Throne of Fire: Celestra Forever After 5

by Addison Moore

  I marvel for a moment. Gage never lets me into his thoughts. His mind has been off-limits for as long as I can remember, and I have always respected that. But tonight, at this odd juncture of time, he has bore it all. The rain begins to pepper us, soft, a tender warning.

  His mouth moves over mine as his kiss slows down, hot and heavy, as delicious as it is agonizingly intense. My arm falls lower against the back of his waist, and something hard and intrusive bumps against it. My hand floats over it, not giving it another thought. He could have a toy tucked back there he took from the boys, Charlie’s bottle—heck, it could be a bag of candy he’s collected just for us. But my fingers fall over something familiar and dangerous, and they tell another story entirely.

  I pull away, a gasp caught in my throat. “Why do you have gun?” My eyes meet with his in perfect surprise.

  There are moments in our lives that bookmark the beginning, the end, that mark a historic moment, level us as people, betray our trust. This was all of those for me.

  “Skyla”—he presses my name out with a sigh, layered thick with regret—“know that I’m so very sorry. I have to do this. I do love you.”

  Someone yanks me away from behind, and before I know it, Marshall is dragging me toward the corral.

  His earnest gaze falls hard over mine. “There’s been an accident at an arena in Texas. Mass casualties, all of them Noster.”

  My body slaps with shock, my limbs instantly numb. His fingers dig deeper into my arm. I can’t feel a thing.

  Those crimson eyes bear into mine, but a part of me is still trying to process what just happened with Gage. “There have been sixteen other incidences reported in the last few minutes spanning the globe. Delphinius has confirmed they are your people.”

  “Noster.” I take a staggering step as the news hits me like a brick wall. “One Faction,” I breathe as I remember my mother’s words—the predominant extermination of one Faction is enough to warrant a war.

  Marshall takes a breath as if girding himself. “One Faction brought to its knees in a single night.”

  Screams go off deep in the woods as Marshall and I turn to find evergreens swaying like palm trees, an entire chorus of unfamiliar grunts and groans, roars of fury that neither sound animal nor human.

  “Spectators,” Logan thunders as he helps usher Mia’s frightened guests back toward the house. Cooper and Brody work hard to convince the throngs to move away from the madness, but there are so many damn people. The music is still booming from the speakers, and the screams have done nothing to alarm anyone. It’s Halloween after all—a night that hails screaming above all else. My God.

  “We’re under attack.” I glance back at Gage and find Emma smoothing the front of his shirt, nodding at him, her lips moving a mile a minute. But his features are hard. Whatever she’s saying is blowing in the wind. His mind is made up already.

  Pounding, like that of a heartbeat, comes from our left as limbs fall from the evergreens pinning people in their wake. The thunderous stampede grows louder by the second, and before I can react, dozens upon dozens of oversized beasts moan agonizingly as they snap up the old and young alike.

  Shit. Bastardized Spectators. They’ve left Raven’s Eye—hell, even in this microcosm of a moment I realize they were brought directly to us.

  This is the complete and utter destruction of my people. This hell, this nightmare, this is war.

  Marshall takes off toward the beasts, throwing chairs and whatever debris he can find at them while freeing as many people he can from the fallen branches. Fallen prey. The Spectators, with their unnaturally elongated jaws, are already covered in blood. Too late. They’ve already amassed a body count. This night will go down like no other.

  Laken runs over, shaking my shoulders, shouting something at me about Cooper and Logan, and I catch her words as they swim by slippery as fish.

  “Skyla!” Chloe pushes her out of the way and thrusts the golden sword she showed me earlier, cold into my hands. I note she’s holding a silver version in her left hand. “We can do this. This won’t kill them, but it will slow them down.”

  “Get Gage. We’ll take them to Tenebrous.” I take the other sword from Chloe and shove it in Laken’s hand instead.

  Chloe’s mouth falls open, her features swollen with shock. “You just disarmed me.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. Go get more, Chloe,” I pant the words as I try to make out the carnage unfolding around us. “Bring enough to arm your brother, Logan, and Coop. Hell, bring one for Ellis and Giselle, too. Come on.” I grab Laken by the arm, but Chloe steps between us.

