The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  I’m stunned. Is she really pausing our tit-for-tat mother-daughter spat to give me a rudimentary health lecture?

  “Drink plenty of water?” I say, incredulous. “I am drinking buckets of tears! I love Gage. Gage is my husband. You have the power to make him appear to me, and you are all but denying me that right.”

  “I’m not all but denying that right—I am flat-out denying it. I don’t wish to see him in Ahava. I don’t need him in my presence, Skyla. Gage is with his father—both of which are Fems, in the event you have forgotten. I’m very slow to entertain Fems for anybody. Don’t take offense.” Her lips pinch. “With the exception of…” Her eyes ride down the length of my body. “Let’s just say there are exceptions to every rule. There are some Fems I will welcome with open arms. And that day has not yet arrived.”

  Anger shoots through my veins in short bursts of rage. Gage. My beautiful husband is out there somewhere. He needs me. Dear God, I need him. And my own mother, this wicked, wicked witch is denying me the help I so desperately need to find him.

  She turns to leave, and I violently yank her back by the arm. “I hope you are in desperate need someday.” My chest heaves as I spit the words out. “I hope you know the pain of such ripe grief that you would do anything to have your heart set right again. I hope the power is out of your hands to restore the situation, and I hope you are ripped with anguish when the one who can rectify it refuses to make things right. I curse you with this. I curse you at this moment so that you begin to feel that deep-welled anguish right this very minute.”

  “Skyla!” Rage mixed with terror transforms her features.

  “Remember this day because I am parting ways with you, Mother.”

  A hard groan comes from behind, and I can’t tell if it’s Marshall or Logan—both perhaps.

  “You are parting ways with me?” Her mouth opens. Anger percolates fresh in her eyes. “I bore you. I nursed you at my bosom.” She beats her chest just once. “I died a horrific death for you, Skyla.”

  “And you’ve resented me ever since!”

  Marshall takes up my hand and pulls me back. “Time to leave, Ms. Messenger. Come, I shall aid you in finding Jock Strap once and for all.”

  “Parting ways with me.” She shakes her head in disbelief. A sharp cracking sound emits, filling the air with its harsh snap. “Oh, Skyla.” She holds her hands out in front of her as her fingertips turn a cool glacial blue. Before long, the icy color spreads up her arms and throughout her body, turning her into nothing more than a glacial sculpture.

  “What’s happening?” I’ve never seen my mother in such a strange capacity.

  “It’s the curse,” Marshall whispers. “Don’t feel too bad. This was inevitable on some level.”

  “I didn’t really curse you.” I reach out to touch my mother in her brilliant blue state, and she retracts. “I don’t even know how to put a curse on anyone.”

  “Skyla.” Her features melt with grief. “I can’t bear this pain. Why must it be this way?” She staggers toward the lake, her feet striding over the water as if it were solid ground. “I could have focused on the situation much better without all this anguish.” The words howl from her in agony. Candace Messenger weeps bitter tears all the way back to her glassy throne, and not even her cohorts from the big DC can comfort her.

  “What the hell just happened, Marshall?”

  “Those bitter tears are for you as well.”

  “Over Gage?”

  “No, dear.” He draws me near as we ready to leave Ahava. “Over something far more dear to her heart.”

  We begin to dissipate, and I grab ahold of Logan’s hand. “What did you do?” I whisper to him, but Logan doesn’t answer.

  Paragon forms around us with the night wrapped around her like a robe. The island moans and creaks as a harsh south wind whistles throughout the evergreens. It’s been a long, grueling day and still no Gage.

  “I’m ready for bed,” I say, pulling Logan in for a hug, and his body goes rigid beneath me. “You mind taking me home?”

  “I’ll do the honors.” Marshall lands an arm over my shoulders, and that deep, electrifying, warm buzz his body emits takes over my senses.

  In a blink, we’re standing in his living room sans Logan.

  “I meant the Landon house.”

  “This is your home, Skyla. That’s simply your temporary abode.”

