nod and enlarge my eyes because I don’t want to discuss it in front of Giselle. I want no part in gifting her the thirty-one flavors of sex ed.

  “Oh?” Bree’s lips part with the epiphany. “Oh! Tad’s been telling us all about your wild monkey sex. He says that’s the reason you had to scoot on over to the Oliver’s.”

  A growl rumbles through me. I hate that Tad is saying anything about my sex life. I hate that Tad is aware I have a sex life.

  “Yes, exactly that.” And what I hate most of all is staying at the Oliver’s. “Maybe we should change the subject.” I glance to Giselle, hoping Bree will get the hint.

  “Are you nuts?” Bree squeals with titillation. “You had animal sex with Gage, and you want to shut me out of this barnyard action? I’m the one that pointed out the two of you were vanilla. I should be rewarded with every delicious detail.”

  Giselle smirks. “Gee, Skyla, it must be nice to run through the barn whenever you feel like it with my brother while Ellis and I get scolded the second we try to get some relief.”

  “Gage and I are married.”

  “Ellis and I are married in our hearts—where it counts.”

  She says that last part like a barb, and I’m not sure why, but I feel it.

  “That does sound like something Ellis would say.” I try hard not to roll my eyes at exactly how big Harrison’s blue balls are. “Have you let him put his mitts on you again?”

  Giselle grows suspiciously quiet.

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t understand what that bout of silence meant. I suppose there’s no point in ignoring the fact that the train Ellis has in his boxers has long left the station. Are you at least using birth control?” Ellis is so the kind of guy who would say it doesn’t feel the same with a condom. If Giselle gets knocked-up, he may not live to see the next decade of his life. “Say, maybe you and I should head to the free clinic next week and get on the damn pill?” I didn’t mean for the expletive to trickle out, but, still, not happy with Ellis.

  “The pill?” A familiar voice shrills from behind, and for a moment I think it’s Emma until a baby bleats a tiny lamb-like cry, and I realize it’s my own mother. “You will not put those chemicals in your body, Skyla. I refuse to stand by while you render yourself infertile at the hands of synthetic hormones. They can do all sorts of evil things to your blood chemistry.”

  Blood chemistry? I take Misty from her and make her wave at Laken.

  Brielle snorts. “All I know is those birth control pills are proof that God loves me. If I had to rely on anything else, I would have popped out twelve of those puppies by now.”

  An image of a dozen little Beau Geste doppelgangers all crying fuck, fuck, fuck runs through my mind. Sounds like the good Lord spared us all.

  “Well, you should get off it right this minute,” Mom scolds. “I’ve heard horror stories of diseases that were birthed from those things.”

  Birthed? I can’t help but enjoy the pun. I can tell she’s passionate about me staying off any magic pellets that might thwart a sperm invasion to my ovaries. Little does she know I’ve actually thought of having my entire baby making station surgically removed. I’m sure if I shared this idea, I’d kill her on the spot.

  “In fact, it can make your brain go haywire.” Mom makes eyes at me as if I should realize how large the implications can be. But all it really makes me want to do is ask if she was on the pill when she married Tad. That would explain a lot. The only way a person can go from my father to Tad Landon is if their brain went severely freaking haywire. “You know all the difficulty I’ve had with conception,” she drones on. Lucky for me I’m past the point of being embarrassed by my mother. Secretly, I hope Giselle is dying on the inside because my mother is alternating her pointing finger between the two of us. “Why are we discussing this?” She looks to Bree for answers as if she’s suddenly come to.

  “Skyla and Gage are having barnyard sex!” Giselle gives an accusatory shout. Her face is fifty shades of red as she does her best to hide her Naughty Hawty bag.

  Mom looks mystified for a moment. “You do realize I’d like a few grandchildren from the two of you.” That silly grin pops back on her face. The silver lining for just about everything in Lizbeth Landon’s life is an infant. She’d like nothing more than to turn my uterus into a clown car.

  “Gage and I aren’t having children,” I blurt.

  “Don’t be silly.” She runs her fingers through the black feathers pluming over Mystery’s precious little head. “With genes like this? You’re going to have striking children.” She gazes at Misty with a dreamy look in her eyes. It’s that same ridiculous look I’ve seen her give Demetri a million times.

  Wait—what did she mean by genes like this?

  I stop breathing. I hold Misty out like she’s soiled the both of us.

  Oh, my God. I close my eyes a moment. Can this really be Demetri’s child?

  Misty gives the cutest giggle, and the entire table breaks out in a choir of approval.

  I look deep into my baby sister’s cobalt blue eyes with my hand touching her bare arm.

