Toxic Part One Page 4

  Laken. He whispers her name over and over, and I latch onto it like a song. It sounds hauntingly familiar, like I’ve heard it somewhere before, but can’t pinpoint where.

  Gage passes through my mind and I try to evict him swift as he came, but he lingers. He stains my thoughts like an indelible inkblot I can never be rid of. Gage scarred the landscape of my soul. I rearranged my relationship with Logan for him and he, in turn, rearranged my heart in pieces. Gage appears behind my lids and falls to his knees. He holds a small velvet box between us like an offering. It’s empty inside, no ring, no promise of forever in the form of a shiny gold band. He rises and takes up my face in his gentle hands, drains me from the inside with a smoldering kiss without my permission.

  I riffle through the junk drawer of my mind for every moment we once shared—the first time we met, the day he told me I would be his wife, the day he gave me Nev.

  I swim in the memory of who we once were until the world beneath my lids ceases to exist.

  ***

  Barely breathing. A cool breeze. A moan prods me to open my eyes.

  Logan lies beside me on the bed.

  “Oh my God.” It takes all of my effort to breathe those words.

  A series of crimson welts lay across his back in thick cordlike stripes. Inflamed pillows of flesh rise in long, striated lines, like claw marks from very sharp nails.

  “Logan.” I brush against his shoulder. My arm hardly shifts at my command, too weak, too heavy to move in concert with my mind. “Logan?” It comes out a hoarse whisper.

  His eyes flutter open, first in slits, then enough to expose a thousand broken blood vessels.

  “Oh, God!” My chest heaves from the effort. I might pass out at the sight of his battered body. They’ve destroyed him. And it’s all because of me.

  “I’m OK.” He takes a shallow breath and sits up slowly, wincing from the shock of pain. “Skyla.” My name gravels out of him. Logan pulls me into his arms and cradles me, despite his injuries. I melt into him, mourning the two of us tangled in pain and sorrow. We’ve fallen so far from who we thought we were last summer. Our affection for one another was proving lethal whether or not we took down the Counts. There’s no doubt in my mind they planned to drain us both, right from the beginning. It’s only a matter of time before they take him, too. Our days are numbered, and soon, we’ll both be with my father in Paradise. Gage was wrong regarding the measure of our years. He was nothing short of a liar—a traitor in the worst capacity.

  A blast ignites from above as the window shatters.

  A rainbow of colored glass explodes across the room like a sheet of crystallized confetti. I pull the blanket over the two of us and the tiny shards press against the velvet with their knife-sharp fingers.

  We look back up to see a madman wielding a baseball bat, trashing the window until every last piece of the framework is destroyed. He jumps into the room and smashes the bookshelves with a violent force. The mirror that once hung proud explodes under the supervision of his weapon. He pounds large walloping holes into the walls with a fierce level of anger.

  I take him in from the side—that shock of black hair, the alabaster skin, the structure of his body, I recognize him intimately.

  He turns and spears Logan with his insolence.

  “Gage.” I meant to scream it, to hear it, but it comes out less than a whisper.

  He lifts Logan up and tosses him against the wall inspiring the water globe to nosedive off the shelf.

  “You touch her?” He roars it out with a viral aggression.

  “No.” Logan moans from the spontaneous jostling.

  A shadow slithers across the floor and catches my attention. The water globe lays shattered, and the strange worm that once took up residence in it begins to augment in size. It inflates into a fully formed snake, then unrepentantly continues to grow in both girth and stature.

  “Skyla—” Gage appears before me. “We have to get out of here,” he says it low, almost loving in nature. He scoops me in his arms and brushes his lips over mine. “I know you hate me.” He squints into his words. They gutted him on a primal level, but it probably has more to do with his ego than genuine devotion. “I just need you safe.” I fold limp as wet paper as he maneuvers us through the room. “Move,” he barks at Logan.

  Gage climbs out of the window with me tucked in his arms. He lands us safe on a strange glass surface.

