Revolution (The Revelation Series Book 4)

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  In its place…Lady Finella.

  “The Heavens weep this day,” the queen of the fae says sadly.

  “Siren?” Asher’s voice breaks through the hallucination.

  I blink a few times, trying to discern if I’m in the here and now or still in the apparition.

  Warm hands cup my cheeks and Asher forces me to look at him. “You with me?”

  I grab onto Asher’s wrists to steady myself. “I…I don’t know.” I meet his gaze.

  “You’re going to want to see this, Asher,” Gage says from the second step of the temple.

  Asher studies me for a moment until he’s convinced I’m okay. Once stable on my wobbly legs, I release his wrists and notice ash marks that my hands left. Before I can comment, Asher takes my hand firmly into his and guides me toward Gage.

  “What is it?” Asher asks in a deep, authoritative voice.

  “See for yourself,” Gage says and motions to the white marble.

  The milky stone is stained with a line of crimson liquid. My eyes follow the trail of the wet, thick substance up each of the other steps, onto the landing of the mausoleum. All of us make our way to the top where an obscene amount has pooled, marring the sacred shrine.

  “By the grace,” Abby whispers, placing a delicate hand over her mouth.

  Asher’s raven wings appear angrily from his back in a loud, snapping motion. At the movement, the rest of the gargoyles release their wings as well.

  With the Angelic Sword in his hand, Asher steps in front of me before speaking in his native gargoyle tongue. “Est er aglo dur er ágra an jux, ágra-lem quó er ágra-char tim-por.”

  At the Garish command, each protector withdraws some type of weapon. I grip my daggers, moving toward Nassa. She rolls her eyes at the movement and shows me her hands.

  “Sorceress, remember? My hands are weapons,” she utters.

  “Right. Sorry,” I reply.

  The group follows Asher into the temple. With each step the path of crimson liquid merges into larger puddles. The red trail leads us into the white and gold chamber located in the middle of the shrine.

  “Holy shit,” I exhale as I take in the blood bath covering the once beautiful room.

  Silver streams of the moon’s light filter through the open arched, stone windows, highlighting the four large floor-to-ceiling columns, splattered with blood. The circular pool in the middle of the hall is no longer jade. Instead, it’s a bright red. The elegant white, sheer fabric hanging from the ceiling and large silk pillows are torn, stained with scarlet liquid.

  The crystals that decorated the room are shattered in pieces around cloaked, motionless bodies. Each veiled priestess’s throat is slit. Without warning, I’m pulled into Asher’s arms as he spins me and forces my head into his chest.

  “Don’t look, siren,” he instructs.

  I swallow the bile rising in my throat and attempt to breathe through his tight grasp.

  “Qua ágra-tas prae-tim dur ad ku-ánte ter-ort?” Asher says.

  “This is an all-out slaughter, Asher. An attack. On unprotected women,” Callan answers in a low, disgusted voice. “There was no struggle.”

  The sound of Gage’s designer shoes clicking on the marble floor registers before he exhales a rough breath. “In-korp. Lem-múr. All er ílem.”

  “What does that mean?” I question into Asher’s chest, his heart beating fast.

  “They’re all dead, siren. Every single one of them,” he replies quietly.

  “Arabella?” I ask with hope, releasing Asher to turn and meet Abby’s watery eyes.

  A lone tear falls down her peach cheek as she solemnly shakes her head back and forth.

  “Who would do this?” I question to no one in particular.

  Asher turns to Nassa. “An-ort?”

  “No. Not magic,” she replies with a shocked expression.

  “Daemon?” he retorts.

  “Ni. De bal an-ámo-lem an gargl,” Callan answers in a low voice, causing everyone to still and meet his firm expression. “It’s true. I feel the essence,” he confirms.

  The cawing of Nassa’s familiar pulls the group from their stunned stares at the blood stained temple, into the present moment.

  “Let’s discuss this outside,” Asher says, taking my hand and pulling me to the doorway.

  We make our way back to the gateway quickly. Just before we’re about to realm jump, Asher speaks, cutting through the shocked silence.

