Oh my word. The testosterone level in this garden just became afire hazard. Even the fountain seems to gurgle more aggressively, as if it’s trying to douse the flames of masculine posturing before someone gets burned.
Marshall’s gaze sweeps over the remaining party guests scattered across his expansive backyard—our classmates mingling with historical harlots near the gazebo, with what appears to be a conga line forming around the fountain down the way, and Ellis now attempting to sweet-talk his way into a threesome with two courtesans who look more amused than aroused by his pharmaceutical-enhanced charm.
“Keep this knowledge to yourselves,” he says, his voice carrying the kind of authority that somehow cuts through the party chaos. “You’ll be doing yourselves and everyone else a favor. We’ll be in touch.”
And just like that, he stalks off toward the mansion, cutting through the revelry like a shark through shallow water, leaving behind only the faint scent of his cologne and the echo of unspoken threats.
Logan and I exchange a look that says we’re both thinking the same thing—this might be bigger than we thought, and if it is, we’re probably screwed.
“Come on,” Logan sighs while taking my hand. “Let’s find somewhere a little quieter.”
He leads me away from the fountain’s splashing and the increasingly creative party games happening near the maze, toward a secluded corner of the garden where an ancient willow tree creates a natural alcove. The branches form a curtain around us, muffling the sounds of the party to a distant hum while the scent of jasmine grows strong in the night air.
“That was intense,” I breathe.
“Marshall doesn’t do anything halfway,” Logan agrees, then his expression softens as he cups my face in his hands. “You told Brielle and Dudley?”
Clearly, Bree told Logan.
“But don’t worry. I’m never telling Ellis,” I’m quick to assure him.
“I told Ellis.”
Logan and I take a moment to stare one another down.
“So that leaves Gage,” I say.
Logan nods. “And Chloe.”
“We’re not saying a word to either of them,” I say.
His lips curve with the idea of a smile. “Why do I get the feeling that if we don’t get this right, it could cost us everything.”
I shake my head in protest. “It can’t.”
But something tells me it will.
“But right now, I don’t want to think about time travel or protection rituals or whatever game your mother is playing.”
“What do you want to think about?”
His smile is answer enough before he leans down to kiss me, and sweet heavens, every kiss with Logan feels like coming home and going on an adventure at the very same time. His lips are warm and sure, and I melt into him like I was made for this exact moment, the distant sounds of the party fade until there’s nothing but the fountain’s gentle splash and the racing of my own heart.
I’m just getting lost in the taste of Logan Oliver when someone clears their throat.
We spring apart as if we’ve just been electrocuted, and my heart sinks straight to my toes when I see Gage standing just outside the curtain of willow tendrils with his hands shoved deep in his pockets and an expression on his face that makes my chest tight. Behind him, the party continues with its surreal celebration, completely oblivious to the drama unfolding in the shadows.
Well, this is awkward. And painful. And about seventeen different kinds of wrong. One for each year of our lives.
I take a half step forward. “Oh my goodness, Gage, I’m so sorry?—”
“No, it’s okay,” he says a little too quickly, but I can see the hurt flickering behind his eyes like the flame of a candle in the wind. Heoffers a forced smile as he nods to Logan. “Why don’t you give her a ride home? I think I’m going to turn in early.”
The way he says it, so careful, so controlled, it makes my heart shatter into a million pieces. This is Gage trying to be noble, and it’s killing me.
“Gage, wait—” I start, but he’s already taking off, his shoulders set in that rigid way that means he’s holding himself together by sheer will before disappearing back into the maze of party guests and supernatural entertainment.
Logan and I watch him go, and the weight of what just happened settles over me like a wet blanket. Even the fountain seems to mock us with its cheerful gurgling.