  “Dominique Winters.” Her entire countenance glows as she says her name, and I freeze. All of time stops. Could it be? “She hacked off Gage’s head to buy the Winters enough wealth to last two lifetimes. The Fems sold your husband’s life to the highest bidder. And there you have the truth, Skyla. Do with it what you will.” She glances down at the sword I’m holding. “On a night like tonight every murder will be labeled a tragedy.” Chloe runs her finger over the blade in my hand, and a seam of blood erupts over her flesh. “Only this sword has the power to enliven itself.” Her gaze pins over mine. “Only the sword you hold can take down the most powerful of men, the most beautiful.” She frowns over it as if it suddenly offended her. “At least temporarily.” Chloe takes off for the beacon of light that is Marshall’s house, and I stand there as the rain picks up, as voices, monsters, Paragon herself howls at top volume into the night.

  Holy shit. My blood boils. Can I believe her? Should I? I spot Melody near the porch, and my feet twitch in that direction. Her mother can’t be far.

  “I’m going to find Coop!” Laken shouts before I even realize I’m halfway to the house. “Skyla—where are you going?”

  But I don’t answer. My mind won’t let me off this raging hormone-riddled crazy train I’ve boarded. I spot Demetri speaking to Dominique, dry on the porch, chortling as if the world weren’t falling to shit around us. He leans in and whispers into her ear, another dark promise, I’m sure. Her head pulls back, her skin so pale, so very luminescent. His hand reaches up and cups her breast. The night is young, and the possibilities between them are so hauntingly vast.

  “Is it true?” I shout as I come upon them, but my eyes are fixated on her directly. Dominique is a monster, and I want her dead if it’s true. How dare she tear my family to pieces for money. Judas Iscariot in our midst, and my mother’s personal demon is looking to bed her. I can’t breathe. Can’t see.

  Dominique presses a pale hand to her chest. Her laughter rings in my ears. I’ll hear that horrifying cackle in my sleep for years to come.

  “He was bound to die, dear.” She reaches over and clasps her hand over my ear. Her lips keep moving, but I only catch snippets, Factions, a price for excellence, it was an honor, blood was never on her hands.

  “Let go of me.” I throw her arm off my shoulder, and her head ricochets off the wall behind her.

  “You little bitch.” Her arm comes up fast and hard as she backhands me so powerfully, so much more than a human could have ever hoped to do. I feel my jaw pop, dislocate painfully, and I let out a roar. A punch gets thrown to my back, and I fall forward onto Dominique, crushing her hard against the side of the building, the blade of the sword embedded deep in her chest, and we both look in horror as blood pools between us.

  “Are you coming at my mother?” Melody riots into my ear as she gives my hair a hard yank. I pull the knife out, trying my best to use my arms to protect myself from the steady blows Melody is throwing my way.

  “Enough!” Demetri roars as he plucks Melody from me and hurls her off the porch.

  But it’s too late. My anger has hit its zenith. This is my moment. There will be retribution. I spin, throwing my right arm out with the sword still thirsty for this monster’s blood, and with all of my might, I tear a line through Dominique Winters’ throat.

  “You don’t touch my family!” I thunder into her bulging eyes. A jag of lightning g
oes off overhead—the rattle of thunder shakes the earth. I steal a moment to memorize her like this, limp and bleeding in Demetri’s arms. My feet pivot, and I take off for the forest as a crowd staggers from the woods screaming, the rain doing its best to wash the evidence of blood from their bodies, but these people are hurt, moaning, nothing but tears and agony.

  “Messenger!” Chloe runs up beside me with a backpack strapped to her front like a bomb. “I got every weapon I could handle.” The rain plasters her hair down while her eyes bulge, pleading with me. “I’m for you, Skyla.” She shakes her head. “Only you have the sword that can take down Gage, if not for a few hours. You have to do it. It’s him, Skyla. He’s done this to us.”

  “No.” I shake my head, turning to find an entire herd of staggering giants, hammering the night with their sub-primal cries. “Oh my God.”

  Chloe and I run for the woods. People are counting on us. We need to fix this bullshit the Barricade decided to pull. Gage bounces through my mind and I’m swift to evict him. He couldn’t do this. Wes must be responsible, Demetri in the least.

