Dark Paradise
A Revelation Series Novel
Randi Cooley Wilson
Copyright © 2019 by Randi Cooley Wilson
All rights reserved. Thank you for purchasing an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without written permission of the author or publisher.
Published by SECRET GARDEN PRODUCTIONS, INC.
Edited by Liz Ferry | Per Se Editing
Cover Design by ©HangLe
Formatted with Vellum
DARK PARADISE (A Revelation Series Novel)/
Randi Cooley Wilson
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition November 2019
ISBN: 9781705828496
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Also by Randi Cooley Wilson
THE REVELATION SERIES
REVELATION
RESTRAINT
REDEMPTION
REVOLUTION
RESTORATION
THE ROYAL PROTECTOR ACADEMY
VERNAL
AEQUUS
NOX
A KING RISES NOVELLA
DARK SOUL SERIES
STOLAS
VASSAGO
LEVIATHAN
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
IF
SHALLOW
THE MONSTER BALL ANTHOLOGY
ISLE OF DARKNESS
ETERNAL MAGIC
HAVENWOOD FALLS NOVELLAS
COVETOUSNESS
INAMORATA
GYPSY HEART
PRISON OF ASRIA
Contents
Introduction
Prologue
1. The Darkness
2. Fields of Lavender
3. Irish Wind
4. Heart Of Stone
5. Maleficium Witch
6. Between The Books
7. Protection From Darkness
8. Demon Of Greed
9. Make Our Mistakes
10. Safe and Warm
11. Rise And Fall
12. Something to Prove
13. Complicated
14. First Kiss
15. Into the Unknown
16. Inferno Wilderness
17. Change the Game
18. Soul Tie
19. And We Break
20. We’re Done
21. Apologies
22. After the Fall
23. We Keep Loving
24. Many Have Tried
25. Hers
26. So Few Survive
27. Reckless Pace
28. History Repeats
29. Always
30. Sweet Revenge
31. Forever
32. Dark Paradise
EPILOGUE
Vernal
Royal Protector Academy Series
Isle of Darkness
Isle of Darkness Novella
Acknowledgments
About the Author
For Gage Gallagher,
Who taught me that scars are beautiful.
From his lips, not words alone pleased her.
—John Milton, Paradise Lost
Introduction
Someone once told me that a soul never truly ceases to exist. That those we love, who’ve died, live on in the imprints they leave on the world. And only when those imprints disappear is that soul truly gone and at peace.
My scars are her imprints.
But they’ll never fade.
And in turn, neither will her ghost.
Both will haunt me for all eternity.
Gage Gallagher,
Leader of the Paris Clan of Gargoyles
Prologue
GAGE
The smell of clay mixed with pine from canvas frames hangs in the air. A deep ache settles in my chest as I breathe in the familiar combination.
With heavy steps, I make my way over to the enormous statue that sits in the middle of the wide-open gallery. With a sigh, I run my fingertips over the dark gray stone. It’s polished and smooth, cool to the touch.
Making a small tight circle, I take in the familiar artwork in the studio. Oversized colorful canvases are displayed on the tall stark white walls. Each is highlighted by dim spotlights. Lights I hung, before she was taken.
Taken from me.
Taken from my world.
Taken from this studio, Mi Alma, which I gifted to her, and she loved. It’s what I used to call her, mi alma, which means my soul. A fitting nickname, given that I am a being without a soul—a gargoyle. That’s what she was, though. For the brief time she existed in my world, she was my soul. In a cruel twist of fate, now her soul haunts me.
With each step I take as I move around the quiet art studio, my heart beats faster and faster in my chest. To the point where it becomes hard to breathe. I know what happens next. It’s always the same. There is no escaping it. Her. I see her every night. Every time I close my eyes, she appears—a ghost in the darkness. Haunting what’s left of my existence. My sleep. My dreams.
I stop dead in my tracks when I see her. She’s sitting in a corner of the vast space, working with clay on a spinner. Her silky dark hair is tied up in a messy bun. The studio lights warm her flawless golden skin. As if all this is normal, she happily hums to herself.
Sensing my presence, she lifts her light brown gaze and meets mine. The sight of her sparkling eyes, so damn full of life and happiness, fucking slays me.
Cuts me wide open.
Her beauty is forever ingrained in my memory. In the dim light, her peaceful face looks angelic as she smiles brightly at me. It takes me a matter of seconds to look over every inch of her.
“Camilla?” I barely whisper as my throat tightens.
