The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “Let’s get you out of here.” I usher us out the door, and she pulls me to the side of the facility. We head opposite the crowd and sink into the cool, oxygen-rich fog that Skyla swims through as if treading water, her moans becoming more audible with every step we take.

  “Logan.” She gives an anguished cry before hurling into the bushes. The warm splatter hits over my jeans, and I cringe.

  “What the fuck!” Ellis and Giselle pop out of the wiry bush, half-dressed, each with their own joint pinched between their fingers.

  “Are you kidding me?” I slap the shit out of Ellis’s chest because I can’t quite reach him and still hold on to Skyla. She drops to the ground and lies on the grass, and Giselle follows her cue.

  “Give me that.” I take the smoldering joint from her hand while she busily adjusts her clothes.

  “Please don’t tell.” Her dimples dig in just the way they do on Gage, and for a second, I consider keeping her slightly illegal secret. That is, until she breaks out into an uncontrollable giggle fit and rolls on top of Skyla.

  “Harrison!” I bark into his face.

  “Dude.” He drops his joint and grinds it out with his heel. “No worries. This was cheap shit. Nothing but oregano, I swear.”

  I pull him in by his disheveled shirt. “I don’t want to do this, but I have to.” My knuckles connect with his jaw, and Ellis falls right back into the bush that vomited him out.

  Speaking of vomit, I help both Skyla and Giselle to their feet, one moaning, the other laughing uncontrollably.

  This is going to be a long ride home, and ironically, it’s moments like these when I’m able to help those I love that I’m glad I stayed.

  Perhaps coming back, perhaps this Caelestis-issued Treble, was worth all of the heartache.

  Who am I kidding? There isn’t any heartache when I’m near Skyla. As long as we’re together—even if it’s as friends, as family, is all that ever matters to me.

  Skyla leans in, relaxing her arm over my shoulder as she lets out a retching moan. A wall of vomit splashes onto my lap, hot, reeking of soured milk with the discards of just about every meal Skyla has ever eaten.

  I guess there are some Fems in the universe, perhaps in the pit of Skyla’s belly that don’t particularly care for me being near her.

  We drive to Barron’s, and I hose off while Emma rips into Giselle about the evils of drug abuse. It turns out I didn’t have to say a word. They could smell it on her.

  Skyla and I take a seat on the lawn with the hose running over our laps like a fountain. Every now and again she rinses her face off and drinks from the stream, her head falling to my shoulder with a sigh of relief.

  I pull her in close and wrap my arm around her waist. “I’d do anything if I could make you feel better.”

  “I wish that damn Sector would say the same thing.”

  “That’s funny. He’s usually the first to volunteer.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s got other things on his mind these days. I’m so sorry I threw up on you. Can you ever forgive me?” Her eyes pull down with sorrow, her face still as green as it was earlier.

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” I plant a kiss on the top of her head.

  What the hell could Marshall care about more than Skyla? Nothing, that’s what. Therefore, whatever it is that has him distracted must be directly related to her.

  Sounds like I have a Sector to track down.

  My phone buzzes, and I pluck it out. It’s a text from Gage.

  How did the meeting go? Everything all right? Can’t get in touch with Skyla.

  On our way home. I text back.

  I hold Skyla like that for just a little while longer.

  An eternity wouldn’t be enough.

  Soon, she’ll have three little beings to care for. She has Gage. I’m pretty sure my nights of holding Skyla are numbered.

  7

  The Big News

  SKYLA

  My dreams, my emotions, every up and down is far more vivid these days. It’s as if my life before was simply an impression of what it could be. If housing these three precious angels has brought me anything, it’s clarity in acres, colors in hues I hadn’t known existed, feelings in ranges that run from exuberant to lethal. And the sex. Oh. My. God. You would think I had never been touched before. Making love to Gage is pure insanity—and sadly, that includes the subconscious salacious night moves I’m having with a certain dirty Sector in those X-rated midnight romps I can’t seem to shut off. And yet, it doesn’t discount the amazing, real-life sex I’m experiencing with my stunning, tall, dark and hopelessly handsome husband. I’ve never been so thrilled to be alive. And yet, I’ve never wanted to kill another human being more in my life. First Lexy. When I spotted the newest issue of Paragon People on the sofa, I about gagged on my own vomit. She and Logan made the cover with the headline, Check Out the Exciting Renovations to the Happy Couple’s New Home!

