Throne of Fire

by Addison Moore

  “Forget seven years.” My heart drums into my ears and deafens me. “Make it seven decades.”

  “And push Logan into a celibate abyss? Please. Hasn’t the man suffered enough?” She waves me off, her golden hair glinting in the light. “Seven years.” She nods as if talking herself into it. Her eyes bear into mine, backlit and haunting, her shoulders squaring over me as she strides in, our lips about to touch. “I will gift him seven years if he enters into a peace treaty. Seven years as your husband in exchange for seven years of peace with the Factions.”

  Every cell in my body comes to life, my entire being pulsates like a giant heartbeat. This is good. This is very good. Once Gage and I have that blessing, it will be irrevocable. It will finally quiet Logan, not to mention Marshall. Everything will be officially back to how it should be—how it will remain.

  “No war.” I nod. “Yes.” I can’t catch my breath. “Yes!” I grip her by the shoulders. “Gage will agree to it. It’s not a problem. Do whatever hocus pocus you need to do to give us that divine blessing.” Tears spill from my eyes without warning, and my chest bucks and seizes as I struggle not to lose it. “You don’t know how much your blessing means to me. And, my God, this is brilliant! No war means—well, it means no war!” I suck in a breath through an open smile. “That’s why you did it. You bought seven years of peace. But oh, I swear you didn’t have to. I know my husband’s heart like I know my own. He would no more start a war than I would.” I throw my arms around my mother and pull her into a strong embrace. Those feel-good vibratronics go off like fireworks, but they don’t compare to the elation bubbling up inside me. Life has been restored to my bones. My lungs can finally take in that sweet delicious breath of relief. It couldn’t be better if God Himself had kissed my face. My mother is gifting my marriage another seven years inside of the Master’s covenant. By the time Gage and I finish it out, everyone will see that we are meant to stay together. The Factions will learn to trust him. The Factions will live in peace for seven blissful years and beyond. It’s finally happened. Celestra has joined with the Fems, and we are living in perfect harmony. Gage and I have been the answer to thousands of years of discord. My mother was wrong. It wasn’t Logan who was the key. It was Gage.

  She pulls back, her lids heavy, her expression dulled. “I am never wrong, child.” She wipes the tears from my cheek. “Ask me anything else before I send you back. However, do not bring up that serpent you love to me anymore this evening. My heart can only handle so much grief.”

  “Fine.” My mind runs through the myriad of questions I have for her before settling on one, and my anger percolates once again. “Who’s the little witch you’re protecting? Why is that celestial gnat getting in my way? She’s odd and freaky. I don’t care how cute and cuddly she’s supposed to be in that pint-sized body. I want her identified and then removed from my presence.”

  She sniffs the air as if I had the audacity to ask. “Don’t you have far more pressing needs than to obsess over a child? What about Kresley? Has no one sought her out? Is she not on your priority list, Skyla? You do realize Wesley has been incapacitated. If you’re so determined to do what’s right for your people, start with her. Both she and her child have been subjected to genetic testing—the very testing your people fear. The government is moments from cracking the celestial markers, and once they do, even a cover-up might prove useless. The Nephilim have lived side by side with humans since the dawn of time. But their species has grown wiser. Technology has advanced. Therefore, your people are in need of a competent leader to protect and guide them. You were chosen for a reason, Skyla. You are their sun and moon, their cloud by day, their fiery illumination by night. Do not think for a moment that you are your own. You belong to your people—one of which Gage Oliver is not.” Her open palm connects with my forehead, and the world goes black as my skull erupts with a flash of pain the likes of which I have never felt before.

  When I come to, it’s all I can do to text Ezrina a cryptic note about finding Dr. Booth’s boss—the Noster. Letting her know that he had the information Wesley was looking for and that we were able to secure it for ourselves. It was a message written in code, written in the dreamy mood lighting of the butterfly room as Gage slowly undressed me with his teeth. Ezrina texted back with unbridled enthusiasm letting me know loud and clear she understood.

