Tad waddles over, eyes the size of hardboiled eggs, his chest bucking as if he’s holding back vomit.
“Another one?” he barks my way. “Lizbeth”—he turns to my mother—“each time she pushes out a litter, she adds three years to her stay. Do something, or we’re never getting rid of any of these squatters.”
Mom waves him off. “Skyla needs to stay. She and Logan are outnumbered. The boys need their Mee-maw and that little princess—orprince, needs me, too. Skyla, Logan, and the kids are welcome to stay for as long as they like.” She leans in my way. “Please never leave me.” She makes a face as they traipse off to the kitchen.
Logan and I head out into the arms of the powder white Paragon fog, and I take in what feels like my first breath in months.
“Come here.” He wraps his arms around my waist as we head down the porch just in time to see Ethan running up the stairs two at a time with enough canned chili in his arms to feed all of West Paragon High.
“There’s nothing left,” he calls out. “You pulled that one off just right.” He heads in as Logan takes me by the hand and leads us to the woods next to the driveway.
“Don’t worry, Skyla”—Logan lands a kiss to my cheek—“just because there’s no toilet paper to lug back up doesn’t mean we need to let that ruin date night.”
“How about the rain?” I ask, holding up a hand to the sky as it begins to sprinkle.
“Nor toilet paper, nor rain, nor anything Tad Landon might have to say ever again can ruin our time together.” He pulls me in close and warms my body to his as we sway slowly under the protective branches of an evergreen.
“How about Gage Oliver?” I purse my lips. “Surely he can ruin our good time.”
“I don’t see why not.” The muscles in Logan’s jaw tense at the mention of him. “He ruins everything else.”
A dull laugh bounces through my chest. “Yes, he does. It’s tragic, though. He’s doing it all for love, for me, the kids. He’s doing it for you, too.”
He holds his hands up a moment. “Don’t pin this on me.”
“Oh, I see.” I give his ribs a pinch. “But it’s okay to pin it on me?”
“You’re the obvious target.”
My lips purse. “What can we possibly do to get him to realize he’s being used?”
Logan’s chest expands the length of a football field, and he nods as if acknowledging the thought.
“Football,” he says. “Outside of family, that’s pretty much the love of his life. Maybe we should do a little scrimmage? I’ll call out the boys,” he teases.
“We can have it at West. I’ll cheer for you. In fact, I can probably get the whole squad to perform.” How I wish it could be. That we still lived in a world where this was even a remote possibility.
He glances to the woods a moment. “I could have East come out. I know a few of the guys who were on their team the same year we were in school. I could have drummed up a little cross island rivalry game if it wasn’t for Gage’s rotten plan to kill off humanity.”
“I guess it’ll have to wait. You might beat East in a scrimmage, but the virus is determined to beat us all.”
Logan takes a breath. “After the virus.” He nods as his amber eyes search my features. “This is only going to escalate. I need you safe. I need the boys safe.” He caresses my cheek with his thumb. “I love you more than the—”
“Heavens love the sun and the moon?” I ask as I turn my head and plant a kiss into the palm of his hand.
“Oh? You’ve heard it before?”
“A time or two.” I bite down on a smile. “And I can never get enough.” Tears blur my vision, and I blink them away. “You were meant for me, Logan Oliver, and I for you. And together we were meant to save our people. But now, we’re going to have to save the whole damn world from Gage. I’m dying to know how his serum plays into his evil scheme.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and so does Logan’s. We quickly examine our screens before exchanging a glance.
Logan’s lips curl at the tips. “It looks as if we’re about to find out—tonight at eight o’clock.”
“He’s called a Faction meeting.” I shake my head at the phone. “Unfreakingbelievable.”
The rustle of leaves coming from the left catches our attention, and we turn to find the image of a girl standing about thirty feet away, the fog masking her with its icy talons. A wild wind blows, exposing a shock of red hair, pasty skin, and eyes that seem to glow in the darkness.
“Is that”—I squint out in her direction and groan—“Melody Winters, aka the new shell that houses my wicked sister?” I blow out a breath as we examine her, so deathly pale, eyes like white stones, her lips the color of blood.
