Celestra Forever After by Addison Moore
“Just tell me when, and we’ll make it official.”
Skyla bites down over her cherry lip, her pale eyes never leaving mine. “I know a courthouse on Host that will do it right now.”
My lips cinch with a hint of a smile, her eyes still holding mine.
“Well, what the hell are we waiting for?” I scoop her up and race us down the black sand beach, twirling and kissing her on the way to the truck. This is the last time I’ll ever be here with Skyla Messenger. When we come back she’ll be Skyla Oliver, and the best part is, she’ll be mine.
Logan
Lightning shreds across the sky as I step into the Gas Lab. All of Paragon is electrified, lit up like a lantern at irregular intervals. It wipes the gloom from the day, shakes us out of our morbid stupor like bombs going off overhead.
“Oliver.” Ethan motions me over while hooking a girl up to an O2 tank equipped to shoot scented air through her nostrils. The Gas Lab is his brainchild or brain fart—take your pick. Ethan is Skyla’s stepbrother—not the brightest Landon of the bunch, not that there’s much competition.
“What’s up?” I give a quick glance at the dim colored walls, the blank canvasses that stretch to the ceiling. Ethan mentioned once they were to empower the customer to come up with their own image. Plus, I’m assuming it was cheaper than purchasing actual art.
“Give up on the big city life so soon?” He nods over to an empty barstool.
“That’s right. I couldn’t stop thinking of this damn rock, so I’m back.” When I died last December, rumor spread I was on the mainland doing my thing, and here I am, right back where I started from, doing my dead thing.
“You need me to hook you up?” He pulls a pouch of something dark and leafy from his pocket—pot. Great. He’ll have this place shut down in days if he’s dealing on the side. “Chloe and Pierce know you’re doing that shit?”
He makes a face, looking toward the kitchen for a minute. “Dude, they’re so fucked up these days. Bishop doesn’t even look like herself anymore. I guess it’s true what they say—girls let themselves go after high school. She hacked her hair off. She’s sporting coke-bottom glasses, and calls herself Ezrina after her long dead aunt or some bullshit. Pierce stopped going to the gym—his arms are like spaghetti. Makes me call him Nev or he won’t freaking turn around.” He shakes his head annoyed.
“Nev and Rina,” I call to the back, and they file out. Nev is wearing his million-dollar Kragger smile, and Ezrina looks staunch, ready to throw my balls into the deep fryer if I cross her.
I go over and lock them both in a simultaneous hug.
“Knock that shit off,” Ethan barks as a small crowd walks in. “We’ve got company.”
Nev closes his eyes a moment. “Patrons.” But Ethan is already off showing a couple of high schoolers his burgeoning stash.
“Don’t bother correcting him.” Ezrina leads us to a nearby table. “He’s a dolt.”
A young girl glances at me before doing a double take. She looks vaguely familiar, but it’s her boyfriend I recognize from the faction war.
“Who are they?” I nod to them trying to look inconspicuous, but Ezrina doesn’t bother to hide her neck craning.
“Laken Stewart, and Cooper Flanders.” She stomps her hand over the table so hard half the people turn around. “Come.” She thunders, and they hesitantly make their way over.
Laken’s face bleaches out as she looks at me. “You’re Skyla’s Elysian, aren’t you?”
Something unsettles in my chest when she says it. “I haven’t been called down to Tenebrous in months.”
“That means Wes hasn’t…” Laken lets her words drift through the air.
“Cooper,” Ezrina growls. “Do you know who I am?” She glares at him, and for a moment I’m not sure of their standing. “You were the best damn Spectator huntsman in three generations.” She cuts a bloodlet of a smile.
His eyes narrow as if trying to place her. “Ezrina?”
She holds out her arms and offers up a hug.
“Looks like you cracked the code to the fountain of youth. Good work.” He pats her on the back before pulling up seats for the two of them. I segue to the intros and give a brief rundown on why Nev and Ezrina are sporting different faces.
“Looks like you got the better end of the deal.” Coop nods. “Congrats. So what’s with the uniforms? You logging time frying up some donuts?”
“And don’t forget the lucrative endeavor of selling air.” Nev smacks his lips in disappointment at Ethan while he whoops it up at the bar. “At least we’ve managed to convince the moron to sell fresh coffee—roasted beans from Brazil.” Nev gives a hard sniff. “It’s all in the flavor.”
“The devil is always in the details.” I look to Ezrina. “Now that we’re all here together, why don’t you tell us what in the hell Wesley wants with you.”
Her lips clamp shut. Ezrina’s already made it clear she’s not giving in.
“Logan”—she gazes out into the storm, her lips flattening into a thin line—“the less you know, the less danger you’re in. I’m not done with Wesley—the Counts or the Fems for that matter.”
“She won’t tell me what she’s up to.” Nev looks more than slightly irritated.
“I know what she’s up to. I’ve played this game,” I say. “Is that what you’re doing, Rina? Taking a cue from the master of disaster?” Because if she is, we both know she’s going to crash and burn. I always do.
