Crown of Ashes

by Addison Moore

  “May I?” Gage holds out a hand, and I take him up on the offer.

  “Of course. It would be my honor to dance with the birthday boy.”

  The dimple in his left cheek depresses as he places the mask back on his face. “I hear I’m the official birthday bastard.”

  “Ugh. Sorry.” I frown over at Demetri’s monstrous home as if it were the devil himself. “They’re wrong, though. You’re the birthday blessing. And you’ve been exactly that in my life—and the boys. You are a blessing to me, Gage Oliver, through and through.” I lay my head over my husband’s enormous chest and listen to the steady thumping of his golden heart, tried and true as our love, steadfast and everlasting. Gage and I had sailed an entire ocean of drama and trauma over the years we’ve known one another, and here we are, still standing, still fastened in one another’s arms. Our love is so present, so pure and true it hurts a little to ponder it. Demetri set a flaming sword in our path, and Gage and I traversed it with ease and grace. No matter what my mother, his father, might be plotting—Gage and I cannot be extracted from one another’s lives. We have the boys now, an eternal bond. We have a covenant between us and God—a triune pact, indestructible for as long as we have breath in our lungs. Our love burns bright and deep, a spiritual flame that can never be extinguished, not by the hand of any person on earth or in heaven, not by any force of nature, not by angels, not by dragons. Gage and I have woven our souls together, caged in our hearts, protecting them from the cruel duties outlined by a fate we never really believed in. There is no prophecy, no stone, no heavenly council that could sever our paths. We are moving in a single trajectory, riding the back of an arrow that is unstoppable from reaching the finish line. Our love shines in the light, it hangs steady in the shadows, it crests the highest mountain, sinks to the depths of the stormy seas. We are impenetrable to the forces of darkness, immovable to the transgressions of fate. Destiny may not have planned for us, but it can count on us for damn sure. Gage and I will never give up, never give in, never yield to the mighty hand of our adversaries. Destiny may say we are bronze at best, but our hearts know we are gold.

  I pull back and look into those eyes that have captivated me from the beginning.

  “Kiss me,” I whisper over his lips.

  And he does just that. Gage Oliver kisses me with his entire being. He pours his soul sweetly into mine, and I drink him down like a sacred elixir. Gage and his love heal me.

  I bring my hands to the face that I love and hold him like that, precious, anxious to have him, in admiration of the man he has become. Right here, in this celestial congregation, I worship him—the dragon, the dreamer, my beautiful husband.

  With this kiss, we are ringing a bell. We are demanding that destiny and fate look in our direction and get used to what they see. We will right them. We will never bend to their will.

  With this kiss, we are claiming our forever.

  Gage

  My wife.

  Skyla molds her body to mine, and I bury my face in her hair a moment. There have been many things I have craved, wanted, desired, but none as strong as my yearning for this girl right here. I remember those early hazy days of West Paragon High when she wasn’t mine at all but someone else’s. Then she became mine as a ruse, a means to protect the love she had with Logan. Slowly, her love for me awakened. I’d like to think somewhere, deep inside, that it was always there. Long before Logan ever perished, Skyla and I were together. I think maybe if we weren’t, if she had never looked me in the eye and said she loved me until the terrible time of his death, our love would never have fully flourished the way it has. But then we married, became one in body and spirit, and the rest as they say is history. My entire existence was orchestrated to fall in love with this woman. It was my father’s business, the culmination of his life’s work to unify the two of us in flesh and in blood in hopes to create the perfect being. And we did. Two of them. And here we are a year later, stronger than steel, drawn to one another like a flame to oxygen. Logan had erected himself as an obstruction without meaning to. We loved one another when we shouldn’t have, and now under the banner of our covenant, we love one another thoroughly as we should. We were the sinners, and we were the saints. Skyla and I were born of deceit. The world believed in us long before we ever did. And yet, here we are, knit to one another like the stars in the sky, like the sun and the moon that Logan tries to own. He can never own what we have. This is imperishable. And as much as my father needed me with Skyla, his burden to seal us at the seams evaporated once the boys were born. And then, there is her mother, the celestial grand supreme. I am less than the dirt under my shoe in her eyes—nothing more than a sperm donor that provided life to her grandchildren. I have no pull with my all-powerful mother-in-law. She would no sooner give me a sideways glance than she would come to my aid. I am the obstacle to her desire. And there is nothing she desires more than to have Skyla and Logan together at last. There will be a celestial choir howling on that day. I have no doubt. And I have no doubt she is working very damn hard to make that day a reality very, very soon.

