Celestra Forever After

by Addison Moore

  Marshall pulls off my bathing suit bottom nice and slow. He flips my top up with far less fanfare and reaches down and sucks my nipple with wild abandon.

  I tackle him to the sand and wrench him from his boxers, thick and hard. He turns me over, and I take his weight, groaning with pleasure as his chest crushes against mine. My body writhes under his. My legs flex over his back while I beg him to impale me with his Sector eminence.

  Marshall leans up on his elbows, a demonic smile building on his lips.

  “You, my love, are everything I knew you could be. A vixen of the ages.”

  He’s said that last sentence during a couple of our nighttime bump and grind sessions, and this realization startles me. It’s as if somewhere buried in his words is a riddle, or, at least, a red bloody flag.

  “Fuck me.” I have no shame in this nighttime world. This whorish vixen I morph into routinely barks out orders, and he, of course, is more than willing to comply.

  “Language, Ms. Messenger.” Marshall plunges both his tongue and his penis into me simultaneously, and a choking sound gags from my throat as I struggle to take his kisses and his thrusts. He pushes in time and time again. His fingers reach down and find me until I’m ready to hyperventilate, to pop right out of my body with the buoyancy he’s instilled in me. Forget what Brielle once told me about the bodily “sneeze.” This is an all-out orgasm building with hurricane force—Marshall and I are splitting atoms with our bodies—getting ready to detonate to the moon.

  He pushes in harsh and greedy, and I dig my fingers into his back while begging for more. I want everything Marshall is willing to give me, and then that will never be enough.

  His breathing pulsates loud in my ear as he growls and grinds without inhibition.

  “Harder,” I command, and he covers my mouth once again with his. I soak in that fine vibration his body gives off as the pleasure builds inside me. It’s as if no one else exists in the universe—it’s just Marshall and me.

  “Skyla!”

  I jolt upright, shaking my tiny twin bed like an earthquake as the canopy overhead wobbles back and forth.

  I give several blinks to find my mother at the door, her red hair set in rollers at the tips.

  “Wakey, wakey! I made chocolate chip pancakes just the way you like. Get out of bed, sweetheart.” She presses out a forlorn smile while tilting into me. “I can’t believe it’s my baby’s first day of college. You must be so excited. I bet you couldn’t catch a decent wink of sleep last night.”

  “Yeah, I had an indecent night all right.” A memory of Marshall’s viral assault sweeps through me like a nuclear heat wave. “I’ll be down in a sec. I think I’ll throw myself in the shower real quick.”

  I cut a glance out the window. Paragon twists and quivers in the icy breeze as the forest of evergreens tower into the dismal grey sky.

  “Everything okay?” Mom bears into me as if she’s onto the fact I just committed a dirty nighttime romp with my favorite naughty Sector.

  “Everything’s perfect.” I wave as she closes the door.

  More like perfectly perverted. I’m having hot sex with my high school math teacher in my dreams, and in real life I’ve yet to land on second base with my boyfriend.

  I head for the shower.

  Something tells me I’ll be confronting a hypersexual Sector later today and questioning him on his nocturnal wanderings. I have a feeling I know where he parks his penis these days between the hours of eleven and seven.

  Well, fuck me.

  That’s exactly what Marshall’s been doing.

  Downstairs the scent of burnt toast permeates the air, and the sound of a baby screaming starts my head pounding. I don’t remember ever getting as many headaches as I have since my little sister, Mystery—aka, Misty, was born a couple of months ago. She cries nonstop. Her voice has the magic ability to travel through wood, and drywall, and steel, and no matter how many freaking pillows I pile over my head, I can still hear her hunting me down with her knife-sharp octaves. The only thing that keeps her quiet is my mother shoving a mammary gland in her face.

  The house fills with silence just as I step into the family room. Mom is at the dining room table with her boob tucked in Misty’s content little mouth while baby Beau, my stepbrother’s one-year-old, who she sort of kidnapped as her own, sits next to her in a highchair. My stepfather, Tad, sits at the end of the table with his nose buried in his laptop. I’m not sure if he could pick any of us out of a lineup, he’s always off in his own crazy world. Tad is nothing but a big ball of human frustration. Actually, he’s a Count. Technically, there’s not a human in this house. We’re all descendants of the Nephilim which makes us part human, part angelic being, and if you include Tad, part idiot.

