The clouds start in on a rolling boil as a nest of lightning converges over West. This is it, the moment I’ve been waiting for.
Chloe pinches the chain around her neck until the pendant glides into her hand, and she gives a wild laugh.
Shit. It’s off her neck. It’s so close to being mine I can feel it.
“Oh, Skyla,” she says it low and husky with devilish intent. “What must I do to prove this will never be yours?”
“It’s already mine.” The opulent stone sparks and shimmers as if it were igniting to life. I’m mesmerized by its sheer beauty as I take another step.
Michelle steps in. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” She tries to pull me back by the shoulder.” “It’s like you’re into her or something.”
“She is.” Chloe cocks her head to the side. “She always has been, haven’t you Messenger?”
“Skyla?” Brielle calls from the sidelines, but I don’t lose my focus on that protective hedge dancing between Chloe’s fingers.
“Oh hell, Skyla. Why don’t you just kiss me and get it over with?”
Marshall balks in the distance. Yes, Ms. Messenger. Why don’t you kiss her and land every male in the vicinity into a hormone-induced coma. You’ll be fodder for fantasies well into their golden years.
I watch as Chloe slips the pendent into her mouth, and my heart thumps wild in my chest. I can feel Paragon—the world, watching over us with an inordinate amount of curiosity. My mother in the sky must be more than slightly amused with what just happened.
Ms. Messenger, I command you to step away from Ms. Bishop.
“Shut up, Marshall.”
My heart pulsates through my ears and blocks out the noise from the stands, from the field. My breathing accelerates with a renewed excitement as I rush toward Chloe. I crash my lips over hers so fast, so hard, I knock us both to the ground.
I pin Chloe down by the wrists, my body heavy over hers, and I start in on a kiss of the ages, one born of hate and power and the sweet taste of victory. Chloe reaches for the back of my neck and secures me while lashing her tongue over mine like she means it.
The vision comes, Chloe and I in Ahava. I can see myself, jumping and screaming and running over to Gage with unrestrained enthusiasm.
“Yes,” I shout, “don’t ever let Chloe Bishop die, Gage! You hear me?” I shake him by the shoulders to drive home the point.
What’s this? Chloe ticks to life beneath me.
That’s the future. I can choose to save you or kill you. It is all still very much fluid. We both know what you did to Stella Landon, to the entire Landon family, and for once I have the evidence to prove it. I can spare you from prison—and I can spare you from death.
I secure my teeth over the protective hedge, and Chloe does the same.
Whistles and catcalls come to life in the distance as Ms. Richards’ voice booms over the two of us to “knock this shit off.”
It must have tortured you to figure out you were a worthless ruse, I continue. You were so humiliated that it pushed you to kill two of the best faction strategists on the very same day. But you didn’t kill them because of their faction standing, did you, Chloe? You killed them because their children were going to have something you wanted—the celestial spotlight. They were the only ones that knew it, and with them out of the way you were free to go after their children.
Chloe’s chest rumbles with laughter as she continues to hold my head over hers.
You’re going to hell, Chloe. Just remember when you get there that you’re the one who chose the destination. For now, I’m sending you somewhere a whole lot worse—prison. I’m sure they’ve got a cheer team you can join there—only you’ll be their bitch. How does that sound?
She knees me in the gut, but my teeth continue to clamp onto the metal disc for dear life.
Take your filthy pendant, Skyla. I don’t need it. I’ve had plenty of visions myself. I succeed even without its so-called magical powers. But before you do, I’ve got a vision that might interest you.
A scene appears, it’s Chloe rolling on top of a mattress. Dark chocolate sheets unfurl, exposing the flesh of a gorgeous man grinding and pumping from above as she lets out a delirious cry of pleasure. I recognize that dark hair, that sturdy frame. It’s Gage.
My heart sinks at the visual. I pull the protective hedge from her mouth with enough power to pull every tooth out of her head right along with it.
A disgruntled Ms. Richards and Marshall help us to our feet.