  “We need to alert the Royal Court immediately, as well as the protector and angelic councils. All correspondence is to be in Garish and stamped with the royal seal. As the next in line to the protector throne, I’m officially decreeing this brutal act against a nonaligned sovereign a declaration of war.”

  My eyes meet Asher’s hard ones before sliding to see each gargoyle, who with grace, stand taller. Their body language and expressions turn proud. My gaze finally stops on Gage who offers a small, sympathetic smile before bowing his head to Asher in respect for his leader.

  It’s then I realize, this realm may have just fallen, but in its place, a king has risen.

  ***

  The familiar industrial loft, with grey concrete walls and dark bamboo floors, is bathed in the fire’s soft light. My focus immediately slides to the large picturesque windows. The postcard worthy view is framed by the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. I admire the illuminated Eiffel Tower magically posed in Paris, surrounded by nightfall.

  The scent of cigarettes and spice wafts to me as my eyes roam over the room before landing on the sullen gargoyle. He’s hiding behind his cigarette, blanketed in darkness. I walk over to the protector, draped on the L-shaped, modern, black leather sofa.

  “Can I get you a drink, love?” Gage asks from around his lit habit.

  I nod my head once, sinking into the chair across from him. The shadows from the fireplace add a level of sinfulness to his guarded expression. Non-too-gently, Gage places his almost empty tumbler on the granite coffee table and stumbles over to the built-in bar, unsteadily pouring me a glass of the amber liquid. Is he drunk?

  After shoving the glass at me, he returns to the couch with a flop and then slouches his tall frame. With his cigarette hanging carelessly off his bottom lip, Gage twirls the last sip around in the crystal container. Staring at it with an unhealthy fascination.

  I notice his normally sparkling sea green eyes are sunken in, surrounded by dark circles. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Gage come unhinged. Normally, he’s so pulled together.

  “What are you doing here, love?” he queries in a bored manner.

  “I’m not sure,” I answer honestly.

  “Does the dark prince know you’re astral projecting to me this evening?” he chides.

  “Does it matter?” I pose, taking a sip of the liquid.

  Gage uses his thumb and forefinger to remove the cigarette with one hand while watching me over the rim of the tumbler he now has positioned at his lips, in the other. “It feels good, doesn’t it, love? The burn of the alcohol reminding us that we’re alive.” He finishes the last of his brandy in one gulp before getting up to pour himself another glass.

  As he tends to his drink, my eyes fixate on his naked back. They study the lion tattoo, the Paris clan of gargoyle’s branding animal. It decorates the entire well-defined, muscular space. Gage spins and faces me before barely making his way back to the couch.

  I notice then he’s wearing his large cross necklace, made of hematite, his healing stone.

  “Why are you always shirtless when I come here?” I ask, focusing on his perfect chest.

  “Why do you always get wet when I’m around you?” he snaps back. Touché.

  We sit in comfortable silence for a while. That’s what’s so great about Gage. We can just be. “Why did you come back to Paris instead of returning to Wiltshire with the clan?”

  “I needed to stone state,” he answers, closing his eyes.

  “Are you hurt? Did you need to heal?” My voice is laced with
concern.

  At my tone, he reopens his eyes and quirks an eyebrow at me. “Worried about me, love?”

  I slam my glass onto the table then stand and make my way next to him. “Always, Gage.”

  He holds my gaze awkwardly for a few moments before resting his head on the back of the couch. “It was a mental healing. That was crazy shit with the priestesses today.”

  “I know,” I whisper, trying to block out the blood bath we witnessed.

  He brings what’s left of the cigarette to his mouth and inhales. “Murdering seers, innocent women, on sacred ground… Christ, that stays with you for a bit.”

  I’m silent for a moment as I watch the last of his cigarette burn in his fingers. His sadness reminds me of Camilla. He was her protector and mate. When Gage’s dad, the leader of the Paris clan of gargoyles, became aware of their secret bond, he had her throat slit.

  Gage shakes his head back and forth slowly. “This is only going to get worse, love. There will be more violence. Are you sure you’re ready to handle this? To have death on your conscience and innocent blood on your hands?”

