Chloe doesn’t have to ask twice. Without hesitation, I pull his neck down to me and claw my fingernails into his left eye with all of the Celestra strength I can muster. But in truth, I have enough rage fueling me that I could have pulled this off with my human determination all on its own.
Gage squirms, but it’s too late. I have his glibbery eyeball in my hand and I pull and twist as his blood drips over my lips, and into my mouth, leaving me to spit out the salty sanguine liquid.
Gage bellows out a string of garbled words, his hands fly to my throat, and before I know it, he’s on his feet holding me at an arm’s length by the neck as if he were about to make good on that promise of tossing me out the window.
“I hate you!” my voice pitches to the ceiling, and I swear on all that is good and evil that Chloe screamed the exact same sentiment right along with me. “I hate you, Gage Oliver, just as much as I have ever loved you, if not more.” I let go of his bloody eyeball, and it dangles by his cheek from the tendons it’s still bound to. I kick at his legs and push his face away, doing my best to claw his hand from my throat.
My God, he’s killed me once. I can’t let him do it again.
Messenger!Chloe riots.Fix this shit right now!
A knock comes from the door. The weak, anxious knock of a child, and Gage drops me like a stone.
“Daddy?” The sweetest choir breaks out on the other side, and instantly I know it’s the boys. I pull my shirt up and wipe the blood off my face as best as I can, then crawl to the door as quickly as possible in an effort to beat Gage to it. But Gage heads to the kitchen a moment, buying me the respite I need to hop up and check my reflection in the mirror hanging in the foyer. And what I see I don’t like. Wild hair—pink stains over my lips that I quickly wipe away with my fingers. It’s a feral version of Chloe, but presentable enough, I suppose.
I whisk the door open without hesitation, and my heart soars at the sight of those miniature versions of the beast I just decimated. I wholly ignore the fact Emma is with them as I drop to my knees and pull them in close, my entire body bucking with pleasure, with pain.
“My sweet boys,” I whimper into their precious ears as I shower them with kisses. “I love you so much. Mommy loves you. Yes, she does.” They giggle and laugh as I hold them close, pressing them against me as hard as I can in their bundled winter coats.
“Chloe,” Gage belts out the reprimand and I stand slowly, letting them flutter out of my arms like a couple of birds as they run inside, past Gage and head straight for the television.
Emma says something as she presses past me and heads on in to tend to the boys, but my eyes are locked to that monster who has magically reconstructed himself. Gage Oliver is right back to being the masterpiece he has always been. Impossibly gorgeous, impeccably perfect. Not a trace of blood, two beautiful blue eyes, dimples that choose to mock me.
He squints my way a moment too long, scouring my features, then in a blink those blue eyes widen a notch and his chest expands with his next breath.
“Skyla?” My name comes from him lower than a whisper.
A moment of silence bounces by as I let this new reality sink in for him.
“I’m putting you on notice, Gage.” A flicker of a smile glints on my lips.
There are some moments in life that you want to stamp into your memory, ingrain them like fire over stone, a scar you create over the trunk of a tree so you will never forget, and this is that moment for me.
Gage Oliver has stolen so many things from me, but he is incapable, dare I say,impotentto steal this pure bliss I feel.
I turn to head for Marshall’s waiting car.
The fun has just begun.
3
Gage
Skyla Messenger. Skyla MessengerOliver—twice over.
I have never been a fan of tormenting people, watching anyone get shamed or bullied, but it feels as if I’m doing all of those things on overdrive these days to everyone I love.
I miss Skyla.
Hell, I killed her.
Doesn’t that take away my right to miss her on a moral level? And what in the hell just happened? Was that Skyla? Is Chloe screwing with me? I don’t know why she wouldn’t.
And as much as I wanted to end that mystery, it seems my request to travel to Ahava was denied. I sent Demetri a text asking him what the hell was going on, but he simply let me know he was busy at the moment and that he would meet me in Eversor shortly.
Eversor.
I stand outside the massive structure—a replica of Demetri’s mansion, which is a knockoff of the very much haunted mansion in that nefarious plane given to the Counts, the Transfer. And like a wicked echo effect, my half-brother Wesley also built for himself a mausoleum that looked just like that cursed original. A part of me wonders what it all means. But then Sage crafted this monstrosity along with Demetri—maybe it all boiled down to her liking the monstrous layout.
