I stare at her, blood pounding in my ears as I try not to flinch at her words.
“Nassa is my best friend. I love her. And you are torturing her.”
“I never meant—”
“To what? Ask her to sacrifice her heart? Her very soul for you . . . the man she loves?”
Staring into her eyes, I sigh. What Branna fails to realize is that in my world, surrendering, the way Nassa has, is the ultimate sacrifice. The ultimate test of loyalty.
And for a protector, like me, it’s everything.
I hate myself for it.
For making her think she needed to save the damned.
“I never asked her to do any of it,” I point out.
Branna scoffs. “She loves you. You didn’t have to ask. Don’t you see that?”
Stretching my neck from side to side, I sigh. “She wasn’t supposed to love me.”
Branna closes her eyes briefly, as if my words hurt her. “But she does.”
“I know,” my voice sounds strange. “Which is why I need to find her.”
“So you can what? Torture her more? Lead her on? Break her heart over and over again?” Her voice is gentle, yet harsh. “She will never give up on you. No matter how many times you spit on her love, she will always fight for you. You don’t deserve her.”
“I KNOW!” I shout. “Christ! I fucking know.”
Every single bone in my body shudders with rage at the truth of her words.
“What happens if you find her tonight?”
“I have no idea,” I admit honestly.
“For once in your life, think about your actions and how they affect her.”
Pissed, I run my hands over my face and through my hair. “Don’t you think I have? Don’t you think that since the first day I met her, all I’ve fucking thought about was her and how my actions and existence affect her? Why do you think I’ve tried so damn hard to push her away? To protect and save her? Knowing I was no good for her. Knowing all I would do is drag her down with me?” My frustration fills the quiet store.
“Which is exactly what you’ve done.”
“Don’t you think I want to choose her? To be with her?”
“You’ve made your choice,” she replies. “And she wasn’t it.”
Looking at Branna, it all hits me.
How wrong she is.
And yet, how right she is.
“I did make my choice. I choose her.” I unbutton my shirt and show her the mark.
Branna exhales roughly, pushing a piece of her wild, bright hair out of her face. Taken aback, she looks at the mark, then her gaze snaps up to mine. “Is that—”
“A soul tie mark. Hers.”
“Right. Fucking. Choice, Gallagher,” she pushes out on a single breath.
“I need to find her,” I state again. “Help me?”
“And when you do?” she asks in a loud voice.
Unable to answer her, I just give her a lost look.
The truth is, I’ve fallen.
And what comes next, after the fall . . . will destroy my heart.
23
We Keep Loving
NASSA
My chest caves in with jealousy. Hurt causes my skin to feel too tight all over my body. With every piece of artwork I see, my mind races. Everything inside of me is darkly swirling, fueled by chaos and confusion. A fire and fury burn under my skin, and my knuckles turn white as I clench my hands into fists. Looking around Mi Alma, Camilla’s art studio, I realize the love that Gage and she had must have been otherworldly.
Standing in the silent, dimly lit shrine, taking it all in, I wonder what that feels like. To have someone love you with such a deep intensity that the pain of their loss numbs and haunts you, even in death. Understanding seeps in that I will never be deserving of anything he has to offer me. I could never be someone he loves this significantly.
I’m hers. Only hers. Those words have settled into my darkened heart. But with them, I finally get it. Now I know what it feels like to exist, but not really live. To feel a loss so deeply that you don’t want to keep existing. It took those four little words for me to realize that he is too far gone. Nothing, and no one, can bring him back from her death.
Being here, in her studio, in this moment, I can see why. Why not even my love for him could save him. And it never will. No matter how much I try. And god, have I tried.
Their love was unearthly.
Inhuman.
