“What?”
“Is it a pity chance at salvation?”
“No,” he argues.
“Then what is it, Asher?”
“We are beings of honor. And you’re a friend. One I trust and want by my side.”
I flick the ashes off what’s left of my cigarette and nod my head in acceptance. Regardless of our pasts, they’re trying to have a future with me.
I guess this is the first step.
“It’d be nice to keep some of the original elements if we can,” I suggest.
“Do what you can,” Asher instructs.
“It will be costly,” I point out.
“We’ll pay whatever cost.”
“When can we get the first round of renderings?” Keegan inquires.
“I have a new architect working at the firm in Barcelona, Everett Weston. He’ll be the point person on this project. Let me get in touch with him and see what I can do.”
4
Heart Of Stone
GAGE
Asher watches me pinch my cigarette between my thumb and index finger before crushing it under the weight of my shoes. He throws a cocky, knowing look at me. I hate his looks. They’re full of St. Michael smugness. And that smugness makes me want to throat punch him. Or someone else.
“What?” I sigh.
“Thought you quit.”
“Does it look like I have?”
“Eve won’t be happy when she hears about this.”
I roll my eyes. “Eve may control you, but she doesn’t control me.”
“And you littered,” Asher continues. “She hates that shit.”
“I don’t fucking care what your mate thinks, Asher,” I lie.
“Watch how you speak of her,” he warns. “I can still end your existence.”
Every fiber in his body screams intimidation. It’s in the way he carries himself. Asher St. Michael doesn’t make light, empty threats. It’s one of the few things I like about him.
I bark a laugh. “Always the protector, old friend. Doesn’t it ever get old?”
“You know what fucking gets old? Your callous attitude.”
“Fuck off.”
“Still the same old Gage,” he scoffs.
“Did you think I was going to change?”
Asher shakes his head. “We thought, maybe with Nassa—”
I take a step toward him, cutting him off. “Whatever you thought, it was wrong.”
“How is the sorceress?” Callan steps between us before things turn ugly.
“She’s fine,” I spit out, not liking their concern for her.
Callan’s brows raise. “Fine?”
“Yes. Fine,” I repeat slowly, annoyed.
“Fine is . . . vague,” Callan mutters under his breath.
My gaze shifts behind Callan, studying the open Irish land. It’s not that I’m cold-hearted. Or mean. It’s just that discussing my Nassa shit, with them, it hurts. I don’t pry into their lives, even though a part of me wants to. For them to pry into mine is a nuisance.
“Vague or not, it is what it is.”
Callan frowns with a mix of sadness and frustration.
“Talking about it helps.”
“I’m tired of hearing my own voice on this matter,” I point out.
Asher pins me with a knowing look. “We just . . . care about you both.”
I exhale roughly. “Don’t.”
“Nassa talks to the girls about you.”
“So?”
“So. She’s afraid if she pushes you into something, it’s going to send you over the edge,” Asher says. “She doesn’t know what to do, or say, to make things better for you. None of us do,” he exhales. “Eve seems to think that deep down, Nassa is afraid you might never feel about her the same way she feels about you.”
“Nassa said that?” My jaw clenches.
“Essentially. There was more cursing and derogatory name calling.”
“That could have been the wine, though,” Callan interjects.
“Nassa is . . .” The ache in my chest grows heavier. “Always fucking pushing back and holding me accountable,” I vent. “No matter what I do or say, she has an opinion. To the point of driving me to insanity most days. She never listens,” I ramble. “She is infuriating. She is incorrigible. She is frustrating. She is . . .” I trail off, practically yelling.
Callan’s gaze catches mine. “Sounds like she is under your skin.”
Annoyed that he’s right, I snap my eyes to his.
“Fuck off.”
“I guess that answers that.” Asher’s lips curl into a knowing smirk.
My jaw clenches. “Answers what?”
Keegan meets Asher’s eyes. “Whether you two are together.”
“We aren’t,” I state.
“We were hoping you’d finally let someone in and started to move on,” Callan says.
“Move on?” I repeat in a gravelly voice.
Asher places his palms up in surrender. “He didn’t mea—”
“There is no . . . moving on,” I all but roar.
“Gage—” Asher starts, but I pin him with a look that shuts him up.
“Listen, I’ll construct the Royal Protector Academy, but that is it. My edges aren’t softening. I have no desire to let go of the darkness that settled in when Camilla was taken and killed. And I am not interested in having feelings talks with you three about Nassa.” My throat burns with the weight and intensity of three sets of blue eyes on me.
“You’re only living to survive,” Keegan points out.
“I’m not living. Or surviving,” I argue. “I’m merely existing.”
“Do you really want to keep doing that?” Asher challenges.
“You know what?” I snarl, because I am so fucking tired. “Fuck off. All of you.”
“Gage—” Asher tries to calm me.
“You got your happy ending, Asher. Leave my story alone,” I warn.
Callan places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes.
“Listen, it’s been mentioned that perhaps, with Camilla’s death, you may have lost your soul. We just want you to be okay.”
