The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “Seventeenth century.”

  “What are you doing there? Does this have something to do with that Chloe look-alike skank?”

  His expression sours as he looks over his shoulder at me. “I don’t believe so. And if I’m fortunate, my business back in the Mother Country will have no ramifications in the present whatsoever.” With that, he steps into the smoky fog of the looking glass and disappears out of sight.

  “I’m out of here.” Ellis wags his list at us. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone see this. I’m keeping this on the DL, dawg.” He knuckle bumps Skyla and me. “Get it? Dawg? As in West? Man, I miss that shit.”

  “Me, too.” I give a mournful grin. Maybe more of us are feeling the same. Maybe it’s time to start plotting a get-together that doesn’t end in one of us going up in flames.

  Skyla rushes to him and pulls him in by the T-shirt with an aggressive jolt. “Ellis, you so much as breathe a word of any of this, you will force my hand to kill you. Do you understand?” She grits the words through her teeth. I’ve never seen her look so frighteningly serious. “And, if for whatever reason, you do decide to leak this—for any reason I deem necessary, I will kill Giselle first.”

  The room fills with a thick silence.

  Ellis holds his hands up like it were a stick-up and lets loose a nervous laugh. “You’re not a killer, Skyla.”

  She leans into him close until their noses are almost touching. “Let’s be honest. I’m probably going to kill us all.”

  Ellis takes off, swearing up and down that he’s not saying shit.

  “You’re a badass, Messenger!” he shouts as he heads out the door. “I’m glad I’m on your side!”

  The door shuts, and the overgrown house is quiet as a church mouse.

  “I’m glad I’m on your side, too,” I whisper, leaning against the wall, just taking her in this way. Skyla is gorgeous on an average day, but, now, with new life budding inside her, she literally glows ethereal. She is a true testament to the beauty of an expectant woman. I should commission a painting of her in this delicate state as a gift to her and Gage. I think I will.

  “What’s that smile for?” She frowns as she says it.

  “I was just thinking I need to commission a painting of you. You’re too beautiful, Skyla. I want you to always remember what you looked like while with child—children.” I wince.

  “Are you kidding?” She backs up as if I offered to feed her a rat. “No way. I’m huge. I’ve already gained like twenty pounds. Yesterday, I fit into my jeans just barely, and today, I’m not even at the rubber band phase anymore. Nice try, but it ain’t happening.”

  “You need to. At least let me hire a photographer to do some monthly shots from here on out. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

  “I’ll think about it. But nothing nude. Just something tasteful.”

  “Nothing nude.” My eyes glide down her body, then up again like a reflex.

  “Wipe that smile off your face, Oliver.”

  “I can’t. You’re one of the only people on the planet that I can’t stop smiling around. I smile in my sleep when I think about you.”

  “Oh?” She raises a brow. “And these dreams, are they chaste?”

  “That’s one thing I don’t have to tell you.”

  She bites down on a smile of her own, her hands balling up into fists at her hips. “Do I need to kick your ass?”

  “You think you’re up for it?” I can’t help but mock her a little. “By the way, I love it when you talk dirty.”

  “You stop it, Logan Oliver.” She needles into my chest with her finger. “Because I will so do it! I have enough rage in me to kick ten Celestra’s behinds all the way to Tenebrous.”

  “You’re damn cute. You know that?” I give the impression of a dirty grin. “You keep this up—I might be forced to kiss you.”

  Her eyes widen, completely not amused at my quasi-pass, and come to think of it, neither am I.

  “You kiss me, and I might be forced to slap you.”

  My lips twitch. “I might like that just as much.” It’s the sad truth.

  Our eyes lock for a moment, hers with curiosity and mine with a morbid undying love that wishes she were still completely mine. I knew I should have done it long ago—the descaling of Skyla from my heart—but it’s an impossibility that will never happen. No matter whom she’s with, deep down in my soul, she’ll always belong to me.

  We walk back to Barron’s, and I pick up my truck and drive her home. Skyla invites me up to the butterfly room and shows me her new trick of making them dance in concert to music. Skyla is gaining power, and she’s angry as hell. A dangerous combination if you ask me.

