Throne of Fire: Celestra Forever After 5

by Addison Moore

  My God, I have not asked for much, but I ask for divine protection and expedited measures to find the love of my life.

  I duck out with Kres hanging off my side like an appendage and spot a series of rooms—glass cages, each housing a number of Spectators. The tall, burly, rotted out walking corpses look drugged, far too docile from their natural state, and a part of me finds this alarming. The Spectators are impervious to normal means of neurological subjugation. You need to stun the ever-living shit out of them significantly to get them to behave like a doped-up teen. Another hall appears and I follow it down, same story, the Spectators—the Videns in effect who pledged allegiance to the Barricade fill these ghastly halls. Yes, it was me who got them to agree to reduce themselves to cinder in the name of sparing their families. But the truth is, their noble work isn’t for nothing. They are my best distractions. The smoke and mirrors I need to buy time as I polish up the formula to hide the markers. I’ve got the markers all but hidden—those genetic giveaways that distinguish our people from the rest of humanity—and I’m a hair away from developing a system that allows the government to discover the enemy while keeping the Barricade’s gene pool safe. And I will honor those lives that were lost as a sacrifice on behalf of the cause. I swear on all that is holy, I will do right by these pathetic looking creatures staggering to the window as if pleading for my help. My heart spikes with remorse so deep and wide it forces me to take a deep breath, increase my hold over Kresley’s mouth to dampen her whimpers, and press on. A blue light glows from a window at the end of the hall, and I speed over. Anything out of the ordinary might be a help at this point. Or a hindrance. That’s the disadvantage of shooting in the dark.

  “Hey, you!” a voice barks from behind, and without thinking I turn and snipe the living shit out of the poor guy. Direct shot right between the eyes.

  “Fuck,” I hiss as I bolt for the room at the end with its glowing window. “Holy hell,” I whisper. There she is. Laken Stewart—my Laken, asleep on a white bed with her hair splayed over her pillow. Her hair is so long it spills right over the edge in a beautiful waterfall of gold. I teleport the two of us inside, and the air in the room holds the scent of fresh cut roses, the temperature a touch warmer than it is outside these walls. I drop Kresley like a log and scoop Laken into my arms, only to find her hooked to a thousand different probes. Wires stream from the back of her head, her temples and, holy shit, they are directly embedded into her flesh. I pluck them loose indiscriminately, and she moans in pain, her eyes struggling to rouse from my violent efforts.

  “What the hell is wrong with her?” Kres hugs herself, keeping a safe distance from me—something she should have thought to do a long time ago.

  “She’ll be fine.” I pull the last of the nefarious strings off her body, sending spurts of blood over her—over me. “And so will you. I will be here shortly to pick you up.” My voice shakes as I look directly at her. “But only if you let them believe that you are Laken.”

  Kresley’s mouth opens wide in horror, and in truth, she might have screamed, loud, and shrill, but that dark cave of hers disintegrated right along with the rest of this nightmare as Laken and I reappear in the woods.

  “Is it really her?” Skyla bucks with a cry as she latches her body around Laken’s.

  I pull her in close and whisper, “It is. Laken is safe, and she’s on her way home.” And I’m damn relieved. Even if it is Coop’s home she’ll be headed to in a few short minutes.

  The Transfer appears in jags as we land soft-footed in the living room. The enormous fireplace rages with its brilliant flames as if the blaze itself were welcoming Laken back to safety—back into my arms.

  “Laken.” Skyla is relentless with her fevered embrace. “It’s really you.”

  Laken’s beautiful denim eyes I’ve missed so much cut to mine, and I can feel her gratitude toward me. My entire body warms at the thought of Laken feeling something other than hate for me.

  “My God”—Skyla pulls back, and her face fills with horror—“you’re bleeding.” Her hand brushes over Laken’s forehead and, sure enough, there’s a smidge of fresh blood.

  “I freed her in haste.” I pull one of Tobie’s blankets off the sofa and pat the stains off her flesh.

  Footsteps thunder in this direction. “Laken!” Cooper’s voice roars as he runs in from the foyer along with his lookalike. And without meaning to, I frown at both Logan and Coop. I can’t help it. Laken and I shared a moment, and everything in me ached for just one more of those. I get it, though. She chose Coop all those years ago. He won. As much as I hate to admit it, he did just that.