  It’s also a disheartening feeling to know that my father is through with me—in this form, in my coat of flesh, with the blood still pumping through my body. It’s a disheartening feeling to know that my mother-in-law, the neck of destiny, the head of fate, finds me useless in my union to her daughter. It’s a disheartening feeling to know that no matter what that smooth stone predicted—my number will most likely be up sooner than expected. Once we crested July, the seventh month, we knew it could only mean one thing. I was destined to have seven more years with Skyla. Of course, Skyla, ever the optimist, is clinging to the belief it’s decades, but there’s not a shred of hope in me for that. There are simply some things you know, and I have always known that I would die young. It’s never been something I’ve disputed or until recently, lamented.

  A shadow flirts at the edge of the pines, and my gut grinds at the sight. He’s been here all night, lurking, leering, watching me from a sacred distance. And just like that, he steps out of the shadows and across the field, through the bodies of those on the dance floor, through the merry ghosts that came all the way from the Transfer. And all the while he watches me. His illuminated gaze never leaves mine.

  “Whoa.” Skyla pulls back, her blonde mane rising like that of a lion. “Everything okay?”

  “Are you kidding? This is our night. Our babies are one. We are one, and soon we will take off to the one and only home I ever want to set foot in.”

  A gritty laugh brews in her chest. “I like where you’re going with that. Hey, maybe now that the dust has settled in our world, you can finally get around to writing that novel you’ve been tinkering with.”

  “That’s the plan.” I twirl her in my arms and seal the landing with a kiss. “But first, I plan on tinkering with you, over and over and over again.” I dot a string of kisses along her neck and soak up the vibrations from her laugh. The scent of vanilla pours from her, and I take it in like a balm. Skyla has always been just that, a healing balm.

  “You are a naughty, naughty boy, Mr. Oliver.” Her hands lie flat over my chest as she tips her face to the moon, her laughter growing with each passing breath. How I love to see her laugh—to see her smile. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to invoke that very reaction in her. “I’ve got an idea.” Her tongue does a quick revolution over her lips, and my balls ache, hungry to have her. “How about you and I steal away for a minute—somewhere private, secluded.” Her arms circle around my neck as she draws me in. “Someplace where a girl can lift her skirt—maybe let the girls out for some air?”

  “I think you’ve got me beat in the naughty department.” I lean in and crash my mouth over hers, suctioning her tongue into my mouth and catching it with my teeth. I pull back and grin at my beautiful bride. “You’ve got a date.” I rub my growing hard-on over her stomach. “You’ve just started a war I hope you’re ready to finish.”

  Her brow lifts over her glitterin
g mask. I’ll admit, I’m a sucker for this sexed-up vixen version of my wife. I’ve had a hard-on brewing the second she put on that dress. Hell, I always have a hard-on brewing for Skyla. Always did. Some things remain unchanging, and that just so happens to be one of them.

  “For your information, there happens to be a very real war brewing in my underpants as well. Let’s hope you are ready to take it home, Oliver.” She stabs her finger over my heart, and I feel the sting long after she removes it. “Now, kiss me.” She tips her head to the side with all of the innocence she can afford. “Kiss me as if it were your last night on earth because that’s exactly how I’m going to kiss you.”

  Skyla waits to close her eyes until the very last second, and I pour out all of my love into those pale eyes of hers. I tell her I love her far more efficiently and deeper than I ever could with words. And finally, with my lips, I do the same. Skyla explodes into my mouth like a nuclear warhead, anxious and hot, and I meet her right there. If this were my last night on earth, I wouldn’t hesitate to take her right here in the midst of the crowd. I wouldn’t waste a moment. I couldn’t. As horrifically crude as it sounds, it would be a thing of beauty.

