Demetri lets one of his deviant chuckles rip. “Yes, well, there are simply some things in life you’ll have to get used to, Skyla. My presence around your mother is one of them.”
A huff of a laugh pulses through me. “Is it because you couldn’t have the other one?”
The entire room feels as if it stills when I let the celestial zinger fly.
Demetri’s eyes widen a notch, unsure of what I just said, but judging by the hardness forming over his features, he’s quickly putting it together.
Marshall leans my way. “Might I suggest you stray from the topic? I’d prefer all hell to break loose at a much later date. I’ve yet to try the roast beast, and Heathcliff has gifted me fine bourbon.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Oh, come on, Marshall, there’s no time like the present to stick a fork in the turkey—especially when you know it’s done.”
Demetri takes a brazen step in. “You may believe you have the upper hand, my dear, but all things—including your people—will quickly shift into my son’s favor once again. Do not underestimate our power. In a moment all can be lost.”
“And it was—for you,” I say. “It’s just a technicality that Celestra hasn’t returned to its rightful celestial position.”
His lips curl once again with that perennial smirk.
“A technicality?” He takes an even breath as if he were trying to calm himself. “Your mother doesn’t strike me as someone who deals in technicalities.” He offers an amicable nod before heading off to the buffet and striking up a conversation with Wesley.
“Figures,” I say. “He’s trying to pull Wes back to the dark side.”
Logan nods in agreement. “I bet he misses the good old days.”
A dull laugh bounces from Gage. “The good old days never left. Don’t worry, Skyla. I won’t make it hurt so bad this time when I take your people back.”
That ridiculous covenant Rory had my people partake in comes to mind. They’re practically married to Celestra. They can’t leave. And if they do, they can never return.
And then it hits me. Could she have set this up from the beginning?
I’m about to suggest my theory to Logan and Marshall when Dominique Winters strides into the room dressed as the poisonous bloom she is in a floor-length emerald velvet gown, her pale boobs on display for all to see as if they were the double D wonders of the world. And honestly, they kind of are. Her red hair is spun over her head like a crimson crown, and her ruby lips add a flair of drama to complete her look. I’m about to welcome her to the Landon home when I spot her questionable daughter, Melody Winters, by her side, looking polished and neat, not in the haggard hippie style Cassandra Graham had initially given the poor girl whose body she overtook.
Cassandra is one of those infamous seventeenth century Counts who is harder to exterminate than a celestial cockroach. Dominique is most likely a possession, too—who or what I really don’t care. In fact, the whole clan is basically a recycling plant for old souls looking to weasel their way into a whole new millennium.
Melody’s hair is dyed a fresh shade of strawberry blonde, and her eyes gleam and twinkle as she looks my way. Her lips are painted scarlet to match the hip-hugging dress she’s donned as she strides on over on six-inch heels.
“Skyla”—her eyes meet with mine, and a mild jolt of electrocution mingled with something akin to confusion bullets through me—“it’s so nice to see you again. Happy holidays to all.” She gives Gage a subtle wink. “Perhaps we can be friends,” she says as she moves her eyes to mine a second too late. It’s clear she wants to be more than friends with my ex. She’s never made it a secret before, so I don’t see why she should start now.
“We can’t be friends, Melody,” I say, still uncertain who the suggestive proposition was made to. “And you can’t sleep with Gage. Kresley Fisher already licked him. He’s hers. Sorry to say, you’re late to the perverted party.”
“Oh dear, Skyla.” Her eyes cut to mine, and there’s an unusual iciness in them. “I can do anything I want. And all that I undertake I succeed at.” She gives Gage a finger curl of a wave. “Ciao,” she says, strutting off in Demetri’s direction right after her mother.
I grunt, “I don’t remember Smelly Melly having so much bravado. Sure, she had attitude, but with the delivery of an angry alley cat.”
Logan pulls me out of Marshall’s partial embrace.
“She looks different, too.” He shrugs. “Her walk, her talk. It’s almost as if—
I suck in a quick breath. “Oh God.”
Logan gives a slow blink. “Winner winner Rory dinner?”
A husky laugh pulses through Marshall. “It took the two of you long enough.”
Gage flickers a smile our way. “I wouldn’t berate them too much, Dudley. They’re functioning on a lack of sleep, and I doubt it has anything to do with the baby.”
“You would know.” Marshall doesn’t miss a beat. “Longing for the good old days are we now, Jock Strap?”
“Marshall,” I whisper. “Tell him that Logan and I are right. Demetri is simply pulling the spiritual wool over his eyes.”
