“Christ! Jumpy much?”
“Sorry,” I croak. “You surprised me.”
He pushes a glass of brandy toward me. “It will help with the edginess.”
My fingers wrap around the tumbler and I bring it to my lips, sipping on the amber liquid. It tastes like Gage—smoky, smooth, and spicy, as it both burns and warms me.
Peering up at him, I mumble a thanks.
“So. Your dad is—”
“An asshole?” I finish for him.
Gage considers me for a moment. “Different.”
My gaze wanders over him with more appreciation stemming from understanding.
“Our father-daughter relationship is . . . kinda fucked up, I guess.”
“Not all beings are meant to be fathers,” he says. “Whatever daddy issues you are harboring, don’t. Mammon isn’t fit to be in your life. Not the way you want him to be.”
Our eyes are caught in an intense hold. “What about you, Gallagher?”
Watching me, with one large gulp he downs the entire contents of his own drink. He peers at me over the rim of his glass as he swallows harshly, before he grates out, “I can barely take care of myself, buttercup. I’m definitely not fit to be anyone’s fucking father.”
Shifting on my feet. “I meant, are you fit to be in my life?”
Gage swallows again, holding my gaze. “I’m working on it.”
My eyes search his, unable to look away. Gage is the most beautiful and heartbreaking man I’ve ever met. He doesn’t scare me. If anything, he intrigues me. He’s a walking contradiction. Gage carries himself like the world owes him everything—and yet, he makes no apologies about owing the world nothing. Darkness swirls in his eyes, but not in his heart. Every dangerous angle and scar is earned. Even so, he’s painfully perfect.
“Asmodeus is building an army,” I whisper. “That is what Mammon was referring to when he said I knew what my uncle was up to,” I admit. “I learned about the Diablo Fairies when I was visiting my aunt Lunette. They’re planning to go after the protector race.”
Gage’s nostrils flare. “I know.”
My brows pinch. “You do?”
“Siobhan warned me.”
I try not to flinch at the mention of the Unseelie Caballucos queen. Rumor has it that Siobhan and Camilla were good friends—an odd pairing given that Camilla was human, and Siobhan is a thousand-year-old dark-souled fae. They met years ago in Spain, and Camilla was commissioned by Siobhan to create statues of her heirs—all women.
The Caballucos del Diablu are infamous for purifying mortal souls of their sins before their death. Siobhan is a very powerful seer and reigns over the kingdom of Aragon, known throughout the supernatural world as the Isle of Darkness. In Aragon, women are in power. Upon Siobhan’s death, her daughter Coventina will reign, followed by Coventina’s newborn daughter, Taavi. When Taavi has a daughter—already named Umbria by the Unseelie Court—she’ll inherit the monarchy. And so on, and so forth.
The Caballucos are an Unseelie court steeped in deep tradition.
“You went to the Isle of Darkness?” I ask.
“I go frequently for Siobhan’s counsel.”
“Not to point out the obvious, but you don’t have a soul. Or an aura to read.”
“Siobhan doesn’t foresee my future,” he retorts. “She counsels me.”
“Then how did she see the Diablo Fairies?”
“For one, they’re devil fairies and she is an Unseelie queen. And her half-sister, Kupuva, has become Amsodeus’s new mate. Your uncle is still pretty pissed off about Lady Finella’s death. He’s vowed revenge against Michael and Uriel for killing his mate.”
“What does his vengeance against the archangels have to do with the gargoyles?”
“I don’t know yet. Asher asked me to find out. He thinks the second peace treaty is somehow tied to Serena, Abby and Callan’s newborn. The hows and whys—well, they are still up for debate. Regardless, he’s building an army of his own to protect the next heir.”
“The Academy?” I surmise.
Gage nods. “Is this secret going to be a problem between us?”
Taking another small sip of brandy, I pinch my brows. “Why would it?”
“I need to find out what was promised in the treaty in order to confirm, or disprove, Asher’s theory on why the protectors are being placed in the middle of this shitstorm.”