This studio is a testament to their love. Proof that I will never be able to prevent the demons from always dragging him into the darkness. I’ll never pull him out of the haze of numbness and pain he lives in, haunted by her memory, thrashing in his sleep as he dreams of her, waking up and calling out her name. I’ve been so wrapped up in my desire to save him that I hadn’t even realized, the only reason he needs to be saved is because she’s gone. If she were here, I wouldn’t be. And I hate her for all of it.
For dying.
For breaking him.
For haunting him.
But most of all, I hate her for loving him first.
For having his whole heart.
For being loved back by him, so fiercely that he can’t love me that way.
“Do you hear that, Camilla?” I whisper to her ghost. “I hate you. God, I hate you.”
With quiet, angry steps, I make my way over to the sculpture in the middle of the open space. Slowly, my gaze lifts and I stare at the dark gray stone statue of the gargoyle. It’s a perfect replica of Gage. The detail of his wings. His strong shoulders and jawline. It’s almost ridiculous how much of his personality has been captured in the eyes, the expression, the lips—as if the person sculpting it knew him intimately. Small nuances that only someone who loved him—like me, like her—would know and be able to capture.
The thought sparks so much jealousy and rage in me that I have to fight to take in air as I look at it. Rage-filled tears well in my eyes, and with fast blinks, they begin to fall.
Without thinking, I raise my hands and whisper, “Destruere.”
Magic seeps out of my palms, causing the statue to explode into several large pieces.
Emotionless, I watch as each piece falls onto the ground, crashing loudly, forcing me to jump back as they hit the floor, cracking and shattering into tinier, more fragile pieces.
“Fuck, that felt good,” I exhale.
Kenna was right.
Destroying shit feels liberating.
The ache in my chest lightens a little. Looking around, I take in the artwork exhibited in the studio. Oversized colorful paintings are displayed on white walls. I walk up to one and notice all the sea-green paint swirled onto the canvas, the color of Gage’s eyes.
Angrily, I lift my hand and yell, “Ignis.”
Stepping back, I watch as the painting catches on fire and burns.
As it turns into ash, it fuels my rage with every snapping sound of the flames.
Something in me shifts as I watch the color of his eyes burn.
The tears fall harder as I storm around the studio wildly—like I’m outside my body—and I notice each and every piece of art has a fragment of Gage. He was her muse. That knowledge pisses me off even more, and using my magic, I throw a temper tantrum of epic proportions. Artwork flies off the walls. Unable to calm or soothe my rage, I step on them and rip them apart. Using magic, I burn the canvases and toss all the sculptures around, obliterating everything she created and he held on to as a reminder of their love.
With every one that falls to the floor and shatters, the tears fall harder and faster. This is what loss looks like, I think. It makes you bleed, mourn, in an angry and raw way.
Falling to my knees, I collapse in the middle of the wreckage. I can’t help but laugh at the irony of all of this. Once again, here I am. On my knees, as a dark, bitter sickness crawls in my veins, surrounded by all the broken pieces of Gage and Camilla’s love. I have no idea how long it took me to demolish the studio that Gage gifted to her.
All
I know is that I’m surrendering myself. Trembling on my knees, enclosed in total destruction, with flames climbing around me. Grieving like a crazy person, I weep.
For her.
For him.
For all three of us.
I sob until there is nothing left in me to release. Two strong arms wrap around me, holding me tightly, causing me to wilt with exhaustion. I bury my face in his chest, breathing in. He smells of warmth—comfort. Gage holds me, rocks me, lets me grieve.
After a while, his lips are at my ear. “Rough night, buttercup?”
“I hate her,” I hiccup.
A long heavy sigh emits from him. “It wasn’t her fault.”
Slices of pain run through my chest as I struggle to breathe, hearing him defend her.
After a while, he leans back, looking into my tear-stained face. Frowning, he lifts one of his hands and wipes away the tears on my cheeks with the back of his knuckles, then cups my face in his warm palm. His thumb rubs my skin, soothing me, calming me as I come back down to reality and gain control of my emotions.
“I knew you were ill-tempered,” he says. “But I had no idea you were vindictive.”
