Eve squeezes my wrist reassuringly. “Paternal lineages are the worst.”
She should know, being the archangel Michael’s daughter and all. “Yeah.”
“I thought he was mated to Camilla?” Eve points out. “How is this possible?”
“Even though Camilla was his mate, he was able to have an upper-level demon link his lion spirit to Nassa’s dark bloodline,” Abby explains to Eve. “It’s a rare spirit link.”
Eve holds my wrist, her eyes meeting mine before softening. “Really?”
“Don’t get excited.” I pull my arm away. “He made it clear we don’t belong to one another. That he still belongs to Camilla. And only to Camilla.”
“He does realize she’s dead?”
“Kenna!” Abby chastises.
“Well, she is. And don’t give me that look, Abs. Everyone involved in this conversation is thinking it. I’m just the only one with balls who’ll actually say it.”
“That is because you have absolutely no sensitivity chip,” Abby snaps at her before turning her attention back to me. “Are you sure that’s what he meant? Or said?”
Eve nods. “Sometimes when we’re hurting, we say the opposite of what we want.”
I down the entire contents of my wine glass in one large gulp before placing my empty glass back on the coffee table, where Abby kindly refills it. “Oh, he was very clear.”
“I’m confused,” Eve frowns.
Kenna snorts. “Shocker.”
“If he didn’t want to be linked to you, then why did he do it?” Eve asks.
“To save my soul . . . or something, from becoming dark and demonic.”
The three of them share private glances around me as I take another sip of wine.
“What?”
Eve clears her throat. “It’s just, in my vast experience now, dealing with an overprotective, dark, sullen gargoyle, who tends to be—”
“Pig-headed,” Kenna interjected.
“Moody,” Abby adds.
Eve rolls her eyes. “Controlling, and maybe a little scared of love. Pushing you away, while saving your soul, is kinda their way of showing you how important you are to them.”
My eyes meet hers. “Gage isn’t Asher. And I am not you. We don’t play games.”
“Apparently—” Abby sits back and tilts her head, smiling. “You two do.”
I look down at my wrist. “I never wanted, or tried, to take her place.”
“Gage knows that,” Eve replies. “Deep in his heart, Nassa, he knows.”
“Does he?” I ask in a defeated voice.
“Yes,” she replies.
I shrug noncommittally. “Let’s say you’re right. What do I do now?”
“I’d say to give him time, but he’s had it,” Abby points out, biting her bottom lip.
“I can’t imagine that Camilla would want him suffering like he is,” Eve exhales.
“What was she like?” I ask the cousins who knew her.
They exchange an odd, uncomfortable glance.
“He doesn’t talk about her,” I explain.
“She was the complete opposite of you,” Kenna says quietly. “In every single way.”
A moment of jealousy tears through me. I knew she was probably obedient and moral, weak and timid. She needed Gage for survival. For protection. For love. And I don’t.
“With protectors, like Gage,” Eve whispers, “you just have to keep trying.”
“That is the worst advice ever.” I frown. “Besides, I kept trying. Against my better judgment, and it all shattered into pieces in the end. I’m done trying to save him.”
“Save him? What idiot gave you that advice?” Kenna asks.
All eyes shift to Eve, who pouts. “What? He needs saving. I think—”
Kenna grabs my wrist hard. “Have you tried giving him hell? Destroying his world? Getting his attention? Crushing his spirit so that he fears an existence without you?”
“Kenna,” Abby reprimands. “No. Don’t destroy anything.”
Kenna snaps her gaze to mine. “Loving him nicely isn’t working. Destroy shit.”
“By the grace,” Eve sighs. “Nassa, just . . . don’t give up on him yet.”
The air in the room shifts and all talking ceases.
We all turn our heads to the right, to the four gargoyles watching us.
Callan’s eyes land on the coffee table. “It’s the hard stuff. Wine and fries.”
