Toxic Part Two (Celestra Series Book 7.5)

by Addison Moore

  “I guess.” Brielle weaves a loose thread between her fingers as she considers this. “I mean we have a kid together and stuff.” There’s a faraway look in her eyes.

  “You really do love him don’t you?”

  “My mom told me a long time ago not to get too attached to boys. They take off whenever they feel like it.” Her face pinches in pain. “Guess she was right.”

  It takes everything in me not to hunt down Drake and smack him upside his misshapen head.

  “It’s not true.” I crawl up next to her. “She might be right about a lot of things, but this isn’t one of them.”

  “And you know this because of Logan and Gage?” She makes a face. “Not everyone has a Logan and Gage in their lives, Skyla. Most people would be lucky enough to have one person that loved them like that and you have two.”

  Marshall flexes through my mind with his wicked smile as if he were impressing himself on my heart from afar.

  “You’re right. I am lucky.” Only right about now it feels more like a curse because choosing one means losing the other. “Brielle”—I take up her hand—“you know what boy will never leave you? Which boy will love you until the day you die and beyond?”

  “Ethan?” Her forehead wrinkles in confusion.

  “Nope—Beau.”

  “You’re right.” She gives my hand a squeeze and repositions herself. “It’s so cool that your mom is really into him and your sisters, too. Speaking of your sisters, they should totally find a new hairdresser.”

  “Oh, they hacked each other’s hair off as an act of ultimate revenge.”

  Brielle blinks over to me with a mischievous gleam in her eye and smiles.

  ***

  Downstairs, the sound of Tad’s voice buzzes with a fury. Ethan and Chloe sit at attention as Tad goes on about something called, superficial analysis.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, peering over Ethan’s shoulder. Tad’s laptop is open to a bunch of images of buxom blondes, all of which bear an unmistakable resemblance to dizzy Izzy.

  “We’re profiling what we want the new waitresses to look like.” Ethan espouses his stupidity faster than I can process it.

  “Baristas,” Chloe corrects.

  “Whichever.” Tad frowns into the monitor. “The important thing is, we understand what the customer appreciates and we give it to him.”

  “You’re selling waitresses?” Brielle gags at the thought. Clearly, she’s equally baffled by the Landon logic.

  “We’re looking for girls who can fill a bathing suit. That’s gonna be the employee dress code,” Ethan interjects. “We want to draw a certain crowd.”

  “So let’s see?” I tap my chin. “You need bimbos to attract douchebags with no money so we can all go broke at record pace? You’re selling coffee and air! You can practically run the place yourself and save the overhead.”

  “Oh, Skyla.” Chloe cuts a quick laugh. “You’re getting really worked up at the thought of a bunch of beautiful girls running around. Are you afraid they’ll snatch Gage from underneath you? You know what they say. Once you lose faith in someone, it’s impossible to gain it back.”

  “I’ll second that,” Mom huffs, pumping the baby on her hip to keep him quiet. “Trust is a pillar that cannot be shaken.”

  Chloe gives a private smile.

  “I trust Gage.” I say it low in the event my mother wants to glom onto this conversation in detail.

  Chloe’s eyes smolder as her lips curve tight. There’s an underlying satisfaction written on her face suggesting she’s pulled another one over on me. Why do I get the feeling I’ve walked into yet another snare? Chloe would love for me to doubt Gage forever. I bet that’s why she dubbed him the well-placed boyfriend to begin with. In fact, I bet that’s exactly it. Life is nothing but a never-ending mind game to a bitch of Chloe’s stature.

  Tad straightens. “My God, I think she’s right. We could run the place ourselves and work there for free.”

  Ethan scowls over at me for ruining his blond ambition dreams.

  “So…” Mom hums with the baby in tow, her chesticles safely tucked under the confines of her bathrobe. “You girls ready to dance the night away? Skyla, do you know what you’re going to wear?”

  “I’ll probably just pick something up later.” Marshall very politely asked me to wear something from his enchanted closet and I didn’t have the heart to say no.

