Ethereal Knights (Celestra Knights)

by Addison Moore

  “Not that, but it’s a good idea for later.” I help her to her feet. “Up there.” I nod at the secret door to the butterfly room. “You have a chair we can stand on?”

  Skyla hauls in the sturdy seat from her desk, and I try to stand on it, but it glides from beneath me.

  “I’ll hold it,” she says, stabilizing it by the base.

  I climb up, and my feet give a quick jerk to both the left and right.

  “Oops, sorry.” She moves her hands from the base to the seat.

  “There might only be two of us left, Skyla. Please try not to kill me,” I tease.

  “Really, are there only two of us left?” She looks up at me with the hope of procreation ripe in her eyes, and lust claws through me like a fire.

  “No, but at the rate they’re killing us, we might get there soon.” I remove the false wall from the door and hold it out for her to inspect.

  “It’s a façade!” She gives a little jump, and the chair swivels.

  “Most things are.” I hand it to her before opening the sliding panel. “Come on.” I offer her a hand and help her climb inside.

  “What is it, the attic?” Her voice sounds hollow, like she’s talking into a bottle.

  “It’s”—I boost myself inside—“it’s a locked-off portion of it. Chloe didn’t know it was there until just a few months before she… discovered it by accident.” No point in drilling home the fact that Chloe is no longer with us.

  “Oh.” She blinks into the idea. “Were you trapped in her bedroom and in need of a way out?”

  A dry laugh huffs from my chest, but I know there were serious underpinnings layered beneath the question.

  I feel for the metal chain and light up Skyla’s new world. The room illuminates in all its colorful winged-glory, and the butterflies quiver as if they were happy to greet her.

  She takes a sharp breath as she soaks in the beauty, the rainbow of pastel butterflies, the bright blue ones that stand out interspersed.

  “This was her getaway.” I spin in a slow circle, marveling how it all looks the same. “I was here once, and that was because she kept something I gave her here.”

  “You came to check on it?” Her face pinches with hurt.

  “I came to get it back.” And to open our world to new possibilities, but I leave those for her imagination while I pick up her hand.

  “So you have it?” I don’t even know what it is, but I love the fact it was something akin to the breakup collection agency more than it was a secret rendezvous.

  “No, she never gave it back.” I bite down on my lip, because I know it’s coming.

  “What was it?”

  “A pendant that belonged to my grandmother. Chloe said she wanted to give it back. And then she went missing, and that was that.”

  “I thought you said she let you in here, and she was going to give it to you?”

  “I never said that.” It comes out soft, sad. “I said I’ve only been here once. It was after she was gone. Brielle took me up here when I told her Chloe had something important of mine.”

  “Oh. Maybe she was wearing it—you know, when they took her.”

  “She wore it for a little while, then she wanted to prove she didn’t need it. We had a fight, and I never saw her wear it again. She told Brielle she was keeping it in her diary.”

  “Strange place to keep jewelry.” She eyes me with suspicion. “Maybe she got rid of it or pawned it. Do you believe her?”

  “She couldn’t lie to me.” We touched each other constantly—not because we couldn’t get enough of one another, but as a litmus test for honesty. I didn’t know how to erect the great wall of silence back then. But thankfully, I do now.

  I look over at Skyla mournfully. I swear I’ll let down my guard one day, and I’m not nearly as good as Gage. I wouldn’t be surprised if she were picking up on every other word.

  “She could lie.” I match his over-serious tone to a tee. It’s comical, both of us here in a paper butterfly sanctuary created by his dead ex-girlfriend, having a spat over—of all things—the virtues of his ex.

  “I think I like you jealous.” I know this as a fact. A smile blooms on my face, and I can’t hide it. I’m falling in love so hard, so fast—I never want this feeling to end. I lean in, biting gently on her lower lip, and she lets out a groan that lets me know she approves. Skyla dips her fingers into my jeans. I feel her there over my skin, and it sends my stomach quivering. The blood rushes between my legs. I push myself against her thigh, begging her to wrap her hands around me, to touch me.

