Celestra Forever After (20 page)

“Forever.” I nod. That was my ridiculous battle cry, and now here we are staring down the barrel of a ticking clock set at five to midnight. “I’ll always love you. I promise.” My lips find hers, and we linger over one another in a sweet kiss blessed by the Paragon dew.

“I want to be with you always, Gage.” Her forehead wrinkles with despair. Her lips swell a dark shade of ruby like she might cry. “I want to go through all of the stages and ages that life has to offer with you.” A tear trickles down her cheek. “I want to see what you see. Do the things you do. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here by your side.” I swallow hard, fighting my own tears, and I’m half afraid she’s going to beat me to the punch. “There’s not a moment of the day I don’t want to spend with you.” She wraps her arms tight around me and buries her head in my chest. “Gage, I want to live with you.”

“I want all that, too, Skyla.” I gently lift her chin until her watery eyes look straight into mine, and I play back every highlight that we’ve shared from the moment we met, imprinting it from my heart to hers as a vision. The first time we touched at the bowling alley, our first kiss under a blanket of fog much like this one, those countless West Paragon days, holding hands on campus, stealing a kiss under the vicious mural of Cerberus—an entire montage of our time in the butterfly room, the day I lit them up from the inside and now they’ve never stopped glowing. I end with the war, with Skyla and me fighting elbow to elbow, the day we tossed the flowers into the ocean, right here at Rockaway, after Logan’s memorial.

Her eyes widen into mine. Her chest pumps as she imparts her own vision into my eyes. There we are at graduation, kissing under Cerberus once again, finishing off our high school careers filled with love in our hearts for each other, much like we have now.

“And here we are,” she whispers right over my lips, and I take the kiss. I reach up and accidently brush my fingers over her chest, grazing her rock hard nipple. I run my hands over her arms, and her skin is prickled with goose bumps. “So can we do it?” Skyla gets on her knees, and I do the same. “Can we move in together?” She nods as if it were the most rational idea, not that what I’m about to do is anymore levelheaded.

“You want to move into the dorm?” A smile cinches up my cheek because I’m pretty sure that’s not what she meant.

“Maybe.” Her iced fingers travel up my shirt. Her legs are parted just right, and I can’t help sinking a glance.

“Skyla, I know this is crazy.” My hand dips into my pocket, and I warm the ring with my fingers. “I’m not sure what I’m doing, or how in the world I’m going to support the two of us, but a part of me wants to shelve all that right now.” It’s not like me. I’m practical, rational—and proposing to Skyla right now is anything but practical or rational. “You’re so beautiful.” My voice cracks as I take both her hands in mine. “Skyla, I have loved you from before we met.” I bear into her, and Skyla’s lips quiver. “I promise, I will love you straight into eternity—but for the rest of my time here on earth, would you do me the honor of being my wife?” I pull my grandmother’s ring out and hold it between us—the diamond glittering in this dull light.

“Gage.” Her eyes drop to the ring. Her lips press together as if holding back tears. “Oh my, God,
yes!
” Skyla wraps her arms around my neck and crashes her mouth to mine at a million loving miles an hour. I knock us back onto the sand, and my shirt lifts just enough for our stomachs to sear over one another. A groan rips from the both of us, and we share a laugh, our teeth scraping in the process.

“I love you.” I dip a kiss just shy of her ear.

“I love you, Gage Oliver, and I can’t wait to be your wife.”

The ring glides through my fingers as I hold it up for her to inspect. “My grandmother’s. Hope you don’t mind. But it’s special to me, and I want you to have it.”

“It’s beautiful,” she says as I slip it on her finger.

“Just tell me when, and we’ll make it official.”

Skyla bites down over her cherry lip, her pale eyes never leaving mine. “I know a courthouse on Host that will do it right now.”

My lips cinch with a hint of a smile, her eyes still holding mine.

“Well, what the hell are we waiting for?” I scoop her up and race us down the black sand beach, twirling and kissing her on the way to the truck. This is the last time I’ll ever be here with Skyla Messenger. When we come back she’ll be Skyla Oliver, and the best part is, she’ll be mine.