  “Give me your hand,” he instructs Logan as he hoists him out. A wound stretches open over Logan’s shoulder and a river of blood baptizes his chest. “What the hell did they do to you?”

  “I’m all right.” Logan takes a quick breath.

  The serpent continues to fill the room with its ever-growing body until its grotesque head protrudes out the window with odd teeth, long as steak knives.

  “Shit!” I try to snatch at his shirt in a panic, but the energy it requires has left me.

  A vaporous wall warbles in front of us like steam lifting from a sidewalk on a hot July day. It radiates a layer of warmth in smooth, inviting ripples.

  “Hold your breath,” Gage shouts at the two of us.

  “Can’t breathe,” I whisper. I’m so weak, so depleted to begin with, that all of this excitement might actually finish me off.

  Gage seals his lips over mine, and we fall backward into a pool of icy water. He presses in a sweet kiss as he swims us to the top.

  It’s bliss like this with Gage, if only for a moment.

  Chapter 6

  Gage in a Rage

  Gage places me in his truck as the evening sky rotates above with a summer storm to greet us.

  He lands a soft kiss over my cheek. “I love you with everything in me, Skyla,” He whispers as his eyes sear me with their pain.

  He heads over to Logan and helps him into the back of the truck. I watch as Logan collapses onto his stomach, the rain pelting over his wounds, soft as tears.

  I take a deep breath at the surroundings—the crystalline pool, the long rolling lawns, the mansion the size of a warehouse—a replica to the one in the Transfer. I recognize this place as Demetri’s paradise-like backyard, complete with ornate fountains—a rose garden that stretches out for miles.

  “Paragon,” I whisper.

  Gage jumps in next to me and starts up the engine.

  “Are you in pain?” His eyes dart over me, wild with concern.

  I shake my head. “Just weak.”

  He buckles me and speeds us the hell away from Demetri Edinger’s estate.

  The familiar roadway opens up as Paragon extends its loving arms to greet us. Trees wave wild as the sky gives birth to a torrent. I forget all about the weirdness between Gage and me and relax into his seat, praying Logan doesn’t drown in the back.

  “How long were we gone?” I ask, as the scenery picks up to a more familiar structure. The property lines begin to narrow in comparison to Demetri’s sprawling lair.

  Gage pulls into the Oliver’s driveway, reaches over and takes off my seatbelt with the upmost care.

  “One night,” he says, appearing on the passenger’s side without missing a beat. Gage cradles me in his arms as he extricates me from the truck.

  “One night?” I whisper. We were gone for weeks.

  “You were in a treble.” Gage teleports us to the back of the truck, touches Logan’s shoulder and we blip out of existence.

  ***

  It’s been a good long while since I’ve been to the morgue—and for good reason. Dead bodies and I don’t always get along.

  Logan appears lying prone on a metal gurney. He groans into his pain, his back covered in bloodied streams and beads of rain.

  “Dear Lord God almighty.” Barron’s voice booms like a fire and brimstone preacher as he approaches. He looks aged. Deep lines crease his forehead at the sight of his brother slash nephew. He lifts his gaze to me lying limp in his son’s protective arms. “Lay her there.” He points behind my shoulder before handing him a neatly folded sheet. “Heat this in the
microwave. Pull it out before it catches fire.”

  Gage places me down on a mat laid over the metal bed where the autopsies are routinely performed and presses out a smile. Just the thought of him siding with Chloe makes me want to vomit all over him.

  He disappears and plays with the microwave, returning a few minutes later with the sheet and lays it over me—oven hot—and I seize, greedy for its warmth.

  “Ms. Messenger.” A familiar voice strums over me smooth and inviting.

  Marshall.

  I would pay in flesh to have him cover me with his body—reconstitute my blood back to life-giving levels.

  “What happened?” Barron inquires while spraying down Logan’s back with an aerosol bottle, and the room lights up with the antiseptic odor.

  Logan lets out a roar before sitting up and batting away Barron’s efforts.