  Gage bathed me with his kisses that night, washed my every orifice clean with his tongue, took me to the brink of my existence—not once, but thrice. Gage ravaged me as if he were starving and craved every last ounce of my flesh. It was a thorough flogging by his tongue, a thorough detailing of his lips as he coasted over my skin in laps, and for darn sure, a thorough thrusting of that spirit sword swinging between his legs as my mother so indelicately referenced it as.

  “Spirit sword,” I huff as I take in the scene at Silent Cove—sun setting, rouge sky, the icy blue water curling up against the shoreline like a fickle housecat. The fog sits over the ocean a good hundred meters from shore as if waiting for permission to saturate us in a powder white tomb. There must be a hundred people I hardly know milling around the sand. Whitehorse is decked out for yet another wedding. Three weddings in three years. First, Laken, then Bree, now Michelle Miller. I think Logan has found yet another source of income for himself. Although, as Ellis pointed out, tacking the gym onto the end of the bowling alley was brilliant. It turns out, seventy percent of the people who buy gym memberships don’t even use them. Logan and Ellis get all the revenue, and the equipment doesn’t suffer any wear and tear.

  The sun has set. Michelle walked down the aisle an hour ago looking a bit stoned, her footing a little off, but nevertheless she married her Logan doppelganger as she so desperately wanted. I would swear on my life she said I love you, Logan before she and Liam exchanged their first kiss as husband and wife, but she was slurring her words a bit so I can’t be sure. Either way, she’s still knocking back the Cristal—yes, fine champagne. Logan Oliver really does know how to throw a party, but I digress. If she’s loaded enough, she’ll think she’s with my Logan.

  A spear to the gut knocks the next breath from my lungs. He’s not mine nor do I want him. I want Gage, and that’s exactly who I have.

  Mia and Melissa traipse by, and I manage to snag my sister by the wrist.

  “Hey, strangers.” I flash a quick smile to them both. “Mia, when is this wedding date of yours?” So I can effectively stop it.

  She clicks her tongue as she looks to Melissa. “When’s this wedding date of yours?” she mocks my tone—clearly put off by the way I asked, and as much as I want to feel bad for smearing it with attitude, I can’t help it. Mia is way too young to be considering marriage, let alone setting a date for the atrocity to happen. “For your information, Skyla, it’s coming right up. But since I don’t think you’re asking so you can throw me a shower, I think I’ll keep that info close to the vest for now.”

  “Oh”—I glance to Melissa for clues, but she’s stink-eyeing me right along with Mia—“so it’ll be one of those surprise weddings. Similar to the groom reveal at the engagement party.” There was no engagement party. Mia hijacked New Year’s Eve, so I’m betting she’ll hijack another venue to glibly toss around vows with that Armistead asshole.

  “Exactly.” She hitches a loose curl behind her ear. Mia looks alarmingly more and more like me with each passing day, and a shiver runs through me. Why did my mother have to have such a huge ego, anyway? I mean, I don’t mind that I look like her. I only learned of my celestial mother much later in life, so I feel very much like myself in my own skin. But Mia is evidence that my mother’s cloning abilities know no bounds. “Speaking of Gabe”—she hikes up on her tiptoes—“I asked him to meet me here, and he’s nowhere to be found. If you see him, tell him his ass is in trouble.”

  “I think I’ll leave that fun to you. I mean, he’s going to be my brother-in-law. I’d hate to get off on the wrong foot.” As if. The truth is, if I see Gabe, I might be moved to reenact the d
rowning of Logan. God knows I can hold a body under water until it gives up the ghost when determined, and I am most certainly determined when it comes to the moron trying to upend my sister’s life. “How about you, Melissa? Any eligible bachelors you’re keeping an eye out for this evening?” Thank God Melissa seems to have a good head on her shoulders. Shocking for a Landon, I know.

  Her dark hair is swept up into a messy bun, and despite the fact she looks every bit like Ethan and Drake in female skin, she’s undeniably beautiful. It’s been a treat to see her morph from the gangly girl I first met as a teen, to a full-blown woman in these last few years. Now that Mia and Melissa will be starting their senior year in the fall, life really feels as if it’s hit fast-forward. I wish I could pause time, make it all stand still for about ten decades, but that’s not how this works. I just need to embrace the beauty and soak in every moment with my boys because they’ll be in school one day—away from me for such long stretches of time each day it will feel like a scholastic kidnapping. My heart aches just thinking about it.

