The thick scent of perfume and cologne explode in the lobby and it makes me feel lightheaded as we enter a room marked Grand Ballroom to our left. A dim cavernous hall is lit up with thousands of twinkle lights, sheer fabric cascades across an army of chandeliers high up on the ceiling, like rolling waves of pink gossamer.
“Hi!” Brielle screams at someone buried in the sea of bodies before taking off. Drake follows her like the puppy he is and I’m left alone in my ever-shrinking dress and glossy red hooker shoes. Maybe my mother dressing me wouldn’t have been such a bad idea after all.
Faces, too many faces—I pan the crowd then pause when I spot Logan standing just shy of the dance floor—a still life in the midst of a riot.
He bows his head slightly and offers a seductive smile. His hair picks up the color from a blue spotlight up above, and it highlights him in an otherworldly way. I’m paralyzed by all his gorgeous glory.
Just as I contemplate going over, someone tickles my ribs from behind and I almost break an ankle jumping in my clown heels.
Gage swoops around, “Good God. This dress should be illegal. You are smokin’! Are you sure you don’t want to wear my jacket?” He looks beyond gorgeous in his suit. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in one.
“Thanks. And it might be illegal. Marshall gave it to me.” I’m pretty sure he didn’t buy it. Probably plucked it off some celestial vixen or a corpse.
“Normally I wouldn’t want you to take things from him, but this happens to be a homerun.” He places his hand against my back and I can feel his skin against mine. It feels so intimate a wave of guilt washes over me.
“How’s the injury?” He picks up my bloated purple hand and pulls a face. “My dad taught me a few tricks to help get your muscles back into shape once the swelling goes down. He says if it gets any worse, he’s got some antibiotics for you.”
“I love the way you take care of me. It’s so sweet.” I pull his gaze into mine.
The music switches gears, slow and steady as the bodies on the dance floor begin to sway hypnotically.
“Come on.” Gage leads us onto the crowded wooden platform and digs us deep into the center of the crowd.
He cages me in with those blue flames staring back at me. My stomach bottoms out as he pulls me in, places his warm arm low across my back. The sweet scent of cologne drifts softly from him and the very distinct scent of minty toothpaste escapes his lips.
He grazes me with a kiss, then pulls away to see if it’s wanted.
I’m not sure why being this close to Gage makes me nervous, sends butterflies to my stomach—Gage, who I’ve been melting all over for weeks to prove a point to all of Paragon and the Counts, that we’re together.
He comes in again, presses his mouth against mine, and our teeth bump accidentally. I can’t hear the music, or feel my feet on the floor, or remember to breathe—I just float in the soft sea of his kisses.
“Break it up.” Marshall pushes Gage back rather violently and takes his place. A quick smile appears as he pulls me in tight. An entire orchestra of intense vibrations fills me, and I can’t find the strength to protest.
I watch as Gage drifts off the dance floor over to Logan.
“Sunday, the population of Paragon will drain onto my property. Will you wear the wings for me?” Marshall looks past me as though he weren’t speaking to me at all.
“No.”
“I’ll give you five hundred dollars.”
“Done.” My eyes spring open. I’d wear nothing but wings if he wanted me to, for less.
“I can hold you to that.”
“Forget it. I’m not that desperate for money.” I lay my head upon his chest. I’m so exhausted it takes everything in me to keep up with the rhythm. It feels like a major workout wearing heels like this. I’m not so sure I’m cut out to be a girl.
“Not the shoes I would have chosen,” he says, “but it gives you that edgy flair so many young women gravitate towards these days. They’ll be a dozen dressed just like you at winter formal—wait and see.”
“It’s slut fashion. They’re Brielle’s.”
“That explains it. If I knew you were shoeless, I would have gladly given you a pair.”
“Yeah, but they’d probably be magical.” As in magically landing me in his bed—more like cursed. “I’m powerless—can you give me an infusion?” I pull back, hopeful.
“I can give you lots of things, Skyla, but that’s not necessary. Your blood will reconstitute in time, shortly in fact.”
Marshall looks cutthroat handsome in this shadow-filled room. His entire person sparks like a flame. If I chose Marshall—become his wife—my father could live again. If there weren’t Logan or Gage…
“You would choose me.” His expression sobers.
“Well, don’t kill them. I love them.”
“You love them both?” He ticks his head to the side considering this. “You know the entire universe frowns on such arrangements. They never work—always someone with a bitter heart. Of course, in this case it wouldn’t be you. The single gender is always the victor. Who’s the bitter heart? Logan or Gage?”
“Logan.” I breathe his name in a demonic whisper.
“I see.” His lips twitch. “And that’s the one you favor.”
My heart breaks for Gage.
“I don’t favor anyone.” It’s true.
“Well, you don’t favor me, and that makes you a rare breed.” He pulls back a notch, rakes his eyes all over me. “How is this?” His features morph, just barely. They take him across the finish line until he completely replicates Logan in his exact eminence.
“You’re still you,” it comes out breathless.
Here I am, swaying to the droning rhythm of a very sad love song with a replica of Logan. A small part of it feels right—feels real. My heart tries to reject the idea, but I won’t let it. I want this moment anyway I can get it.