Logan

Lightning shreds across the sky as I step into the Gas Lab. All of Paragon is electrified, lit up like a lantern at irregular intervals. It wipes the gloom from the day, shakes us out of our morbid stupor like bombs going off overhead.

“Oliver.” Ethan motions me over while hooking a girl up to an O2 tank equipped to shoot scented air through her nostrils. The Gas Lab is his brainchild or brain fart—take your pick. Ethan is Skyla’s stepbrother—not the brightest Landon of the bunch, not that there’s much competition.

“What’s up?” I give a quick glance at the dim colored walls, the blank canvasses that stretch to the ceiling. Ethan mentioned once they were to empower the customer to come up with their own image. Plus, I’m assuming it was cheaper than purchasing actual art.

“Give up on the big city life so soon?” He nods over to an empty barstool.

“That’s right. I couldn’t stop thinking of this damn rock, so I’m back.” When I died last December, rumor spread I was on the mainland doing my thing, and here I am, right back where I started from, doing my
dead
thing.

“You need me to hook you up?” He pulls a pouch of something dark and leafy from his pocket—pot. Great. He’ll have this place shut down in days if he’s dealing on the side. “Chloe and Pierce know you’re doing that shit?”

He makes a face, looking toward the kitchen for a minute. “Dude, they’re so fucked up these days. Bishop doesn’t even look like herself anymore. I guess it’s true what they say—girls let themselves go after high school. She hacked her hair off. She’s sporting coke-bottom glasses, and calls herself
Ezrina
after her long dead aunt or some bullshit. Pierce stopped going to the gym—his arms are like spaghetti. Makes me call him Nev or he won’t freaking turn around.” He shakes his head annoyed.

“Nev and Rina,” I call to the back, and they file out. Nev is wearing his million-dollar Kragger smile, and Ezrina looks staunch, ready to throw my balls into the deep fryer if I cross her.

I go over and lock them both in a simultaneous hug.

“Knock that shit off,” Ethan barks as a small crowd walks in. “We’ve got company.”

Nev closes his eyes a moment. “Patrons.” But Ethan is already off showing a couple of high schoolers his burgeoning stash.

“Don’t bother correcting him.” Ezrina leads us to a nearby table. “He’s a dolt.”

A young girl glances at me before doing a double take. She looks vaguely familiar, but it’s her boyfriend I recognize from the faction war.

“Who are they?” I nod to them trying to look inconspicuous, but Ezrina doesn’t bother to hide her neck craning.

“Laken Stewart, and Cooper Flanders.” She stomps her hand over the table so hard half the people turn around. “Come.” She thunders, and they hesitantly make their way over.

Laken’s face bleaches out as she looks at me. “You’re Skyla’s Elysian, aren’t you?”

Something unsettles in my chest when she says it. “I haven’t been called down to Tenebrous in months.”

“That means Wes hasn’t…” Laken lets her words drift through the air.

“Cooper,” Ezrina growls. “Do you know who I am?” She glares at him, and for a moment I’m not sure of their standing. “You were the best damn Spectator huntsman in three generations.” She cuts a bloodlet of a smile.

His eyes narrow as if trying to place her. “Ezrina?”

She holds out her arms and offers up a hug.

“Looks like you cracked the code to the fountain of youth. Good work.” He pats her on the back before pulling up seats for the two of them. I segue to the intros and give a brief rundown on why Nev and Ezrina are sporting different faces.

“Looks like you got the better end of the deal.” Coop nods. “Congrats. So what’s with the uniforms? You logging time frying up some donuts?”

“And don’t forget the lucrative endeavor of selling air.” Nev smacks his lips in disappointment at Ethan while he whoops it up at the bar. “At least we’ve managed to convince the moron to sell fresh coffee—roasted beans from Brazil.” Nev gives a hard sniff. “It’s all in the flavor.”

“The devil is always in the details.” I look to Ezrina. “Now that we’re all here together, why don’t you tell us what in the hell Wesley wants with you.”