At his words, my heart does that thing where it jolts in your chest but you can’t figure out if it’s from anxiety, sadness, or fear. “I’m sorry.” I sniffle. “I’ll fix it.”
The hand on my cheek flattens against it. “No. You won’t.”
More tears fall as I search his eyes. The sea-green color in them, like her painting, is like throwing water onto a fire. Ice fills my veins and I’m hit with guilt at what I just did.
“Oh god.” I exhale and close my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“Look at me,” he demands, and I open my eyes.
When our eyes meet, his flash with something fierce. “It’s not her fault. Or yours.”
Angry with myself, I push off his lap a little and lift my hands to release magic.
“Let me fix it,” I plead. “Clean up my mess. You won’t even know it happened.”
Gage grabs my hands with his, throwing me a hard look as he shakes his head no.
“Stop!” he roars in a deep, pained voice, startling me. “I will know,” he whispers. “In my heart, I will always know. When I close my eyes, all I will see is you, broken and destroyed, in the middle of the mess I caused, not you. My mess.”
What the hell is he talking about? “Gallagher—”
“I want you to hear what I am saying to you. Really listen,” he orders. “It’s not her fault. And it’s not your fault. All of this is my fault.” I shake my head, disagreeing. “It is.”
I grip the front of his shirt, holding his eyes, as the tension jumps between us.
“It’s not fair. I know.” His voice turns gentle. “In some cruel twist of fate, I was given the chance to love twice in one existence. The first was taken away so cruelly and quickly that it created so much pain, so much darkness, leaving me nothing left for the second. I didn’t deserve Camilla. And I sure as hell don’t deserve you. But for whatever divine reason, both of you became mine. Mine to fiercely protect . . . and love.”
His words send me spiraling and I freeze. Afraid to move. Fearful that any movement or sound I make will have his shields going right back up, and he’ll walk away. For good.
“I don’t want you to fix this,” he breathes. “Because I’m ready to let it go.”
I lick my lips and stare at him. “I-I don’t understand.”
“I’m ready to let her go.”
My eyes widen as I gasp. The trepidation and sincerity in his expression are enough to bring me to my knees again and beg his forgiveness for my selfishness and destruction.
“Really?” I mouth.
“Really,” he smiles. “Though it would be nice if you put the fires out.”
Blinking a few times, I wave my hand and utter, “Restinguendum incendium.”
Instantly, all the fires around us disappear, leaving the ashes and charred artwork behind. I look around, jerking back in horror from the scene unfolding around me. God, what the hell did I do? My eyes water again and my body shakes, trying to breathe in air.
My gaze slides to Gage’s, wondering how he is going to forgive me for so violently ripping all this away from him. Wordlessly, he leans forward, softly placing his lips at the corner of my mouth. My breath hitches in response to the forgiveness in it. Shaking to my core, I try not to move. Gage leans back, looking at me with an intense stare. Slowly, he cups my face and leans his forehead against mine. I swallow, hard, licking my lips.
“With me, there will be no happily ever after. Loving me means there will be sadness, anger, hurt, and darkness. I promise this, though: there will be love, forever. Because I do, and will, love you fiercely, Nassa. Until the last breath I take. Even then, from beyond.”
At his words, I throw myself at him, pressing my lips to his, kissing him with a needy desperation. Gage’s hold on me tightens as he kisses me back, tasting like cigarettes and spice as he devours me, gripping my waist, pulling me closer.
With each stroke of his lips, my anger releases, floating away, along with his pain and sadness. I climb onto his lap, my chest brushing against his roughly. Needing to be closer, I wrap my legs around his waist and he pulls me against him before leaning back a bit so that he can nip my lips before attacking my mouth again. I sink into him, losing myself.
After a while, I sigh against his mouth, ending the kiss, but he doesn’t stop. He kisses down my neck, alternating between biting and kissing—as if he can’t help himself, as if he has no control and needs to touch me, to feel me. I grip his hair, pulling his face back.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper against his mouth.