  She falls asleep on a pile of pillows while telling me about a shopping trip to Cost Club with Gage, something about enough diapers to line the planet with.

  But all I can think about is what a lucky bastard Gage Oliver is. What I wouldn’t give to be in his shoes. One thing I wouldn’t give up is Gage himself. If it were anyone else, I would have killed him by now.

  Skyla might like to think she’s a killer, but deep down, I’ve always known that the true killer around here is me.

  If those traitors don’t comply with detention, they’ll find out the consequences the hard way.

  Death will come, and I will bring it.

  8

  On a Butterfly’s Wing and a Prayer

  SKYLA

  Dinner at the Oliver house seems almost repetitious, as if we’re on a loop with Emma’s misadventures in cooking. Don’t get me wrong. Emma is a fantastic chef, but her exploits of innards and non-vital organs have left my palate begging for mercy.

  Gage and I make our way into the living room where Logan pats a spot on the sofa next to him, so I head over, and Gage lands on the other side of me. It feels nice like this, ensconced with my two favorite angels. Safe.

  “Come here, princess.” Logan starts in on a penetrating massage over my shoulders, and I twist into him and moan. “You look like you need a little TLC.”

  TLC? I give a nervous smile to Gage as I try not to moan with pleasure at the deep, careful prods of Logan’s thick, strong fingers. Damn, that boy knows how to work his hands.

  “What do you mean TLC?” Gage isn’t too amused at what this might imply.

  “You know what I mean.” Logan leans in and drops a kiss over the back of my neck, and I gasp. But, no thanks to his demanding, highly skilled digital maneuvers, my back insists I hold still and keep my ever-loving mouth shut. Besides, Gage didn’t seem to notice that innocent peck. He’s too busy doing a similar maneuver to my knee, and, before I know it, my shoes are off, and Gage is offering up a brisk, thankfully tickle-free, massage to my poor tired feet.

  “Look at her”—Logan gives my shoulders a tweak—“she’s rode hard and put away wet. You need to take better care of the old girl if we’re going to get some mileage out of her.”

  What the hell? Before I can gawk at him properly, Gage unhooks his belt and begins unbuttoning, unzipping his jeans.

  “You’re right.” Gage smolders at me with heavy lids, that lustful look in his eyes that gets right before we get to business. “What she really needs is a slow, thorough body massage with my mouth.” Gage dives in with a tongue-twisting kiss that manages to scoot me straight onto Logan’s lap. Soon, that back massage Logan is offering up turns into something more as his hands ride up my blouse, his mouth falls over the back of my neck, biting my earlobe and the beginnings of a terribly large orgasm trembles through my body. I’ve never felt so intensely, deliciously loved before. So many groping hands. Their hot mouths moving over my flesh, biting, licking all at once. Before I know it, my clothes have been stripped from me, and Logan’s cock is pressed against my lower back as Gage thrusts into me from the front. Someone is kneading my breasts, biting down over my neck. Our collective lust snowballs, hurdling toward a magnificent climax as inevitable as an avalanche. Logan grabs me and twists my body into his before plunging into me so deep I
feel the pinch at the base of my neck.

  “He can’t have you forever, Skyla.” His amber eyes burn into mine as he penetrates me deeper like a punishment.

  “Fuck you!” Gage pummels his face so close to mine I’m afraid for both our teeth.

  Emma walks into the room wearing a wedding dress while balancing a platter with a sheep’s head on it. “Dinner is ready!”

  And the three of us shout in unison, “We don’t want any!”

  I sit up in bed with a start, panting, pulling the covers off my sweat-drenched body as my bedroom slowly melts into view around me.

  “Whoa.” Gage lands a heavy arm over my lap, making a weak attempt to pull me in. “You have a bad dream?”

  A dream. I close my eyes and arch my head back. God, I can still feel Logan deep inside me. This has got to stop.

  “Yes, it was a very strange dream, actually. We were at your parents,’ and your mother was making us dinner.” I don’t see the need to torment him with the details.

