“They’ll meet one day,” I say, trying to control the testosterone rising in my boxers, and continue with the faction introduction. “Levatio.” I force a breath through my cheeks. “The lucky bastards, as I like to call them.”
“Are they lucky?” She licks her lips while glancing down at the word Levatio and for one paranoid moment, I’m convinced she’s envisioning Gage—shirtless.
“Not really.” I’d be remiss to paint them in such a great light. “They’ve got strength and speed, the knowing—teleportation.” I say it like it’s no big deal.
“How cool is that?” She twirls her finger through her hair and stares off dreamily into space.
Is she interested in Gage? I didn’t see them exchange two words at the party tonight.
“Noster’s same as Levatio”—I say, quick to lead us down another path—one that doesn’t include Gage or his shirtless chest—“with the exception they can see through walls, and—oh yeah—both can levitate.”
“As in fly?” Her eyes glint silver in the light. Yes, for sure, she is far too fascinated by my “really strong” nephew.
“It’s not long range or anything.” I shrug as if the gravity-defying feat were no big deal. “They can’t orbit the earth, but yes.”
“That’s so freaking fantastic.” She loses herself in breathless amazement. Somehow, in the process of educating Skyla on all things Nephilim, I’ve managed to make Gage look like a mouthwatering superhero.
The pen slips from my fingers, and I fold my hands in defeat. I think it’s time to move this party to the bedroom—give her the horizontal tour if she’s interested.
“And what about us?” She latches onto me with those glass-cut eyes. Her pink lips pull down on the edges, and I want to seal myself over her, in her.
It’s time to pull out the big guns and knock Gage off the marble pedestal I accidentally landed him on.
“Read minds.” I pump my shoulders like it’s no big deal. “Strength, speed.” I hone in on her perfect beauty. “Time travel.”
She opens her mouth and not a breath escapes. I don’t let the moment pass. Instead, I sear my lips over hers and offer a kiss that shows off a facet of my own supernatural prowess—one that involves my tongue.
Skyla moans into me as I lift her out of the chair and guide her toward the stairs, never once breaking our liplock. I can hear the shuffle of Emma’s slippers, so I veer right and kiss Skyla over to the couch.
I dot her cheeks with a kiss before pulling away. “A movie sound good?” I pop in a DVD at lightning speed to give the impression that my intentions are mostly chaste.
Skyla places a finger on her lips and licks the tip, calling me over to her again.
“You’re a vixen. You know that?”
She lies on the couch and I land a knee on either side of her.
Sklya runs her cool hands up my shirt—scratches over my chest, creating smooth circles of fire. She slips her fingers down over the bulge in my jeans, and I catch her before I lose control.
My mouth meets with hers again as I pour my affection over her in one blissful exchange. I never thought I could feel this way about anyone. I never thought I could want—crave anyone so damn much. Skyla is water and oxygen, and I need to soak her in, drink her down—be near her, in her—just to survive.
This night is definitely ending far, far better than I had ever hoped.
Gage
“Let’s go.” I smack Ellis in the arm. He’s been snatching up girls at the party like he’s stocking up for the apocalypse.
“Relax, dude. Where you racing off to?” He points over to a brunette in spiked heels. “You want me to hook you up? I think she’s got a friend.”
“Nope.” The last thing I need is Harrison turning this night into some personal mission to get me laid. “Look, I’ll catch you in five, then we’re out the door.”
“Deal.” He speeds off to the brunette and slips his arm low around her waist.
She looks over her shoulder at me and winks. I know the offer is there. I’ve had my fair share of girls show more than a little interest.
I ditch the party and head up to Skyla’s room to hang out for a minute. The first room on the left has its door wide open. The lights are on, and a tangle of flesh moves over the bed. It’s Nat and her boyfriend from East. She’s sitting with her legs wrapped around his back. She yanks off her T-shirt, sending her boobs bouncing like springs, large and round, and for damn sure unexpected.