“It’s me who is sorry,” he growls.
Our foreheads touch. “I just . . . snapped.”
“I pushed.”
“I didn’t mean to ruin all the things that you loved.”
Gage gives me his panty-dropping smile. “You didn’t ruin everything I love.”
“Still.” I sigh and look around. “I’m an asshole for doing this.”
“I think your vindictive, violent side is fucking sexy, sorceress.”
24
Many Have Tried
GAGE
I slide my hand into the front pocket of my dress pants while sipping on my brandy in the middle of the gallery opening. Looking around, I take in all the guests in attendance, watching them admire the art being displayed around us, before my eyes land on Nassa.
She’s talking to her aunt Lunette and the St. Michael women—who all look like they’re having a difficult time following Lunette’s conversation. Emerald eyes lift and meet mine before they roll dramatically at whatever Lunette is saying, and a genuine feeling of peace crosses over me. Each one of the sorceress’s eye rolls, easy smiles, and shared secrets between us somehow breathes life back into me.
Slowly she has broken down my walls. Many have tried, but she is the only one who has seen the darkness buried under all the bullshit and sorted through the ruins. When you mourn, it’s hard to let yourself feel again. You convince yourself that losing someone for a second time will be far worse. So you push others away, only allowing someone in a small amount, so it will be okay. You try not to feel as deeply, or care as much.
Until you do.
No matter how much I tried to push her away, she refused to disappear. And when my existence is over, and I’m gone, I’ll be the one waiting for her on the other side.
“Gage Gallagher.” Henry Davidson steps into my line of sight.
If it had been anyone else blocking her from me, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell them to fuck off. Henry is different. The old gargoyle is a longtime friend of mine and Camilla’s.
“Henry.” I offer him a polite smile. “Or should I say Chancellor Davidson?”
“For you, my boy,” he says with a smile, “it’s always Henry.”
We clink the tips of our glasses and each take a sip of our preferred liquor.
; “Thank you for coming tonight,” I say. “It means a lot.”
“The renovations to the gallery are impressive,” he compliments.
“It was time for a change,” I manage. “I’ve had it closed off for too long.”
An understanding look crosses his face. “Camilla would have been proud.”
The sharp pain that always appears when someone says her name doesn’t flay me open anymore. It’s a dull ache now. An ache that, with deep breaths, I can maneuver.
“I hope so,” I whisper. “I’d forgotten about her wishes for this place. I had it locked up like a mausoleum, where I came to grieve. I’ve been so lost, Henry. For so long.”
“Sometimes things have to become lost before they can be found,” he mutters.
It takes everything inside of me to not walk away from this conversation like a coward. But I’m learning that it’s okay to talk about Camilla in the past tense. To let her go.
“The plan is for up-and-coming young artists to display their work for sale here.”
“Like Camilla always wanted,” he points out. “You did well, Gage.”
“Maybe,” I sigh.
The truth is, if Nassa hadn’t gotten pissed off and blown all this shit up with her magic, I’m not sure if I would have ever fulfilled Camilla’s wishes for the studio. For so long I was holding it hostage. Closing it off to the world. It was my last link to her.
Until I walked in and saw a being who never breaks, in pain, sobbing in the midst of all my memories destroyed all around her. Nassa was broken. And it was my fault. She didn’t deserve a life full of my dark shit, always looking over her shoulder, waiting for me to toss her aside because I couldn’t let go. I needed to be the hero for once.
I ignored how pissed off I was that she demolished Camilla’s studio and simply walked over to her trembling body and held her. I couldn’t help myself. I needed to give her something, anything, to prevent her heart from breaking. Nassa’s heart is far more important to me now than these remnants of a past that can’t keep haunting my future.
Dark Paradise: A Revelation Series Novel (The Revelation Series Book 6) Page 18