  “Counts had us nearly three weeks.” The words knife out of him, still in pain from having his wounds cleansed. “Demetri came in last night and decided to conduct the blood draw—said we were back in time two years. They’re desperate.” He goes on to explain about the Elysian and the beating he received at the hands of a Fem. “I don’t know what happened to Skyla.” He gives a forlorn look in my direction, the sum total of every apology man has ever known, rolled into one.

  “What happened?” Gage leans in and brushes the loose hairs from my forehead with a tenderness you would think one could never fake and it makes my heart break all over again.

  “She’s been tormented, you dolt.” Marshall speeds over and presses a luscious kiss over the top of my head. His feel good vibrations radiate from my forehead like a symphony. “The fresh bruising on her neck should have alerted you.” He takes up my hand, sends a pleasant reverberation through me, and I hold on tight, begging for him to never let go.

  “Skyla—” Barron appears beside Gage. “You must undergo a transfusion. There’s no doubt in my mind that your organs are grinding. You could have scarring, permanent damage could occur—but I don’t have the blood of a Celestra on hand.”

  “Logan.” My lips hardly move when I say his name.

  “No, love.” Marshall sharpens his gorgeous features over me. “The Counts will turn him into a ball of yarn for the celestial cats running wild in the tunnels. Not a drop of his blood can enter your body. He’s one of them now, and they take treason quite seriously.” He pauses. “If Logan dies, it’s final. Once a Count is resurrected, they’re as mortal as the rest of you. They will know if his blood enters your body, and they will kill him.”

  “Logan.” It comes with tears this time. I can’t bear the thought of losing him. I’ve already lost Gage. Although he’s physically hovering above me, he’s merely a shell of who he used to be. This is an imposter—Gage has been one all along.

  “Marshall?” His name quivers from my lips. “Give me your blood.”

  “I would be more than happy to comply, but it would kill you with efficiency,” he whispers as his golden hair catches the light like a flame. “There is a way. I’ve instructed Dr. Oliver to prepare an elixir that will force your body to restore your blood to normal levels within hours. I won’t lie—it’s quite painful. However, in order to correctly boost the levels in time to stop an internal meltdown, your body needs to undergo a powerful irritant.” He says it matter of fact like he were reading something banal off the back of a cereal box.

  “No thanks.” The thought of irritating my body in order to boost my levels sounds about as appealing as road kill stew. In fact I’d rather eat road kill stew and die in peace.

  I relax in the false bedding beneath me and reconcile the fact that soon I’ll be reduced to nothing more than casket decor.

  “Nice try.” Marshall refutes my efforts. “But the faction war needs you. The entire human race is in need of your supernatural services. I’m afraid death is not an option and neither is convalescing until the next time the Counts pull you under for an involuntary donation.”

  I open my mouth to protest, then realize for the first time Marshall is actually standing here and he just mentioned the faction war and the Counts in front of all three Olivers.

  “Everyone knows you’re a Sector?” It’s the first thing that springs from my lips with vigor.

  “No point in lurking in the shadows now that you’ve been captured.” He glides in and out of a smile. “I’m not advertising my celestial status outside of this small circle and neither should you.”

  I shake my head, not admitting to the fact I may have let a few other people in on his secret, like Dr. Booth and Chloe. Chloe is just like that worm back at Demetri’s hall of horrors. Once you unleash her into the world she becomes nothing but a big, fat nuisance.

  “So what’s the plan? How are you going to heal me?” I’m hoping this involves Marshall’s body, his feel-good vibrations, and very little else.

  Marshall dips his chin down to his chest and gives the gleam of a wicked grin. “I’m going to poison you,” he says with unrequited calm.

  Exactly what I was afraid of.

  Chapter 7

  Stranger Danger

  The idea of Marshall poisoning me swills through my mind.

  Gage blips Logan back to the house, so he can get some much-needed rest and takes Dr. O with him to get Logan settled. It’s a relief having Gage out of the vicinity. I’m far too weak and tired to bleed out my emotions for another minute.

