Celestra: Books 1-2

by Addison Moore

  I don’t bother going to the bathroom or putting on my flip-flops before racing downstairs. Daddy could still be here. By some miracle, or the steering hand of destiny we could have moved to Paragon.

  I pass my stepsister Melissa in the hall. I see Drake hunched over the breakfast table, and the light is on in Tad’s office across from the kitchen, so I poke my head in. Still him.

  Theoretically Mom could have left Dad, they could be divorced for all I know, and I could call him on the phone if I wanted.

  I find mom, busy on her laptop. I slide into the seat next to her and rest my head on my hand.

  “Morning,” she says without looking up.

  “Morning,” I parrot.

  “What do you want?” Still not looking up.

  “Just had a weird dream about Dad that’s all.” I let out a hard sigh.

  “I’m sorry, honey.” Her arms fall around me tenderly. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  I shake my head. I’m not up for the psychoanalysis of some fake dream I’ll have to make up as I go along.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I approach the topic with caution. “How did he drive his car that day? I think I remember something about him looking for his keys before I left for school. I mean he must have found them, right?” The memory of what happened tugs at my brain, but I won’t let it in. I want my mother to feed me all the words, create a better ending than the one I know is coming. I might be able to digest them better that way.

  Her muted green eyes circle the ceiling, in search of answers.

  “Oh, that’s right. He called when I got to work and asked where the spare was.”

  Shit.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. So where was it?”

  She pulls away from the laptop dramatically.

  “Are you kidding me? I…” She stutters in frustration. “Oh heck, I don’t know.” Her fingers reconnect with the keyboard. “Probably in the kitchen somewhere. Lord knows we had a million junk drawers.”

  “Yeah.” I slide off the seat and head upstairs.

  Junk drawers.

  ***

  I convince my mother to let me go with Bree and Drake over to the bowling alley, only we’re not going to the bowling alley we’re going to Logan’s house to see Gage—an irony only my life could provide.

  The guard at the entry to the Paragon Estates raises the long arm of restriction and lets us in. A dense mist brooms across the landscape pulling the tree-lined streets in and out of focus.

  Gage and Logan’s house comes up on us. I can practically feel Gage staring at us from some undisclosed window. His black truck is parked in the driveway cockeyed, and Logan’s white one is gone. Gage mentioned his parents were away on the mainland today, so I can only assume sexual awkwardness will ensue once he starts chasing me around the couch—although, I am growing tired of Logan’s silent yet rude routine. I just might let Gage catch me.

  After a solid minute of knocking and ringing the bell, the door swings open, exposing a very wet from the shower or pool or whatever, handsome as hell, Logan.

  “Come in.” He holds back his yellow lab, Charlie from darting out the door.

  Brielle and Drake head straight into the family room chatting to themselves as though it were natural as breathing that Logan should be here at all. Sans the fact that he actually lives here, I’m still shocked by the prospect.

  “Hey.” I scan the entry behind him. The faint scent of cologne lingers in the air. The wind chime hanging up next to the garage gives a three-toned homage to a slight breeze passing through.

  “Don’t you want to come in?” It sounds cold the way he says it, makes me shudder.

  I cross the threshold. The hollow of the door connecting as it closes fills the strange silence around us.

  “Gage said you were coming over.” There’s a sheepishness about him I don’t expect. “He volunteered to take my shift. I had him take my truck as a precaution.”

  It startles me what this might mean. Logan wanted me here? Was kissing Gage all it took to shake him back to his senses?

  “Come on.” He ticks his head over, and I follow.

  We pass Brielle and Drake already watching something on TV and head upstairs.

  It’s a grand wrought iron staircase, wider at the bottom then it tappers off near the top. Tan Berber carpet is held back with a black iron bar on each step, which leads to an expansive landing and a series of halls once we reach the top. In all honesty, Logan’s house didn’t strike me as all that huge judging from the downstairs. In fact if you chop off the top half, it would almost qualify as your average suburban home, but upstairs is a labyrinth. I’d need directions and a compass to even hope to navigate this place on my own, and forget about finding my way back down.

  The hallway Logan leads us through is painted a dark unattractive shade of red. It clings to the wall unnaturally, patchy like dried blood. I’m not sure why his Aunt Emma would pick such a gruesome color. The rest of the house is done in cheery shades of pale blue, spring green, sunshine yellow. It’s only this hall that suggests there are secrets— reveals the fact it knows certain truths.

  He leads me to a door farthest off the back, pressing his hand flat against the dark glossy wood door before turning the knob.

  Logan glides into an easy smile.

  “I miss you, Skyla.”

  My heart thumps unnaturally.

  Logan’s back—the one I knew from before this week from hell. I reach up and touch the skin just under his sleeve. His arms are rock hard, much more solid than I remember.

  “I miss you, too.”

  11

  Carnal

  Logan doesn’t bother wiping that devilish smile from his face. He opens the door exposing a dimly lit room, pitch dark save for the glow emanating from behind a navy curtain in the far corner. It feels huge—cave-like in here. At least six times the size of my bedroom. I can see the outline of a built-in shelving unit that houses hundreds of books, not the pretentious leather bound ones like at Carly’s, but the shadow of rows and rows of humble paperbacks.

