The doorbell rings, and my heart thumps once because I’m fully expecting Logan to show up. But it’s not the other Oliver I’m pissed at. It’s the one I happen to like, Liam, and attached to his person is a very furry Michelle Miller. She’s chinchilla from head to toe, and a part of me wants to be there when Emily spots her. Emily is as vegan, organic, nutty granola as one can get, and if you dare cross your eyes at an animal, she will knife you. No joke. And just as I’m about to head over, a pale ghost of a girl, pretty in an extra-ordinary, extra-bitchy way, if that’s your thing, dark eyes, dark hair, dark soul—Chloe Bishop stains the entry. Chloe’s skin usually holds a healthy bronzed glow, but since she’s been a part of the underground brigade, she looks like a creature that just crawled from under arock.
“Merry Christmas!” she chirps, sauntering inside as if she owns the place, strapped in a red bandage dress that looks as if it were soaked in blood. Come to think of it, this is Chloe. Of course, it’s soaked in plasma. Chloe accessorizes with red blood cells the way others doearrings.
“Chloe Jessica Bishop! Welcome!” Mom is the first to throw herself at the daughter of darkness. And I’m a little disturbed that my own mother knows Chloe’s middle name, although it shouldn’t surprise me. Last year while Chloe grumbled her way through nine long months as a human incubator, she and Mom bonded over all things vaginal. I wish my mother wouldn’t bond with Chloe. I wishIwasn’t bonding withChloe.
“You look so beautiful!” Mom trills as the party rages on. “Didn’t I tell you that nursing would get your uterus right back intoshape?”
I smirk because I happen to know that Chloe isn’t nursing. I’m the one nursing Tobie, or at least I was lastnight.
Chloe grins.“Why, thank you. I’m as happy as a cat with ninetails.”
Marshall turns to me with a vexingly stern expression that lets me know I’m about to be admonished. “Who invited the beautifulpussy?”
I open my mouth, then close it. I can’t tell if Marshall is simply enjoying his play on words or if there’s an iota of a literal connotation behind it. Mr. Dudley—math teacher extraordinaire—made his sexual rounds when he first came to West, and for the life of me, I can’t remember if Chloe was a victim of his one-man gang bang that seemed to span the entire female student population—sans me, of course. Oh hell, Chloe is never avictim.
“Skyla.” Marshall closes his eyes, and my heart sinks because already I know how disappointed he is in me for befriending the viper—it mirrors the amount I am inmyself.
Ellis and Giselle pour through the door with a man in tow that is so exceedingly tall he needs to duck just to enter the lowly Landon estate. He wears a cap of red hair and has a rather dull look about him. His eyes ping around the room as if someone in the vicinity owed him money—and seeing that he’s at the Landon home they justmight.
“Who invited the Nephilim?” Tad croaks and half the room groans. Tad is such atamponhe forgets thathe, in fact, is a descendant from that angelic spawned breed. Only Tad knows how to make a guest feel trulyunwelcome.
Ellis, my favorite stoner, strides over with his larger than lifefriend.
“Meet Asbury Winters”—Ellis beams—“Host’s newest acquisition to the basketballteam.”
“It’s clear we’re destined to win every game,” I tease and give his behemoth hand a quick shake. I catch Gage stewing in his own jealous juices from across the room—still staunchly by Wesley’s side, but this time he’s cradling both boys, and my heart melts just a little. The twins look exactly like Gage. It’s as if I had nothing to do with their DNA makeup, and considering the source of Gage’s DNA, I pray that’s not the case. Giselle pops up next to him and plucks a twin from his arms, effectively blocking me from his line of vision. Giselle is Gage’s once deceased sister who died as a toddler but thanks to my celestial mother’s mercy, and Emerson Kragger’s body, Giselle officially lives to see another day. She’s sort of never outgrown that toddler mentality though, but to her credit she is working onit.
“What brings you to Host?” Marshall lifts his chin. Marshall is tall by anybody’s standards, but Asbury here dwarfs evenhim.
“My girl.” Asbury nods into the heart-shaped admission. “She and I are pretty serious. Her father is going to sign her over to me when she’ssixteen.”
I glance to Ellis. Dear God, where is thisgoing?
“How old is she now?” I’m afraid to ask, but it had to bedone.
“Thirteen.” The overgrown science experiment nods as if it were no bigdeal.
I scowl at Ellis for ushering this perv into our presence, and Ellis leans in close to my ear with a look that spells out something just this side of horror himself. “Hey,dude”—he whispers to me—“I took a shit last night and thought of you.” My mouth falls open because, holy hell, I have no idea what craptastic sentiment could ever follow that. “Damn—I can’t believe you had two kids the size of cinderblocks squeeze out of your bottom. I’m considering heading into the priesthood just to avoid putting poor G throughthat.”
“Poor G? Make no mistake about it—it will be poor Ellis if you ever knock upG.”
“Hey”—the cyclops Ellis hauled in barks—“where’s the prime rib? I’mstarved.”
Ellis whoops. “That’s what I’m talking about, man! Let’s scour this place until we get all the food in ourbellies.”
“Good luck with that,” I say under my breath. If prime rib is what they’re after, they’ll be scouring the house right into the next millennium. And food in their bellies? I suggest they watchSoylent Green. It amounts to the same principle around here with or without Em at thehelm.
The door opens once again, and there he is—caramel-colored hair, classic good looks, eyes as citrine as a sunrise. Logan Oliver glows like an ethereal being. No,really—he’s sort of literallyglowing.
I shove an elbow into Marshall’s ribs. “What’s up with the Chernobyl tan? And should he be anywhere near the boys?” As in my precious angels that I can’t wait to snuggle in bed with in the next fewhours.
Marshall grunts. “It appears there was a bit of an issue last night. Taking a nap facedown in the rain after a good lightning strike can do a number of things to a person, living ordead.”
“What is that supposed to mean? Does he have a lightning rod in his pants now?” Face it, Logan has always had a lightning rod in his pants. That boy is hung. So is Gage. I’d say it runs in the family, but it turns out they aren’t even remotelyrelated.
Marshall balks, “Skyla, must you always revert to the crass? And I’ll have you know, yes, indeed, young Oliver has good genes. He acquired them from me, didn’t he?” His lips curl in that proud way only a lightning rod owner can. I’ve no doubt Marshall is hung like a Clydesdale. If those seductive night wanderings I’ve experienced are even remotely true to life, Marshall’s lower half should be considered a weapon of m-assdestruction.
“I may be crass, but I learn from the best, Professor Dudley.” I give a quick wink as I head over to Logan. He looks a bit stunned as if he were still trying to get his bearings from that electric slap he received from above last night, and at any moment I expect to see him staggering around the foyer, but he doesn’t. Logan walks up smoothly. His smile expands just for me, and he holds my gaze with those glowing amber eyes just before he offers a firmembrace.