  “Oh, I’ve got my eye on someone, all right.” She bites down on that cherry red lip and waves past us with a devious giggle brewing in her chest.

  Crap. I’m pretty sure I’ll be sorry I asked in less than five seconds. Melissa’s still working part-time at the apothecary, and as much as my mother can’t stand her constant raving about how genius Dominique Winters is, Melissa seems to enjoy the witchy work. She’s basically the shaman of the Landon household now. When Tad has an ache, he simply runs to her and she fires up the cauldron and whips up a toxic brew, or something to that effect. Hey? Maybe she can whip up a real toxic brew and we can finally get Demetri to kick the bucket, or in the least blowtorch him out of my mother’s bed and life.

  Mia and I follow Melissa’s gaze as a handsome man in a crisp dark suit saunters his way over. His hair is slicked back, his face as smooth as a baby’s bottom, and he’s wearing a killer grin that’s guaranteed to drive the girls wild tonight.

  “Here he comes, my new man. He’s hot as hell, has a dirty mind, and a heart of pure gold. What more can a girl ask for?”

  I gasp as he comes in close.

  “You’re dating Rev?” I practically gag on my words because I know where this is going. Mia and Melissa have played the heck out of this song for the last few years. I’m shocked they can stomach another round of steal your boyfriend. But—then again, Mia is marrying Gabe. I glance to my sister and note the palpable rage. I’ve seen that explosive look on my own face before. This is not going to end well.

  “What’s up?” He nods to the three of us before Melissa dive-bombs over him with a kiss. His musky cologne swoops in like a cloud, and even I must admit he smells delicious. Who knew Revelyn Booth would prove to be an up-and-coming Adonis? Certainly not me. Most likely not Dr. Booth either. Speaking of which, I need to find him and Ezrina. I’d love to have a powwow concerning the win Noster brought to the Factions. I still can’t believe it’s real. That entire nightmare Wesley was dangling before us has just about up and evaporated overnight. It’s a living, breathing miracle.

  “Whoa.” He coolly plucks her off, but her arms are very much still wrapped around his body. “Easy, babe. Let’s save dessert for last.” He gives an easy wink, and Mia jerks as a choking sound emits from her throat. “How are you doing?” he asks Mia, and there’s a note of sadness in his eyes. It’s clear that questionable heart of gold beating in his Italian wool clad chest still belongs to Mia.

  “Just looking for the love of my life.” Her lips begin to twitch uncontrollably as if a good cry were on the menu and coming up quick.

  “I just saw him.” Rev hitches his thumb toward the house. “He’s dancing with some blonde chick. He seems to be having a pretty good time.”

  Mia’s face goes white—well, blue, actually, with all the blue twinkle lights shining brighter as day melts to night, and really, Logan? Blue? I’m almost afraid to dig deeper and ask why he chose to color the night like a true Count. He can’t be that proud of those trace DNA strands he touts, gifted by darkness.

  “Skyla?” Mia’s eyes are trained on the house behind us. Whitehorse is lit up and beaming, glittering like a party girl in a beautiful dress. “What would you do if you were me?”

  “Run like hell, Mia.”

  Mia bolts for the house before I could finish.

  “Wait!” I shout after her. “I meant in the other direction! Away from Gabe!” I howl so loud my voice grows hoarse.

  Melissa scoffs. “It’s no use. She’s a lost cause.” Her fingers curl around Rev’s tie as she pulls him in. “The thing with Mia is that she wants her wedding cake, and she wants to eat it, too.” She gives a cheesy wink his way while biting over her lip seductively. Gross. I’m not sure how many more relationship injustices I can take in one night. “Why don’t you and I find a quiet place to have a little one-on-one time.”

  “Melissa.” My voice is sharp with a warning, but she’s already leading him off toward the woods, her hand holding firm to his tie as if it were a leash.

  “Hey, Skyla”—Rev turns back and gives a thumbs-up—“my dad told me about the markers. Dude, you are good.” The fog swoops in with a vengeance and swallows them whole, swallows Silent Cove whole as if a powder bomb just went off—as if trying to conceal our secret.