  We drop to our knees never losing the grip our mouths have on one another. I pull her over my body and ride my hands inside her sweater, pull it off, and raise my T-shirt until our flesh feels like it’s become one.

  A violent knock erupts from the door, and her mother shouts something indistinguishable.

  “Just a minute!” Skyla screams the words directly into my ear and I wince in pain. “I have to go.” She jumps down into the closet so fast that I can’t argue with her.

  “I’m leaving.” I cover my eyes with my arm for a minute.

  Now I just need to figure out a way to hobble out of here with a hard-on the size of a bullet train.

  Gage

  After work, Ellis invites me over to hang out and watch a movie in his family’s brand-new viewing room.

  The fog sweeps by my feet as I cut across the street. A cloudbank has settled over the island, and my clothes are damp by the time I hit the Harrison’s front door.

  “Hello?” I say, slipping the door open and letting myself in. Ellis’s parents are rarely home. They separated last year. Word on the street is the divorce will be final by Christmas. Nobody really knows what the hell his father, Morley, does for a living. His mom is conveniently an attorney.

  “Dude.” Ellis barrels over and slaps me five. “Let’s do this!”

  We head downstairs to what Logan and I refer to as the lair. Ellis’s family had the viewing room put in a few months back, and it’s a nothing short of a bona fide movie theater, complete with kick-ass arm chairs that vibrate with cup holders on the sides. I’m getting one of these chairs as soon as I move out. I wonder if Skyla would approve? I’d give up vibrating chairs with cup holders for her every day of the week. Hell—I’d give up movies and popcorn, solid food, if she wanted me to. And the idea that Logan is with her right now kills me.

  “So what are we watching?” I ask, as Ellis leads us into the dimly lit room. The burgundy carpet flushes throughout the area as I plod after him. The air is heavy with the thick scent of butter and… perfume?

  Ellis leads us smack into four different girls huddled front and center, giggling and sucking down whatever the hell he filled those red plastic cups with.

  “Love honeys, my friend.” Ellis slaps my back. “You can thank me later, dude. There’s plenty to go around.”

  Crap.

  I vaguely recognize them from his parties. The tall brunette was giving me the “look” the other night.

  She gives a little wave, confirming the fact she’s still interested.

  “Spencer Jameson,” Ellis whispers. “She makes Brielle look like a freaking nun. She does things with her tongue that makes my skin crawl. She’ll land you on all fours, hogtie you, and do things to your body that your wildest fantasies are incapable of conjuring. Dude—she has the power to make me feel dirty.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze. Merry fucking Christmas, man. She’s all yours.”

  Ellis burrows himself in mist of his “love honeys,” and I take a seat off to the side.

  It takes about three seconds for Spencer to migrate over and nestle her boobs against my arm. I glance over at her with a nervous smile and pull away a little. Her top is cut so low that for a second, I think she took her shirt off.

  Ellis pops in the movie, a Hollywood release that’s not yet in theaters. The Harrisons always seems to have access to pre-releases. It’s an action flick I’ve wanted to see ever since the trailer came out months ago
.

  Spencer’s hand slithers down my thigh and warms over my jeans before she hits pay dirt.

  “Whoa!” I hold up my hands. “I’m good.”

  She licks her lips and leans in, blowing air kisses randomly at me like maybe she’s dug into Ellis’s stash. Her lids are half-closed and the whites of her eyes are washed in pink, confirming my theory. She’s wasted and ready to do whatever the hell I wish.

  I glance back at Ellis. He’s got his shirt off with a girl sitting square on his lap—the tattoo of a butterfly is stretched across her back.

  Great. I get to witness Ellis getting laid, live and in-person. Not that it’s a first. I’ve walked in on him a couple times during his kitchen encounters.

  I blow out a sigh and sink in my seat.

  The butterfly tattoo reminds me of Skyla, and for some strange reason, I feel like I’m cheating on her just witnessing the peep show.

  Spencer lands her mouth over my ear, and my insides squeeze with an unexpected bite.