  I watch as he drops the cigarette butt into the liquid left in his glass. For a moment, I stare at it to make sure it doesn’t spontaneously combust in the alcohol.

  “I have to be ready, Gage. I have no alternatives. This war is my fate.”

  “Your fate, huh?” he repeats cryptically. “So much for free will.”

  I slump down on the couch, getting more comfortable. “Can I ask you something?”

  He pauses for a moment. The smell of brandy mixed with smoke is on his breath as he exhales roughly. “I might be too drunk to answer you honestly, love.”

  I turn my head in his direction and roll my eyes, knowing that Gage, even intoxicated, is more insightful than anyone else I know. “Please?”

  “Fine, but then I get to ask you something in return,” he challenges with a fierce look.

  “Deal.”

  “Ask away, love.” He waves his hand through the air dramatically.

  “Why didn’t you let me turn myself over? Instead, you brought me to Nassa’s uncle.”

  “Regardless of the mate, and blood, bond you have with the dark prince, I’m also your protector. I took an oath to keep you safe. In the moment, that was my focus. Turning you over to Deacon, or the dark army, would not have kept you out of harm's way. Seemed like a good idea at the time.” He finishes by mumbling under his breath.

  My brows lift. “Was your focus?” I repeat.

  He shrugs. “It suited me to protect you. In. That. Moment.”

  I cross my arms over my body. “Good to know you and I haven’t made any progress in the friendship department.”

  “I told you once before, we aren’t friends,” he reminds. “Now. My turn, love.”

  I dip my chin in agreement. “Your turn.”

  His hand dips into the front pocket of his black dress pants, pulling out a small piece of white folded paper and my heart sinks. Oh shit. How the fuck did he get that?

  “Do you know why Asher spoke in Garish in the temple?” he asks with an accusing tone.

  “He slips into it sometimes when he’s angry.” My eyes are fixated on the paper.

  “Buttercup placed a protection shield over us. Anyone outside of that invisible circle could not hear what we were saying, unless they were a gargoyle or the witch who spelled us.”

  “I’m still not following, Gage.” I finally manage to unglue my eyes and meet his.

  “Some gargoyles do not speak English, only our native tongue of Garish,” Gage explains.

  “Did he think other gargoyles were following us?” I inquire, ignoring the way my heart rate increased at his insinuation.

  Gage’s expression looks off, causing my stomach to sink. “When supernatural beings enter a realm, they leave energy. One of Callan’s gifts is to pick up which essence belongs to which group. When your dark prince asked his brother about said essence, he replied: de bal an-ámo-lem an gargl. Meaning Callan picked up the energy of an evil enemy and gargoyle.”

  I swallow roughly. “It’s common knowledge that there is a gargoyle working with the dark army. We’ve always known there is a traitor.”

  His focus drops to the folded stationary. “Up until now, most of us assumed the gargoyle traitor was Morgana, but that isn’t the case. Is it, love?”

  I chew the inside of my cheek nervously. “You think I know who the traitor is?”

  Gage tosses the bended note on my lap. “Open it.” Damn bossy gargoyles.

  I hold my breath, already knowing what’s on it.

  “Open it, love,” he repeats in a soft voice.

  I unfold the stationery with shaky hands and see the black scroll, revealing the name I’d inscribed. The name Morgana gave to me, and I, in turn, gave to Michael to substantiate.

  “How the hell did you get this?” My voice is tight.

  “Didn’t I once tell you to get all the facts before you chose a side? As you can see, my father may have wielded the sword but that name proves Camilla’s death wasn’t a solo act.” He pins me with a disappointed glare. “Looks like you chose incorrectly.”

  Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck.

  “This proves nothing, Gage,” I say in a small voice.

  “Wrong. It proves everything!” he drunkenly scolds in a low voice.

  “What are you going to do with this information?” I whisper. “What good could possibly come from you revealing this without evidence?” I exhale the statement.

  Gage withdraws another cigarette, placing it between his perfect lips then lighting it. On a sharp inhale of nicotine he rubs his thumb across his bottom lip.