Gage looks around, his eyes taking in everything before his icy stare lands on me. In the candlelight it’s anything but comforting. In fact, the way he’s looking at me is like a punch in the gut as he puts distance between us, refusing to come closer, freezing me out.
I stand and he panics, becoming rigid. His expression hardens. Everyone around us watches our interaction with fascination. Trembling, I take a small step in his direction.
At the same time, in unison, the three St. Michael brothers all take several steps back, looking terrified as they make their escape so I don’t hurt them. Damn gargoyles.
I offer Gage a narrowed look. “Gallagher.”
He clears his throat. “Buttercup.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Everyone knows about the treaty threat now?”
“They do. Branna decoded it for us, and it confirmed what Asher originally thought,” he replies. “We’re going to”—he pauses—“discuss how to handle things. The future.”
“Itzy and Branna?” I inquire.
“They’re both fine. They returned the treaty to the vault without issue.”
“I nod. “I guess, then . . . we’re done.”
“Is that pepperoni?” Callan whispers loudly to Abby from behind Gage.
She must have scolded him with a look, because he pales and takes another step back.
“We’re done,” Gage states. “Thank you for helping us with this.”
I exhale slowly. “I’ll let the protectors handle the rest, then.”
Gage opens his mouth, then shuts it. His eyes convey confusion, a deep-rooted sadness, and pain. It hurts me to see him in pain. If only he knew how much.
I don’t smile.
I’m tired of forcing smiles with him in front of others.
To be honest, I’m just tired. Of all of it. Him. Me. Us. I have no energy left to fight for us, because he’s sucked the life out of me. My heart hurts. My soul cries out. Too bad Gage doesn’t care. I was wrong to think that I could save him from the darkness.
Could love him.
The truth is, the only person who can set him free from his darkness is the reason for it.
21
Apologies
GAGE
I’ve come to accept that there will be no peace for my heart. Lately, I’ve been putting myself through hell, and for what? All I’ve been doing with Nassa is giving myself a false sense of hope and comfort. What the hell was I thinking offering her a soul tie? And then, to make matters fucking worse, I surrendered to her . . . in my goddamn stone state bed.
Watching her leave, memories of that night hit me hard. After she fell asleep, I lay awake, trying to ease the sting the soul tie mark caused when it appeared, where my protector tattoo used to be. While she slept soundly, I prayed to whatever divine entity gave a shit for me to end my existence, so I wouldn’t have to live in my own sad dark paradise with her anymore. I was tortured with grief and guilt at what I had done.
I betrayed Camilla’s soul.
Her trust in my false promises of forever.
Our love.
The soul tie mark ended whatever connection still lingered with Camilla. And when sleep did finally come, it was restless and tormented. Unable to find peace, I tossed and turned, until the weight of someone in my stone state bed, next to me, had me panicking.
It was too familiar.
Too painful.
And I did the one thing I swore I’d never do again. I looked to my right for long, silky hair splayed across the pillow. And I found it. Only it had strands of deep pur
ples woven into it. Even worse, I sighed in relief that it was Nassa, and not Camilla, next to me.
I hate myself for it, which proves I can’t trust myself anymore with her.
With her, I lose control.
The invisible string to my past, to Camilla, snaps whenever she’s around.
Needing to get out of my chamber and stone state bed, I teleported us to my loft in Paris. Once I knew Nassa was safe and sleeping peacefully, I moved gently out of the bed.
Then I whispered to her sleeping form, “I’m so fucking sorry, buttercup.”
And I left.
I should have known she’d find me at the cemetery. I just needed time. Time to sift through my mixed feelings, my emotions. But she wouldn’t give me the space. She just kept pushing and pushing, until finally, I couldn’t take it. I didn’t want any of what she was offering in that moment. I just wanted to be alone, to deal with my sins. To grieve.
Per usual, though, Nassa didn’t listen. She just continued with her assault. Trying to free me. Heal me. Get me to let go of Camilla. Let her in. Imploring and fighting for us.