Gage taps on his shoulder and evicts Marshall by way of his elbow.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” I say, pecking a quick kiss on his cheek.
His dimples push in without a smile. I take in his clean scent as we finish up the tail end of the song. From behind his shoulder, I see Logan leaning up against the table pretending to hear whatever Lexy is saying, all the while staring right at us. To his left Michelle claws at Marshall for attention as desperate as ice in a fire.
Marshall looks over and gives a wicked grin.
He still looks suspiciously a lot like Logan.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
One Enchanted Evening
“Shit!” Carly drops her compact to the floor and slaps her hand over her mouth.
I roll my eyes at Brielle and push past her into the ladies room.
Napkins are laid out on a granite counter with the hotel initials embossed in gold, along with an assortment of perfume and a bin of hair products. A huge burgundy sofa sits nestled against the back wall. I love it when an entire living room acts as the entry to the actual restroom.
“I thought you were dead!” Carly’s face bleeds out all color.
“I am,” I say, examining myself in the mirror.
“File that under who gives a shit,” Carson, the one who served toxic lemonade at her party a few weeks ago, swoops by in a creamy pink birthday cake of a dress that would make my mother proud. “Skank,” she hisses as they make their way out the door.
“I hate them,” I say staring blankly at myself in the mirror.
Brielle does her lips, then passes me her strawberry gloss. I not only managed to forget my shoes, but my purse and my cell, too.
Brielle’s phone goes off, and she squints into it.
“It’s Drake.” She pulls a face before heading back into the lobby.
I should go out there and talk to Logan. I should ask for the Count file, or see what my hours are next week, or at least say hi, or maybe fall on him in these prostitute specials I’ve pressed my feet into and accidently dance with him.
I open the d
oor that leads into the actual restroom and choose a stall near the back. A lengthy battle with the paper seat covers ensues. I swear sometimes it sucks being a woman. Why couldn’t God make us so we stand up when we pee? Was that asking too much?
The lights go out, and there’s a palpable black silence.
“Hello?” I say stupidly. Obviously someone turned out the lights and left. But wasn’t I the only one in here? “This isn’t funny.” My voice produces a stale echo.
I close my eyes and open them, same effect—it’s beyond dark. I hold out my hand and swipe at the air as I try and reach for the stall door.
It’s probably just an innocent mistake. There’s probably a switch at the entrance that any moron can lean up against or flip on their way out the door. Or maybe the entire facility lost power? I bet they’re all out there freaking out—girls screaming, guys scheming. I bet Michelle is taking advantage of this and dry humping Marshall, or worse, Lexy on Logan.
I try to calm my nerves by thinking about how funny this is going to be once I finally make it outside. I clasp onto the metal latch, and the door swings open.
Baby steps. That’s all I need to take. I swing my arms out wildly. Every step feels like I’m about to fall down a flight of stairs.
Breathing? I hear breathing!
“Hello?” My arm is yanked hard until I slam into something—a person. The waft of bitter cologne takes over, and before I realize it, my hands are both restrained behind my back.
Lips graze against my choker. One of my hands is violently snatched from behind, and a mouth clamps down hard over my wrist. A sharp injection of pain slides across in a clean line. I can hear him slurping, sucking off my flesh like a bloodthirsty savage.
“Stop!” I try to remember how Logan taught me to take someone down. Who knew it would be in the freaking dark? “Get off!” I end the last word in a shrill scream that rattles the windows. “I’m going to rip your balls off, swear to God, if you don’t get off of me!” I’m pinned so perfectly against the cold tiles behind me, it leaves me shivering—nauseated.
He bangs my head hard against the wall, pushes his fingers into my cheeks.
“You going to tell?” He says mockingly. “You let out my little secret, I’ll let out yours. The Counts want to know what Celestra on this planet killed my brother. I can make them leave it alone—save you from prison. Or maybe you want to go? Maybe you’re up for a jumpsuit vacation?”
It’s, Pierce!
I can hear him feeling around his person before a piece of paper gets shoved in my hand.
“That’s a copy of the letter I stopped my dad from sending out,” he sears the words into the side of my face. “You can thank me later. And you will.”
He takes off, leaving a vacuum in his wake. I can hear the roar of the crowd liven then die down as the door opens and closes. I make wild strides toward the exit, slamming into a wall before flicking on the lights.
A big yellow sign sits outside the bathroom, that reads, Cleaning, do not enter. I give it a swift kick before heading back into the crowd.
***
I spot Logan first—embedded three deep in the bitch squad. I try to circumvent the head-on collision by rounding out to the other side, but there’s a barrier of tables and chairs interlocked with people, so I turn to face them.
“You’re bleeding.” He rushes over and picks up my arm.
“Oh my, God! She slit her wrist!” Lexy screams. There’s a clear look of disgust on her face, and she starts to retch. Emily pulls her to the side, and they continue to gawk over at me from a safe distance.
“Holy Shit!” Michelle plunges the black rose on her necklace back and forth like a nervous twitch. That single action alone is probably calling an entire army of Fems. She’s a magnet for them now, sort of like me.
