The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “What was that about?”

  “Believe me, Ms. Messenger, you will be the last to know.” He speeds toward the street with blatant disregard for my curiosity. Doesn’t he know he just added fuel to the curious fire?

  “I will find out, you know!” I call after him.

  He revs his engine and takes off with the squeal of his tires as they embed themselves into the pavement.

  Huh. Wesley is in a rage. Marshall and Ezrina are in a rage. Let me take a wild guess how this night is going to end…

  I find Gage down by the water’s edge, his arms welcoming me, warming me—most definitely not in a rage.

  A giant mattress sits in the middle of the sand with dry brush strewn over it.

  Coop helps water it down with gasoline while Logan strikes a match and holds it in the air.

  “I want to thank you all for showing up tonight. To old friends, to new friends, and to those I’ve yet to meet—I cherish you all. Sometimes, it isn’t enough to move on from a deep regret; sometimes, you need to watch it burn.” He tosses the match, and the bed erupts in an inferno. The deafening roar of the fire shouts Logan’s grievance into the night.

  Chloe stands just a few feet from Gage with her hand to her throat as the flames dance wild in her eyes. In this shadowed light, I see the outline of her distended belly. Chloe is actually showing, and for some reason, this stuns me. Thank God she was knocked up long before she bedded Logan, or I would have nightmares about this for the rest of my life—plus, a child to look at as a constant reminder of their twisted season together. My heart aches for a moment. I wonder if that’s what my baby will be for Logan—a constant reminder.

  Gage holds me tight as the bitch squad comes alongside us.

  “So, what’s up with the bed burning?” Em bleats it out without affect like only Em can.

  Lex cuts me the side-eye. “Rumor has it he was bedding some skank because her husband was MIA.”

  A growl works its way up my throat.

  “It’s not worth it,” Gage whispers.

  “Yeah, well”—Chloe blows out a breath as a plume of smoke streams from her nostrils—“I bet his touch was electric. I bet his tongue felt like a fire all on its own while he ran up and down her body, licking every last nook and cranny—drinking her down in all the right places, making her do things for him that require an incredible amount of flexibility. That boy can—”

  Logan takes the lighter fuel from Coop and feeds the hungry flames as they rise ever higher, growling over her incessant need to relive her fantasy.

  I step in close to Chloe, my eyes never leaving the mesmerizing blaze. “Do you know what people burn, Chloe? Trash. Nobody burns a treasure. It’s the garbage they wish to be rid of that they take a match to. But to throw a party? To add fuel to the fire as though the flames can never be enough? This is a special brand of filth he’s purging himself of. Logan is purifying his life, deleting you from the hardware of his mind and heart. You are the dross, and this is the refiner’s fire. One day you are going to burn, Chloe. And I pray both Logan and I will be there to see it.”

  Her chest thumps with a silent laugh. “How does it feel to always be left out of the equation, Gage?” Her eyes zero in on mine. “That’s okay, Skyla. The Barricade is moving so swiftly, so efficiently, both you and Logan—along with all of your useless minions will soon be eradicated.” Her dark eyes shift back to Gage. “And that will leave you to me.”

  “Never.” Gage doesn’t hesitate with the answer.

  “Soon. I know this, Gage. With this child inside me, I have powers that I never knew existed. I have the gift of knowing. And I know things about you and about me. Suffice it to say I am sleeping a lot better these days. In fact, one can say I am downright happy.” A horrific cackle escapes her as she walks toward the fire. Her feet touch down at the base of the blaze, but Chloe doesn’t slow down.

  “Bishop!” Em calls after her as she edges toward the flames. She tries to snatch her back, but I hook on to Em’s sweater and put an end to that good time.

  Suicide by fire? I can only wish. Chloe’s baby bounces through my mind. And now it’s me leaping for her. I’ll admit, I felt like shit for beating her senseless, knowing that she’s with child, but once I learned she was slithering beneath Logan’s sheets, I couldn’t help myself.

  “Chloe, wait!” I call after her just as she leaps into the flames.