  Who’s your daddy? I ask solemn as shit.

  He hand slaps my chest as she claws the flesh just below my neck with her sharpened fingernails.

  “Oh, dear.” Mom gasps as she plucks her off me. “It looks like she got you. She’s going through a bit of an aggressive stage. I’d better go find your sisters. I still have a million gifts to wrap.” She drops a kiss to my forehead before disappearing.

  “I’d better go, too.” Giselle pulls Bree up with her. “Ellis says he’s going to put something long and hard in my stocking. I’m very excited about Christmas!”

  “Gage is going to have something long and hard for Ellis—the barrel of a shotgun,” I say as they take off.

  “Here.” Laken hands me a napkin. “I think you’re bleeding.”

  I touch my hand to my chest where Misty clawed me, and sure enough my fingers are pink.

  “It kind of looks like she carved letters onto your flesh. That’s one talented baby.” She laughs it off as she finishes her drink.

  Slowly I pull a compact from my purse and position it at the carnage on my chest. “Son of a bitch,” I whisper. “She did.” There, in plain sight, sit a perfectly carved D and E. The D is facing the right direction as if it were carved into my chest for the very purpose of inspecting myself in a mirror.

  “You don’t actually believe she did that on purpose? She’s not even a year old.”

  “I stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago, Laken.”

  She swoops in close and looks in the mirror with me and gasps.

  “Why would she carve those initials over your chest, Skyla?” she asks lower than a whisper—her breathing just as erratic as mine.

  “Because I asked her who her daddy was.”

  And now Laken and I both know.

  Mystery solved.

  Christmas Eve.

  Gage and I are spending the holiday with the Oliver’s, and since my family traditionally celebrates on the sacred day of, it works out great. I’m not sure why I’m dreading tonight—why all day the phrase Christmas Evil has been running through my mind. Could it be because Emma has made it no secret that I’m an unwelcome guest in her home by way of sighing and gesticulating her displeasure whenever I’m around? Of course, if you ask Gage, he’ll deny it. Emma is the perfect mother in his eyes. And why wouldn’t she be? The woman makes him a stack of pancakes that touch the ceiling every single maple syrup lovin’ morning. She hand squeezes his juice with nothing but the best organic blood oranges that her overpriced boutique market can find. She even made it a point to teach me how to fix a proper bed. This was something pertinent I needed to know “if I was going to be Gage’s wife.” That was an amusing morning, considering I’ve been his wife for an entire season now. Gage wasn’t around to witness that little spectacle. He would have loved the part when I had
to bounce a quarter off the sheets. Of course, my quarter didn’t bounce, it sort of thumped and rolled. I clearly failed the pillow fluffing challenge. How couldn’t I? Emma sets impossible standards to live by. She makes Martha Stewart look like a drunken frat boy.

  My eyes flit to the mantel where the stockings all hang with glee, or more like something vindictive that Emma drummed up. I’ll be honest, it hurts to see that everyone has a stocking except for me—and I mean everyone. Gage, Kresley, Giselle, Logan, Liam, Emma, and Barron. You would think hers would read Mom and Barron’s would read Dad but no. I frown as Charlie circles around my legs.

  “Don’t you worry, buddy. Santa’s got you all taken care of.” Even Charlie has a bone shaped stocking. Not that I’m gunning for gifts from the Oliver’s, I just sort of want to feel included.

  All day I’ve offered my services in the kitchen, and all day Emma has shooed me away while she happily put Kresley to work. Kresley, who arrived dressed as Santa’s pornographic helper in her busty red sequin sweater. Can you say North Pole trash? Giselle was called forth to mash the yams but she declined the honor, opting instead to play footsy with Ellis in the living room. I’m shocked Gage watched silently instead of initiating a double amputation of Harrison’s size twelve paws like I thought he might.

  Dinner is a bore just like Emma. Even Logan openly yawns a few times—and, swear to God, I don’t think it’s physically possible for him to get tired. Just saying.

  Once dinner convenes Emma attempts to herd us all into the living room while she clears the table, but we’re all too stuffed to move. Sometimes I think Emma prefers spending more time with her fine bone china than she does her family.

  Charlie comes in and begs at my feet.

  “Don’t you worry”—I scratch his pretty little head—“I’ll get a Christmas bone for you yet.” I glance at my plate, but Emma has already snatched it away.

  “I’ve got you covered, little dude,” Ellis whispers and dips a half-eaten turkey leg to the patient pooch. Ellis and I exchange a covert high-five. Emma can be a real witch about feeding Charlie table scraps. But it’s Christmas. Charlie can thank his lucky stars that Ellis and I aren’t a couple of Scrooges.