Her lips clamp shut. Ezrina’s already made it clear she’s not giving in.

“Logan”—she gazes out into the storm, her lips flattening into a thin line—“the less you know, the less danger you’re in. I’m not done with Wesley—the Counts
or
the Fems for that matter.”

“She won’t tell me what she’s up to.” Nev looks more than slightly irritated.

“I know what she’s up to. I’ve played this game,” I say. “Is that what you’re doing, Rina? Taking a cue from the master of disaster?” Because if she is, we both know she’s going to crash and burn. I always do.

Her left eye twitches, and for a minute I see Chloe as if she were still wearing that skin. I slept with Chloe way back when. It was the error of a lifetime, but not that big of a deal to Chloe herself. It was never me she was interested in.

“Ezrina.” Coop raps his knuckles over the table. “Whatever the hell Wes wants—you have to tell us now. The Counts are after Laken and me. Once they decide they want me dead, I will be.” He looks to Laken. “Jones won’t let them touch you.” He turns his attention to me. “Laken’s father is Jones Anderson—a Count with a lot of prowess. I know for a fact he wouldn’t hurt her.”

“He killed me once before.” She tilts into him.

“To bring you to him,” Coop counters before looking to me once again. “He’s as dangerous as they come, and apparently he has a soft spot for Wes.”

Laken grabs a hold of Ezrina’s arm like a threat, digging her nails in until Ezrina’s skin is lined with white dimples. “Tell us everything you know or so help me, I will make you wish you were locked up in that wicked underworld of yours.”

“Not yet.” Ezrina abruptly tosses Laken’s hand back at her. “He’s close to revealing his intentions. Perhaps I’ll visit the Transfer tonight.” She looks out at the rain pooling in the street and bleeds a quiet smile as if she were remembering simpler times. “Heathcliff, won’t you accompany me on my constitutional this evening?” She pulls Nev in by the chin until they’re cheek to cheek. Heathcliff is Nev’s formal name, and one he prefers the rest of us stay away from.

A car speeds by spraying the window with a wall of water, and it sounds as if a machine gun just opened fire.

“Tonight?” Coop looks indignant that she’d wait that long.

“More like right now,” Laken seethes.

“Of course, I’ll come,” Nevermore is quick to assert.

“And I’ll get us there.” I’m ready to get to the bottom of a lot of mysteries. But the truth is, I’m only mildly interested in Wesley’s wicked schemes. What I really want to know is why the hell he looks like Gage and how exactly the Fems plan on using that to their advantage.

Coop and Laken aren’t the only ones in trouble. Skyla is already knee deep in danger—Gage is a question mark in all this madness.

And there is nothing more infuriating than not knowing what the fuck is going on.

6

Covenant

Skyla

I don’t remember much about the ferry ride over other than the fact our tongues were twisted in a knot, and we never wanted to free them. Deep down, Gage and I already had the union we so badly craved to make official. That piece of paper—the
covenant
—they were simply metaphors for what already existed. I threw on a T-shirt and jeans in his truck, my black pea coat over that. At least it’s a white T-shirt—that’s about the only bridal aspect of my ensemble. Had I known I’d be wearing Brielle’s patriotic inspired two-piece on my wedding day, I probably would have strangled her with a bikini string. The truth is, I’d marry Gage in a wetsuit, my West High cheer uniform—dressed as a nun, but nothing I’m wearing matters because as soon as humanly possible, I plan on losing every last stitch. Gage and I are going to love one another in the flesh and not even my overprotective mother in the sky can interfere. My skin quivers in a never-ending ripple just thinking about it. My entire flesh has become an ocean just waiting for Gage to dive in. Tonight we’ll submerge ourselves in our love, tunnel down to the mysterious unknowable deep and keep each other alive with our kisses.

The ferry comes to a stop, and we’re the first to bolt off. Gage and I walk hand in hand down the boardwalk just like that first day he showed me around the island at the beginning of summer. We pause at the sign that reads
Logan’s Way
with its arrow pointed down toward the courthouse, and Gage doesn’t hesitate to land a kiss on my lips.