  I make love to Skyla’s mouth, turning the earth beneath our feet into holy ground, turning the stars shining down over us into a halo of blessed light.

  “Skyla!” a familiar voice calls from a distance, and I don’t need to look over to know it’s Brielle. “Get a room, you two!”

  Skyla and I pull away reluctantly to find our bubbly friend with her hair freshly dyed a bright caustic shade of red—and on Bree it works.

  “Skyla, you have to help”—she grabs ahold of my wife’s shoulders as if she’s about to shake her—“Lexy is tanked, and she’s dry-humping Liam in the woods. Michelle is going to kill her!”

  Skyla makes a face. “I’m going to kill Liam.” Sorry, she mouths over to me. “I’ll find you, and we’ll finish that war we started!” she shouts as Brielle drags her off to the side of the house.

  “I’m looking forward to it! Skyla”—I cup my hands around my mouth as I try to shout over the music—“I love you!”

  Her laughter rises to the sky. “Love you, too, Gage Oliver! Forever!”

  And just like that, the night swallows her whole.

  My body aches at the sight of the void in her wake, and my dick twitches as my hard-on struggles to subside.

  “Perfect,” I mutter as I head back toward the house. I may as well help Coop find Laken, if he hasn’t already.

  I jog up to the house and thread my way through the bodies congesting the entry. I sidestep into the kitchen, and just as I’m ready to pull my phone from my pocket, a pair of arms comes at me and shove me hard against the wall.

  “Shit.” I meet up with the angry eyes of Zander Richards, and I launch at him. I twist my hands into his shirt and thrash the shit out of him against the refrigerator, and a neat dent sinks in where his head just gave a dramatic bounce. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He kicks my foot out from under me and lands a solid fist in my jaw. His face is screwed up tight like a bulldog, and saliva runs down his beard.

  “Shit!” I dab my lip for blood, but come up clean, and he shoves me to the wall once again.

  “Listen, Daddy’s Boy. You think the Videns give a shit about you? We can’t stand that obnoxious look on your face. You broke your promise to your people. And now your people are getting ready to break a few promises themselves.” His lips curve at the edges like a pair of pale worms. “You took our family and damned them to hell.”

  “Wes took them.” I shake my head, pissed. “Scratch that—he didn’t take them. They fucking volunteered!” I riot those last words right in his dirty face.

  “They didn’t volunteer for that!” he roars back. “That’s your problem, Prince of Shit—or is it King? Both are laughable.” He takes a staggering step back. “You don’t get it. You’re too removed. I guarantee if those were your sons—your brothers, you would be hauling ass to free them, to get them back to their rightful form. Dude, the Videns don’t need you.” He shakes his head as he slips into the murky shadows. “Be on guard. Be afraid. I’m going to make your every nightmare come true.”

  He takes off, and I’m left alone, the threat still hanging in the air like a sickle. The throngs of Videns come to mind. Young men, boys, all of them so ready to help Wes with whatever the hell scheme he dreamed up. Not one of them realizing they would be sacrificing everything. Zander is wrong. The Videns do need me. They need me to protect them against my brother.

  I set out in a rush to find my lookalike, but the lights are too low, the bodies too thick. It will be a miracle if I ever see Skyla again, let alone Wes.

  “My son!”

  I turn to find Demetri’s smile eroding on his face at the base of the stairwell. “Come.” He curls his fingers my way as he starts upstairs, and without reservation I follow him. I want answers, and Demetri’s got them by the truck full. What better night to start talking than, on this, the sacred night of his bastard’s birth.

  “Where to?” I stride alongside him as we head down the elongated familiar halls. I made this haunt my home for a time, a time I no longer wish to remember. I thought Demetri had saved me, and yet it was him who tossed me down that cliff instead.