  “Dinner, huh? Was it making you sick?” He pulls me over to him, those dimples of his darken in this early morning light, and my stomach pinches with lust for him, only him, my husband, just the way it should be.

  “I guess you could say that.” I land a sweet kiss to his lips before glancing over his shoulder just to confirm the fact there isn’t a spare Oliver in the room with us. Not that Gage and I would ever consider a threesome—especially not with Logan, not with anyone. Not in my wildest dreams—well, technically, I guess that was my wildest dream. Sadly, I’ve had those threesome dreams before. This wasn’t my first nocturnal rodeo with one too many horses to ride.

  “It was one of those dreams again, wasn’t it?” He pulls his cheek to the side. Gage is fully aware at what a nocturnal pervert I am—at least subconsciously. Although, oddly enough, he thinks Marshall is the one consistent star, and he usually is. Last night was simply an aftereffect of my secret meetings and late-night liaisons with the fair-haired Oliver to discuss some extracurricular faction business.

  “It might have been.” I’m slow to admit. “But on the upside, you were in it and offering up a nice massage.” I’m too much of a wimp to admit to the nitty gritty truth, but I’m sure my throbbing thighs are filling in the blanks for him.

  “Speaking of Dudley”—he grimaces at the thought—“I have a little surprise coming that might eliminate the need to have his intergalactic paws all over you.”

  “Really? You’re going to chop him to pieces and have your mother fry him up in a pan? That’s one way to get his feel good vibrations inside me,” I growl as I take a playful bite from his bottom lip.

  “Actually, I would be putting them inside you.” He slaps my thigh with his amply large penis. “With this.”

  “You are a dirty, dirty boy, Oliver!” I think on this for a second. “But, God, if you could do that. I would lie flat on my back and let you bang the next few months away. And then we’d make lousy parents because I would never let you leave this bed.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He tucks a kiss just under my ear. “In fact, I’ll hold you to it. Demetri offered me the gift of ‘vibratronics.’” His fingers encapsulate that last word in air quotes.

  “Vibratronics?” I shake my head. First, it sounds like a cheesy sex toy, and second, I thought those good vibrations were something unique to my favorite Sector. A frown comes and goes without my permission. “What does he want in exchange?” I’m onto his bad daddy ways.

  “A wedding—yours and mine. He wants us to exchange vows in front of him. Nothing fancy, just a few words.”

  “A few words?” Gage and I spend each day professing our love to one another. This would be like any other night before we make love—sans the making love part in front of the demented demon. Just the thought of those good sensations flowing through Gage, to me, in me! “Holy crap. Find him and tell him yes!”

  “Really?” He pulls back in disbelief. “Are you sure? I didn’t think you’d be so eager.”

  “I’m sure. Tell him yes. Hell yes—I’m sure he’ll appreciate the nod to his homeland. Besides, this body has become a living nightmare. All I want to do is sleep, eat, and puke. It’s sort of a nasty cycle I’m locked in, if you haven’t noticed. Tell him we’ll swing by around noon. Then we can hit the Burger Shack to celebrate, and no way am I letting you talk me out of the animal fries.” My mouth waters just thinking of those golden delicious “potatoey” sticks floating in an orange sea of secret sauce, heaping with enough grilled onions to give me stink breath for years. Oh, wait…maybe that’s why Gage is so against the animal fries.

  “Okay. And, yes, to the fries. But we each get our own. I don’t want to feel like I’m going to get my arm bit off just for reaching in.”

  “Oh, you think you’re funny.” I give his ribs a tickle, and he offers a deep massage to my hips in return. “Okay—that feels good.” I close my eyes and sink into the mattress. “Just a little lower.”

  “A little lower?” He gives a dark laugh as his hands make their way to the inside of my thighs.

  Looks like I’ll be getting that massage I wanted after all.

  Marshall calls about noon and asks if I’m free. For Marshall, I’d make myself free if I weren’t. But, with Gage helping Logan out at the bowling alley for a few hours and me languishing in my prenatal misery, I decide to head over.