  Mia and Melissa sit huddled at the other end of the table.

  “Look at you.” Mia growls it out as I head for the coffeemaker. I peer over at my sister and marvel at the fact she looks more and more like a carbon copy of me with each passing day. Well, if I were a ninth grader, pounding at the gate to be let into West Paragon High.

  Melissa is Tad’s daughter and my sister by proxy. Tad also brought Drake and Ethan into the fractured-family mix. Drake is eighteen, like me, and has managed to spawn children with both Emily Morgan and Brielle Johnson in his short lifespan. But Ethan, well, he’s sort of been a bit of a mystery ever since he appeared in our family after a rather lengthy absence. Up until a little over a year ago everyone presumed he was homeless and dead by de facto. I think he’s a year older.

  “What about me, Mia?” I ask, pulling the creamer from the fridge.

  “You look way too conservative. I thought you’d look way hotter since it’s your first day at Host.” Mia rakes her eyes over me, up and down, as if I’m about to unleash a fashion felony on unsuspecting coeds.

  “Yeah.” Melissa snarks. Her widow’s peak looks far more pronounced this morning. Her eyes narrow in on me, dark and hollow, and for a minute my heart skips a beat because she’s just managed to scare the shit out of me. “Are you going to hang out with a bunch of college kids or head up a Young Republican’s meetings?”

  The two of them break out in cackles as I inspect my brown cords, my navy sweater and pearls.

  “Crap, you’re right,” I mutter. “But it matters not because I don’t want to skank out on the first day. I want get there and see how all the other girls dress, and if it’s a totally casual environment, I’ll bust out the Daisy Duke’s and flip flops.”

  “Oh, Skyla.” Mom rolls her eyes, and it’s only then I notice she’s unleashed her other boob as baby Beau pecks his mouth in her direction.

  She faux breastfed him in the past, and it was twelve kinds of freaky. In a way I’m glad Misty was born and saved the day because ever since she’s arrived, my mother put away the plastic pouch she had duct taped to her body. It’s like she lives to nourish people through her boobs.

  “By the way…” Mom scoops Beau into her lap, and he latches on—and holy hell, she’s nursing them both now. Good God, I have seen it all.

  Melissa screams, pointing at Mom’s breasty malfeasance, and Mia joins in on the howl-fest as if a snake were wrapping itself around her neck.

  “That is so freaking gross!” Melissa looks as if she’s ready to overturn the table.

  “Where are these pancakes I was promised?” I bark it out in an effort to revert everyone’s attention from my mother’s boobs. If she’s in such a nurturing mood, I think she should at least point me to the carb carnival she promised. And once she does, I fully plan on taking them to go. Leaving is the only logical way out of this lactating Landon hell.

  “In here, and they were delish.” Tad rubs his belly, unremorseful to the fact he just ate my breakfast. “Get used to having no food because if you chain yourself to that linebacker, he’ll eat every damn thing in the house.”

  I avert my eyes. For Tad’s information, I do plan on chaining myself to that linebacker. Gage already has my heart, now all that’s left to
do is gift him the rest of me. Besides, Gage is all the food I need, and I can’t wait to feast off his body.

  I feel bad that Tad dislikes Gage so much, but as much as he can’t stand him, Gage’s mother can’t stand me. Last week, Gage bought me flowers, and Emma got wind of it. Emma wasn’t merely seeing innocent flowers being exchanged as a small token of her son’s affection, she was seeing innocent lilies morphing into a dozen vaginas and penises. This was a sex trade of the highest order. The closer Gage gets to my pants, the sweeter he seems to be. To Emma, flowers and candy are simply orgasms in the making. Even if it is true, it’s none of her damn business.

  Mom shakes her head. “Sorry about breakfast. I burnt them,” she mouths. “And girls, really?” She shoots an irate look to Mia and Melissa as if she’s ready to rip them a new one. “Someday, when you have your own children, you’ll understand the importance of giving them quality one on one time. If you don’t like what you see, I suggest you look the other way.”