“Shit.” I try to hold back a laugh. Too bad seeing Nat’s tits is more action than I’ve had since I’ve dreamed of Skyla. Pathetic but true.
I speed down the hall to Chloe’s old room. It’s dark inside, so I switch on the light. A girl’s canopy bed sits in the corner, and a cheer uniform lies rumpled on the floor. Must be Skyla’s room now. Nice. I shut the door and lock it. Her things are laid out in a display of organized chaos. A tower of boxes leans against the wall, waiting to be unpacked. I head over and lie on her bed, taking in the scent from her pillow like the pervert I’m shaping up to be.
I guess this officiates my stalker standing. I’ve entered her bedroom uninvited, sniffed her pillow like it was the world’s most exotic perfume—what next? Burying my face in her underwear?
I shake the thought out of my head before it blooms into a morbid reality.
Skyla’s room. A dull smile forms on my lips. Here I am alone on her bed, while she’s at my house most likely getting attacked by Logan.
Crap.
I spring up to my feet and head toward the closet like a habit. The cover to the butterfly room is still neatly in place, hiding the attic’s best-kept secret. I teleport my way inside and pull the metal leash dangling from the ceiling, and the room fills with an explosion of light.
A chill runs up my spine, leaving my hair standing on edge. Chloe said there would be a new girl on the island one day—that she’d be pretty. Chloe went as far as accusing her of wanting to take over her life, which proves she was nothing more than a deep well of paranoia.
I think Skyla Messenger couldn’t care less about Chloe Bishop, and for damn sure, I don’t think she’s here to take over her anything.
I wave my hands across the expanse of the walls, and the tissue-winged creatures flutter to life. They loosen themselves from their pins and fly around the room in a flurry of pinks and blues.
Nope, Skyla isn’t here for Chloe.
I’m pretty sure destiny brought her here for me.
Now all I have to do is convince Logan of that—and perhaps Skyla, too.
***
I finally manage to haul Ellis’s ass out the front door and drive us home before he gets too wasted to walk.
The lights are on in the kitchen, and I’m hoping to find Logan and Skyla innocently indulging in milk and cookies at the table.
The kitchen’s empty. I head for the family room, where the television refracts a blue rainbow across the walls in spasms.
And there they are.
Shit.
Skyla lies folded in Logan’s arms like a kitten, her hair rumpled over the side in a waterfall of curls that I would pay in blood to bury my face in.
My stomach tightens at the sight.
I send my keys crashing to the coffee table, and the room rattles to life.
Skyla bolts up, casting a glance every which way, still groggy and half asleep.
“Party’s still going strong.” I try to sound enthusiastic about it like it’s a good thing.
“We should get back there.” She looks from me to Logan.
He presses a kiss into her neck before stretching his arms to the ceiling. Must be nice.
Skyla lowers her chin at him apologetically. “I really do love kissing you.”
Ha. She fell asleep while he bored her with his body—classic. Logan should market his lips as the next best sleep aid.
Logan shakes his head. “Stay here.” He pulls her in by the waist, and everything in me burns with a jealous fire. “You’re going to want
to kick everyone out. No point in being a buzzkill. Besides, it’ll be four by the time we get there.” Good old Logan is still hopeful she’ll land in his bed tonight.
Skyla relaxes into him. “I won’t be able to sleep knowing they’re destroying the house.”
“Nobody’s destroying anything.” I fall on the couch across from them and close my eyes a moment, trying to get the visual of Logan’s body knotted up with hers out of my mind. “Ellis was having a good time. He didn’t want to come home.”
“You have a good time?” Skyla asks, and I perk to attention. If I say yes, she’ll think I’m not that into her, but if I say no, she’ll think her party sucked, so I opt to change the subject.
I give a loose nod. “So you up on all the celestial B.S.?” Good, make it sound like no big deal.
“It’s not B.S.” Her face crumbles, clearly hurt by my brilliant analogy.