  “Okay, well, can you get me to Gage tonight? Because if not, I’d really like to cuddle with my pillow over at my temporary abode. My bones hurt. I’ve never been so tired. Grief will do that to you.” I’m familiar.

  “Yes, well, I’ll track down Demetri while you catch up on some shut-eye. I have a feeling I’ll do better on my own. I’ll leave you a message if I make headway.”

  The lights dim. The faint sound of music permeates the air. Marshall pulls me in by the fingertips, and before I know it, we’re slow dancing.

  “You do realize I’m in deep mourning.” I lay my head against his chest, so very, very tired, and let his rhythmic swaying lull me to sleep.

  “I would very much appreciate one last dance.”

  “Before?”

  “Before our lives change, Skyla.”

  My eyelids fly open. “What’s going to change, Marshall?”

  “The landscape of your world.”

  “Oh. I suppose it already has.”

  “No, not quite yet.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re not talking about Gage?”

  “Why would I ruin a perfectly good moment by bringing up Jock Strap?”

  “Thought so.” I pull back and study his ruggedly handsome features. “Wait a minute. You keep calling him Jock Strap…You’re still full throttle rude to him as if he were—”

  His brows rise, confirming my theory.

  A swell of relief hits me as wide and tall as Devil’s Peak. “You don’t think he’s dead, do you?”

  “Get some rest, Skyla. You heard your mother, plenty of sleep, plenty of water.”

  “Right.” I bite down on my lip so hard I taste blood. “Gage is alive.” I want to cry, to laugh. “And all either you or my mother can think about is my lack of sleep, my hydration habits.”

  Marshall drops a lone kiss to my forehead, and when he pulls back, I find myself standing in the Landon foyer.

  “Good night, Ms. Messenger.” He evaporates slowly into a vapor.

  “Text me if you hear anything,” I whisper.

  “Text who?” my mother calls from behind, and I jump.

  “Oh, nothing. I was just talking out loud—my head is sort of on overload these days,” I say, trotting up the first few steps. “Hey, Mom?”

  “Yeah?” She backtracks with her arms cradling a laundry basket.

  “You’re sort of like a doctor…I mean, you’re up on a lot of medical things.” Okay, so I’m buttering her up, but in a way, I’m right. My mother is very health conscious. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to have her solve my heavenly mother’s cryptic riddle that even seemed to spook Marshall on some level. “A friend of mine mentioned her doctor told her to get lots of rest and drink plenty of water. What do you think could be wrong with her?”

  Her forehead wrinkles. “Gee, Skyla, that could be just about anything. Sorry. It’s just too broad to narrow anything down. Has she been feeling anything else that you’re aware of?”

  “Oh, yes, she can hardly hold anything down. Just puking, tired, and crying all the time.”

  A sharp laugh comes from her throat. “That’s easy, Skyla. I’d bet a million bucks your friend is expecting.”

  “Expecting what?” I give a few innocent blinks.

  “A baby. Your friend has all the classic signs. It’s safe to say your friend is pregnant.”

  “What?” The ground beneath my feet gives way. My entire body goes numb with shock.

  “Oh, and Skyla?” She steps back into my view. “I wouldn’t go ruining the surprise for her. You never forget where you were when you found out you’re c
arrying new life inside you. It’s really a magical moment.” She bites down a smile with that faraway look in her eye as if she’s revisiting each and every occasion herself. “Would you mind dropping this off at the foot of my door?” She hands me the laundry basket and disappears down the hall.

  Oh my God, a baby?

  I stare down at Tad’s yellowed socks, his permanently stained underwear, and absorb right into my cellular level the moment I am never going to forget.

  Could I be? Am I?

  Pregnant?

  United We fall

  LOGAN

  The storm clears out in time to allow the night fog to seep in, slowly crawling over the island, finger walking at a glacial pace over Paragon’s every curve, licking every private place in between.