Frustrated, I rub my hands over my face and through my hair. My hard gaze meets his. “We’re gargoyles. I never had a soul to lose.”
Asher gets between us and, with a quick nod of his head, motions to Callan and Keegan to give us some privacy. Callan lingers for a second, wanting to say more, before he and Keegan offer me their goodbyes and both vanish into thin air, leaving Asher and me alone.
My old friend steps in front of me.
“Eve is worried about you.”
“Christ.” I’m annoyed with everyone’s concern.
“And so am I.”
“Tell her to stop pitying me.”
“She isn’t pitying you,” he argues. “None of us are.”
“No?”
“She’s convinced you’re stumbling around in the dark, waiting to be rescued.”
“I’m fucking fine!”
“You’re far from fine.” Asher holds my gaze for a few moments before he lowers his voice. “You and I, we’re cut from the same cloth. We’re both fucking reckless, pig-headed gargoyles, yeah? We’d rather sacrifice our own happiness than feel the pain of loss.” He steps closer. “I may have never felt the death of a mate, but I’ve lost the person I love for a time. And trust me, when you mourn lost love, you never want to feel that way again. I fucking get it.” He stares at me hard. “But hear me out. Even those like us, who are, or have been lost . . . they want to be found one day. To be pulled from the darkness.”
“I like living in the darkness.”
“No. You fucking don’t,” he disputes.
“How do you know?”
“I know. Believe me. No one likes drowning in darkness, Gage.”
“So, you’re going to—what?” I scoff. “Pull me back into the light?”
“If you let me.”
I take in a breath and slowly exhale. “Every time I see
you, I’m reminded of my loss.”
“And every time I see you,” he counters, “I’m reminded of what loss looks like.”
Stretching my neck from side to side, I lace my fingers behind my neck.
“You loved Camilla.” He lowers his voice, speaking gently. “You’ve mourned her. As is right and proper for a mate. But enough is enough. It’s time for you to start living.”
Had someone told me that Asher and I would be here, talking like this, after all the shit that has gone down between the two of us, I would have laughed in their face. I clench my jaw and decide to shed the last part of my anger with him. No matter how much I fight it, Asher and I have history.
And it’s not just with him, but the London clan.
That is the legacy our fathers left behind.
Even though I want to go on blaming him and his clan, the truth is it’s not his fault. Not their fault. Our fathers were the villains. Our friendship—or whatever this is—is stained, awkward, and filled with the darkest things. But above all else, it’s full of brotherhood.
“I would be remiss in my duties as your king and friend if I did not respectfully ask you to give Nassa some consideration. You have the full support of the protectors to lead Paris. And as widely revered as you are in France, it will be hard. You’ll need support.”
“Stop pushing Nassa on me,” I say. “And using my leadership to do so.”
Asher stares at me, probably hoping I’ll change my mind. After a moment, he sees something in my face that shows him my resolve, causing him to nod and step back.
“Being with her”—I swallow—“doesn’t make the darkness go away.”
The worry lines around Asher’s mouth deepen as he leans forward and whispers, “Letting her in won’t diminish the love you had for Camilla. She’d want you to live, Gage.”
Normally, Asher’s words would piss me off. Today, they nearly have me in tears. Christ, what the hell is wrong with me? The conviction with which he says them makes it sound like he’s willing to fight for me to live, to die for me to continue to love and exist.
My voice cracks. “Camilla’s absence feels like a huge hole has been punched through my chest. The night she died, my heart stopped beating.” It feels odd saying this out loud to him. “The pain I feel is my only reminder that she was real. That she existed at all.”
With his understanding eyes fixed on me, he says, “I’m sorry for my father’s part in her death. If I could have protected her, or saved her on your behalf, I would have.”
My composure slips, just barely, as I clear my throat.
“I know.”
Asher blinks at me, slowly and intensely, as if he senses I’ve given up—given in. “One way or another, Gallagher, on my honor, I will make things right with you.”
“You can’t,” I reply flatly. “She’s dead. And truthfully, it’ll never be right again.”
“Doesn’t mean that I’ll stop trying.” Asher offers me a polite smile. “And for the record, you’re worthy of living. Your love and devotion to Camilla proves you’re worthy.”
“Thought you were going to stop?” I mumble.
He shrugs, taking a step back. “I’m done now.”
Emotion clogs my throat. Years ago, Asher had been a brother to me. Someone I trusted without hesitation.
I’m realizing he and the St. Michaels will never stop feeling responsible for Camilla’s death—not now that they know their father was partially to blame.
He doesn’t speak for a few minutes, letting me work through the things we’ve said. “Listen,” he lowers his voice. “The Academy isn’t the only reason I asked you here.”
I lock eyes with him.
It’s rare for Asher to ask for favors from me.
This is number two in a short period of time.
“Pierced or not”—I narrow my eyes at him—“I’m not sleeping with you.”
“My apadravya piercing would blow your fucking mind,” he counters.
I shake my head. “Count me out.”