I press out a dull smile.
I’m screwed if I do and screwed if I don’t.
“Sorry.” I pull a small pillow over my head. Maybe I should head upstairs and give them some privacy. I bet he’s been wowing her with his extraterrestrial sexual abilities all night long. Unless, of course, he went traditional and taught her how to use her powers.
I peer out from under the pillow. “You guys try anything out?”
Skyla gives him a dirty look and shakes her head.
Looks like I’ve found an open door.
“Maybe I’ll help you out sometime,” I offer.
Logan puffs up his chest like an ape gone wild. “Maybe you won’t,” he counters.
“I want to.” Skyla says it loud enough to let Logan know she means business. “I want to try things out. And you said my powers could grow. It’s like a muscle, right? The more you use it, the stronger it gets?”
“No.” Logan grazes me with that I’ll-beat-the-shit-out-of-you-later look. “The more you use it, the more trouble you can get into. Definitely not like that.”
“I know enough to be careful,” she says, determined not to end this conversation.
“You know enough to be dangerous.” He says it so quickly it makes him sound like an ass. I know he’s trying to protect her, but he’s efficiently pushing her away—hopefully in my direction.
Skyla looks from Logan to me as if she were deciding who to trust. Her eyes settle over mine, and a smile warms her lips.
Skyla knows she can trust me.
I’ll make sure to fill every need Logan denies her.
And dear God, I hope he denies her everything.
13
Logan
The Battle Standard
The next morning, I wake to the heavenly scent of bacon. The sound of the coffeemaker percolating in the distance has me craving a cup before my eyelids crack open.
I rouse from my stupor to find myself alone on the couch. No sign of Skyla, or Gage, who I know for a fact fell asleep across from us like some night watchmen. I’ll have to thank him later by gifting him a porcelain baptism. I haven’t shoved his head in the toilet in a good long while. I think its time to employ some creative justice for his third-wheel performance.
I stumble into the kitchen and find Gage showered and shaved, his hair slicked back and glossy. Skyla sits across from him at the breakfast nook while he tries to seduce her with those giant blue marbles stuck in his head. She’s fixated on him, with her fingers revolving around a strand of her hair. Her leg bounces over her knee from under the table intermittently touching his, and neither one of them notices me standing here like some late-to-the-party douchebag.
I clear my throat and smile right at her. “So you ready to head out?”
***
Unfortunately, Skyla’s house has the appeal of a third-world country after a long, drawn out war in which they were pillaged, sacked, and efficiently destroyed. We wade our way through discarded plastic cups and a sea of soda cans—a few condom wrappers sprinkled around for effect. If Skyla needed more evidence that Brielle is rife with bad ideas, I think this should solidify the theory.
Skyla walks from room to room whispering a steady choir of no, no, no.
The sofa is missing a cushion, and the curtains are hanging on for dear life. I’m pretty sure there’s damage here we won’t be able to repair with a trash bag and a broom.
“I’m toast.” She turns and bolts upstairs.
My foot gets caught on something blue and lacey, and I pluck myself free from a bra with a black leather wallet nestled in one of the cups. I open it up to see Ellis’s goofy grin staring back at me.
“Figures.” I slip it in my pocket before heading upstairs where I find Skyla busy hyperventilating at the end of the hall. I peer into the master bedroom from over her shoulder, and see that the bed is wrecked. The entire room has a general ground zero appeal to it.
“I’m going to die,” she whimpers. “My parents are going to execute the world’s harshest judgment upon me, and I’ll never leave the house again. We need to go back in time.” She snatches at my T-shirt as if this were a viable option.
I shake my head at the carnage. “You can’t use that for something like this. It falls under domestic detail.” Crap. It’ll take hours for the two of us get this place in shape. “I’ll call Gage.” Her eyes widen at the prospect, and my mood plummets. “We’ll clean up as much as we can.”
