Gage closes his eyes a moment, the look of defeat marked over his features. “Merry Christmas, Skyla.” He holds out two gold boxes between us, and I step aside to let him in. If this horror of an evening is bound to take place, I say let’s get this holiday hoedown overwith.
“Put them under thetree.”
He steps in, full suit, cobalt tie the exact color of his eyes as if he had it dyed to match, and knowing Emma this is a very real possibility. He probably woke up and found it in his stocking with a note reading,From Mommy Dearest! The one and only woman you will ever be honest with in your life and love and cherish forever andever!
“Skyla,” he whispers, heated into my ear, and his cologne, a new and unfamiliar scent, assaults my senses with its violent seduction efforts. “There are things you need toknow.”
“I know enough.” I make an attempt to step around him, and he blocks my path with the wall of his body, leaving me eye to eye with his dress shirt. The crisp white fabric is hypnotic. The way it creases with the tautness of his rock-hard chest is criminal. My fingers tremble to touch him. My lips part for just one simple kiss. I hate the way my hormones render me defenseless around him. I haven’t always reacted this way to Gage. In the beginning, I was too sidelined by Logan. I’d do anything to have that mild indifference back if only for awhile.
Gage latches his eyes over mine, and I’m forced to look at him. I spin my wedding ring with my thumb like an absentminded habit. For a moment, I toyed with taking it off last night, chucking it in his face, but nothing in me was able to pull off thefeat.
“You and I will speak,” he says it with a firmness unfamiliar to me, his demeanor unforgivably demanding. He bears in hard with his gaze, his anger percolating just below the surface. “You will hear what I have to say.” And with that, he turns and walks into the party, to the triumphant cries of his mother andmine.
My heart gives one last wallop in his honor as if it needed to stabilize itself again after our briefexchange.
My eyes snag on Marshall’s, and I head onover.
“Ms. Messenger.” His lips twitch with that you-will-come-hither-and-we-both-know-it look of affection. He’s so infernally arrogant it only adds to his charm. “You appear well-rested, considering your little side trip to the Mother Country just a few short hoursago.”
“Yes, well, vengeance does become me.” And, apparently, a little light drive doesn’t hurteither.
“And who would it be that fills your pretty little head with such a diatribe?” His brows dip in that panty melting way that only Marshall’s can, and for a brief moment, I’m ashamed that my raging hormones still succumb to his sexual superpowers. As much as I might have extreme displeasure with Gage, he is still my husband—still the one and only person who has the God-given right to melt my panties. A few fleeting thoughts of those perverse dreams I’ve had starring my favorite Sextor flit through my mind, and I don’t bother to catchthem.
Marshall growls low and aggressive like a rabid dog ready toattack.
“Down, boy,” I whisper. “You know, you don’t have to read every thought I’m having.” I glance out at the motley crew my mother has amassed. “Where’sLogan?”
“Recuperating. I’m sure he’ll drag his carcass in shortly.” He smacks hislips.
“What do you meanrecuperating?” Come to think of it, I did dole out quite the beating last night, but mostly it was Gage who bore the brunt of my rage. I glance across the room and spot him holding one of the twins while speaking to my stepbrother Ethan, and Emily, and that handprint I gifted him calls out to me like a siren, waving back at me as he turns his head from side to side. My ghost hand it seems is congratulating me on marking him with humiliation. “Did he spend the night with you?” I’m sort of hoping Gage did choose Marshall’s instead of his mother’s. Although, either way I’m sure Emma helped lick hiswounds.
“They both did.” He gravels it out in annoyance. Both I assume includes Logan in the mix. “I disdain the way they insist in suckling off my teats as if I were their mother. It’s time to wean them,Skyla.”
I offer up a blank stare at my most treasured Sector. Though inappropriate almost ninety-nine percent of the time, he’s as entertaining as allhell.
“Language.” He gives a slywink.
“I think there’s a correction to be made. It’smyteats they’ve been suckling off. I glance back and my gaze snags on his. Gage is watching me. Everywhere I go I can feel his eyes digging in likeclaws.
Brody and Brookelynn, Brielle’s sister and Brody’s one true love, file between us, and for once I’m relieved to see a Bishop. They’re either back on again or they’re making nice for the holiday. Either way, I’m glad to see them. Behind them streams Darla, or as I like to call her, the entertainment for theevening.
“Gimme those grandbabies!” she whoops, snatching one of the twins from Demetri’s clutches, and I shiver. I hate how accessible my entire life has become to the man who killed my father. I’d give anything for my father to stroll through those doors next. After all, this is Paragon and stranger things have happened, like Ethan strolling in with Logan’s soul embedded in his body, but that was high school and even that shit parade seems like a glory day memory in contrast to this new and unimproved shit parade I’m dealing with. I shoot Gage a curt look from across the room only to find him standing next to his nefarious twin—glaring at Marshall as if an ass beating wereimminent.
I turn my body just enough to deny him the privilege of gaping at my countenance—now there’s an ironicterm.
“Where’s Ezrina?” I ask, trying to sound chipper, begging to sound as if I care about this gathering at all. I did invite both her and Nevermore—Heathcliff,myself. I realize that Nev is going by his more formal name these days, but he’ll always be Nevermore to me at heart. Once upon a time he was trapped in the body of a raven and gifted to me by Gage. And there I go perseverating on those dammed good old days once again—and I meandammedas a literalterm.
“Rina isn’t feeling well.” Marshall’s brows furrow at the thought. “She’s decided to convalesce at Whitehorse. I’ll stop by in the morning and give them yourlove.”
“Thank you. I would appreciate that. And what’s up with not feeling well? If anyone should be feeling well twenty-four seven, it’s Ezrina. She’s got an entire state-of-the-art lab at her fingertips. If she can zap dead counts back to life, I’m sure a little head cold has nothing on her.” Ezrina happens to occupy Chloe Bishop’s old body and vice versa. Only, Chloe is now relegated to Ezrina’s old servitude in the Transfer per post war orders. The war that I won. The warCelestrawon, and apparently didn’t have to because another war looms in the not-so distance, and this time it involves a much closer, much more clean-shaven enemy—my darling dimpled husband. “Don’t tell me Chloe’s body is defunct already.” I smirk at the thought of the murderous wench I’ve chosen to lie in bed with. I may have made a proposition she couldn’t refuse last night, but, in the end, it’s a benefit to the Factions—more to the point, a benefit to me. Sometimes you need to offer a personal sacrifice for the greater good of allmankind.
I glance over my shoulder at Gage. I’m sure that’s the exact logic he used to trot over to the malevolent side with DaddyDearest.
“Skyla”—Marshall pins me with those molten lava eyes—“what kind of agreement have you worked out with Ms.Bishop?”
“A delicate one,” I whisper. “And would you stop reading my mind like it’s some gossip-worthy diary entry? I happen to value my personal space, and the fact you keep prying into my gray matter unnervesme.”
It’s a gray matter, all right. Nothing with Chloe is ever black andwhite.