“So you promised you would help him.”
“As if it was a blood oath,” he smirks.
“Then there isn’t an issue, Gage. I’ll help, however I can.”
With his free hand, Gage gently brushes his fingertips over my hair.
“Thank you.”
“What about Keegan and Callan?” I ask.
“Because of Serena, Asher doesn’t want to bring them in on things unless it’s absolutely necessary and proven,” he exhales out. “He’s determined to protect them.”
I nod, understanding. “So, Eve, Abby, and Kenna—”
“Are in the dark too,” he finishes. “It’s just you and me who know.”
I finally exhale, realizing I hadn’t taken a breath since he grabbed my hand.
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” I manage.
“I trust you,” he says firmly. “Never once have I ever questioned your intentions.”
The air crackles between us with heat and something else, something new.
I take him in. “Still, it was a mistake not to tell you.”
Gage places his thumb over my lips, silencing me. “We all make mistakes, buttercup. It’s how we rectify them that defines us. You told me.” He shrugs. “We’re good here.”
I force a small smile. “So, what now?”
“Now, we need to get our hands on the treaty.”
“As much faith as I have in you, and in myself, there is no way in hell the two of us can get through seventy-two demons. That isn’t defeat talking,” I point out. “It’s fact.”
Gage’s expression turns cocky. “It’s your turn to trust in me.”
“I know how the underworld works—”
“So do I.” He steps closer, taking the glass from my hands, and places both his empty one and mine on a nearby table before he takes my hands in his. “I’ve called in some favors with a few old friends. Later tonight, we’re going to meet them down by the river.”
“The river?” I look around his loft. “Why not here?”
“They aren’t the most . . . righteous of beings,” he pauses, squeezing my hands to regain my focus. “Most of them are on the wrong side of morality more often than not, so it wouldn’t be safe for them here. But they’ll help us and get the job done quietly. And I can trust each one of them to come through,” he adds. “Are you cool with all of this?”
I give him my most confident look. “I’m cool with a lot of things you do. As for having sketchy friends . . . well”—I look him up and down—“that doesn’t surprise me.”
Gage’s mouth twitches as he steps even closer, pushing my back against the cool glass window. The shadowed gray city of Paris reflects in his eyes. He exhales a long and hard brandy-filled breath. It touches my lips, a shadow of a kiss, as his warmth wraps around me in an invisible embrace. Inhaling, I bask in it. In him. Helpless to escape his thrall.
“I like that my secrets are safe with you,” he whispers.
Me too. It’s too bad he can’t promise that my heart will be.
“I like that you trust me with them,” I reply softly.
“I’m a lot to handle, Nassa.”
“No shit.”
“All my buried skeletons, my pain and sorrow—you don’t seem scared of my darkness, or how vicious it can be. At times, your acceptance leaves me feeling raw . . .” He trails off. “Maybe even a little exposed . . . vulnerable. Sometimes”—he lowers his lips to mine, not touching them—“I feel like I’m leveraging your heart for my own sanity.”
“I’ve always known who you are. I may not always agree with the reckless choices yo
u make, or how you handle the ghosts that haunt you, but with you, my heart has never been confused. Not ever. I’m a big girl. I know what I’m doing with you, Gallagher.”
“Do you?” He brushes his lips across mine with the lightest of touches.
Nope. I have no fucking clue. But what I do know for certain is that nothing has ever been sexier than having Gage Gallagher pressed up against me, with the city of Paris behind us, soaked in rain and blanketed in dark clouds. It’s a beautiful contradiction.
Gage’s lips barely touch mine and I’m gone. I have no idea what it is, but something is changing between us. And, I’m pretty sure it’s that I’m falling for him. The realization rips my heart in two. Half of me is elated at the idea of feeling deeper for him, and the other half is trembling in fear because I know he is incapable of loving me back.
And there lies our problem.
I don’t want to be a warm, willing place he escapes to anymore.
I want him to want me, and only me.