  Brielle motions for Mom to hand over the baby. “Can I?”

  “Oh, sure.” Mom looks less than eager to comply. She holds baby Beau out with the distinct look of reluctance as if Brielle were about to shoot up the room and kidnap him from the island. Although, technically, Brielle can take him anywhere in the world. She is his mother. I think maybe that little bit of biology is what has Mom freaked out the most.

  “Hi.” Brielle blows in his face. “I’ve missed you.” It comes out as a sudden revelation.

  Mom closes her eyes and gives a private nod. This was her greatest fear, her worst nightmare—Beau being yanked from her faux third nipple.

  I’m the one who sort of convinced Brielle to give motherhood another try, and even though it shouldn’t be a big deal, I can’t help feel a little bit guilty.

  Sometimes in life, we desperately want things we can never truly have, like my mother with Beau—like me with both Logan and Gage.

  Chapter 109

  Masquerade

  Marshall’s home glitters under the duress of thousands, if not millions, of tiny little twinkle lights. They spray their incandescence throughout the downstairs and extend their grace into the backyard. The entire estate has been transformed to look like a fairytale—a rather haunted fairytale, but nevertheless, magic abounds. Bodies mill about in hoards both inside and out and I’m a little stunned to see so many guests at this early hour.

  Marshall greets me at the door, looking stunning in a slick black suit. He’s sharper than usual—dare I even say, bordering on illegally sexy.

  “The invitation says six, but everybody’s already here,” I say panicked. I came over early to pick up my dress and it’s only four-thirty.

  “Humans at six—exceptionally stunning beings at this very hour.” He picks up my hand and presses in a heated kiss.

  “I’m still in jeans.” I snatch at my legs.

  “By all means, let’s remove them.” He leads me through the entry.

  A couple walks by immersed in laughter. They head toward the back where most of the ghostly guests have congregated. Every now and again, the chatter hits a crescendo, followed by an explosive group chortle—and for some strange reason, it feels as if the laughter is at the expense of yours truly.

  “Make haste to the bedroom.” Marshall whisks me upstairs and seals the door shut behind him. “We’ve only a moment to spare.”

  “Sounds like you’re setting me up for a quickie.”

  Marshall pauses, his resplendence set off by the dark background of the heavily paneled walls.

  “Oh dear Skyla.” A wicked grin blooms from him. “Quick doesn’t fit into the plans I have for you. Slow”—he takes a step in toward me—“methodical, lingering passion that boils for days is what I have mapped out in detail.” He caresses my face with his thumb. “Of course, that’s just the first rapture-filled rendezvous. After that, expect wild romps at a moment’s notice, in all locations, all hours of the day.”

  I try to step back, but his vibrating impulses spike with intensity and my skin is hungry for his touch.

  An exotic flower arrangement sits on the end table next to his bed and distracts me long enough to break the spell. Lilacs, tiger lilies, and orchids spray out of an elongated crystal vase and release their heavenly fragrance into the air.

  “Smells like heaven,” I say, inhaling to full capacity.

  “I’d much rather perfume the room with the scent of our love.” He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in.

  “And what might that be? Sugar and spice and everything not so nice?”


  “If by not so nice, you’re implying devilishly delicious, I’d have to agree. Just thinking of you makes me sticky sweet.” It expels from him with a growl as his cheek slides up the side.

  “And on that note.” I push his hands down and they melt off my hips, slow and deliberate. He moans into me and the light hits him just right, making him look like a bronze God. Marshall belongs on a pedestal, for all of humanity to worship from afar.

  Now that I’m not officially seeing Logan or Gage, maybe this is the time reserved for us. I had considered it once before when Gage and I were on the outs but now…maybe I can extinguish all of those midnight yearnings once and for all. I shake the thought loose as quick as it comes.

  “Not seeing Logan or Gage?” His head ticks to the side with curiosity. “I propose we acquaint ourselves at once,” he says, tightening his grip around my waist.

  “Never mind that. Let’s get on with it,” I say, bored, as I flop onto the bed.