And when she finally left, I stood there, numb. In front of my dead wife’s grave, waiting for a sign that I was doing the right thing as I let the rain wash away my sins. Begging it to soothe the burn of the mark on my chest, proof of Nassa’s love, and a reminder of my broken oaths. Both leaving deeper scars than the ones I already had.
Darkness had fallen over the cemetery by the time I said goodbye to Camilla.
When I finally let her go . . .
For good.
“Gage?” Asher’s voice pulls me out of the memory.
“Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you were ready to show us the Academy renderings, and talk about the treaty, and Serena’s protection,” he says, concern etched on his face as he stares at me.
I nod. I still have a job to do. A purpose to fulfill. Walking over to the coffee table, I ignore the cold stares from McKenna and Abby, and the sad look Eve is giving me.
Keegan moves candles and wine glasses around with Asher, making room.
I ignore the purple lipstick on one of the glasses, knowing it’s Nassa’s.
Callan grabs a slice of pizza and moans. “Pepperoni. Good call on the toppings, ladies.”
I roll out the renderings, ignoring his food obsession and moaning.
“You do these, traitor?” Kenna asks.
Standing straighter, I look over at her and press my lips. “At some point, don’t you think you should stop calling me that? Given I’ve aligned with the Spiritual Assembly?”
“Stop being one, and I will stop calling you it.”
“How can you still possibly be mad at me?”
“Not still. My anger with you is new. It’s only about an hour old.”
Exhaling, I look away. So she’s siding with Nassa. That’s not surprising. Girl power.
My eyes meet Eve’s gentler gaze. “You mad at me too, love?”
“She loves you—” Asher grabs her hand, squeezing, warning her not to push.
“Listen carefully. My love life isn’t something I’m here to discuss with you all. What I am here to talk about is Serena, and her safety,” I reply. “So . . . let’s do that.”
Abby drinks more wine as she looks over the renderings. With a wicked gleam, she meets my eyes. “Are you planning to soul tie with Serena too? You know, to save her?”
Callan chuckles next to her as I drop my shoulders and glare at them.
“Too soon?” Callan asks.
“All right. Enough,” Asher sighs. “He doesn’t want to talk about it, yeah?”
“No shit. Take a fucking hint,” I growl.
“Tell us what you’ve learned recently, Gage,” Asher prompts.
“About the treaty,” Kenna snips. “Not about love.”
“Obviously,” Callan jumps in. “He knows nothing about love. Or women.”
I look around.
Each of them is looking at me with a mixture of amusement and sadness.
I don’t blame them.
I get it. They’ve grown to love Nassa too. It’s hard not to.
“You’re all upset about this?” I give up on avoiding it.
“We could vote,” Callan suggests. “It’s what we do now.”
My eyes land on Asher, who smirks and shrugs. “Seems fair.”
“Vote on what, exactly?” I ask.
“Your apology,” Keegan mutters. “Even I know you have to apologize.”
“Fine,” I give in. “Vote.”
“All in favor of Gallagher apologizing, raise your hand,” Asher offers, taking control.
Not surprisingly, all six hands go up without anyone hesitating or wavering.
“All in favor of Gallagher finding Nassa after this meeting to apologize?” he proposes.
Six hands remain up in the air, taunting me like medieval torture devices.
“All in favor of Gallagher telling Nassa he loves her,” Asher finishes.
Six. Hands. Remain. Up.
Callan smiles and winks at me. “Surprise. We all agree.”
“Fabulous,” I grumble.
“It’s decided. By decree of your king,” Asher chuckles darkly.
“Fuck you,” I counter. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Word of advice.” Callan bumps my shoulder. “Don’t use that line with Nassa.”
“Agreed.” Abby takes another sip of wine. “She’ll slap you.”
“What else is new?” I counter. “Renderings. Treaty. Serena.”
“All right,” Asher puts an end to all the ridiculousness. “Tell us.”