Chloe in all her scheming finally relented, and a part of me still doesn’t believe it. I place the protective hedge gingerly in my hand and clasp my palm around it so tight I can feel it cutting through my skin.
Good show, Ms. Messenger.
I shoot him a glance still panting from the endeavor.
I turn back to Chloe. “Say it,” I shout into her face.
Chloe gives a quiet laugh, her chest still pumping out of breath.
“Enjoy your belated birthday present, Skyla,” Chloe hisses it stealth like a threat. “While I enjoy your boyfriend.”
There it is. I glance down at the pendant. The Eye of Refuge lights up as bright as the moon. I lock my fingers around it tight and begin making my way off the field.
Give it, Ms. Messenger.
“Not yet,” I whisper.
First, there’s something I have to do.
38
Perfect Love
Paragon slices by at record speed as I sprint across the blackened highway. The sky, the trees, the waterline, it all presents itself a little more defined, a little richer in texture and hue. My Celestra strength kicks in, and I pick up momentum, turning the world around me into a radiant whitewashed blur.
All of those beautiful, strange words my mother uttered cycle through my mind and I try to wipe them away with my own benevolent thoughts.
I was my mother’s child, my father’s, and God’s before that. This earth was made for me—with Paragon my home. The air is God’s own breath, the ocean derived from the tears he shed over humanity before it even began. The soil, the rocks, the gems buried in the earth were the dust of his flesh. The earth was filthy and vile, and the Master scrubbed it clean with the blood of his son. A sacrifice was made because that’s what love is built on, just like the sacrifice Logan made for me.
A montage of the entire last year sifts by, Logan with his generous smile, Gage and his wanton, open lust for me, his sensitive spirit, spilling words like oil. Then Marshall came and thrust me deeper into this madness, this ever-present mystery and danger. But now, the unvarnished truth lies before me like a map. It’s infallibility like silver—like gold. And there are truths, solid and stable as anchors in a restless sea. They are the light of the Northern star, illuminating the path set before me by destiny.
The bowling alley comes up on my right, and I burst through the doors shattering the glass clear into the arcade. I run into the cavernous room filled with glossy lanes and find Logan sweeping the gutter just like he was a few months ago when I thought he was an imposter.
I slide on my knees all the way over to him as I try to catch my breath. Logan is virile and robust, majestically impressive.
“You’re not going to beat the crap out of me again, are you?” He gives a depleted smile.
I shake my head and open my palm, revealing the protective hedge he was anguished over for so long.
“Skyla.” He drops to his knees and gingerly takes it in his hand. He holds it to the light before sighing and pressing the metal to his lips. “Take this, put it on, and never, ever remove it.” He takes the chain off my neck and slips the pendant on faster than humanly possible. I glance down and admire it. It’s right there with the mirrored heart. Logan’s body and spirit on a chain.
“You asked me a question last summer, and I never gave you an answer.” I look up at him through a thicket of lashes. “My answer is yes, Logan.” My smile widens. “Yes, I want to marry you.”
His head ticks back a
notch. Logan picks up my hands and kisses them each in turn.
“That’s very sweet of you. I’m really flattered”—his cheek rides up the side—“but I can’t marry you, Skyla. You deserve better—for starters, someone who’s alive.”
“Logan.” I give a playful tug to his fingers. “Please”—I beg with all my heart—“I know everything. I met with my mother. I know, Logan. I know exactly what you were afraid to tell me. I know why you’re hiding out in the bowling alley, avoiding the world and everyone in it. And I know why Gage chose this weekend to visit Host.” Tears swell in my eyes, as a brick lodges in my throat, making it painful to speak. “God, Logan, can’t you see this is killing me? Let me have you. Please, be mine. I’m begging you—Logan, be my husband.”
He lets out a breath, and his features soften as a slow spreading grin takes over.
“You know I can’t deny you anything. You’ve got me. You’ve already got every damn part of me.”