  “Easy there.” I push her away and she nods to herself before curling into a ball. If I’m lucky, she’ll pass out, and I can watch the movie.

  I don’t know why the hell I feel guilty sitting in a room full of girls even though not one of them interests me. I’m pretty sure Skyla doesn’t feel guilty doing whatever it is she’s doing with Logan. And God knows I can’t stand the thought of them breathing in the same room, let alone doing anything that involves touching.

  A swirl of fog drifts in front of the screen. The smell of weed lights up the room with its bitter scent. I roll my head back in frustration. I’d better split before I get stoned by proxy and end up trying to comfort myself with Spencer I-Specialize-in-Semen Jameson. I wonder if Skyla wasn’t in my life whether if I’d give in and let Spencer do her best to make me feel dirty. It’s doubtful she could. I don’t exactly hold back when I’m thinking of Skyla—another reason to erect a brick wall around my perverted thoughts when we’re together. I wonder what she’d do if she knew. I wonder if she’d let me live out each ingloriously corrupt act if she knew the depths of my vulgarity. Although, in all fairness, there’s nothing corrupt about loving your future wife, and according to my gift of knowing, that’s exactly who she is.

  Spencer dives her hand into my jeans and latches onto me so fast, I take a breath from the shock of it. I pull her out gingerly in the event she wants to haul my hard-on out with her.

  “Is that for me?” She marvels, suddenly lucid.

  “No, that’s not for you.” Nor did she inspire it. I get up and head for the door. “Never for you,” I whisper, hitting the exit.

  It’s for Skyla—always was, always will be.

  Too bad she doesn’t have one for me.

  17

  Logan

  Light Drive

  The sun beats down over Paragon in one of those rare solar events the world often brags about but the island seldom sees. The heavens quiver with pride, showing off their “Skyla” blue expanse. I’m not too thrilled that Gage coined the phrase, but on day like today, it does seem fitting.

  Cerberus stains the side of the gym like a demon straight from hell as we hit the final hour of football practice.

  The cheerleaders start in on their routines, and half the team loses focus. I chug down a water bottle and watch as Skyla saunters onto the field in a pair of cutoffs that don’t quite make it past her hips. As much as I enjoy the hell out seeing her flaunt those buttery smooth legs, a twinge of jealousy pinches through me at the thought of Gage getting to look at her, too. I bet he saves it all for later. He’s upped his daily shower intake to three since Skyla’s been in town, and I’m guessing I know why.

  I jog over and pluck my helmet off before giving her a kiss.

  “Something spectacular happened last night,” she gushes.

  I’m hoping she means between the two of us. We had fireworks going off. The butterfly room is lucky it didn’t go up in flames.

  “You found another room?” I tease.

  “No. Is there one?” Her eyes widen with surprise.

  “No.” I give a little laugh. Skyla shines like a runway model. She’s so damn gorgeous—the best part is, she has no clue just what a goddess she really is. I dig my fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her neck. “Actually, I don’t have any idea. What was so spectacular?”

  “Time travel!”

  Everything in me freezes. I may be a Celestra, I may be theoretically capable, but I’m not in a hurry to test drive the time continuum.

  The whistle goes off across the field, and the team gets into formation.

  “I gotta go.” I try to smile but misfire. “Don’t ever joke like that. If you come in contact with someone, it could change things.” I land a kiss over her lips. “You could hasten someone’s death if you’re not careful.”

  I should know—I’ve got a dead brother to prove it.

  ***

  That unfortunate evening, I decide to chain myself to the task of retrieving the damn diary.

  The movie theater at the Paragon West End Mall has a defunct air conditioner. I happened to know this firsthand because I’m sitting in the sweltering theater with a very sexually charged Michelle Miller, watching a chick flick about a bunch of guys that run a strip club. She owes me for this big time—one dead girl’s diary, to be exact. Truth is, I’d rather be here with anybody else, even Chloe. Chloe wouldn’t have her limbs slithering over me like a pair of sexually starved vipers, unless, of course, Gage was in the vicinity. My phone buzzes softly. It’s Skyla, and I jump a little at the sight.