Gage leans forward, his lips at my ear. “Nassa?”
He breathes out my name and I can tell by the tremor in his tone that my silence is making him nervous. Not trusting my own voice, I place my palms on his chest, pushing him back a bit so I can look up at him. Holding his intense stare, I slowly turn, allowing his chest to brush my back. Growling, he presses into me, pushing me up against the glass, at the same time he cages me in with his hands. Leaning forward, he settles his lips between the strands of my hair and bites into the curve where my neck meets my shoulder, hard. I let out a groan of pleasure. That’s going to leave a mark, no doubt his intent.
Over my shoulder, Gage’s eyes search mine, reading me.
He does it so well—sees through my smart-ass confidence.
“Don’t do that,” he demands.
“Do what?”
“Get lost in your thoughts. Just be present. Here with me now.”
Warm lips settle on the side of my neck, and I struggle to catch my breath and calm my heart. I flatten my hands on the window, matching his stance, trying to focus while his soft lips and teeth drag over my pulse. It’s so easy to get drunk off Gage’s intoxicating touch. I’m lost in his scent. Everything becomes blurry and my knees weaken.
Sensing this, he presses the front of his body into my back even more, holding me up against the window. At some point, I’m going to need to stop struggling with all my conflicting feelings when it comes to him. The internal fight only makes me sink deeper into him. Maybe I want that, though. To drown in him. To be the one to soothe all his jagged raw edges. To chase away the shadows and darkness that follow him every day.
He puts his lips to my ear and growls, “Don’t move.”
Both of his hands come off the glass and he hooks two fingers along the side of my loose jeans, pulling them, and my panties, down as he lowers himself to his knees behind me. My skin pebbles in reaction. I shift slightly, causing Gage to smack my ass in warning.
“I told you not to move, buttercup.” His breath caresses the stinging skin.
Slowly, he smooths his hands along the back of my bare legs. At the same time, I tense when I look out the window and realize there is a chance someone might see us.
“No one can see,” he says, reading my thoughts. “We’re up too high, and the dark tinting keeps you covered. Focus on the city and how romantic this moment is.”
I look back and down at him. “I don’t think romantic is the right word for this.”
Wickedly, Gage grins up at me and, holding my gaze, nudges my knees slightly apart.
“Are you saying I’m not romantic?” he whispers, and sinks his teeth into my ass.
With a surprised yelp, I narrow my eyes at him, ready to throw out a wise-ass remark, but my words get lost when his hand slides up the inside of my bare thigh and settles between my legs. Facing the city, I bite down on my lower lip to stifle a gasp as his fingers find my already damp center, playing and slipping inside of me. Skillfully, Gage flicks back and forth, causing me to groan and mutter incoherent words under my breath.
Lost in my pleasure, I let my forehead fall forward, pressing against the cold glass.
Gage’s other hand reaches in front and circles my clit with calculated strokes.
And I’m gone.
“Tilt your hips back toward me a little,” he commands, and I obey.
When I bend over, exposing myself more to him, he puts his mouth over me and adds his tongue, matching the pace of his fingers. I let out a deep, strained moan and Gage grins against my opening. Without thinking, I push my hips back against his face and press my palms harder against the glass, grinding against his face as he strokes my clit.
My thighs begin to shake and I lift on my toes to give him better access. Gage growls in approval in sinks his tongue deeper into me. When he presses my clit a little harder, my body shakes and pulses around him and I lose all control. My orgasm rushes across his tongue and fingers as I yell his name in a hard, rough, quick shout. Holy shit!
After giving me a few moments to collect myself, he slides my pants back up, standing to his full height behind me. On shaky legs, I turn slowly to find him focused on me with heavy-lidded, desire-filled eyes. He puts his wet fingers into his mouth and sucks them.
“You taste so fucking good,” he rumbles.
At the dirtiness of it all, my throat dries. I lean my back against the window as he presses his body to mine again. I can feel every inch of him. It scares me how desperate I am for him, to feel his lips against mine. His mouth lands on my mine in a long, soft, drugging kiss that has me curling my fingers into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to me. After removing all the air from my lungs, he pulls his lips back the tiniest amount.