“Then say yes.” I latch onto his amber gaze and refuse to let go. My heart tramples all the way up to my throat in anticipation of what might come next.
He shakes his head.
“Stand up.” His features harden again with a twitch of a smile skirting his lips.
I pull my legs from underneath me and rise to my feet.
Logan remains on his knees. He holds my hands and presses out a smile that surges through me like a current.
“Skyla Laurel Messenger,” he pauses to kiss each of my hands in turn, “will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Logan swallows hard, his brows briefly bowed with grief.
“Yes!” I jump up and down before collapsing over him and landing us both on the glossy slick floor.
“I wish I had a ring.” Logan hums a soft laugh from his chest.
“We have something better.” I pull the protective hedge between us and stare down at it in wonder. “Chloe gifted it to me. It’s officially ours.”
“Yours, Skyla. It’s most definitely yours. I can die a happy man now.” He touches his forehead to mine and gives a long blink. “I can rest in peace.”
“Not yet.” I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him in until our stomachs seal together. “You said I could have all of you.” I run my finger down the side of his cheek and take him in like this in such close proximity. “Give me every part of you, tonight.”
A beat of silence fills the air. Logan’s eyes widen a moment as he weighs the options—the consequences, and measures them against his desires.
“OK.” His chest rumbles with a dry laugh as he lands a careful kiss over my lips. “But only after I make you an honest woman.”
“Yes! We can exchange vows.” I press my lips over his.
“I was thinking something a little more official.”
“On a Friday night after eight? There’s not a soul who will marry us.”
Logan sits up and pulls me into his lap.
“If I remember right…” He blows the words into my ear like breathing fire. “You once said you wanted to get married at the Falls of Virtue.”
“I did.” I twist into him and bite down a smile. “And you remember.”
“Of course. I cherish every second we’ve ever spent together.”
“Oh, Logan.” I touch my fingers to his cheek, brushing over his skin just barely. Even now the shadow of heartbreak lingers. “The Falls of Virtue.” I nod. “Should we take the Mustang?” There’s something serendipitous about taking the car he gifted me—the car that once belonged to his father.
“I’ve got a supervising spirit that can get us there a little faster.” He glances behind his shoulder briefly. “Falls of Virtue, please.”
Logan crushes his lips over mine while igniting an achingly sweet pull in the pit of my stomach.
The floor beneath us, the bowling alley in its entirety, evaporates to nothing.
We’re off to the Falls of Virtue, and nothing can stop us now.
***
The moon hangs low enough to touch with its quicksilver lamplight dancing over the lake.
Logan and I appear seamlessly at the Falls of Virtue still locked in a heated embrace at the edge of the granite ledge known as the diving board. The waterfalls expand their girth on either side of us like roaring bookends.
“We’re here!” I hop on the balls of my feet and tear a luscious kiss off his lips. Logan tastes like new wine, like every drop of our love bottled up and aged to perfection. God knows I’m more than ready to drink him down.
“Indeed you are here,” a familiar voice emits from behind, and we turn to find Marshall.
“I suppose you came for this,” I say, holding the protective hedge in my hand.
“That’s not why I’m here.” He steps in our midst and frowns into Logan. “You requested my presence?”
“Are you…?” My mouth falls open as I turn to Logan. “Is he your supervising spirit?”
He cringes slightly. “We had an argument one day—”
“It was brutal.” Marshall glares at him. “Fists were exchanged. You’re quite lucky a mortal blow wasn’t dealt.”
“Yes, well”—Logan raises his brows—“I’m dead now, so it’s a moot point.” He reverts his loving gaze back over to me. “Anyway, we realized we were fighting for the same team. We both want you safe.”
Marshall gives a brief nod. “Once he committed to the Countenance on your behalf, I knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep you secure. Although we haven’t always seen eye to eye.” Marshall sharpens his voice. “You’ve no idea how close I came to castrating him after that little stunt he pulled with the Justice Alliance.”