  A thick rug takes up almost the entire breadth and length of the room. Its long, shaggy hair makes me feel as though I’m walking on sand. A giant poster of a wave explodes across the wall behind his bed.

  Logan circles his hand around my waist. I can feel the weight of his stare, those amber eyes cut through this cryptic light, clear as sparkling shards.

  An intensity as strong as steel magnetizes us as his lips crush over mine. Long, sweet, deep aching kisses. We back into the bed and fall on top of the cool comforter never losing contact—our lust intensifies as his hands run wild under my shirt. Hours pass, days, weeks—it feels like one long bliss-filled dream. In the quiet of his room, on the soft spot of his bed, the only sound, the only motion is Logan and me.

  If there was disbelief, any seed of doubt over Logan’s feelings, it’s been eradicated, detonated in the hot lingering hunger of his mouth.

  After a long while I press my head into his chest, lean my ear up against his heart and listen to its unsteady rhythm, sounds like he just ran a marathon, like jungle drums from some unknown primitive tribe.

  “You forgive me?” The words rumble through his chest.

  “I don’t remember an apology.” I bite down on my lip hiding the conception of a smile.

  He scoots until we’re eye to eye and gets comfortable.

  “I’m sorry for everything. Forgive me?”

  “Always.” I let out a sigh. “Except you really hurt me.” Killed me is a little more accurate.

  I know. He presses a kiss onto the top of my head. I don’t want to do that again.

  “What do you mean, don’t want to? Don’t.”

  A dramatic hush pulsates between us. His eyes glint like strong, silent beacons suggesting there were a real possibility of this horror reprising itself again in the future.

  “I will if you come near me,” he whispers. If you try to speak more than a word outsid
e of the most platonic, nonexistent friendship. His brows narrow. I won’t let you die because of me.

  Gage said…, I start.

  I know what Gage said—captivity does not equal life, he says with a hard glint in his eye. Sometimes you’re better off dead.

  Gage and his gift of knowing—doesn’t feel like such a gift right now. Logan’s right, captivity is worse than death.

  If I’m away from you, he pauses, rubbing his thumb against the back of my hand. I might as well be dead. But I’ll never let that happen. He presses his lips against my fingers.

  “Logan,” I start low. I still can’t get used to speaking to him with my mind. “Don’t you think denying ourselves a public relationship is just another form of captivity?”

  “I know. That’s why I’ve started thinking about alternatives—options—there’s got to be something, but I can’t figure out what it could be.”

  “Is there someone who can help us? Another Celestra with the same problem?”

  His gaze darts to the side. He twists his lips considering this.

  “I’ll ask my uncle. Meanwhile, my priority is to keep you safe. They will hurt you if we’re not careful. The horror is knowing that death won’t come.” He pauses. “My uncle told me this story about some guy, a Celestra, it was a month before Chloe disappeared. He was a rancher, the Counts set his barn on fire—bolted all the exits. He suffered third degree burns over most his body. He’s still in a hospital somewhere, as far as I know. They aren’t going to finish the job. He’s immobilized, imprisoned in a body that’s been reduced to less than human. He suffers immensely on a daily basis. Skyla,” his eyes glitter with moisture. “I couldn’t live with myself if that happened to you. If keeping away from you in public is the simple answer, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  “And Chloe?” A sinking feeling presses into me. “You didn’t break up with her because you didn’t care about her. You did it to protect her.”

  He gives a tired blink.

  “Something like that.” He reflects for a moment. “Chloe and I were through. Other things came into play. She wasn’t the right one for me—believe me.”

  “Did she go missing because they thought you were together? Is that why they took her?”

  “She went missing…” He plucks at his lip, deep in thought. “I don’t know if it had anything to do with me. All I know is it was homecoming. She was queen,” he offers a wry smile. “She was wearing this huge dress. I remember thinking after how it was impossible that no one had seen anything. She was at a party with friends. They say she went outside and never came back.”

  “What about her car?”

  “Gone. Turned up as a burned out shell over Pike’s Reef—on the rocks fifty-feet offshore. There’s no way it could have driven over those jagged peaks, it was placed—dropped.”

  “By something that wasn’t human.”

  He gives a slight nod.

  A long span of silence fills the room.

  “That’s why I had to pick a fight with you. I knew the only way to do it right was to rile you up with Carly.”

  “I hate you for that.” A part of me really means it.

  “I know. If it makes you feel better, I was impressed with the way you sent her flying into the pool like a ragdoll. I see your strength is prominent when you’re angry. Remind me to never piss you off.”

  “You already have.” I give a seductive smile.

  “The only pain I want you to inflict on me is with your mouth.”

  I bite the air and give a little laugh.

  He traces the outline of my face, my nose, my lips.

  “Stay away from me, Skyla,” he whispers, with a piercing stare. “I’ll leave you if I have to. I promise.”

  12

  Obedience

  It doesn’t take much for my resolve to get tested.

  Michelle falls on the grass next to me after cheer practice Monday and over exaggerates her fatigue in an effort to get my attention.