  Chloe and I run straight into a Spectator gnawing on the thigh of some poor teenager dressed as a West football player, and for a moment I think it’s Gage. My mind warps the night, and it feels as if we’ve rewound time and everything is upside down in a whole other way. But it’s not Gage. It’s probably some poor kid Mia sits behind in government. Six of his friends do their best to free him, each of their hands doing their best to grip him as the rain gives them a challenge.

  I slash my way up the Spectator’s body, gouging out his eyes, diving the sword into his neck, severing his defunct jugular over and over until his trunk-like arms wrap themselves around my body, his teeth digging into my left hip. I glance down, and the teenagers are gone, carrying their bloodied friend off to safety without hesitation. I slash wildly at the back of the Spectator's misshapen head, screaming for Chloe. Twisting, churning, my Celestra strength is gone completely. I glance over my shoulder and freeze as I spot Chloe running into the woods without me. That little bitch.

  The Spectator lets out a fiery roar as if I just chopped his dick off, then promptly bows down and clamps his mouth over my hip. His nails drag down over my leg so fierce and swift it feels as if my flesh is on fire.

  “Chloe!” My throat rubs raw from the effort. Ten times I stab the hell out of the Spectator’s neck until his mouth loosens its grip on my flesh, his head slumps unnaturally to the side, and I squirm my way out of his dying grip.

  “You stupid, stupid bastard!” I gift him a kick in the crotch. “I wanted you to live. You gave me no choice.” I want them all to live—to be Videns once again. I hate Wesley for putting them in this position, and then me by proxy. I may have killed that sorry Spectator, but Wes murdered him first.

  I crawl on all fours, through mud, through driving rain, suffocating, dying on the inside for the massacre of my people, for all of Paragon. A pair of arms pull me to my feet from behind, and I turn to find Chloe Bishop, a drowned cat, panting as if she were outraged that I had escaped.

  “I tried to get Gage.” She shakes her head. “Skyla—” She yanks me into the woods as the rain lets up a bit. My feet slip every three feet just trying to keep up with her as we splash our way through the mud. The cries from the Spectators pierce over the rock music still blaring through the speakers.

  I spot Logan in the distance taking on a Spectator as Coop helps beat it toward the eastern end of the property. “They’re herding them.” I sprint over. “Logan!” I shout, and Laken tackles me about halfway there.

  Her heavy breathing warms my cheek. “Marshall has an electric fence in the corral. We’re moving them. Coop’s an expert.” A quick smile bursts to her lips. “Where’s Wes?”

  “I don’t know.” I glance by the stream where I last saw Gage and take off just as a gunshot rings out, so alarmingly loud, it usurps every horrific sound of the night. It’s as if God Himself were wagering for our attention with the fierce detonation. Everything around me halts for a moment as the ricochet rattles right down to the bone. The entire world moves in slow motion. Another shot rings out, then another. They never stop coming.

  My body gyrates unnaturally as I run through the forest toward snippets of light that coincide with the gunfire and I spot Wes and Gage, each with weapons drawn. Gage steps in close to a heavyset man whose arms are held up in defense and fires at point-blank range. The man’s body falls to the ground, and I freeze. The air expels from my lungs as if it were my last breath. That man—I recognize that heavy frame, pallid skin, eyes I’ve looked into hundreds of times—Nicholas Haver. Gage himself fired the fatal shot. Nicholas was our friend, mentor, and I can’t wrap my head around what I just witnessed. I stagger forward a few steps as the rain sizzles around me once again. Wes lets out a howl and uses his mere human strength to snap the limbs of an evergreen, and just like that, a half dozen Spectators move in—bolting straight for a heap of humanity lying on the ground.

  My feet move forward without my permission. It’s as if I’ve left my body—as if I’m watching this nightmare from a treetop, from heaven itself. I see them there, lying in a pool of blood. Vanessa Watts with her eyes opened wide, a bullet through her forehead, a neat dark hole. Her husband Ivan lies limp on top of her, his dress coat with three jagged piercings in it. I take another step forward as a cry works its way up my throat. Cannon Stark, Lionel Jenson, both slumped to the side like a pair of lifeless dolls.

  No. This isn’t happening. It can’t. And with Gage so culpable. I can’t bear it.