Grateful to finally be off the topic of Nassa, I recount what Branna and I learned. “Itzy was the one who found the second peace treaty. It was with Prince Sytry. One of the seventy-two Goetia demons. She and Branna”—I stumble a bit, reminded of Nassa again—“were able to take the treaty from his vault long enough to decode it before quickly returning it.”
“What did it say?” Callan asks.
“As far as they could tell,” I start, meeting Eve’s eyes, “Michael did leverage the protector race to save Eve.” She frowns. “One of the points of agreement is that Asmodeus will be allowed to exact revenge for Lady Finella’s death, as it relates to the protector race, at a time of his choosing, and without interference from the divine army.”
“And Serena?” Abby whispers.
“Her name wasn’t in it specifically, just that the gargoyle heir, should there be one, would be a target,” I point out gently. “The how, timing, and reasoning all were vague.”
“Fucking assholes,” Callan groans.
“Asmodeus has a new mate, Kupuva. She is a dark fae, a devil fairy, the half-sister of Siobhan. She is helping the demon lord build an army called the Diablo Fairies. They wield dark magic when they fight, and were created only to do Asmodeus’s bidding.”
“Not the demonic realm’s behest?” Keegan asks.
I shake my head. “They serve Asmodeus.”
Asher nods. “He’s built himself an army to come after the gargoyles.”
“And my daughter.” Callan folds his arms over his chest.
Keegan taps on the renderings. “Then the Academy will be built solely to protect Serena. Those who attend and work there will be handpicked by us. They will become our army, to protect her and fight Asmodeus’s soldiers. When, and if, the time comes.”
“Agreed,” Asher replies.
“I can’t believe Michael did this,” Eve exhales.
“Hey.” Asher turns to her, taking her face between his hands. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself for something he did to protect you. We’ve got this. Yeah?”
She nods and twinge of something rolls through me at how much she trusts him.
“Listen, cutie,” Callan adds. “As pissed off as I am that Serena is caught up in this, the archangel always has a loophole. We’ll protect her, and figure out the rest as we go.”
Keegan’s eyes me
et mine. “Can you make this Academy a protector fortress?”
“I will protect her,” I assure him, and look at Abby. “Like she was my own.”
Smiling at me, she nods at the vow of protection. “I knew you loved her.”
“Love might be a strong word,” I counter. “When she’s sleeping, she’s cute.”
“The Academy will be our course of action unless something changes,” Asher states.
“I’ll speak to Henry Davidson, let him know the plan.” I roll up the renderings.
Asher takes the rolls from me. “I’ll do it. You have a sorceress to apologize to.”
“Again,” Eve says sternly.
22
After the Fall
GAGE
My fingertips glide over the leather spines as I walk around the bookstore, taking it in. I can see why Nassa loves this place so much. It’s cozy. A small piece of heaven on earth. The smell of coffee and paper lingers in the air as embers spark in the oversized fireplace.
When I approach the case with the crystals and candles, my heart stutters. They’re a reminder of all the items Nassa has left all over my loft. Crystals and candles, symbols of what it means to love a sorceress. To have her in your life. To let her into your heart.
“If you break it, you buy it,” Branna warns behind me.
Exhausted, I turn and face her, keeping my expression flat and empty.
“You look like shit, Gage.”
“You would know what that looks like, given you have a mirror.”
She makes a displeased noise. “Can you just mock yourself tonight? I’m tired from all the running around Hell and wielding dark magic to help your sorry ass.”
I take a purposeful step toward her, then lean down until we are at eye level.
“I’m here to see Nassa.”
“She isn’t here.”
“Where is she?”
“I have no idea.” Her voice catches. “She said she needed time. To think.”
Exhaling, I nod and stand straighter, preparing to leave. “Thanks.”
“Wait,” she blurts out.
I still, holding her gaze. “What is it, Branna?”
She takes a step in my direction, lowering her voice. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you this time, but whatever it was, this time . . . it broke her.”
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