  “I think the real question here, love, is what are you planning to do with it?”

  “I can’t.” I choke. “I can’t tell him without proof. It will ruin him and the clan, Gage.”

  Gage studies me thoughtfully for a moment. “Bloodlines overshadow alliances. Remember that, love, because as I told you in the Land of Leprechauns, nothing, and no one, are ever what they seem. Even me,” he warns.

  “I just need some time to confirm their involvement. Michael is helping me. If you want to protect me, like you say you do, then don’t allow me to be the reason Asher’s world implodes,” I quietly beg.

  Gage exhales a plume of smoke. “I’m sorry, love. I truly am, but make no mistake, daughter of Heaven. I will protect Camilla over you. Every time. Even in death.”

  “Do you really hate Asher so much you would do this to him? After all we’ve been through over the past few months together?” I stand and ask with an inflamed temper.

  Gage also gets to his feet, stepping up to me so we’re toe-to-toe. “At the hands of our traitor, my mate is dead. A realm has fallen. A king has risen, and your fate, has just been sealed. Yet, you want to protect the one responsible?” Gage asks, astonished.

  “No. What I want is to protect Asher, at all costs,” I yell and my nostrils flare. “Know this. If you go after Asher and reveal this information to him before I’ve been able to verify that person’s involvement, I will become your number one enemy.” My threat is strong.

  Gage releases a cruel laugh before dropping his voice and looming over me. “For the record, love, there wasn’t ever a time that we weren’t each other’s number one enemy.”

  13 Family First

  THE IMPENDING STORM HAS TURNED the azure skies dark. A flash of lightning, followed by the deep sound of thunder, rolls outside the windows, rattling the glass and shaking the manor’s foundation. I watch in awe as the pouring rain comes down, drenching the gardens. The pounding water droplets bounce off the green leaves and lake with a harsh assault.

  “If this isn’t foreshadowing of things to come, then I don’t know what is,” I mumble under my breath and allow my fingers to follow the trail of water on the glass panes.

  “You okay, siren?” Asher asks from behind me.

  At the sound of his voice, I close my eyes and inhale before turning around. M
y gaze takes in the beautiful gargoyle. A sense of intense love and profound sadness seeps into my soul. When I meet his concerned look, a deep heaviness pushes on my chest in the form of dread.

  My heart is racing at an ungodly speed. In spite of all the weirdness in my life and the lingering betrayal of Gage’s threat, I can’t help but love Asher with everything that I am.

  Only this time, I truly don’t know if my love will be enough to save us. It’s becoming more apparent that everything in my life comes with a sacrifice, even love.

  The crease between Asher’s brows deepens and I realize I’ve been staring at him for several seconds without saying anything. Crap.

  “You’re staring at my lips. Is it because you find me undeniably kissable?” Asher jests in a light-hearted manner, attempting to get me to speak as he moves closer.

  All I want to do is fold myself into his arms and tell him everything, risking it all.

  Asher reaches out and touches me. When I jump, startled at the contact, he draws back.

  “Alright, what the fuck is going on, siren?” His voice is gentle but full of worry and panic.

  I chew the inside of my cheek and when I look back up, I see the concern filling his eyes.

  Getting control of myself, I force a smile. “I’m fine,” I mutter. “Everything outside is gloomy and wet. I think the thunder and lightning are just making me…” I pause. “Uneasy.”

  The striking gargoyle lifts a brow at my lie. I recognize his expression. He’s trying to figure me out. “You’re scared of a thunderstorm?” he poses with disbelief.

  “Scared?” I repeat. “No. Just jittery and all, you know.” I shake my hands in the air.

  His smile is weary. “You’ve given me some pretty crappy lies in the past, but I have to say, this one takes the cake, siren.” Asher gently reaches for me again, encircling his hand around my wrist. “Talk to me.”

  Every fiber of my body is shouting at me to tell him, but I can’t. Instead, I shift from one foot to the other and force another weak smile. “Everything is just hitting me all at once, Ash. The priestesses, the war, and I’m just coming a little unhinged. That’s all.”