  Crap. I suppose she’ll want to know where I am.

  I have something you want ~S

  I text her back. Are you in the mood to give it away?

  What? No! But yes!!! ~S

  Excellent. Clearly, I’ve taken the wrong girl to the movies, although in my defense, Michelle invited me, and I didn’t want to rock the boat—not with my grandmother’s pendant on the line. And right about now, a part of me wishes my grandmother never gifted it to me.

  Wait—the pendant? Does Skyla have the pendant? She mentioned time travel at practice. I bet she’s got the dairy in her hot little hands.

  Can you come over? ~S

  I wish. Sorry.

  Michelle gets up and takes off for the restroom.

  Why not ~S

  Why not? If I lie then I’m a liar—and score one for Gage. And if I tell the truth, Gage wins the championship. Why am I such an idiot?

  I’m with M. @ the movies. She’s in the bathroom and I SWEAR this ends tonight.

  Skyla doesn’t say anything else, and my heart drops to my stomach.

  She’s probably too busy penning wedding invitations with Gage to respond.

  Why waste time with a loser like me

  ***

  If there’s anything good about tonight, it’s that Michelle happens to live about ten minutes from Skyla. It’s all I can do with this heavy heart of mine—measure everything up to how it relates to the girl who holds it.

  “Why don’t you come in?” Michelle beckons while licking her lips. “My family’s on the mainland—besides they totally wouldn’t give a shit.” She fingers a long, dark curl as her lips part with an invitation. Here I am, alone with Michelle and her raunchy intentions. Michelle Miller is a girl you don’t easily dismiss. She’s a little less bitter than Chloe was, but it’s no secret they’re cut from the same cloth.

  “Yeah, all right.” Like I told Skyla, this is the last time. If I have to, I’ll lock Michelle in a closet and ransack the place until I find the damn thing—resorting to the temporary imprisonment of a cheerleader, and petty theft, doesn’t seem like that big of a deal in comparison to losing the girl I want to spend my life with.

  We head inside and I take in the surroundings. The slight odor of fried oil clings in the air. Michelle’s home is filled with shrines to her glory on the sidelines of the football field, and to my surprise, my face beams back at me in one of the many photomontages naile
d up in the entry. Seventh grade. Michelle has me locked in a bear hug as I smile awkwardly at the camera.

  Huh. I remember that day. Gage tore his rotator cuff and almost ended his stint on the field before it ever began. Fun times.

  “Let’s go to my room.” She dips a tawny finger in her mouth and extracts it like a preview of phallic things to come. The skin on her palm glows a luscious pink against her brown-sugared flesh.

  “Let’s.”

  Shit. I’d better not get aroused when she spontaneously strips to nothing. I can see it coming like a belly dancing tornado taking down relationships as it zips toward my crotch.

  Michelle’s bedroom sits just off the stairs. It’s spacious and wide, housing a king-sized bed pressed against the middle of the wall. An explosion of pink and neon green saturates the walls, the bedding, and even the dresser is painted to match with pink and lime green polka dots. And then, there are the frogs.

  “You still collect these, huh?” I pick one up off the dresser and flip it around in the air. I’ve been here before, just once. She had a boy-girl birthday party back in fifth grade and took us on a tour of the house. It’s the frogs that stuck in my mind, most likely because I was more into frogs than girls at the time.

  “That’s right…” She pulls me in by the T-shirt and begins raking her fingertips over me. “I’m still looking for that special Prince Charming.” Her mouth melts over my earlobe, and I launch myself to the other side of the bed like a reflex.

  “You’re a quick one.” She runs her finger across the oversized headboard and bites down on her lip as if she’s gunning for a meal.

  A stack of books sits at her bedside—the same vampire book I entertained myself with in Skyla’s closet, a couple paperbacks beneath that, and then the edge of what looks like the very thing I’m looking for—the diary.

  There it is. Everything in me shakes to have it.