“Were you expecting someone else?” Her Spanish accent is heavy, teasing.
The sound of her voice floats through me and I swear my heart stops beating for a second.
My gaze remains fixed on her, as I dare to hope that I’ve finally awoken from the painful nightmare I live each day. Except I know I haven’t. It’s not real. Not anymore.
Seeing her is like a punch in the gut—it hurts.
More than it should at this point.
Tears fill my eyes and I can’t help but hold my breath as my heart fills with guilt. I would have done anything—anything to keep her alive.
“Come,” she whispers, beckoning me over to her.
When she holds out her hand for me to take, time seems to stand still. Nothing moves, including me.
The world around me ceases to exist.
All I see is her—Camilla Gallagher.
My dead mate.
The love of my life.
My soul.
I take in a rough breath and with the back of my hand, wipe away the tear that has fallen. As I approach her, I try not to fall to my knees and weep like a small child at her feet. The closer I get, the more pain my heart feels. Her floral scent lingers in the air and I take in another deep breath. My body begins to tremble as I take the final step, standing in front of her.
Camilla pushes off the ground, standing to her full height. As she does, she lifts her gaze and meets mine from under her long dark lashes. When I look down into her loving eyes, my own fill again with unshed tears. Her hands lift and when her warm palms cup my face, I close my eyes, savor
ing the feel of her touch.
It’s been ages since I’ve truly felt it.
“Do not cry, my love.” Her voice is gentle.
Long fingers wipe away the dampness on my face.
When I reopen my gaze, Camilla frowns as her fingers slide off my face, down my neck, and over the chain around my neck that holds the cross pendant. I slowly breathe in and out at her touch, basking in it.
“You still wear it?” She smiles up at me, pleased.
“It’s the first piece of art you ever made. I’ll wear it forever.”
“Your pain and sadness hurt my heart, Gage,” she says quietly.
I stare at her, afraid she’ll disappear. “I fucking miss you. So goddamn much.”
“I am always with you,” she speaks softly.
“I can’t feel you anymore.”
“Perhaps you are not meant to feel me anymore.”
“Don’t say that,” I plead.
“Life is meant for the living.”
I shake my head no. “I am no longer amongst the living. My world has faded to black without you. Since your death, I’ve struggled to any find peace. There’s only darkness.”
A ghost of a smile tugs at her lips. “Maybe that’s all part of the plan for you. Maybe you’re supposed to fall into the darkness before you can be pulled back into the light.”
At her words, my breath hitches and I drop my chin, ashamed. “You’d be so disappointed in me. In who I’ve become without you.”
“Impossible.” Her accent becomes thicker with her firmness.
“They say I’m reckless.”
She laughs and the sound vibrates through me, taking away my ability to breathe again. All I can do is just look at her face, memorizing it for what feels like the last time.
“You have always been reckless, Gage Gallagher.” Camilla gifts me with an amused look. “It’s what I love most about you. You protect love, not righteousness or nobility.”
“This dark wildness within me . . . it’s different. I’m different.”
Her eyes soften with understanding. “Someday, my love, there will be a young protector who will rely on your recklessness. He will need you to help him protect love. Above all else. And you will. Light will come back into your life again. I promise,” she whispers. “And when it does, it will not diminish the love you had for me. Or mine for you. It will simply intensify what we shared,” she states. “You won’t be forlorn forever.”
Unable to hold her intense gaze, I look around the studio. Since her death, this is the first time I’ve seen her here. Normally, when Camilla’s soul visits, we’re in Notre Dame Cathedral, where she sits on the floor, working on restoring crumbling statues as we talk.
That was her happy place, when she was alive. At least twice a week, I’d wake up in the middle of the night to discover her missing, only to find her at the cathedral, immersed in the calm and happiness she found by restoring the church’s old broken sculptures.
Camilla has always believed that even the most broken of things could be repaired with patience. It’s what I loved about her. It’s also why I never questioned where she was the night she was stolen from me. I’d woken in a cold sweat. My body felt empty and my heart hollow. It was as if my nonexistent soul had left me.
And I knew—she was gone.
Later, I’d discovered her death was at my father’s hand. His men ripped her from me. Raped her. Slit her throat and then left her lifeless body at my doorstep to find the next morning. All a cruel reminder that I was the heir to the Paris clan of gargoyles. Love for a human, the woman I was assigned to protect, was not allowed. Her death was my punishment. A warning to submit to an existence of duties, oaths, and clan above all else.