  I look up at Brielle who’s exchanging notes with some girl from English. She’s no use in saving me from this oncoming train.

  “So I ran into Carly yesterday.” Michelle takes a quick swig from her water bottle.

  The sun has emerged for the first time today at this late hour. I wish it would magically rain, a blizzard would be nice—any weather phenomenon will do so long as I don’t have to endure a conversation with Michelle.

  “And?”

  “She’s seeing him.” She looks away, most likely to hide her delight.

  I give an obligatory nod. I don’t really care if Michelle believes it. I can still feel his tongue bumping over my teeth.

  “So that’s it?” A genuine look of confusion contorts her features.

  “She can have him.” A hot spear shoots through my abdomen. “I was never that into him.” I turn just in time to see Gage coming up with his helmet in hand. Practice must be over. I scan the field for Logan. He’s still a speck down at the far end, locked in a huddle of shoulder pads, listening to the coach. Clearly Gage is here for me.

  I get up and wipe the grass off my shorts.

  “I’m with Gage now.” I say it low, so he won’t hear. I want to shock him with something he’ll never see coming, something that will shut Michelle up for good.

  “What’s going on?” He smiles slightly out of breath, sweat trickling down the sides of his face.

  I step forward and pull him into a slow, sweet kiss. I can taste the salt on his lips. I’m slightly repulsed, but I push into him just a little deeper in an effort to get my point across to all roving eyes.

  We pull away, and his eyes are wide with surprise. He looks relieved and silently happy. I can practically see the fireworks going off in his electric blue eyes and a twinge of sadness washes over me. I bounce up on the balls of my feet and give another quick peck.

  Michelle looks up at me from over her shoulder—judging. There’s a hesitancy in her eyes that I can’t seem to quench. If I can’t extinguish all doubt from Michelle—Michelle who would love for me to be out of Logan’s life—who am I really fooling? I’m going to have to amp up the believability.

  I reach down and pick up his hand. Gage has a firm grip, thicker fingers than Logan.

  “You mind walking me to the gym?” I ask.

  “You’re really picking up the pace today.” The sad undertones are right there for me to hear.

  “I really like you. You’re a good kisser.” I shrug. “I’m lucky.”

  “You wanna hang out and bone up for that quiz Friday?”

  Algebra Two and I are never going to be friends. I’ll be ecstatic if I end up with a D in the class.

  “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

  ***

  Gage and I head over to the bowling alley. It’s pretty dead, save for a few people from school. Logan, who had the facility handed down by his father, lost the kitchen in a fire several weeks ago, and it has yet to reopen.

  “So what’s going on with the remodel?” I ask him while firmly holding Gage by the hand.

  “Looks like six weeks, depending on which contractor I go with. I’m having a brick oven installed which complicates things.” There is not one emotion in his voice. It was as though he were reading back my order at a fast food restaurant. I can tell he doesn’t want to be around while I’m holding Gage’s hand, and I don’t want to be rude and shake Gage off since he’s the one who initiated the finger lock.

  “I love brick oven pizza.” I over annunciate the word love without meaning to. It thrills me to be within touching distance of Logan let alone speaking with him in public. I want to tell him to come by the butterfly room later, but the thought of hurting Gage kills me. It’s like I’m flame broiling his heart without meaning to.

  Gage and I take a seat and start pouring over the first chapter of the Algebra Two book.

  “Doesn’t Mr. Denny move a little fast for you?” I ask.

  “No. A lesson a day, that’s the way it usually goes.”
/>   “I know, but it doesn’t give any room for error. Like if I get stuck on something I’m automatically behind. I think he should do a lesson every two or three days. Everyone’s not a math genius like you.”

  “I’m not a genius,” he says, riffling through his notes.

  “Yeah right. Half the class is going to nosedive. You’ll be the only one with an A ruining the curve for the rest of us.” I pause as a little girl in shorts walks by. “Oh, I know! We can both wear shorts, and I’ll brush my leg up against yours, and you can tell me all the answers.” This is one time where being telepathic can actually boost my GPA.

  His tongue pushes deep into his cheek.

  “Why don’t I do all your homework too?” He says unamused. “That way all you have to do is show up.”

  “I’m liking this.”

  “No thanks.” He gets back to his notes. “You need to understand this stuff. Besides I don’t want to be that boyfriend.” His cheeks flush when he says it.

  My heart wrenches at the thought of all the creative ways I inadvertently choose to hurt him. Gage with his perfect features, deep expressive eyes—the dark glory of his crown. I could easily fall in love with Gage if I wanted.

  “You wanna go on a date with me?” I ask, hopeful.

  “Why, you want me to take a crack at your lit paper too?” He doesn’t bother looking up from the equation he’s jotting down.

  “No. It involves just you, me and an adventure. I might even kiss you.” I bat my eyes. I leave out the tiny detail of visiting my dad.

  “Kiss me? With no one around to impress?” He looks doubtful. “Promise me a kiss and you got a deal.”

  I reach over and take up his hand.

  “I promise not just any kiss, but a deep lingering kiss that will haunt you in your dreams.”

  Logan catches my eye from across the room, and my heart jerks a little.