  Next up on my homicidal to-do list is Wesley, of course. My fingers crave to wrap around his neck about as bad as I’m dying for a burger fix. That about sums up my life and its rainbow of emotions. I want more of this God-breathed time on the planet with Gage by my side, and I want Wesley and his Barricade dreams dashed and smashed until the only thing he’s capable of taking over is a cemetery plot. I’m sure his brother can arrange to have that done for free.

  I give a black smile over at Wes and Chloe who are cozying up to a table lined with miniature palm trees, festooned with shrimp and pineapple stabbed into their trunks.

  It’s the day of Demetri’s big summer bash, and, low and behold, the sun too has chosen to show its shining face for the big event. It’s so hot I’m melting in my long navy maxi dress. My stomach is already starting to bulge to the point I can no longer consider crop tops as an option. But I’m loving my new curves, my fuller breasts and lips—both of which Gage finds quite delicious.

  I pan the crowd for my dark prince, but my eyes snag on Bishop again. Chloe looks ridiculous in her ultra short, ultra tight bandage dress. Her tummy is hardly noticeable, but I’m sure her shape-shifting maniacal self had something to do with that. Even if I had the capability to morph myself to perfection, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t risk my children’s wellbeing just to alter my waistline.

  “Why are you smiling at Wes?” Gage whispers from behind as he wraps his arms around me.

  “Sorry. He’s making me sick, actually. Both he and the witch he’s with. Let’s go find Bree.”

  Demetri’s backyard, if you can call it that, is filled with just about every inhabitant on the island, plus all of the scholastic dwellers on Host, and perhaps most of the mainland as well. It’s wall-to-wall bodies—correction, bathing suits, teeny, teeny bikinis that make me blush and simultaneously want to cover my husband’s eyes—and I can’t seem to find Bree or anyone else that I remotely know.

  “Where did all these people come from? And why are they so underdressed?”

  “Word got out that the food was pretty great last year. Free food plus a heated pool is a rare treat for the people of Paragon. Your mom knows how to throw a mean party.”

  “Yeah, well, your dad knows how to foot the bill.” Gah! I can’t believe I just referred to Demetri as Gage’s father! “I’m so sorry. I swear, I think of Barron and your dad, well, because he is. Quick, find a match so I can disinfect my tongue of that lunacy.”

  A deep rumble comes from his chest. “It’s okay. I’ve actually come to terms with it. I’m a part of him. I can’t deny it.”

  “Can’t deny what?” a female voice comes from behind, and we spin to find Emma and Barron himself.

  “That we’re glad to see you.” Gage pulls his parents in for a hug, and I stand off to the side, uneasy, and give a slight wave. As much as I hate to admit it, Emma and I have more than a strained relationship.

  “Did Skyla fill you in all that nonsense with your sister?”

  “What nonsense?” He looks to me, and I shrug. A vague memory of Giselle riding home from
the faction meeting with Logan and me struggles to break free.

  She smirks at me as if to say figures. “That Harrison boy forced her into doing drugs. She came home reeking of marijuana, and now she’s upset with me because I’ve forbidden her to go anywhere near him.”

  Barron nods. “I told her that would never work. You can’t keep two people apart who demand to be together.”

  “Wait”—a slow fury builds in Gage—“Ellis and G were smoking pot?” He shakes his head, pissed to hell. “He’s going to wish he never heard of the stuff when I find him. I’m going to kill him.”

  “Murder is a felony.” I’m quick to remind. Knowing how pissed Gage is, a homicide might truly be on the table. “And Ellis didn’t mean any harm.”