  The crowd lights up with a scream, then laughter as soon as we realize Chloe isn’t dancing in the fire. To the others it looks like nothing more than a clever party trick. The blaze seemingly swallowed her whole, and she’s simply gone.

  Chloe has new powers now that she’s with child.

  I touch my hand to my belly and glare at the flames, willing them to the sky, and a horrific rush ignites before us as the fire rises as tall as a tower, into a violent twisting tornado, leaving the entire population of the party running for higher ground.

  Chloe has powers she never knew existed—and so do I.

  Foolish Games

  GAGE

  Viden Council meets at midnight. Get to the Transfer a few minutes prior to talk shop. We’ll head out together.

  I stare at Wesley’s text a few moments too long, trying to digest it. It’s early—that strange time of dawn when the light of the moon and the sun are equal in strength. I’m glad to say it wasn’t Wesley’s early morning wake-up text that roused me out of my dreams—more like nightmares. Every night it’s been the same one, me falling to my supposed death from Devil’s Peak. It’s as if my mind is reaching, as if there is some message in there that my brain is stubbornly holding on to but refuses to release. It’s as if it’s protecting me, taunting me, both. But no, it’s not Wes who pulled me out of my nocturnal state—it’s the woman I love, whose wet kisses currently stream up and down my neck. Her tiny body has crawled on top of mine, and she’s working me with her soft form, her smooth thighs riding over my sides.

  “Someone is very hungry for breakfast,” I tease. Skyla has her first doctor’s appointment later this afternoon, and I’m more than a little excited. I’m dying for any news about the baby—to hear its beating heart. I’m like a kid on Christmas, and Skyla is giving me the greatest gift.

  Her chest rattles with a laugh. “I’ll take my Gage sunny side up.” She lands a wet kiss to my ear. “Upside down.” Her lips rake over my stubbled cheek. “Sideways.” Skyla drags her tongue along my jawline. “Backwards.” Her teeth graze the ridge of my chin. “Oh, wait.” She slaps her hands over my chest and sits up. Her bare bottom misses being impaled by less than an inch. “Going back door is exactly how we got into this mess.” She rains her hair over me and lands a biting kiss over my lips. “You do realize it’s as much Brielle’s fault as it is Ellis’s. All that you two are so vanilla crap.” She slaps my chest harder this time and barks out a short-lived laugh. “And we fell for it! Hook, line, and penis!” Skyla rolls her head back and closes her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She grinds her hips into me. “I’ve just been all over the place lately. One second I’m up, the next I’m down. I’m laughing, I’m crying, I’m jumping into a fire after Chloe—actually, and thankfully, I’m not that insane.”

  “You did try to stop her. Even I thought that was erratic.”

  “You’re the one with the heart, Gage. I’m shocked you didn’t try to pluck her out. Besides, I did it for Wes Junior. Chloe is a python who should never have been allowed to breed. She’s horrid. She’s vile. She is absolutely sickening.” Her chest expands with her next breath. “I think she actually got off on that whole bed burning thing.” Her eyes widen the size of baseballs. “I just had an epiphany.”

  “We need a code word.”

  “We need a code word.” She holds up her hand, and I offer a high five. “Great minds!”

  “How about forever? That’s how long I’m going to love you.” I slip my hand high up on her thigh.

  “Love it.” She gives a light bounce over my hips. “But knowing that monster, she’ll
crack it. How about Celestra blue? I’m a Celestra, and your eyes are too beautiful. God, I hope our baby has your eyes, and your dimples, and your full, gorgeous lips.” Her cool fingertips float over my face.

  “Celestra blue—sounds good to me. How about we tack on forever to the end of that?”

  “Love it.” Skyla leans in, her tits falling over my chest, heavier, fuller than usual, and I smile into our kiss. My hands float up to her stomach, and I can feel her abdomen just slightly raised. Skyla has always had a flat, concaved, in fact, stomach. Soon, her body will change. Our baby will grow, and before we know it, we’ll hold that beautiful being in our arms.

  She pulls back, her eyes slightly glossed as she gets that high look right before we get down to business.