  Marshall sits me up and I recline against his blessed-by-God body. I could spend an eternity resting in his pleasurable embrace. I watch the rain press into the glass as it spreads into sheets against the window. Every now and again, the world lights up with an electrical charge so violent you could swear the end was near. That’s how I envision the great apocalypse, all hellfire and rain, nonstop thunder and earthquakes—Gage with Chloe in his heart.

  Marshall heads over to the sink, and I lie back on my side and observe him as though every move he made were imperative for my survival, my sanity as a whole. He washes an entire batch of apricots before smashing them to bits and pieces with a small wooden mallet. The mortuary in general isn’t the best place to whip up a fruit salad, but who am I to school a Sector on culinary hygiene?

  “What are you doing?” I inquire.

  “I’m attempting to prepare the right ratio of cyanogenetic glycosides. Just enough to kill you—no point in going overboard.”

  Sorry I asked.

  Gage pops back into the room.

  “Hey.” His dimples go off, and I look away. Their obvious powers of seduction are still in play even in this sorry state of being. “My dad needs a few minutes. Are you feeling better?” He pulls up a chair. Gage doesn’t hesitate picking up my hand and kissing it. I’d slap him silly, but I’m all about breathing at the moment with no reserves for anything else.

  “Marshall is preparing a dish for me. But don’t worry, it’s just enough to kill me,” I manage just above a whisper.

  Gage pulls a bleak smile, averts his eyes toward the exterminator in question for a brief second. “I won’t let him kill you.”

  “Marshall doesn’t have to worry about killing me,” I seethe, holding his serious gaze hostage. “You beat him to it.”

  “Skyla.” He pulls my name out in a mournful sigh.

  “I forbid you to speak to me.” I pull my fingers free, and my hand falls limp to my side.

  “Lover’s spat?” Marshall appears holding a glass of milky brown liquid.

  I shoot him a look. Marshall is relishing this “lover’s spat.” I can tell. Anything that lends me distance from the Oliver boys and sweeps me in his Sector arms is more than a welcome change of pace.

  I nod for him to continue with the toxin concoction he plans on inflicting me with.

  “Never fear, love.” Marshall helps prop me up and holds the elixir to my lips. “I wouldn’t dream of letting the reaper make haste with my bride-to-be.”

  I smile at Gage when Marshall says the words bride-to-be. I hope he chokes on those words at dinner,
hears them over and over on a loop until he’s dizzy and wants to vomit.

  Marshall taps the glass. “I promise you the effects of the cyanide will simply shut down your kidneys and force your blood to mass-produce hemoglobin in an effort to push it through the liver and rid the destruction through your digestive tract. Nothing a little one-on-one with the porcelain throne won’t cure.”

  Crap. Not only am I going to die after chugging down the suicide solution, but I’m going to have a rabid bout of explosive diarrhea as my last living memory.

  “As your future bride-to-be, I appreciate your honesty.” I nod at Marshall and reluctantly take the dark liquid from him. I glare at Gage for a moment. Honesty is something he’s allergic to.

  “It’s soda with an apricot seed reduction,” Marshall asserts.

  “A cyanide smoothie.” I smile at him lovingly. “I can’t wait until our honeymoon,” I say with the last bit of energy my body is able to dispense. I have high hopes of Gage having a coronary episode while envisioning my post marital vacay with our math teacher, and how apropos for him to succumb to his demise in the morgue of all places. And with no Dr. O around to save him—tsk, tsk.

  I push the drink to my lips and knock it back in one giant gulp.

  Shit!

  A bitter jolt corrodes my taste buds, viral as battery acid. My tongue inflames before swelling like a balloon. It arrests my ability to swallow and throws my gag reflex into overdrive.

  Poison! It finally hits me. Marshall really is trying to freaking poison me.

  With an animated level of panic I no longer thought possible, I toss the glass clear across the room and flail in a fit of retching histrionics.

  Dry heaves bubble to the surface. An entire string of inglorious belching discharges from my body until finally I manage to hurl food I didn’t even know existed inside me all over the toga I have strapped on.