  “You would defend him,” Emma says under her breath, her eyes rolling toward the newly manufactured sunshine.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m just looking for a fight today, and don’t think I won’t hesitate to launch her to the bottom of the pool. I’ve already imagined pinning Chloe down in the deep end, twice since we’ve arrived, but, hey, if Emma wants to go first…

  Barron steps between us. “It means we’re all family, and we love one another. I’m sure Skyla had a very good reason for not telling Gage.”

  “Oh, well”—I give his hand a squeeze, but his eyes are demanding rapport—“you might say I was a little distracted. I wasn’t feeling too well that night.”

  Emma makes a face. She’s calling bullshit, and that pisses me off ten times more than before. I can’t wait to make our big announcement. I bet she’ll feel like crap for thinking so little of me. I’m the vessel of her future grandchildren. She’ll practically be required to like me at least a little for the next six months—emphasis on little.

  “Never mind that.” Barron turns his attention to Gage. “How is the accounting business going?”

  “So far so good. Both you and Logan are in the black. And I think as soon as this next quarter is over, the bowling alley is actually going to turn a nice profit. It’ll just take some minor tweaking.”

  “That’s great to hear.” Barron chuckles. “You do realize that for the morgue to do well we’d have to lose half the residents on the island!” Both he and Gage share a laugh over the thought of mass casualties while Emma takes the moment to openly glare at me.

  God, it’s as if she’d like to populate the cemetery right now—starting with me.

  “Tell them the news, Emma.” Barron takes his glasses off and wipes them down, still recovering from his graveside guffaw.

  “Oh!” She pats her chest, her eyes wide as if she were momentarily sidetracked from giving some goodness of her own. “The Walshes are moving!” She practically jumps on Gage while jiggling his shoulder.

  “Watch it, woman.” I pluck her off with very little remorse. “He’s still injured, you know.”

  “Sorry.” She dusts him off as if he were a knick-knack. “Anyway, we’ve been having an awful rash of gophers, and so I called next door to see if they were experiencing them, too, and they mentioned they’d be moving this fall!” She screws her lips up in a tight little bow. “If you and Skyla are looking into a place of your own, I bet you can get quite the discount on the Walsh’s place.”

  “Where is this house?” I’m suddenly interested in holding down a conversation with Emma Oliver. That hasn’t happened since, well, a very long time, if ever.

  “Right next door!” She beams as if this were a great idea.

  Next door? As in next door to Emma and Barron? As in can I borrow a cup of sugar, and can you throw in a little of your bullshit on the side because my day hasn’t gotten off to a rotten enough start? Uh, huh. No way, no how. Not happening.

  “The Walshes have lived next door for years,” Gage elaborates. “Sort of a reclusive bunch. If you’re facing the house, they’re on the right.”

  “Oh?” I rack my brain, trying to remember ever seeing a house there. “I thought that was a forest.” Dear God. A house next door to the Olivers’? And that would make us—next-door neighbors? Is she insane? I’ve never been so thrilled to be poor. “Well, we’re just this side of broke.” I toss my hands in the air—because let’s face it—for once this is cause for celebration. “But if we could swing it, I’m sure we’d be right on board. Who would pass up the chance to live behind the gates? And so close to family? When the kids arrive, we’d have built-in babysitters and right next door.” Crap!

  “What?” Emma gives a few steady blinks.

  “You know in the future.” Gage gives my hand a slight tug. “I’m sure we’ll have a rowdy bunch—ten or twelve.”

  “We’d make terrible neighbors,” I add. I’m sure three screaming babies in the middle of the night will make them rethink their plan—plus, still broke.

  “Well, if you change your mind”—Barron shrugs—“it may not be that far off the mark financially. Rumor has it the place is a mess. They won’t get much more than dirt value. Emma and I were thinking of investing ourselves—or helping out the two of you. Keep it in the back of your mind.”

  “That’s very generous of you. We will.” In the very back of our minds it will stay. “Oh, look!” I point over to my mother and give a wild wave, motioning both her and Tad over. Heck, I’d flag Demetri himself down to join our unholy huddle just to get me out of this insane conversation.