“Given your panache for hitting on anything with two legs, that is shocking.”
“You’re not my type.”
Asher presses his lips together. “I’m everyone’s type.”
“What is it you actually want?” I try to focus him.
“I need a personal favor kept between the two of us.”
“I’m still recovering from the last personal favor we kept between the two of us.”
The one where he asked me to help protect Eve against Hell, which was hunting her.
“That favor is the reason I only trust you with this one.”
My eyes hold his as I listen to him. “Lay it on me.”
“It’s about Michael,” he says quietly.
I run a thumb over my bottom lip. “I warned you, you can’t trust archangels.”
“He’s Eve’s father.” He rolls his shoulders back.
“And a warrior of Heaven,” I point out.
“I don’t really have a choice.”
“We all have choices,” I argue. “Free will and all.”
“Free will doesn’t seem to have a place in this situation.”
“It doesn’t really seem to have a place in any of our situations as of late.”
“Can I continue?”
“What about Michael?”
“I think the warrior of Heaven is involved in matters of heresy and blasphemy.”
We fall silent for a moment, his nervousness buzzing between us like crashing waves.
“You’re speaking in code,” I state. “I need more here, Asher.”
Asher’s eyes dart around before he steps closer and lowers his voice. “Do you remember the second peace treaty and what exactly was promised in it by the divine?”
“The one Michael and Uriel said the Angelic Council negotiated?”
He dips his chin. “The one between the divine and demonic realms.”
My brows furrow. “As I understand, the agreement was meant to prevent the dark army from further hunting Eve or causing more chaos in the human world.”
“Which has happened,” he says. “They’ve all but disappeared.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” I ask, confused. “A quiet, peaceful life?”
“Of course it is,” he snaps out.
“Then what the hell is the issue?”
“My gut instinct is telling me it’s all happened a little too quickly. And quietly.”
“Your gut?”
“My gut is never wrong.”
I have to agree with his line of thinking. “It is odd that the demonic army would just bow down to the divine without putting up a fight. Or finding a loophole.”
“It makes no sense,” he continues. “They’ve vanished. And Eve’s father and uncle Uriel? They still have the full support of the divine army and the Angelic Council. As well as the heavenly legion. Even after they learned about everything Michael did to protect Eve.”
My shoulders tighten. “What is it you’re looking for here, Asher?”
“I need to know what the treaty says. And what Michael’s role was in its negotiation.”
I give him my are you sure you want to go down this road again? look. “Isn’t the treaty sealed by Heaven and Hell?” I point out. “By some . . . incantation, or something?”
Asher’s hands clench into fists. “It is.”
Okay. I inhale through my nose. “You think what was promised has something to do with heresy and blasphemy on the part of the Angelic Council and the demonic realms?”
“Something is way fucking off for the demonic realm to step away so easily.”
My jaw clenches. “You’re accusing a warrior of Heaven of sacrilege.”
“After what we just went through, my accusation surprises you?”
I shake my head. “I’m just making sure you know what you’re doing.”
He runs his hand through his hair. “I’m accusing a father of doing whatever it takes to protect his daughter. Regardless
of who, or what, gets caught up in the middle.”
“What do you care how he got it done? If Eve is safe?” I challenge.
“Eve might be safe, but I have a sinking feeling the gargoyle race isn’t.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Michael told Eve that when the new treaty ends, the world as we know it will end.”
I snort. “And the end of the world always revolves around you and Eve?”
“I need to be prepared for whatever that looks like,” he growls. “To protect her. Our race. The mortal world. Who the fuck knows what he agreed to, in order to save her.”
“Don’t you ever stop with all this protection shit?”
“We’re gargoyles. It’s what we do. We protect.”
“You don’t even know if there is a need to protect.”
“That’s what I want you to find out.”
“You want me to somehow break into a magically sealed peace treaty and what? Unlock it to read its contents?” I almost laugh at the ridiculous irony of his request. Almost.
“I thought you could do anything, Gallagher?”
Watching him, I keep my expression casual. “I can do a lot of impressive shit, Asher, but crossing past the golden gates into the divine realm is not one of those things. Let alone breaking into a peace treaty that has been sealed by fucking archangel charms.”
Asher falls silent, holding my gaze, which tells me he’s fucking serious. My shoulders fall.
“I presume all the sex you’re having is redirecting the blood from your brain to other areas of your body. You clearly haven’t thought this idea through.”
“Presume away.” He smirks wickedly. “Listen, there are only two realms that know what the second peace treaty has outlined in it. Yeah? Both approved, signed, and sealed it. Both have copies. The divine and the demonic.”
“Given who I am, and my history, I only have access to one of those realms,” I reply.
“I know.”
“It’s not divine.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly,” I mutter, realizing he never wanted me to cross into the divine realm. It’s always been the demonic one. “What if the archangels catch wind of this?”
Asher’s shoulders tense. “They won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Don’t you think, if asked by Eve, Michael might reveal its contents to her?”
Dark Paradise: A Revelation Series Novel (The Revelation Series Book 6) Page 4