  “God.” His arms collapse over her so fast and hard, he sweeps her off her feet, and they engage in a bizarre dance as he lays a passionate kiss to her lips. Normally, I’d push his ass right into the fire, but tonight, after who knows what hell she’s gone through, I’ll give him a pass. “Laken,” he bleats as he buries his face in her hair, his body still intensely poised over hers, gripping her by the arms as if he’s afraid she’ll float right back to Raven’s Eye. “My God, are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

  Her hands rise to his chest, and from this vantage point it looks as if she’s doing her best to move him the hell off of her. “They didn’t hurt me—but you are.” Her features harden, and something in my gut tightens. The room seems to still as Coop lifts his arms before embracing her once again, this time gingerly.

  “I’m sorry, babe.” He dots her face with a row of tender kisses, and my stomach grinds witnessing the event. I’m over the show. Laken is safe. They’re free to go now—or more to the point, Coop is.

  “Babe?” She frees herself from his embrace. “You’re awfully friendly.” She gives a nervous laugh before heading back my way. And before I realize what’s happening, Laken has her arms lassoed around my waist, her mouth rises to meet mine, and her lips linger there far longer than some simple thank you might require.

  “Laken?” Coop’s voice rises above the crackle from the fireplace.

  “Okay”—Skyla gives a cheery mock-cry—“I get it. You’re thankful. But Cooper spearheaded the whole operation. And really it was me he was waiting for.” She does her best to separate us, but Laken won’t budge.

  “Wait a minute.” Logan comes over and looks into Laken’s eyes as if he were a doctor. “Laken, do you know who we are?”

  Laken glances my way—her mouth falls open, and she gives a circular nod. “I know, Wes. I mean, I don’t understand how we got here.” She looks around at the medieval environment. “Heck, I don’t even know where this is. All I know is I want to get back to Cider Plains. Back to my own bed—to my family.” Her grip tightens around my waist, and for the first time I’m petrified at what her embrace might mean.

  “Laken”—Coop steps in, pleading with his voice, his features twisted in agony—“Cider Plains was a very long time ago for you. Do you remember me at all?” He takes up her hand, and she retracts slowly as if not to offend him before offering a simple shake of the head.

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice grows small. “My head hurts a bit.” She touches her temple, and I help guide her to the sofa, propping up two pillows behind her back. Skyla runs over with ice water from the bar, and she takes a sip. “Wes”—Laken looks to me with those large watery eyes—“do you know these people?”

  My heart sinks. It screams say fuck no and kick them all out. But that tension builds in my gut again. If anything, Laken would want me to tell the truth. I’d lie to just about everyone, but I could never do that to Laken—my Laken.

  “Yes.” My heart sinks. “And you do, too.” I swallow hard as I fall next to her on the sofa. Coop takes a seat across from us on the coffee table, his fingers still straining to reach for hers. “That’s Logan”—I figure I’ll start easy—“he’s Skyla’s ex-husband. He’s a friend. And that’s Skyla.”

  “I’m your best friend.” Skyla falls to her knees before Laken as if she were ready to worship. If I had my way, the entire world would wor
ship Laken, venerate her beauty from near and afar. Laken was born a goddess. She’s a hell of a lot kinder and wiser than Skyla, that’s for sure.

  “My best friend?” Laken laughs with an open-mouthed smile as if the idea were adorable. “Are you new in Cider Plains? I can’t quite remember where we met.”

  “No.” Skyla shakes her head as her frustration builds. “You’ve been on Paragon Island for years, Laken. You came there right after Ephemeral. Right after—” She looks to Coop, and I hold a hand up.

  “Laken.” I take her hand and kiss the back. “This guy right here?” I nod over to Coop who looks as if he’s about to jump through the ceiling with his newfound misery. “This is your husband, Cooper Flanders. You met at Ephemeral. It’s a boarding school the three of us went to for the latter part of high school. You fell in love, and you married Cooper. He is your husband.” That last part comes out inaudible as Coop looks to me and nods a silent thank you.