  “Yeah, well”—Melissa snarks, pushing her chair back—“I won’t be feeding body parts to my children or anybody else’s. Put him down, or I’ll call the police! He’s not even yours. You’re probably going to give him some tropical titty disease and kill him.”

  “Sounds like you girls need a lesson in milk maids.” Mom fumes as if her idea to school my sisters on boobs-for-hire is enough to quell the threat of social services.

  “We’ll pass.” Mia gets up and comes over while Melissa flies upstairs. “What time do you think you’ll be home?” She wrinkles her nose, and my stomach pinches because I happen to have a habit of doing exactly that when something bothers me.

  “I don’t know, why? Is something wrong?”

  “Just wanted to see if we could, you know”—she shrugs—“talk.”

  Talk? I happen to know for a fact Mia got her period when she was eleven because my mother ranted for weeks about the “damn hormones in chickens,” and, being we’re past the menstrual phase of our relationship, I’m not really sure what there is to talk about.

  “Yeah sure. I’ll knock on your door as soon as I get in.”

  She cuts a look toward the stairs. “I was thinking maybe we could grab some coffee. Just me and you.”

  “Got it.” I give a solemn nod. I bet she’s got some serious as shit news to tell me about the She-Landon. Turns out, little sweet Melissa is destined to try and take down Celestra. Well, either her or Misty. But after all the trouble, the battles, the fucking war I went through, I’m not about to let that happen. Not to mention the fact it was that very war that cost Logan his life—Chloe killed him. Chloe Bishop was a vindictive bitch that harnessed all her energy into killing those I love, starting with my father and ending with Logan. But my celestial mother and I somehow managed to banish her after the war. All of those mangled memories cork to the surface, and I suppress them for now. I pray that high school was the last time our paths cross. Chloe works best as a memory long forgotten.

  Logan floats back to the forefront of my mind. A grievous heartbreak washes over me as I struggle to push him down for a little while longer. If I go there, I’ll sink, and I’ll never make it through my first day of school let alone out the door this morning.

  I glance back at Mia. Whatever it is she wants to tell me, she wants to keep from Melissa. Nevertheless, I plan on keeping things real tight between Melissa and me for the next several decades. Now that I’m the overseer of the factions, it’s my responsibility to do just that.

  I brush Mia’s hair back with my fingers. “How about we head over to the Gas Lab?” Nev mentioned he had something new to show me, so that ought to kill two birds with one stone. I give a private smile because Nevermore actually used to be a bird.

  “Great!” Mia gives me a spontaneous hug. “Text you later.”

  “Where are you off to today?” I know for a fact West Paragon doesn’t go back to school until next week.

  “Cheer.” She makes a face. “The new cheer coach is a real bitch.”

  “Who’s the new cheer coach? Is it Emily?” I shout as she hauls ass up the stairs.

  “Chloe Bishop.”

  What? Emily mentioned something about being an assistant coach, but I don’t remember her saying anything about Chloe. A visual of Em’s psychotic birthing experience sails through my mind. Emily and Drake had a baby girl a few weeks back, and I happened to be there to witness the bloody event. There was bona fide screaming, head spinning, and green vomit. I witnessed firsthand as Emily Morgan’s body cracked in half, and all kinds of spare parts came rushing out, thus sponsoring my new and secret decision to never have kids.

  Anyway, I seriously doubt Ezrina is teaching cheer. She’s more of a shearleader due to her unnatural obsession with all things sharp and pointy. Ezrina was gifted Chloe Bishop’s earthly form and vice versa, although Chloe managed to still look like her idiotic self.

  I head back to my coffee and bump into Mom and her oh-so-cute nipple accessory, Misty.

  “Hey you.” I touch my sister’s soft little cheek. She’s plumping up nicely. She’s always so damn peaceful when she’s suckling away, but in a sad, sick way, it’s the only time I’m really able to enjoy her. “She’s going to be a knockout.” I brush my fingers through her thick black hair. Swear to God, I’ve never seen such a mop on an infant before. Not that I’ve seen many babies, but Beau over there has nothing more than a few red feathers up top.