Drake and Brielle emerge from his bedroom just as Nat and Kate show up.
Downstairs, I try to put the furniture back in place, ignoring the fact that vital pieces are missing, like sofa cushions and a leg from the coffee table.
Skyla comes into the living room and wraps her arms around my waist.
“I might be homeless after today.” She bites down on her lower lip, greeting me with her bedroom eyes, and I can feel the heat rise in my pants, ten degrees.
Skyla might be a lot of things after today, but homeless isn’t one of them. I’d sell the bowling alley and buy her a house if I had to. Of course, it’d be a one bedroom, and we’d have to share the bed. I lean in and brush her lips with a kiss. She pulls me in by the back of the neck and offers something deeper, something that has the power to melt away third-world war zones and missing pieces of furniture. Her tongue swipes over mine in a heated exchange that assures me she’s more than willing to take this relationship to a viral level.
A ruckus in the entry catches our attention.
Skyla pulls back with her hand still firmly planted over my neck.
Gage?
It’s not Gage.
It’s her mother.
The funny thing is, that’s not who she was afraid would catch us.
Gage
An endless stream of black days drift by without Skyla gracing me with her presence.
Brielle asked me to pick her up for work this morning because her jeep is in the shop, and I was tempted to run over and see how Skyla was doing. I thought about teleporting to her room, maybe showing her the jewel that lurks in the attic and making the butterflies dance just for her—but apparently, her parents are pretty ticked. According to Logan, they accused her of sleeping with him and getting loaded on who knows what the night of the party. I can’t imagine Skyla getting high or chugging down beers—hell, even the wine coolers I see Michelle and her friends downing seems out of the realm of possibility. Skyla is innocent, far more so than her parents are aware of. Logan mentioned the fact she was still a virgin, and I swelled with relief when he said it.
I glance around at the bowling alley.
It’s dead today. Logan is busy in the kitchen, trying to work on the electrical panel. I told him to leave it to the pros or he’s going to set himself on fire—which will be a first for a Celestra—but he wouldn’t hear of it.
An uninvited visual of Skyla and Logan pops in my head.
Skyla’s parents view Logan as her boyfriend. Skyla views Logan as her boyfriend. And soon, all of West High will solidify that status. There’s no way I’m getting between them once that happens. If Skyla shows no interest in me by
the time fall rolls around, I’m cutting loose any hope I’ve sunk into those visions. If they’re real, it’ll happen on its own. And if not, I’ll wish Skyla and Logan a happily ever after—at least verbally. Mentally, she’ll still be mine. I’ve drilled her into my DNA, stamped her soul over mine in every one of those dreams.
I grab a stack of score sheets and a pen before taking a seat overlooking the lanes.
I scribble out a few stupid sketches. What I really want to do is write just one more fucking poem.
Mute Days
The battle’s first casualty is me.
All is quiet without my heart.
The girl who held it sailed away.
Plant me face down where the headstones glitter,
behind the church where the crosses bloom.
If she would have said my name, if she would have offered the bread of her lips,
not even gravity could have held me down.
Destiny offered her a fork in the road—she never considered my route.
I saw the beauty that resides in the unknowable future, our lips, our bodies fused as one. But now those dreams, those visions are nothing more than holograms of what could have been.
Everything is finished—her path converging with another.
I gave my heart away in a dream.
And I waited.
I still wait.
14
Logan
A Kiss for You, A Kiss for Me
Skyla asked me to meet her at the Mall, so I do.
I find her hovering over the fountain, the wind lifting her hair with its fingers, exposing her beauty for the entire world to see.
I can’t shake the stupid grin blooming on my face as I pull her in and greet her by way of a deep-throated kiss.
“Let’s blow this joint,” she says before glancing at the parking lot. The last thing I need is spotting Mia and Melissa every five minutes. They’re totally safe. I can feel it in my creaky bones. It’s not like I left them alone—they’re not seven. They’re thirteen.
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