“So damn sweet, buttercup,” he whispers hoarsely against my mouth.
My heart thuds heavy in my ears. Somehow, I can feel every flutter of his pulse as he raises his arms and flattens his palms onto the window at the same time as his lips take mine again. Our languid kiss has us falling deeper into the unknown. It’s both sensual and carnal. It’s a connection, one that only he and I share. I kiss him like I’m trying to bring him back to life. I like it when we’re like this. Connected. Overwhelmed by emotion.
Like this, his words don’t cut me. Like this, the way he looks at me makes me feel wanted. Like this, the way his mouth moves over mine, or the way his fingertips brush over my already heated skin, makes me feel safe and revered. Seeing him not numb with pain or sadness makes me hungry for him. For more. For everything, which just means that when we finally crash and burn, and we will, it is going to be devastating.
Needing air, Gage releases my mouth and leans back the slightest bit. His sea-green eyes meet mine, searching before he leans over and takes my lips in one last soft, gentle kiss. “You and I have very different versions of romantic, buttercup,” he circles back.
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. “I’m starting to like your version.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s so much more . . . dirty.”
His eyes burn with desire. “I will gladly fuck you dirty forever.”
Forever. And there it is. With one stupid little word, my heart flutters and hope sinks in. Slowly, I take in a long inhale through my nose. Every muscle and bone in my body becomes mush, sagging with gratification at his declaration of forever.
“I’ll take a forever with you,” I reply in a serene tone.
Gage’s body is heavy on mine against the window, as though he can no longer hold himself up. Our breaths mix as we both let his words hang between us. His eyes are still on mine. We both stay silent, staring at each other until reality seeps in with each exhale.
Waves of emotion surge down on me as the happy, weightless feeling is replaced with the dark, cold reality of what we will never be, because there is no forever for us.
“Never forget, I’m the one who takes.” His words throw us back into reality.
“Gage—”
“Who ruins.”
His words send me into a free fall.
“It will always be that way,” he adds. “No matter the amount of time together.”
I look up into his eyes, and my breath hitches.
I thought sex with Gage was emotionally messy.
Loving him is going to be a fucking disaster.
10
Safe and Warm
Gage
A rush of irritation tightens my shoulders, making it hard to breathe. These days, I wear anger and irritation like a second skin. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try drowning out the sound of Camilla’s voice screaming my name over and over again in my head. Begging me to find her. Protect her. And then finally, to forgive and understand why she is gone.
Unfortunately for her, I’m not that being anymore—the kind that forgives or understands. I don’t think I will ever be that being again. My eyelids flutter open as I take in the city’s golden-amber lights laid out below me. There is no better sight than Paris lit up at night—the darkened sky against the warm glow of the sleeping city. It’s peaceful and serene. Especially after a hard rain has washed away its sins and gloom.
With a vacant stare, I take in the familiar sight. Trying to remember. Trying to forget. It’s all a vicious cycle. They say that time heals. In my case, time has only fueled my pain, trapping me in the murkiness of the mirror of my past. For me, innocence died screaming, and now, time has shown me how cruel and dark this existence truly is.
Perched on the stone ledge, I stretch my gray wings and allow my lit cigarette to hang off my lips. My legs dangle off Notre Dame Cathedral as I take in the black sky sprinkled with stars. For some reason, they seem to shine brighter tonight. Maybe it’s Camilla’s doing. Maybe she knows that I’m about to step into the inferno, proving to her ghost that I would walk through hell and back in order to punish those who do harm.
With both my hands, I rub my face to try to regain control of my thoughts. Tonight isn’t about her. It’s not about loneliness. Or my pain. Not really. It’s about what the fuck the underworld is up to and how it is going to destroy the gargoyle race. And it’s about Nassa, and keeping her safe in all this fucking mess. She deserves that much from me.
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