  There. I did it. I spilled the truth at Laken’s feet as easy as moving a boulder. I sure hope to hell both Coop and Skyla took notes because I’m not repeating the event.

  Laken leans back hard as if a violent wind just knocked her over. “My what?” Her voice rises, shrill and pissed. “No way, no way.” She pushes into me with her shoulder as if she can’t get far enough away from him. As if she needs and wants me to protect her from him. “I’m not anybody’s wife,” she snipes at Coop before looking to Skyla. “And I’m sorry, but Wesley has filled those best friend shoes as far back as I can remember.”

  Logan huffs, “That seems to be the problem. You’re not remembering.”

  “What are you saying?” She touches her temple as if she were in pain. “Wes, please tell me this is a cruel hoax that you and Fletch are playing on me. And if it is, I’m going to give you both hell because I’m beyond exhausted. This all feels like some bad dream.”

  “You’re telling me,” Skyla is quick to concur. “Listen, Laken, Cooper Flanders is the love of your life. You despise Wesley. You cannot stand him. He’s selling out the Nephilim. He’s out to destroy our people.”

  “The what?” She shakes her head in disbelief before looking up at me. “What is she babbling about? What’s this our people business? Wes, I’m crying uncle. Get Fletch and let’s get out of here. My mother is going to kill me. And God knows Lacey needs me to help with her homework. I’m covered in blood and”—she winces hard as if speared with pain—“where was I just now? What’s happened, Wes? It’s as if all memory of yesterday, of the last few hours, has dissolved out of my grasp. I must have really hit my head hard.”

  There have been times in my life that I’ve been thrown a curveball. Hell, I’ve been thrown an entire hurricane a time or two, but this makes everything else look like a cake walk.

  “Laken.” I swallow hard because not a single part of me wants to agree with anything that Skyla said. “I have a friend. She’s like a doctor. The best of the best. Her name is Ezrina. I’m going to have her take a look at you.”

  “Great idea.” Coop doesn’t waste a moment, texting while singing my praises. “Get her here quick. Or better yet, let’s get Laken to her own bed. I think we’ve all had enough of the haunted mansion for one night.”

  “What?” Laken leashes her arms around me once again. “I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not letting some girl who thinks she’s a doctor poke and prod me. Wes, this isn’t a joke, is it?”

  I shake my head as the moment grows solemn. The confusion in her eyes quickly morphs to fear. “But I’m here with you, Laken, and I promise that I will never put you in harm’s way.”

  “Ha!” Skyla harps, and I can’t help but think she’s digging her own grave. Clearly Laken isn’t falling for that best friend routine, even if it happens to be true. “Tell her everything, Wes. I dare you to tell her the truth about yourself!”

  Laken looks to me and shakes her head as if telling me not to. “I love you, Wes. I don’t know who these people are, but I’m starting to think we’re both in danger.”

  “One of you is,” Logan quips, and Laken looks puzzled as hell as she takes in the three of them.

  Cooper flashes his phone my way. “Ezrina said she’ll be here in the morning. Something about the baby having a fever. She sends her apologies.” He leans in toward Laken, his features softening to the point of tears. “Laken, you are twenty-four years old. We have been married for one blissful year. I have the marriage certificate and wedding photos to prove it.” His voice breaks as he presses his lips together a moment just trying to hold it in. “But if you feel safe here with Wes, then this is where we’ll stay until Ezrina can come and hopefully repair whatever the hell they did to you.” A tear slips down his face as he picks up her hand, and this time she doesn’t pull back.

  “I’m so sorry.” Her finger glides to his face and gently dries his cheek. “You seem very, very nice. All of you, actually. But I honestly have no memory of any of you. And if it’s true”—she looks to me—“I’m twenty-four?” I nod, affirming the fact. “Oh my God—I’ve just lost the last eight years of my life.” Her lips quiver. “Do you still love me, Wes?”

  “Yes”—my eyes grow large at the audacity of the question—“God, yes.” I pull her in tight and land a heated kiss over the top of her head. “You still own my heart, Laken. I promise it’s just you.”

  Skyla groans as if she might be sick. “I bet your wife would like to hear those words once in a while.”