  “That was beautiful, Gage.” She places her hand over mine as we both hover over the spot where our child incubates, nestled deep inside Skyla, nestled safe in our love. For a brief moment, I forgot that Skyla has the capability to read my thoughts when we touch. As if it were a knee-jerk reaction, that wall of static goes up without any real effort on my part. I’ve kept Skyla at bay for so long that it’s become a natural defense, and we both share a small laugh.

  “Sorry. I can’t help it.” I seem to have less control over it now that I’ve been demoted to human. “Wes wants to talk about the Videns later today. I’m just being honest.” I hold up my hands a moment as if testifying. “I’m going to do it. I want to tell them to shove the Videns up their asses for all I care. I’m done. I’m out.” I swallow hard. “And I need to talk to Demetri, first about the party, and second, I want to thank him for that damn cane. I’m not sure what it’s infused with, but it takes away the ache. Sometimes, the pain is so unbearable I’d gladly defer to a Fem walking stick than suffer.” I wince. “Don’t shoot me.”

  “I’m not shooting you.” She glides off, and her hand drifts down to my happy-to-see-you command center. Skyla glides her hand up and down my cock, a lazy smile budding on her lips. “I’m most certainly not going to add to any of your pain.”

  “Are you kidding? You weigh less than a bag of chips.” I twist around until I’m straddling her. “There is no way in hell I’m not taking advantage of the next few condom-free months. I’m not missing this.” I enter her a little rougher than necessary, greedy as hell, watching as she bites down hard over her lip, her head bows back with pleasure. “And neither are you.”

  Skyla and I start in with the pulling, tugging, a wrestling match of a love-making session that says I love you, I’ve missed you, I’m going to punish you with my body for all of the misery you’ve given me—her words to me last night. We make love far longer than any human should be able to withstand, so in that respect, I’m thankful my genetics are still strong. I bury my face in her newly plump chest, bury my lips down in that intimate part of her that seems perennially wet and waiting for me. Her fingernails hook into my shoulders as she hits her climax, and I wait for the eviction before my mouth leaves that sweet spot. My body spears into hers, easy because there’s an occupant in there now that I don’t want to rattle. Her body is still as tight as the very first time. I come long and deep, my entire body shaking with a heightened sense of nirvana. Skyla has always felt like family, like my wife long before we were ever married, but now with our baby knitting inside her womb, we’ve moved on to some extraordinary plane, our bond that much deeper than my heart could have imagined.

  My lids flutter open. My body is still buried in hers, my chest crushing her just enough. I love the feeling of her beating against mine once we’re through, one violent knock after another like a tennis ball hitting a wall over and over.

  The room is significantly darker, the air tinged blue, and then I see we’re no longer in bed at all—we’re in the butterfly room.

  “Shit.” I pull up on my elbows and take a good look around to make sure I’m not hallucinating.

  “Now it’s my turn to say sorry.” She shrinks a little, and I fall out of her. “I was thinking about how much I missed you holding me here. How I missed being with you in this room. I know your back can’t take it. Anyway”—she gives the room a circular glance—“but now here we are.”

  “You did this?” My heart drums hard as if some tribal ritual were about to get underway, in which we all die a horrible death by way of teleportation. I’m probably not far off base. “Skyla, you think—”

  “The baby.” She nods. “I have powers, Gage. I’m able to do things that I never imagined. This is something more than Levatio, Gage. Our baby—” her voice crumbles as her lips press tight.

  “Shh.” I hold her to me, rocking her steady.

  Skyla is amassing powers. She’s taken on the skills of our unborn child, who is smaller than a thumbnail.

  And now I have something new to ask. Yet another in a long string of questions for that demented father of mine.

  And not for a minute do I believe he will give me the truth.

  * * *

  “Let’s go out for breakfast. My treat. I’ve got some spare change burning a hole in my pocket.” I try to coax Skyla out the door as soon as we hit the bottom of the stairs, but instead of answering, she leans against the railing and expels a deep horrific groan.

  “Can’t.” She heaves, her eyes squinting in pain. “Please don’t mention food to me again.”

  “It’s morning sickness, isn’t it?” A very twisted part of me is excited about this on some level. Although, I wish it was me who was riddled with the urge to vomit and not Skyla—never Skyla.