  The lead-gray Paragon fog kisses my windshield all the way to Marshall’s expansive estate where I find him lingering by the horses in the corral, hand-feeding them a bucket full of apples.

  “Aren’t we domestic?” I don’t wait for his permission before snatching up his free hand and interlacing his fingers with mine. Those feel-good vibes wash over me like rain over a parched hillside, and I tilt my head back and enjoy the semi-orgasmic sensation. Oddly, it doesn’t feel blatantly sexual. I’ve truly come to view Marshall as some sort of medic who helps to alleviate morning sickness in the most profound way. “I’ll be needing your services during labor. There’s no way I’m pushing out three human beings without you holding my hand.” In the least.

  “They’re hardly human.” He gives a quiet laugh while setting down the bucket. “And you’ll need more than my hand, my love. Although, I’m not sure I’ll be there.”

  “What?” I squawk so loud an entire flock of crows evicts themselves from the evergreens and races to the skies. “You’ll be there,” I assure.

  “Jock Strap will be there. Modern medicine will be there—most importantly, you will be there. Every woman on the planet has given birth without my aid, Skyla. You’ll soon join their ranks.”

  I suck in a breath at the audacity of the sneaky Sector before me.

  “If you’re not present for my birthing experience, I will personally hunt you down and hack off all four of your earthen limbs. Then I’ll beat you with them for abandoning me in my time of need. I’ve done my research on the subject. Heck, I’ve watched YouTube extensively. This birthing experience will be a long, drawn-out lesson in agony. Not once did I see anything that might indicate otherwise.”

  Marshall gives me that dead stare for a solid ten seconds.

  “Well, if YouTube has confirmed this.” He smirks. “Modern conveniences have removed the element of surprise. In the old days, a woman wouldn’t know what to expect on her wedding night. And if she thought that was a gruesome act, her surprise grew in acres upon the birth of her first child.”

  “They used to knock women out once upon a time in this great nation of ours.” I frown as I pet a horse with a white star on its nose. “I wish they’d knock me out.”

  “Yes, well, when the time comes, summons me and we’ll see what Jock Strap desires. I’ve sensed his discomfort with me on more than one occasion.”

  “Never mind what Jock Strap desires. Jock Strap is the one who put me in this predicament without my permission, so I think it’s only fair I override his opinion just this once.” I turn to him fully and pick up his other hand. God—this is euphoria. Marshall is
sheer heavenly bliss. Why am I living at the Landon house again?

  “Because you and Jock Strap are not welcome to fornicate on my property, Skyla.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Drats. God knows I can’t live without fornicating with Gage. Even if Gage is the one who put us in this pregnant pause of a predicament, I can’t live without our wild bedtime romps, or early morning romps, or mid-afternoon—

  “Yes, yes. I get the picture.” His lids hood low with annoyance.

  “So, what’s the big secret?” I give his hand a little tug. “Is that why you’ve called me over? Gage and Logan say that you’re forever stepping into the Haunted Speculum. Does this concern Marlena? And why can’t you leave well enough alone in the seventeenth century?”

  Marshall gives a lazy half-smile toward the corral. “No, I can’t seem to leave that century alone, can I? And, yes, in a roundabout way it does involve that nefarious time in my life. You see, I might have”—he motions with his hand—“with a few women. And”—he motions with his hand again—“with others just prior to that. And it’s been brought to my attention that a particular union had spawned a curious lineage.”

  “Marshall!” It’s as if the world shakes around us, soft and subtle as a snow globe, only instead of snow and glitter floating to the ground, it’s beautiful Sector DNA. “You’re a daddy!” I gasp at the centuries’ old implications. “Um—I guess, were. Sorry.” It’s a strange thing to congratulate someone on a child and apologize for its passing all in one breath. “But you have a family tree. I can hardly wait to trace it.” It comes out sad and morose, because by now, who knows where his DNA has drifted.

  “Yes, about that”—he gives a curious look toward the horizon—“you won’t have to look far. In fact, you might say the branches are touching just a bit.”

  “What do you mean the branches are touching? Why does that sound incestuous? Did you have an affair with your sister? I mean, someone you didn’t know you were related to?”