  “And you are not thinking,” I hiss as I shake my head in Rev’s direction.

  Nobody, and I mean nobody should be spouting off that information until Ezrina has the chance to secure it. Gage comes to mind as I scan the area for Ezrina or Nev. Yes, I told Gage, but he’s—well, he’s Gage. A horrible knot forms in my stomach. I don’t regret telling him a thing. It’s all that bullshit my mother was trying to sling at me that’s getting me uptight. In no way do I feel as if Gage will place my people in peril. I spot Logan, Gage, and Coop by the back porch and give a wild wave, but before I can take a single step in their direction, Mom and Tad step up with Emma and Barron. Mom is holding Nathan, and Emma is pressing fervent kisses all over Barron as if she hasn’t seen him in a decade. As if. I’m not that lucky. Gage and I have been having Sunday dinner at their house religiously each week after church. Some might say it’s a nice routine, but all I can say is it’s a routine. I do appreciate catching up with Giselle and Ellis, though. Emma, however, still treats me as if I’m holding her son hostage between my legs. I’ll have her know, between my legs is Gage Oliver’s favorite place to be. I wince as I offer an anemic smile to the four of them.

  “Skyla”—Mom rolls her eyes a moment, looking weary and weighed down while Nathan kicks her repeatedly in the knee, screaming he wants down—“perhaps you can settle a disagreement that Emma and I are having.”

  I suck in a quick breath and shoot a look to Dr. O, one that screams help, get me out of this mess. “I guess it depends.” I pluck Nathan from her and set him on the sand, which he happily picks up by the fistful and tosses it up at the four of us. “No, no,” I’m quick to reprimand. “And don’t eat it.”

  Emma squares out her jaw as she takes a deep breath. Her lips are burnt orange, her hair dyed to match, and I’ll admit, she looks elegant and chic in that sheer peach gown she’s wearing. Mom looks as if she stepped out of a seventeenth century brothel, no thanks to the purple sequin number Demetri drummed up for her, and I have no doubt that’s exactly where he picked it up. I do a double take Emma’s way and note she’s dangling a champagne flute filled to the brim with the bubbling brew in her free hand. Something about the way she sways with the breeze lets me know it’s not her first of the evening. Nice. Drunk Emma should be a blast to be around. No wonder she’s all but making out with Barron. She sees the Demetri in him.

  “Skyla”—Emma smacks her lips with disdain as she spews my name—“please tell your mother that the boys are the right age for pre-school prep. I’ve laid it out a thousand times. This is my program. I run it, Lizbeth. Trust me, they are far more advanced than most children their age. Come September, they’ll be twenty-two mon
ths—more than perfect candidates for the Cuddle Time Cuddlers.” She looks to me, angry and haughty as if it were me who suggested she and her daycare take a hike. “I’ll be the primary in the class once they enter, and I’ll follow them along until they graduate kindergarten. And then of course, West Paragon Academy is a great school just around the bend from the gates.” Emma swivels her neck my mother’s way, and I’d bet good money she just staggered a bit. Fun fact: Barron is dripping from her hip as he struggles to kick his way off the drunk Granny Express. “Once you allow Skyla and Gage to move back home, I’m sure they’ll find there are many amenities at hand that they can enjoy with the boys in the meantime.”

  Mom’s mouth falls open as does Dr. O’s. Tad just stands there like a lump on a log.

  “Once I allow?” Mom chokes on the thought.

  Tad lets out a yelping laugh as if he just came to. “You think we’re holding those breeders hostage? Ha! I’d like nothing better than to shove the entire lot of them down the driveway, but I don’t think I’d recognize my own refrigerator without your son’s rear end in front of it.”

  Dr. O grunts, “This again. Emma, why do you insist on pulling the pin?”

  Tad lifts a finger, and I gird myself for what comes next. “Those two have hooked up a hose up to my checking account, I tell you. Each week I watch as my paycheck slowly circles the toilet bowl as it goes down the drain.” He points just past me. “Right through his bottom!”

  Before I can add my two cents, a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around my waist and I glance back, instantly hypnotized by a pair of flame blue eyes.

  “What’s going on?” Gage glares over at his mother. As he should.