  “I know, right?” Mom is quick to agree. “With all that thick, gorgeous hair, those cobalt blue eyes—she’s a real beauty queen in the making.”

  “That’s funny, that’s exactly how I describe Gage’s eyes—cobalt.”

  “It’s the perfect color, don’t you think?” She blinks over at me, and an unsettled feeling washes through me, like a bird just crapped on my shoulder, and I can’t figure out where. Tad has brown-ish eyes, and Mom has pale bluish-green eyes. I wonder what the odds of having a tiny Gage knockoff are? Not that Gage would even glance in my mother’s direction, but, still, this child is suspiciously gorgeous. I look around the corner at Tad and his bloated frame still hunched over his laptop. His hair is sort of multi-colored—that is, what little he has left.

  “What color hair do you think Tad has?” I wince over at him. He’s pasty and sort of overall sickly looking, but, otherwise, he’s in perfectly good health.

  She peers at him from over my shoulder. “I’d say, salt and pepper.”

  I make a face. Just the thought of associating Tad with table condiments makes my stomach turn. I may never season my food again without imagining Tad’s greasy hair all over my plate.

  “I think he’s brindle.”

  “Skyla.” Mom rolls her eyes while bouncing both the baby and her boobs. “That’s a word you use to describe dogs, not people.”

  I hold my tongue. Sometimes she makes putting Tad down all too easy.

  Baby Beau waddles up and latches onto her leg.

  “Well, I’d better take off and get to the Olivers. Gage awaits.” I turn to head out the door, and she plucks me back by the elbow.

  “If you see Professor Dudley, let him know I’m really excited about our little project. Tell him I’m working on a special plan just for him.” She says that last part extra slow.

  Crap. Mom and Marshall teaming up for a “special plan” sounds like a natural disaster in the making.

  “I won’t be seeing him. In the event you forgot, I’m no longer at West.” Mom has had a serious case of baby brain ever since Misty decided to go nocturnal. “And he’s not a Professor. He’s just a teacher.” A rather hot, distractingly good-looking teacher who I’m sure will work all the incoming junior and senior girls into a tizzy. It was impossible to get any real work done in his class.

  Mom claps her hand over her mouth, and her eyes round out like a couple of yo-yos. “Oh, that’s right,” she says in that bad acting kind of way as if she’s merely playing along with my insanity. “I’ll speak to him myself when I get a chance.” She winks.

>   “So what’s the special plan?”

  “It’s for his Halloween party. It’s going to be to die for.” She nudges me in the shoulder, proud of her play on words.

  “Halloween at Dudley’s, huh?” Since I’m technically his spirit wife, of course, I’ll be there. “All I have to say is thank God it’s not at Demetri’s again.” Mom helped plan that disaster, too.

  “I wish you’d get over your differences.”

  “Our differences? He killed, Daddy.”

  The baby fusses, and she does a quick nipple switch without so much as acknowledging the felony her Fem-a-licious boy toy is responsible for. Demetri and Mom go way back, and he still has a thing for her. The feeling is mutual, but she’ll never admit it. I detest him with a heated passion. Demetri is the devil. Well, not really. He’s a Fem, some kind of created monster akin to a Sector. Marshall happens to be a Sector, but every single one of those are hotter-than-hell looking. Nevertheless, they’re both hybrid angelic beings.

  “I really enjoyed helping Demetri with his party last year.” She gets that faraway look in her eye as if she’s reliving each of the ways she helped him.

  “I bet you did. You spent all of September and October locked at the hip with that dark-haired cretin.” I suck in a breath while doing some quick procreative math. September is exactly nine months from June. Demetri has hair as black as midnight. He’s a Fem, so who the hell knows what color eyeballs he’s sporting today. Fems can shape shift with the best of them.

  Mom steadies her hand over my arm. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  I glance down at Misty as her lips curl in a half-smile while giving my mother a toothless bite right over the nipple. Her little eye twitches, then the left one closes and opens, and swear to God that child just—