Her left eye twitches, and for a minute I see Chloe as if she were still wearing that skin. I slept with Chloe way back when. It was the error of a lifetime, but not that big of a deal to Chloe herself. It was never me she was interested in.
“Ezrina.” Coop raps his knuckles over the table. “Whatever the hell Wes wants—you have to tell us now. The Counts are after Laken and me. Once they decide they want me dead, I will be.” He looks to Laken. “Jones won’t let them touch you.” He turns his attention to me. “Laken’s father is Jones Anderson—a Count with a lot of prowess. I know for a fact he wouldn’t hurt her.”
“He killed me once before.” She tilts into him.
“To bring you to him,” Coop counters before looking to me once again. “He’s as dangerous as they come, and apparently he has a soft spot for Wes.”
Laken grabs a hold of Ezrina’s arm like a threat, digging her nails in until Ezrina’s skin is lined with white dimples. “Tell us everything you know or so help me, I will make you wish you were locked up in that wicked underworld of yours.”
“Not yet.” Ezrina abruptly tosses Laken’s hand back at her. “He’s close to revealing his intentions. Perhaps I’ll visit the Transfer tonight.” She looks out at the rain pooling in the street and bleeds a quiet smile as if she were remembering simpler times. “Heathcliff, won’t you accompany me on my constitutional this evening?” She pulls Nev in by the chin until they’re cheek to cheek. Heathcliff is Nev’s formal name, and one he prefers the rest of us stay away from.
A car speeds by spraying the window with a wall of water, and it sounds as if a machine gun just opened fire.
“Tonight?” Coop looks indignant that she’d wait that long.
“More like right now,” Laken seethes.
“Of course, I’ll come,” Nevermore is quick to assert.
“And I’ll get us there.” I’m ready to get to the bottom of a lot of mysteries. But the truth is, I’m only mildly interested in Wesley’s wicked schemes. What I really want to know is why the hell he looks like Gage and how exactly the Fems plan on using that to their advantage.
Coop and Laken aren’t the only ones in trouble. Skyla is already knee deep in danger—Gage is a question mark in all this madness.
And there is nothing more infuriating than not knowing what the fuck is going on.
6
Covenant
Skyla
I don’t remember much about the ferry ride over other than the fact our tongues were twisted in a knot, and we never wanted to free them. Deep
The ferry comes to a stop, and we’re the first to bolt off. Gage and I walk hand in hand down the boardwalk just like that first day he showed me around the island at the beginning of summer. We pause at the sign that reads Logan’s Way with its arrow pointed down toward the courthouse, and Gage doesn’t hesitate to land a kiss on my lips.
“You sure you want to do this?” His dimples dig in, and I have a mini-orgasm just watching him hold back a smile. My entire body is enlivened by his touch. My skin vibrates with a song of its own with each soft caress.
“I’m positive. Are you sure?” I squeeze his hand because there is only one right answer. “Really, it was more of a rhetorical question—a nervous boomerang that I threw out. Honest to God, we’re getting married if it’s the last thing we do today.” The sun breaks through for a nanosecond and illuminates Gage like a work of art—the work of a master—and I have to catch my breath. It’s hard to believe that Dr. O and Emma made this spectacular being. Gage is a specimen that deserves exaltation. One I plan to get on my knees and worship with a special brand of intimacy night after night. “Gage Oliver, I can’t believe you are all mine.” I shake my head. “How the hell did I get so lucky?” I mean every single word.
“I’m the lucky one around here. And I’d like to think it was fate. We were meant to be.” He bumps his lips over mine. “I’m not sure how or why, but I feel it in my bones, Skyla. Destiny put you in my heart a long time ago, and today everything falls into place.” That familiar look of agony washes over his features. It’s the same hurt expression he would get when he wasn’t sure where we stood, back when Logan and Marshall were constantly thrusting their swords in my direction. But all that has changed forever. As soon as we get back to Paragon, I’m going to see Ezrina about saving Gage from an untimely demise. I hate to break it to the Grim Reaper, but this is one party he’s not invited to. The problem with death is most people believe it’s truly a fatal condition, but now that my spiritual eyes have been opened, I can see for a fact it’s a temporary menace that splices your heart in two and hides the other half behind the holy veil until the inevitable reunion. It still hurts like hell to go through, even if you know you win in the end. But I’m not looking for any more pain. I’ve met my quota. I’m ready to twist the arm of fate until I get my way. It’s going to be Gage and me in the end.
“We were meant to be.” I hop up on my tiptoes and press my lips hard against his. I want to feel him. Impress this moment into my heart with all the tactile stimuli I can afford. All this pent up sexual frustration that Gage and I have been hauling around like an overstuffed piñata is finally going to burst this afternoon, and we’ll get to savor every last bite, melting in each other’s mouths like cotton candy. I pull him by the hand all the way down to the boxy building that reads Host County Courthouse just as a lady in a business suit twists the sign in the window.
“Closed.” Gage lets out a groan.
“No, no, no!” I head over and jam my shoe in the door just as she’s about to shut it.
“Sorry, we close at twelve.” She sings from inside, pushing my foot back out.