  “Let us admire my treasures.” He lifts a finger to the mouth of the trophy room, and my gut cinches. I hate this place. I hate the fact there are creatures with their heads mounted to the wall filling the auditorium length room, and I hate the fact a majority of those creatures are exactly what I am—a Fem.

  I step in before him and take in the horrors, the eyes set agog, the gaping mouths, lion-looking creatures with human jowls, the mouth and nose of a man. Clowns, rows and rows of ghastly looking creatures that would frighten the holy shit out of just about anybody. The bear-like Fems with their black eyes, the fangs emanating from those dark holes they call mouths. I look to Demetri, perhaps the most frightening of them all, and scowl.

  “Has Lizbeth seen this? Maybe this is the room you can host her in. I’m betting she’d think differently of you then.”

  “Never—to all of the above, never. The room has properties. It can have an entry or not, and it knows how to behave when my Lizbeth is afoot. No, these treasures are only shared with a given few.” He slaps his hand over my back and looks to the trophy wall before him with pride. “You’ve done it, Gage. You’ve created the next generation of Edingers—the perfect bloodlines, the perfect frame. I could not be prouder of you in every respect. In all that you’ve accomplished, you’ve served me well. And yourself. Skyla was a prize, wasn’t she?”

  My stomach sinks when he speaks of her in past tense. “She still is.”

  His brows furrow, and that forever grin of his dissipates. “Yes, I see.” Something about his answer, his demeanor, has me itching for the door. “You do realize what this is.”

  “The room? The party? Or the conversation in general? Because I’m fucking lost at the moment.”

  He winces at the expletive, and, in truth, I gave it for that reason.

  “The room is a poem written in blood.” He looks to the expanse of corpses. “It says my love for you has no borders. I will kill, maim, and steal to seat you on the throne, my son. Nothing or no one can tame my velocity. The party is for you, my beloved. A proper introduction to the gentry. Our people shall bow to your feet soon enough. They have waited so long for you, and tonight they are in the presence of greatness.” The flicker of a smile comes and goes. “The conversation—a father speaking to a son. A heart to a heart. Power to power. I am yours, and you are mine.”

  I can’t help but look Demetri in the eye. It’s unsettling, a dark pit of longing, a black hole, twin ebony balls of anxiety—that’s all I see when I look at them.

  “Okay,” I say it quiet, the way you would to defuse a madman. “Let me find my wife. We can cut the cake and call it a night.” I slap
the old man over the shoulder and lead us out of this den of demons, and once we leave, I can’t help but note the doorway into that nightmare has sealed itself off, blending seamlessly into the wall.

  Yes, that was just for me. I’m afraid Demetri has a lot of plans that are exclusive to me. He takes off, and I assure him I’ll be right behind him, but the sound of laughter emanates from farther down the hall, toward that private theater where we’ve seen far too many horrors on the big screen.

  The closer I get, the thick smell of weed takes over, and soon I’m walking through a warm cloying fog. More laughter, grunting. I swing the door to the theater open and head inside to find a plume of smoke rising from the back row. The screen up ahead plays a black and white silent cartoon as if an eerie homage to the guests of honor tonight.

  “Who’s there?” I call as I head toward the tangle of bodies. A part of me knows I should duck out, leave whoever it is the hell alone, but that laughter, something about it.

  “Gage?” a tiny female voice calls out.

  “Shit. Giselle?” I speed over to find her seated on Ellis Harrison’s lap with his pants pulled down to his ankles. I realize they’re fucking—this is old news to me really—but it enlists such a fresh hell in me, it doesn’t seem to matter. I pluck Giselle off a little too violently and land her on her feet before yanking Harrison up, causing his joint to fly across the aisle with its orange glowing tip. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I thunder in his face as I slap him around and thrash him. “You’re smoking with my sister? You promised me you would never fucking do that!” In my rational mind, I very well know he most likely didn’t promise me that on any level, but in the heat of the moment it felt like the right thing to say. “Ellis!” I scream over his pot smoking face as loud as my lungs will allow. “Pull it together, or I will fucking kill you!”

  Giselle lands her tiny fists over my back, shouting something about celebrating life.