  “Yeah. It kind of hit me upstairs while we were—” She wiggles her fingers. “I think it’s more like motion sickness.” She bites her lip and mouths the word sorry.

  “Let’s get you some water.”

  We head to the kitchen. The heavy scent of breakfast that usually permeates this place has all but dissipated. Skyla and I lounged in bed until almost noon. Her prenatal appointment isn’t for another hour and a half, and I’m secretly counting down the minutes.

  Tad and Lizbeth are at the table arguing over a pile of mail. I help Skyla take a seat next to Emily as I get her a water bottle from the fridge.

  “We need a racket!” Tad shouts, fisting the bills in his hands and shaking them. “If this keeps up, we’re going to miss a mortgage payment, and I can’t miss a single payment, Lizbeth. They take your damn house after three!”

  “Would you hush?” She tries desperately to coax him to a whisper just as Ethan sits down at the bar.

  “Just fucking sue someone,” he grunts over his cereal. “Get yourselves down to the grocery store and turn aisle five into a slip and slide. You’ll be rolling in dough all the way home.”

  I give Skyla a wary look as I hand her a drink.

  “Do not turn aisle five into a freaking slip and slide!” she shouts before guzzling half the bottle. “Oh, wow, that’s better,” she whispers, her eyes closed as she sighs with relief.

  Tad grunts, “They don’t pay out like they used to. These national chains have insurance up the wazoo. In the good old days, if you took a tumble like that, they’d take you to the back room and shove a fistful of cash in your hand and tell you to never show your smarmy face again.” He gives a wistful smile as if relieving a memory, and I’m sure he is. “Papa Landon hit all the local markets back in the day. He was a man you could really look up to.”

  “Maybe we should go,” Skyla whispers. “I wouldn’t want Celestra Blue to pick up on any nasty habits.” She bites down on a smile as if relishing our secret.

  My brows dip. I sort of like the fact she just referred to our child as Celestra Blue. It looks as if Skyla and I will need more code words than the FBI these days. I love it. Love her.

  “You can’t go anywhere.” Em grips the edge of the sofa. Her breathing becomes erratic as if she’s about to be sick herself. “I have a message. I need paper. Somebody get me some fucking paper!” she belts it out, and Ethan springs into action.

  I glance over at Tad and Lizbeth, but they’re too abs
orbed in their financial misery to care about any roving expletives.

  Ethan comes back with a Post-it note and a crayon.

  “What the hell is this, you fucktard?” Her head snaps back as she lets out a riotous groan. Em jumps up and runs to the back patio. Skyla and I try to rush out after her, my hip nearly falling out of its socket in the process, but Em zips back in with two handfuls of something dark and lumpy.

  “What the hell?” Ethan plucks one out of her grasp. “Is this fucking charcoal?”

  Em doesn’t answer, just goes about her business like a woman possessed. She glides the china hutch down to the other end of the room with her hip until a bare white canvas of a wall appears behind it.

  “What in tarnation is she doing?” Tad calls out, but nobody moves, and nobody says a thing, because face it, this is Em. Nobody truly knows what the hell she’s doing.

  She starts in with both hands, drawing, sketching over the white blank surface, and everyone in the room gasps at the defacement taking place.

  Skyla gives me a nervous look before edging toward Em and her frenetic movements. “You really don’t have to do this.”

  “Darn right, you don’t!” Tad leaps over, causing Ethan to hold him back as if he were restraining him from a fistfight. “Let go, son.” He struggles to break free. “You’re holding back the wrong person, you moron! What the hell is going on around here?”

  “Emily doesn’t like the color of the walls.” Skyla looks to me for help.

  “Yeah—she’s thinking about getting into decorating.” Shit. “She really wants Ethan’s support.” I shrug over at Ethan. He and Drake are pretty close in both age and features, but Ethan is a little more aloof if that’s at all possible.

  “That’s right,” Ethan grumbles as if pissed that he’s forced to play along. “She thought it might need a fresh coat of paint.”

  The veins bulge in the side of Tad’s neck. “Well, it sure as hell needs it now!”