“It’s twelve o’ one,” Gage says it in the sweet, charming way that only he can. Gage can be a master manipulator by default. It’s simply a side effect of being so damn handsome. “Is there any way you could squeeze in one more wedding?”
She compresses a smile while glancing back at the elongated chocolate doors that lead to the courtroom. Gage and I seize the opportunity and step inside.
“The judge has already officiated two ceremonies.” She sighs, pushing her oversized dark-frames up the ridge of her nose. She’s a petite woman, features like a bird, hair like orange feathers. “Lord knows that man gets cranky if there’s too much love in the afternoon.” She gives a bleak smile as if she knew this on an intimate level, and I refrain from letting out an audible groan. “Come back Monday. We’re open nine to five.” She squints past us, disapprovingly. “Bring some family. That’ll be your biggest regret.” She strides over to the desk.
“Look—I’ve got access to the best donuts on Paragon,” I start in a panic. “I’ll give you a year’s supply.” Nev and Ezrina are going to kill me if she says yes. And really—deep fried carbohydrates are the only negotiation tool I could come up with?
“Donuts, huh?” She considers this a moment. “They make me break out like a teenager—no thanks.” She pauses from her all-important task of shuffling paperwork with the expectation of a fresh bribe.
Gage pulls out his wallet. “I’ve got a one hundred dollar gift certificate to the Cheesecake Factory, and….” He pulls out a Paragon Bowling Alley business card with his name on it. “A yearlong pass—two games a night. Knock yourself out.” He flashes those killer dimples and seals the deal. “Bet that won’t make you break out.”
“No, it won’t.” She snatches both from his hand. “Let me see what I can do.” She clip-clops away in her three-inch stacked heels while I wrap my arms back around the man I’m about to marry. I look up at his handsome features, his dark stubble peppering his face, sexy as hell.
“It’s finally here, Gage. That vision you shared with me, the first summer I arrived, is about to come true.”
He presses his forehead to mine. “Let’s forget all about that vision for now. I want us to experience this firsthand—to really live this moment.”
“I like how you think.” My tongue tracks up his cheek to his ear. “And I like how you taste.”
Gage and I are living our future right here in this courthouse, and everything about it makes me feel as if my body has filled with helium. I’m giddy, punch drunk, ready to stagger like a fool and break out in laughter that never ceases. This budding elation is what I have to look forward to each and every day with Gage by my side.
The clip clopping of heels return in reverse, and we look over.
Her lenses flash in the light as if she were taking our picture. “The judge will see you now.”
My heart thumps. It jumps right into my throat, into my ears as my body echoes in one large heartbeat that filters right down to my fingertips.
“Follow me.” She spins on her heels and walks briskly toward the overgrown chocolate doors.
It’s strange, moments like these. The gravity of the situation presses down over my flesh as my entire body goes numb. The building could crumble over me, and I wouldn’t feel a thing. I float beside Gage unaware of how we travel so fast, already in the judge’s chambers with the dank smell of old DUIs, possession charges, and, of course, the occasional, less traditional bride and groom.
An explosion of warmth and light takes over my body, from the inside out, and I’m overcome with emotion. What’s about to happen next is the very thing I want most. And, in typical fashion, my heart fractures just a little because the cruel world is pushing Logan and our love out of focus while ushering in Gage under the white-hot spotlight brimming with desire. My heart beats erratic. My breathing picks up as if I just swam over from Paragon. I might be having a genuine cardiac episode, and, if I am, I ful
Gage offers to fill out the paperwork and breezes through it in minutes.
He smiles down at me, one of those big toothy smiles he saves for only the best occasions—it almost looks foreign with all the strife we’ve had lately.
“Here we are,” it comes from me breathy, scared as hell, but I’m as happy as I’ve ever been, right down to my marrow. My mind races with all kinds of crazy thoughts as my mother, Logan, my sisters, even Tad spin like a windmill through my brain.
Oh my, God—I’m going to fuck Gage.
A pang of icy heat flashes through me because one, it’s so not ladylike to think like this just a few minutes before something so sacred, so life altering is about to occur—and two, from now on whenever I reflect on this special day I’ll remember that very vulgarity, and, knowing me, I’ll give a reflective smile. I can’t help it though, we’ve been chaste as chaste can be, well, not like those insane couples who don’t kiss until they say I do, but like normal people who have rampant hormones that only their celestial mother’s have the ability to squelch. Gage and I are going to become one in the most literal sense, and every cell from my scalp to my toes is rioting with elation.
“Skyla”—Gage jiggles my hand—“he asked to state your name.”
“Oh.” I straighten, looking up at the judge as the vision Gage had, the one he allowed me to experience through telepathy, plays out in real time. This is it, our courthouse. The judge sits high up on his walnut throne in his dark robe, his hair as clear as floss. “Skyla Messenger.”
“Will you be keeping your name?”
A breath gets caught in my throat. I had thought about it. Hell, I’m pretty sure I told my father I would drag it to the grave, and then eternity after that…but Skyla Laurel Messenger Oliver is quite a mouthful. And now I feel like an ass for even suggesting to my father I’d hang onto it—sensible as holding an anchor.