“Ouch,” I yell as Logan straps his tie around my wrist, tight as noose. “You’re cutting off the circulation.”
He tilts his head at the irony. Logan has a calm way about him. Something noble, it’s as though he’s living out his true age in this younger teenage version of himself.
“How old are you again?” The words swim from my mouth dreamy. It’s fuzzy math that involves another place, another time, and I really can’t remember.
“Too old for you.” His brows peak briefly. “Let’s get you out of here. What happened?” he whispers, as we make our way out of the main entry of the resort, into the brisk night air.
I look around suspiciously.
“I don’t want to tell you, not here.”
He plucks his phone out and texts Gage.
“It didn’t look that deep.” His eyes sweep up and down. “You look beautiful.” He rubs my shoulders, and pulls me in a little.
“I don’t feel beautiful.” I hold up my hands, revealing the fact I’m still clenching the paper.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a love letter from my attacker.” I hold it close to my chest. “What’s taking Gage so long?” My muscles quiver from the cold.
Logan takes off his jacket and swings it around my shoulders. It carries his scent—all of his warmth.
“It’s too hard to be away from you,” I say. There isn’t anything more true in this entire world.
He presses his lips together and leans in close to my ear.
“When the faction war is over, we can be together if that’s what you want.” He pulls back and lets me see the heaviness in his eyes. He presses out a dry smile. “But according to Gage, you won’t choose me.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Lead Me
Dr. Oliver is already in bed when we get to the house. Logan runs up to get him as Gage settles me at the breakfast table, the usual spot where I pay my medical visits. I’m starting to think of this place less as Gage or Logan’s house, and more like the Oliver free clinic.
“Another infliction?” Dr. Oliver is wearing white and blue striped flannel pajamas and now he’s really starting to feel like my own dad—definitely more of a dad than Tad will ever be.
He pulls off the blood-encrusted tie and glances briefly at the slanted incision.
“I’m going to glue you. I like that better than stitches. Let’s see the hand.”
I raise my other arm.
“It’s not infected, just banged up a bit. Skins healing nicely.” He pulls down my choker to inspect the wound on my neck. “Skyla, you’re incredibly anemic.”
“Put some of my blood back in me.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Besides, your body is working hard to regenerate, just keep out of trouble.”
Gage looks at me wild-eyed as though that were impossible.
“I will,” I say it with authority. I can believe almost any of my own lies.
Once he finishes pressing my skin back together, he says goodnight and heads upstairs.
Gage helps me over to the family room and onto the navy corduroy couch. I love sitting here, comfortable and warm next to Gage, listening to his steady breathing.
Logan breezes in with a clipboard and wags it in the air before handing it to Gage.
Attached is the crinkled piece of paper I was clutching, complete with bloodied fingerprints.
“What is this?” I’m too far gone with fatigue to read the tiny font, too many letters crammed on one page.
“It’s from Arson Kragger’s office, Attorney at Law,” Logan says that last part drawn out in a sarcastic drawl. “They know you crashed the truck into Kragger’s Hummer, or at least believe you did, and they’re threatening to take legal action against your parents. They’re threatening them with the loss of their home.” Logan taps near the line that reads equity at or below five hundred thousand dollars.
“Are you serious?” My entire body goes numb with shock. “It was Pierce. He said he knew I killed his brother, and if I told, he’d turn me in.”
“You think he messed with things to keep you out of jail?” Gage doesn’t sound convinced.
“That day with Marshall, we wen
t to see Ezrina…she had Holden’s body, she found Celestra DNA. Yeah, I think Pierce might be the key to keeping me out of cell block five.” I stare into the carpet.
“Crap.” Gage pulls me in, warms my shoulder with his hand.
Logan kneels down beside me. He pulls the bloodied paper off the top of the clipboard exposing a list of names, towns, provinces.
“The list you wanted. I did some research and found out where the Celestra that were killed lived.” He flicks his finger at the paper. “Regional leaders.”
“They’re the ones that needed to approve the bloodshed?” I ask.
“Yup.” Logan’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, or offer me an out to his bionic stare. There’s something surging here, a distinct emotion pulsating between the two of us, and I’m not quite sure how to read it.
“Give me the regional leader’s name for the Los Angeles council.” I want to nail the bastard who thought it was a good idea to burn my father.
Logan pushes the page back and strums his fingers against the board.
“I’m one step ahead of you.”
It reads, D. Edinger
***
I finally manage to crawl into bed. I don’t bother to take off the shoes or the dress two sizes too small, instead, I greedily close my eyes and start floating off to sleep—glorious sleep. A loud hissing sound erupts, and I flip my light on in a panic only to find Ellis standing in my room.
“I thought you were a Fem. You scared the crap out me!” I snap.
“We have a date.”
“Why would I want to go back with you? Why would I go anywhere with you after you fed me pot-laced brownies?” Honestly, I’d take Ellis on a light drive, but already this has been one freaking long ass day.
“Nobody forced them down your throat.” Ellis gives a low guttural laugh.
People have been forcing a lot of things down my throat lately, like knives, and straws, and fangs, but I guess Ellis is right—the brownies sort of went down voluntarily.
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