  Mom traipses over in her one-piece that qualifies as a prom dress in comparison to what the harlots from Host have donned. She click-clacks in this direction in her kitten heels with her auburn hair coifed to perfection, and I can’t help wondering who she’s all dolled up for—her husband or her lover. Tad trails behind with white tracks of sunscreen swathed over his nose and cheeks that give off a tribal effect while he swills a tropical drink in one hand. Tad, plus alcohol, equals an entertaining disaster in the making.

  The Olivers exchange niceties with Mom and Tad, and everything seems cordial for about thirty seconds.

  “We were just trying to convince Skyla and Gage to purchase the home right next door to us.” Emma beams as if this is still a real thing.

  “Ha!” Tad balks, and for once, I feel like balking right along with him. “What are you two smoking? They can’t pay a mortgage. Heck, they can’t pay a grocery bill!” His head twitches back a moment. “Come to think of it, my grocery bill will go down significantly once they pitch a tent in your neighborhood.” He looks to Gage. “Figure out how to pay a mortgage, would you?”

  “Crap,” Gage murmurs because suddenly our familial conversations have gone from bad to worse. I know it’s bruising his ego—not being able to provide a place for the two of us has driven him to the brink of insanity—that and living with Tad.

  “We’re willing to take a second on the house to help them,” Emma announces rather piously.

  “Are we headed down this road again?” It’s Mom’s turn to balk. The last time the Olivers suggested they team up and purchase us real estate, it didn’t go so well.

  “Heavens no.” Emma pretends to fan herself from the heat, but most likely it’s because she can feel a Landon-style throw-down about to take place. “But your lack of participation isn’t going to stop Barron and me from providing our only son with a gift. They’ll be celebrating their one-year anniversary soon. I’d like to see them in a place of their own.”

  “Our lack of participation?” Mom is still on first base. “Let me frame this for you, Emma.” Mom says her name staggering slow, and both Gage and I exchange a brief glance. He looks pensively worried, but I’m amused beyond reason. “Tad and I are not lacking in team spirit as far as supporting Skyla and Gage with moving on to the next phase of their lives. In fact, we support them so much we have opened up our home to them for as long as they would like to stay.”

  “Says who?” Tad puts his drink to his mouth just as Mom ribs him and causes his liquor to slosh.

  Emma chortles Mom’s diatribe away. “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood me. Of course, Barron and I realize tha
t you and Tad aren’t well-to-do.”

  Mom sucks in a lungful of air. “Is that some sort of code for poor? Excuse me, but Tad and I have more than one child we need to provide for, and they all need to eat.”

  “Speaking of eats.” Tad burps. “Would you look at this spread? This is enough to feed us for weeks.”

  Again, grateful for Tad and his stomach for stealing the spotlight.

  Although Mom has it partially right. Technically, the Olivers have more than one child—the second being Giselle—but Giselle can buy us each our own home behind the gates and still have room on her credit card to outfit them all with designer furniture thanks to Big Daddy K.

  “Don’t just stand there”—Mom bumps Tad with her shoulder—“they think we’re poor!”

  More like destitute.

  “We’re not poor.” Tad shakes a fist in the air, his demeanor suddenly serious as shit. “I happen to have a prominent position at Althorpe, and my wife here is in training with the hospital to become Paragon’s resident nipple twister.”

  Good God. Kill me.

  “Lactation consultant,” Mom is swift to clarify. “But nonetheless, it’s a voluntary position for now. It’ll take several months and courses before I can get certified. The female breasts are a very complex system.”

  Emma’s face goes white, and this pleases me on a small mammary level. Take that! I want to say, but—well, nipple twisting for the win just doesn’t have the right ring to it.

  Demetri’s ugly mug pops up, and I swell with relief. If anyone can derail this crazy next-door neighbor nipple twisting train, it’s the frightening Fem himself.

  “Lizbeth, you’ve outdone yourself.” He pulls her in to offer a brazen kiss to her cheek, but Mom flinches just enough to land his lips square over hers. And we’ve just gone off the rails.