  A deep moan comes from behind, and just as I turn, a hand hooks over my ankle.

  “Skyla.” A bloodied head, eyes bulging from their sockets stare up at me. It’s a boy I’ve seen before, but it takes a second for it to register. It’s Luke, Lionel’s son. There’s blood pouring from his shoulder and his hip.

  “I got you.” I do my best to drag him away from the carnage just as Ellis comes up from behind. “Ellis! Take him. I’m too weak to lift him. He needs help now.” The sharp howl of the fire department rips through the air. “He’ll be okay.” I hoist him into Ellis’ arms.

  Ellis pulls me in by my bustier, his face bloodied and bruised, his left eye swollen shut. “They hurt G.” His voice breaks. “You take care of this shit, Messenger. I’m coming back, and I’m not having mercy on anyone!”

  The rain starts in again, doing its best to drown out the chaos, but bodies are flying. Spectators are stomping through the woods looking for victims, but those who could, ran—and those left pinned by fallen trees are a meal in waiting.

  Logan and Coop shout as they rally the monsters into the pen.

  I spot Marshall and Delphinius picking them up and hurtling them into the corral as if they were made of Styrofoam. They’re helping. They’re breaking code and stepping in, thank God for that. To hell with my mother’s rules. People are dying. It’s about time heaven came to Earth to free us of this wickedness. I stagger toward the stream, a riot of pain ripping up my left leg, and I glance down to see my flesh purple with crimson lines running clear past my boot. I force myself into the thicket where a cluster of Spectators feast on the flesh of my people, the very people Wes and Gage slaughtered like fish in a barrel, and I start in on one long hacking spree, using my anger for fuel, my outrage to boost my adrenaline as I slice my way through the furious beasts. I manage to injure two, but they’re far too content jamming their faces in the bodies of my friends. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to light this spirit sword on fire. It would figure. Chloe gifted me a defunct heap of metal. For all I know it’s the plastic toy that came with this ridiculous costume. I try not to look as intestines spill around me, fractured skulls with gray matter wobbling like scrambled eggs in the rain, bones snapping like candy canes.

  “Skyla!” a dark baritone voice tears through the grunting, and Gage is on them. Ripping them off the carcasses as if he too were as outraged as I am. The hell he is. It’s sharply apparent that Gag
e is far more culpable than any of these Spectators. They were programmed to kill. Gage chose to.

  Delphinius bursts forth, his tall frame so haunting all on its own on a normal day, and yet in this crowd of drunken giants it takes away from his appeal. He shouts in some archaic language that I have never heard as he tosses the Spectators toward the pen, easy as pitching rag dolls.

  One of the hideous beasts stands before Gage, bloodied and bruised, an arm dangling as if it were hanging by a lone tendon. He roars like a lion with its tail on fire before its head drops over Gage’s shoulder, its mouth latching onto his neck.

  Gage pitches his head back, eyes squinted, suppressed with pain. I can imagine how that must feel. I know it intimately and I can’t move. There’s a wound between us, one far more painful than anything another being could inflict. An entire river of torment has washed away everything we ever were. Gage came armed to fight. He gunned down Nicholas Haver in cold blood, watched as Spectators fed on his flesh. Nothing was as it seemed. This is an incurable wound he’s inflicted. There isn’t enough time that God could give us to cure this disease Gage has brought upon us, upon me. I was played a fool. I am one.

  Gage lets out a thunderous shout as he snaps the Spectator’s head right off its body, and it drops limp between us. He takes a step forward, his hand reaching out to me blindly and I don’t know what to make of it. He’s a killer. He’s a monster. He still has my heart.

  Screams of the innocent erupt behind me, and a flash of anger fills me. My entire body rockets with rage as I launch forward and slash the sword toward his neck, but Gage dodges a second too soon. The blade lights up an electric shade of blue, the exact color of his eyes. Gage backs up, his arms held in surrender, but I’m not interested in an olive branch.

  “Skyla, shit.” He struggles to snatch the blade, and I slice right through the palm of his hand. A healthy seam of blood drips from him, and I marvel at this. His eyes bulge as he staggers back. He must feel the power draining from him. I can never kill him, but I can sure as hell slow him down. “Don’t do this.”