  I glower over at her because everyone in this room knows that it isn’t true. In fact, those are the very last words Chloe would ever want to hear. She’s not into saccharine sentiments. She’s more of a cut-you-with-her-words and mop-up-the-blood-never type.

  “Wesley’s wife?” Laken leans into Skyla, disbelieving. It’s apparent this is all too much for her to take in at once. She looks to me. “Do you have a wife?” she whispers that last word as if she couldn’t bring herself to say it, and my silence speaks volumes.

  “It’s not what you think.” I steal a moment to secure my arm around her waist. “We’re not in love. We never were.”

  Skyla balks, “That might be true, Laken, but they’ve got a baby, and I’m sure if you hang around here one more minute, it will be you taking care of her. Chloe hasn’t exactly stepped up in the mothering department, and Wes is more of an imprison a nanny type. Believe me when I say this, neither of them is winning an award for parent of the year.”

  Laken’s mouth falls open, and every last part of me demands to seal my lips over hers.

  Coop clears his throat and glares at me as if he could hear me. “I’ll stay the night. There’s no way I’m leaving her here with you.”

  Laken touches her chest, a short-lived laugh bubbling from her. “You say this like I need protection from him.”

  “You do,” the three of them answer in unison.

  “I don’t,” she barks right back, and the only sound you hear is the fire crackling and snapping as if it were applauding her. I sure as hell am.

  “I won’t hurt you, Laken. I’m still me, I promise. They don’t believe it because they never really understood me the way you do.”

  Her pale blue eyes bear hard into mine. “I know what you’re saying is true. And if it is true that I was married to this man”—she flicks a finger in Coop’s direction, not even giving him the pleasure of a glance—“then I can’t blame you for marrying someone else, yourself. And your baby”—she looks down and catches her breath as if what came next was difficult—“I want to meet her. I love her already because she’s a part of you.”

  “Laken”—Skyla shakes her head—“please don’t do anything rash,” she whispers tenderly as if talking her off a ledge. “Whatever you do, please don’t get physical with Wes in any way. You truly love Cooper. He is the love of your life. You told me so yourself.”

  Laken’s lips part again. “And you think I’m confused because I hit my head? I mean, I get it. Obviously, if Wes says I’ve forgotten things, then I have.” Her vo
ice grows sharp. “But I’ll tell you all right now that I love Wesley Parker.” She shakes her head at Coop, and the poor guy drops another tear, his features set in anger. Skyla spears me with a look. If Laken still thinks I’m Wesley Parker, a surname I lost affiliation with before my own death and resurrection by way of the Counts, then, yes, she is still very much emotionally stuck in Cider Plains, the Kansas town we grew up in.

  “I’m sorry”—Laken continues—“but he’s the only one for me. He’s the only one who’ll ever be for me. I must have hit my head or suffered some kind of a trauma long ago because I would never voluntarily leave Wes.” She looks to me. The back of her fingers carefully caressing my cheek. “You know that, right? I love you. I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you. That I’ve done this to us.”

  I don’t dare crack a smile or turn my head to see what the peanut gallery has to say. Instead, I glance to Coop who bows his head in defeat.

  “All right.” I pull Laken in and land a trembling kiss to her forehead. “I’ll have Skyla help you into one of the guest rooms and get you settled for the night. I can lend you some of Chloe’s things so you’ll be comfortable.”

  “No,” she snaps so loud I can hear Tobie wail in the background on cue. “Skyla isn’t taking me anywhere. In fact, all of you need to go so I can clear my head. I’m staying with Wes.” She gives Coop a sharp stare. “You are not welcome to babysit me. I’m not going to run away. I’ll be right here come morning.”

  Tobie’s cries increase, and Skyla gets up. “It’s not you we’re worried about.” She pauses on her way out of the room. “We just don’t want you doing anything you’ll regret.”

  Logan and Coop rise at the same time, and Logan pats me on the back while nodding toward the entry. I watch from a distance as Cooper offers Laken a quiet smile, no words. Laken offers up a simple shrug, her mouth opening and closing silently like a marionette.

  “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry if I’ve led you on. I don’t think I was in my right mind.”