  Something about seeing Wes and Chloe tonight felt familiar. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but seeing Wes with his Gage face and those large Gage eyes, I don’t give a damn if they’re not the correct hue. It was tough. I know that weighed heavy on Skyla, so much so that she vomited in the bushes no less than twenty feet from that house of horrors. I can’t imagine what it would be like having someone else with Skyla’s face running around after the unthinkable happened to her. Candace bounces through my mind, quick and slippery like a rubber ball. That horrible visit clings to my palate, about as pleasant as sucking on rust and ashes. Her clear-cut eyes narrowed in on mine, and she pointed, pointed at me when she said those cryptic words. I know what you have done.

  She knows. And I know, too. I’ve made Skyla mine in the carnal sense.

  After a short meal with Emma and Barron, I decide to head back to White Horse. I’m not sure what my reasoning is. Liam and Ellis invited me to stay up and watch a movie with them—a wartime shoot ’em up classic that the normal me would have loved. I try to tell myself that it wouldn’t be right without Gage. After all, he’s still out there. Skyla is still a mess. I don’t really have the right to enjoy myself, but I know what’s really triggering my antisocial behavior, and it has very little to do with grief.

  I warm my bones in a nice hot shower that lasts for what feels like weeks. Skyla didn’t say much about last night, and I’m glad. She’s going through a shitstorm, and that visit with her mother didn’t exactly help. What the hell is it with Candace anyway? She’s a cold fish when it comes to her own daughter, and yet, when we’re alone, it’s as if she’s visiting with royalty. Maybe that’s what I need to do, speak with her alone. I’m pretty sure Skyla didn’t mean what she said about cutting off ties with her. As much as Skyla doesn’t want to admit it, we need Candace. We need her for…I grapple for a single concept of why we might need her and come up with nothing. I’m not sure why we need Candace Messenger, but hell, I’m pretty sure we do.

  “Knock, knock!” a female voice floats through the thick, steaming vapors, and my stomach clenches.

  I swipe my hand over the glass door to find Skyla’s blurred image, quickly disrobing on the other side.

  “Don’t say a word,” she whispers, opening the door and slipping in beside me. Her bare skin brushes over mine, her perfect tits graze my chest, and my hard-on springs up out of nowhere. “I guess you don’t really mind, do you?” Her fingers collapse over me as she takes my length in her hand.

  “Shit,” I hiss the word out, closing my eyes as if she’s causing me just as much pain as she is pleasure. It’s only psychologically true. “Skyla.” I take a step back into the heated spray, and she stays close to me. Her hair fills with vaporous beads floating around her face like a thousand sparkling stars. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  Her features pull heavy. Her lower lip quivers, and I want to kiss it, to hold her and to let her know everything will be okay when I know it won’t, not like this.

  “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” She touches the handle and cracks the door just enough to let in a cool breeze.

  “No, come here.” I pull her back to me, greedy, afraid she’ll sober up and leave for good. I guess I’m not the white knight I’ve always painted myself to be, more like the bruised, downtrodden anti-hero. I’m just another asshole willing to comfort my best friend’s widow—for all practical purposes, brother’s widow with my own body. There are moral codes and laws about this in the heavenly books, and if there aren’t, there should be because it feels wrong. It feels insanely horrible to think that Gage’s death is the catalyst we’re using to fall into bed together. Skyla and I have always had a strong sexual bond. After all, our relationship was initially built on lust. Trust came much later, and what happened with that was mostly my fault. But in truth, we are most certainly grieving, afraid for Gage, afraid to live in a world without him. Alone we’re weak, but together, we’re strong enough to hold up a suspension bridge.

  “We don’t have to say anything.” Her cool finger glides over my lips. Her beautiful eyes sear over mine. “If we don’t say anything, none of this is real. This is just some twisted fantasy, a waking dream that neither you nor I can control. But I need you, Logan. I need your touch, your body pressed against mine.” Her bare hip presses over mine, and I start to lose it. “You were my husband once. You are my greatest comforter—my best friend. I don’t want you to feel guilty. I just want you to feel me.” Her lips fall to my chest in a single soft kiss, and she stays that way for a long while, warming me with her hot tears.