“Here, Marshall.” I slip the pendant off my necklace. “I want you to be safe, right here on Paragon. I’m gifting it to you. It’s yours now.” I open his hand and press the Eye of Refuge deep in his palm, and a wave of perfect love flows from him to me.
A rustling wind erupts, a vat of dark purple clouds rotate up above, and a bolt of lightning touches down just shy of Marshall, morphing into a beautiful woman with golden flowing hair—my mother.
“What’s this I hear about a wedding?” She steps over in all her brilliance, weaving the fragrance of lemon grass and hyacinth through the air, honey and spice and everything nice. For once, I’m actually glad to see my mother.
“For you.” Marshall holds up the protective hedge to her but doesn’t give it.
“Very well.” She takes it from him and examines it—a slight smile plays on the edge of her lips as she looks to me. “I see you’re marrying Logan.” Her smile expands as if she wants this for me as much as I do.
“May I have your daughter’s hand in marriage?” Logan pulls me in by the waist and warms me within his arms.
“Of course.” My mother pitches her brows. “That’s the very reason I brought you to Paragon. She’s the reason your life was spared and returned to you in another time.” She beams as she takes the two of us in. “For you, Skyla. Consider it a wedding gift.” She kisses the pendant, and it appears back on the chain dangling from my neck, right next to Logan’s mirrored heart. She glances up at Marshall. “Get on with the proceedings. I’m anxious to see these two bound in union.”
“In a moment.” Marshall grunts. He’s a little less enthusiastic about the arrangement compared to my mother. “My turn to bequeath the bride a gift. Come love.” He takes me by the hand and leads me behind an overgrown juniper bush. My eyes grow heavy with heartbreak, and I can hardly stand to look at him.
“Are you angry?” I whisper. It breaks my heart to think I could ever hurt Marshall.
“Angry?” The moon washes over him, the beams bowing to his glory. “Skyla”—he touches his finger to my cheek and caresses me with his sizzling sensations—“Delphinius was kind enough to lay out the terms of a thousand tomorrows. To answer your question”—he looks past my shoulder in the direction of Logan and my mother—“no, I’m far from angry. I think what you’re doing is noble, it’s sweet.” He shakes out his hands, and a silky w
hite dress appears. “For you.” He holds out a long, elegant sheath for me to examine. It’s cut low in the front with topknots over the shoulders and takes my breath away just to look at.
“I love it!” I take it from him carefully. “What does it do?” All of the dresses Marshall has lent me have had an assortment of strange abilities.
“It magnifies your beauty.” He rubs his thumb over my cheek. “A kiss.” He leans in and presses his lips ever so softly to mine. “Congratulations, Skyla.” He glances down, and the luminescent gown replaces my cheer uniform. “You make a beautiful bride.”
Marshall hooks his arm in mine and walks me slowly back toward my mother and Logan—and, my father!
“Dad!” I jump over him with a tight embrace.
“Do you want this, Skyla?” He asks it calm, a pleasant smile embedded in his cheeks.
“With everything in me,” I whisper.
“Then I gift you my blessing.” He presses a kiss over my forehead and walks me toward the boy I love.
Logan Oliver shines like a beacon with his chest spread wide as a wall. His eyes enlarge as he takes me in, and my dress shimmers to life like a bed of muted stars.
My father leads me to him, and Logan takes up my hands.
“Skyla, Logan?” Marshall stands before us and looks to my mother before proceeding. She offers the hint of a nod, and Marshall takes in a breath before continuing. “Would the two of you be willing to share this life and all of its riches, all of its grievances until the good Lord sees fit to sever the cord and call one of you home to paradise?”
“Yes.” Logan locks his gaze over mine. “It would be an honor.”
“And Skyla?” Marshall presses on. “Do you desire Logan to be your husband?”
I press a smile into Logan—his gorgeous face, those eyes of golden fire. I’ve been in love with him from the moment we met. This day was bound to come, in one form or another. I give his hands a gentle squeeze.
“I do.”
Marshall growls. “You may now loosely embrace the bride.”
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