  “How unfortunate you lack the proper enthusiasm, but nevertheless, I shall grant your request.” He unbuckles his belt in a dramatic fashion until I hold my hand up for him to stop. “Just checking.”

  He looks decidedly disappointed before heading toward the closet. A strange glows emanates from inside and follows him out as he presents me with a luminescent gown with a silver patina. It’s short, most likely above the knee with a scoop neck, low back, scratch that—no back, and sleeveless. But it’s the luminescent glow it gives off that’s going to make me look like an overgrown firefly for the night.

  “Oh, no.” I shake my head in protest. “It’s going to look like I stuck my finger in a light socket. I’m pretty sure I don’t need to attract any more attention to myself.”

  “Don’t be silly. Your precious face will be discreetly hidden. All evening people will wonder which girl is it that radiates like the sun.” He produces a pale mask decorated in silver and pink—luscious full lips with cat’s eyes and a crown over the top.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “I have a sprite passing these out at the door as the guests arrive. I assure you each mask will find its proper home—there is nothing random about this evening.” His lips pinch on the side as if he were lost in thought.

  “Sprites are real?”

  “Of course they’re real,” he says, plucking the dress off the hanger. “Mankind’s greatest folly is not believing in things which they cannot see.”

  “Some things have to be fake,” I say, taking the dress from him. Long, filament fibers stretch out in a three-foot fringe and wrap themselves around my arm inducing a slight electrical current, sticky and soft like jellyfish tendrils. “Wow. This thing has some serious static cling.” Knew it. The electrical offense that’s been committed to this sheathe should be reported to the fashion police.

  Marshall doesn’t ask permission, he simply lifts my sweater straight off my person and replaces it with the cool fabric. It shimmies down my body like an arctic cascade and a soft strum of pleasure emanates from the gown.

  “This feels fantastic.” I unbutton my jeans and step out of them. I’ll ignore the bra issues this dress entails until Marshall leaves the room. “So what’s the catch? Am I going to dive-bomb the first cute male I spy—i.e. you—and thrust myself in your direction?”

  “I do believe you’re flirting, Ms. Messenger.” He purrs with approval. “Regardless, I give you my assurance your hormones won’t propel into overdrive. Any midnight yearnings you might feel regarding any ‘cute males,’ i.e., me, will be compulsory based upon your own desires.” He spins me around so I can see myself in the mirror. “Believe me,” he whispers hot into my ear, “it will be of your own volition when you finally fall to your knees and beg for something to be thrust in your direction.”

  “Like a sword through my heart?” I tease.

  “Your humor charms me.”

  Marshall points down at a pair of high heels, same silver tone, sans the glow and I press my feet into them.

  “So what’s going to happen tonight?” I gaze at the dress in my reflection.

  “Everything.” Marshall holds up a large gold disc.

  “What’s that?” I hobble over and snap it up. “Oh, my gosh—you’re giving me another one!” I resist the urge to fall on my knees and thank him profusely by way of plucking off his shoes and kissing his feet.

  “It’s defunct,” he muses, petting the opalescent stone set in the middle.

  “So you’re teasing me. Or let me guess, you’re willing to reinitiate its powers in the event I swap saliva with you.” Marshall’s goodies often come with sexual price tags.

  “Nonsense, this is a gift from me to you.” He braces me by the shoulders. “It’s imperative you hear what I’m about to say.” His eyes dart from either of mine, spastic, as if to drive the point home things can end badly for me if I don’t heed whatever the hell he’s about to tell me. “It doesn’t remove you from the war, Skyla. It calls the very next region.”

  “Oh.” I hold it up to the light. “Just like the one Demetri gave me.” My fingers fly to my lips in a lame reflexive attempt to cover my verbal blooper.

  Shit.

  “Yes, like the one Demetri gave you.” His brows narrow in an angry V because he already knows. “Regions seven and eight. Why in God’s name would you accept anything from a Fem?”

  “It seemed harmless,” I whimper.