  I pull her chin up gently until she’s looking at me with those watery eyes, her lips raw and swollen. It hurts me to see her in so much pain. It hurts me to be in so much pain. I can’t stand what life has dealt us—what it took from us. But I would give it all away if we could have Gage back. I would be just fine with Gage and Skyla being a couple forever as long as I could have them both on Paragon with me. Or at least this version of me, the one with his hard-on pressed to her stomach believes so.

  “You know I have always loved you,” I whisper as the steam rises between us, judging us for our sins. “I would do anything for you, Skyla.”

  “Prove it.” Her lips crash to mine as she offers a spirited kiss, an aching kiss mixed with tears, and I join her right there, my own tears mingling with hers. Our tongues fall into rhythm with one another as our bodies start in on a slow dance. I selfishly love the way her familiar curves press against me, the way my fingers feel when they’re knotted up in her hair.

  Skyla takes my hand and moves it down over her hips, lower still until I’m at that sweet spot between her legs, so soft, so fucking soft. A dull groan comes from me as I pick her up and lay her gently against the warm stone wall, the water washing away our tears, our sins, as my body penetrates her. Her mouth opens, her head arches back as she struggles to catch her breath. I can’t help but watch. Skyla is a testament to her own beauty. She is the nexus of all things beautiful in this life and the next, at least to me. I know she was to Gage.

  I plunge in, thrust after thrust lost in ecstasy with the girl I’ve loved since as far back as my dreams. Skyla is my girl, my wife, my everything. Always has been, always will be. She slips down, pushing me away abruptly, and my heart seizes, my eyes widen into hers as she drops to her knees and swallows me deep into her mouth, loving me that way, pulling me down her throat to unimaginable lengths, taking me in like that over and over.

  “Shit.” My head falls back. My fingers tangle in her hair as the water melts her curly tendrils to her skin. Skyla and I are lost in lust. There’s no turning back from this.

  Skyla had me roped and tied from the beginning. I couldn’t refuse her. I wouldn’t want to.

  Candace comes back to me with the bite of judgment falling from her like a hammer. I know what you have done.

  But I was already found guilty before she ever made the charge.

  The harshest judge of my immoral character just so happens to be me.

  * * *

  The first few awful days drift by. Then a full awful week. Then two. Skyla has become increasingly withdrawn. I try to get her out of the house, but she’s anchored to her bed—says s
he’s not feeling well. I know for a fact she told her mother that Gage is working on a secret project on Host. That he’ll be back soon. That part, right there, tore me to shreds. She’s hopeful Dudley will come up with a lead, but he’s proven useless per usual. I’ve even tried to infiltrate Gage’s dreams but keep coming up with nothing but static. Not that I’ve been having all that much sleep. Skyla comes to White Horse each and every night. She refuses to stay, and I get it. This is our dark secret, kept under the covers, literally. Something dirty for the night that we never discuss during waking hours. It’s odd. The Skyla of the night is playful, rejuvenated, and carefree much like she was when she first came to the island. She offers me consolation by way of her tongue, her wandering hands, the open-mouthed giggles she pours right down my throat. The Skyla of the day is still very much morose—lost in grief, bags under her eyes, her stomach soured, life passing her by like a nightmare she can’t wake up from.

  Around noon, I head over to the Landon house, pry her out of bed, and drive her down to the Gas Lab for a quick bite. Nev and Ezrina have managed to turn what most of the island referred to as the “Gas Bag” into something just short of a five-star restaurant right here on Paragon. And they wisely cater to everyone, the gluten-free, vegan, pescatarian, you name it, anyone and everyone can find something to eat at this culinary café. Too bad about the unfortunate name—although, Ethan has all but stepped out of the picture. This might have been his brainchild, but as soon as he discovered there was actual work involved, he left on his lunch break one day and never returned.

  Inside it’s light and bright. The once plain walls are painted a cheery yellow, and vases filled with flowers sit on every table. A few men stand near the bar, yanking tubes from the floor. A dolly filled with oxygen tanks is wheeled out in front of us.