After she was gone, I walked away from everything. My clan. My protector duties and title. My oaths and vows. I became a traitor to the gargoyle race. Until the day the London clan pulled me back into our dark world.
As the new leader of the Paris clan.
With a heavy exhale, my eyes fall onto the pile of wet clay sitting on her spinner. “What is that supposed to be?” I ask, refocusing our discussion.
Her eyes light up. “It’s not finished. It’s just the start of something.”
I shake my head, amused at her excitement.
“Of what exactly?”
“A buttercup.”
With a questioning look, I run my thumb over my bottom lip, staring at the pile of wet mud. “Since when do you sculpt flowers?” They aren’t normally her thing.
“Do you have something against buttercups?” she muses.
I shrug and meet her eyes. “I’ve never really paid any attention to them.”
“Perhaps it’s time you did.” She looks at me with a strange look.
“Why is that?”
“They are wildflowers,” she explains with a quiet, thoughtful calm to her voice.
“Wildflowers,” I repeat on a mutter.
“They look delicate and fragile,” she continues. “But they aren’t. They’re strong. And if properly cared for, they will bloom forever under your protection and love.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“And you haven’t given it enough,” she counters.
I miss this—being with her in the quiet of the night.
Talking about nothing and everything.
Leaning in, I kiss her cheek.
“I’m lost without you, Camilla,” I whisper.
“You are not lost, my love,” she replies sadly. “You just don’t know it yet.”
“I’m tired. So. Fucking. Tired.”
A shaky breath escapes me as she steps back, looking me in the eyes. “Then close your eyes,” she encourages. “Rest.”
“I’m afraid to. Afraid this moment of peace will leave me as quickly as it came.”
Camilla steps closer and brushes her fingers over my eyes, forcing them closed.
I remember the moment she became mine.
The moment I owned her, and she owned me.
I remember all the small moments between us that I refuse to ever let go of as she presses her lips against mine for what feels like the last time.
“I love you, Gage Gallagher. Even in death.”
1
The Darkness
GAGE
Lost between reality and fantasy, I sit up in bed and roughly exhale. My eyes dart around the room, wild and unfocused as I try to figure out where I am.
After a moment, the blackness I’m suffocating in disappears. Clarity returns as I blink my way back into reality. She’s gone. Camilla is gone. It was just another dream. Another fucking cruel one.
Like all the memories that find me in the dark.
Camilla’s face, her eyes, flash behind my own, and the ache of loneliness fills me. My dreams are a painful reminder of the sense of loss her death has caused.
Bitterness and guilt crawl up my throat, as they always do after I see her. Pushing my hands through my hair, I try to force away the sting of my grief. Her death is like an open wound and the dreams are salt, burning the lesion. I wait for the numbness to take over, the way it does whenever I dream about Camilla. Like always, once it settles in, all I want to do is disappear. Fade into the night and keep pretending like I still exist.
I glance over to my right at the sleeping woman next to me. Her long black hair is spread across the pillow; the purple highlights appear even darker in the now fading moonlight. Even asleep in the pitch-black room, her beauty shines brightly, demanding my attention.
My gaze skims down and over her body, taking her in. At some point last night, she must have gotten up to put on her boy shorts and the vintage band T-shirt she’s wearing. It’s her favorite. This woman is so different from Camilla. In every way.
Choking back a laugh, I shove away any notions that the sorceress next to me can protect me from the darkness that shadows me. Believing so would be foolish.
Besides, I have no intention of pulling anyone else i
nto my ominous hell of an existence. Not ever again.
Doing so would be a death sentence for them, and more heartache for me. Especially not Nassa, the sorceress of prosperity. Even if I am in awe of her remarkable intelligence, quiet strength, and unique beauty. Christ, even her rebellious independence and fierce magical skills are something to stop and admire.
Which, I’m ashamed to admit, I’ve done more often than I should. Still, at the end of the day, no matter how powerful and strong she is, Nassa is better off without me tainting her future.
And I’m better off alone.
Drowning in self-loathing and endless darkness.
Like always, eventually the numbness gives way to anger—so much anger. I’d given everything up for Camilla. Who I was, and who I was to become.
Only to have my own kind, beings who protect mortal souls, my own flesh and blood, betray me by ruthlessly ending her existence.
Needing to wash off the torment eating away at me courtesy of my dream, I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Nassa, and head into the attached bathroom.
Dark Paradise: A Revelation Series Novel (The Revelation Series Book 6) Page 1