  “Harmless?” He kicks the end table over and the vase shatters across the floor. “Be informed, I’ve already brought up the offense to the Justice Alliance. I implore you, Skyla, to consider with great heft before accepting any gift from the enemy.” He sags, glancing down at the disc in my hand. “Think long and hard before you rest that piece of metal on the soil of ethereal plane. Think much more than twice. You must be of the utmost confidence that you’re ready to face the final region.”

  I nod. “The benefit being, we catch the enemy off guard—cripple them and go in strong.”

  “That’s right, Skyla, the element of surprise will lie with you.” Marshall flips up the bottom of my dress and lays the disc over the fabric, inspiring thousands of hair-like filaments to stretch over and secure themselves to the round coin. A high-pitched sigh escapes from what sounds like hundreds of tiny voices.

  “This dress,” I glance up, “it just made a noise.”

  “Observant tonight,” he says it stilted, still miffed from that whole Demetri thing. Marshall rubs my cheek with the back of his hand. He lends a loving look that I’ve never seen him offer before. “It’s time for me to present you to the gentry.” He links his arm in mine. “As my future wife.”

  ***

  Downstairs, bodies swirl as they mingle with the night air, women in feathered dresses—sharp handsome men by their side. So many exquisite beings in one small space—they take my breath away with their errant beauty.

  Marshall is sublime. He outshines them all with his resplendent glory. It’s easy to see that he’s a proverbial head above the rest, the cream of the celestial crop.

  “I’m glad you think so.” He brings my hand to his lips and warms it with a kiss.

  Marshall leads me to the center of a wooden dance floor as the sound of stringed instruments rise around us.

  “Everyone’s looking.” I gasp.

  All eyes are glued on Marshall and me with mouths ajar as if we were about to fornicate like rabbits.

  “We could, you know—bring new meaning to the bunny hop.” His brows dip, amused at my line of thinking. “Never mind everybody. You are a stunning young woman, Skyla Messenger. And tonight, you have captivated every soul in the vicinity with your glory.”

  I catch a glimpse of Dad and my mother near the house and wave at them from over Marshall’s shoulder.

  “She came back,” I whisper. I thought my mother was going to lock herself away in Paradise, or wherever it is she resides, until after the faction war.

  “She very much loves you. She wouldn’t miss our introduction into the eternal commonwealth i
f her wings depended on it.”

  “Wings,” I muse.

  “Everyone has wings Skyla—they’re optional to don, like shoes.”

  “Sounds entertaining.” I can barely fit another shoe in my closet, let alone an assortment of oversized feathers.

  “You’re issued just the one pair.” He gives a knowing wink.

  “So, what kind of announcement—I mean introduction are we making?”

  “I much prefer your idea.” He belts out a whistle to garner everyone’s attention.

  “Ladies and gentlepersons of the great establishment.” His voice roars like thunder. It sounds foreign—indiscernible in the slightest sense. “It is my pleasure to bestow upon you the infinite beauty who is my spirit mate, as well as the corporal form of the woman who shall please me as my lover.”

  I suck in a quick breath as the crowd breaks out in a delightful applause at Marshall’s rather vulgar and X-rated descriptive.

  I yank him in close. “Keep it PG. My dad is here.” What is this “please me as my lover” crap anyway? Did I unwittingly sign on to be his sex slave? I bet this freaking dress is hexed.

  A tall being, familiar in every way, steps forward. It’s Delphinius the orator from the ethereal plane.

  He places a hand over both my forehead and Marshall’s and starts in on a low-lying hymn. It sounds like a choir of hallelujah but the word is ever so slightly different.

  “I now proclaim a covenant of God over the two of you,” he sings the words loud and clear as a symbol.

  I shrink in horror trying to sink out of his grasp but he holds firm.

  “May the glory of God in the highest”—he elongates the word highest for close to a minute—“set your course as you go forth in the victory of his love.” He breaks the word love into two very long impractical pieces.

  A wild applause breaks out from the crowd as I try to catch my breath.

  It takes everything in me not to knee Marshall in the balls in front of God and the eternal commonwealth of La La Land. How dare he spring some surprise wedding on me.