“Don’t worry,” I tell him in a whisper, wrapping my arms around him. “We’ve come too far to let Candace, Demetri, or anyone else destroy what we’ve built. Whatever it is, it cannot unravel a single thing. I promise.”
His dimples press in deep, and he hypnotizes me with those cobalt eyes of his for a moment.
His hand finds mine, and it gives it a squeeze, then a kiss to my fingers in a gesture so familiar it almost hurts. “Get some sleep, Skyla. Whatever storm is coming, we’ll face it a little better with some rest.”
I nod, squeezing his hand right back before letting go. “Goodnight.”
Gage takes off to join the kids upstairs, and I sigh, looking at the wall of photos—our visual timeline of battles won and peace earned, dozens of them blanketing the wall that leads up to the second level.
My fingers trace a frame holding a picture of Eden, her golden curls catching sunlight as she laughs on the beach. Next to it, Jaxson’s first steps, Nathan and Barron’s matching grins on their birthday. Treasures, all of them.
A cold feeling settles in my stomach, heavy as stone. Whatever game Candace is playing, whateversolutionsshe thinks we need—deep inside, I know they threaten this. I glance up at the wall of memories once again. They threaten all of us.
I make my way to the window and look out at the blackened sky, the shimmering, gray Pacific, the luminescent waves that glow a pale blue. Logan comes and wraps his arms around me from behind, and we watch the night shifting as the fog rolls in, the beauty of it almost distracts from the dread pooling inside me.
Almost.
Because something is coming.
I can feel it in my creaky bones, in that supernatural sense that’s kept me alive through the faction war and every single celestial intervention that has ever happened to me.
Whatever is going on with my mother and Demetri, it’s bad enough to make my mother’s anger toward him seem justified, which is perhaps the most terrifying thought of all.
When Candace and Demetri agree on anything—even mutual fury—worlds collide. And the rest of us are just collateral damage waiting to happen.
It’s happened before.
And something tells me, it’s happening again.
3
Skyla
Logan traces a series of kisses up my cheek to my temple as we continue to stare out at Paragon, the nocturnal version—or at least one of us is staring. It’s clear that Logan Oliver has something else in mind.
I spin into him and kiss him square on the lips, only to pull away to see those root-beer-colored eyes glossed over and unblinking as they stare into mine.
“If you keep looking at me like that, we’re going to have another baby,” I warn as he traces invisible patterns on my arm.
“Is that supposed to be a deterrent?” he asks, that wicked half-smile of his doing dangerous things to my insides.
But before I can answer, the island interjects with a thunderous boom that rattles the windows and doors. Logan’s arms tighten around me like an instinct as we look back out the window in time to see rain pelting against the glass with the determination of tiny soldiers, each droplet seems intent on fighting its way inside.
Paragon is in one of her moods tonight—raging and wild, thestorm perfectly matching the unease that’s crawled under my skin ever since that encounter with my mother at the bonfire.
This rock we live on has always had a personality of its own, and tonight it feels as if it shares my suspicions about whatever game Demetri and my mother are playing. And even the elements seem to be choosing sides.
Gage is upstairs with the kids. Ten bucks says he fell asleep during story time—a casualty of Nathan and Barron’s request to hear the one where Daddy turned into a dragon for the thousandth time. Eden usually climbs into his lap halfway through, and I bet Jaxson has sprawled across all three of them like a tiny, snoring bridge. I always find them that way, and I always leave them that way in a tangle of limbs and blankets, too perfect to disturb. Suffice it to say, nobody gets any decent sleep around here.
Logan threads his fingers through my hair, and I rest my head on his chest, where I can hear the steady rhythm of his heart, a sound that has become my personal definition of home.
“Remember that time I had to die to get you to admit you loved me?” Logan asks, his voice vibrating against my ear. “Talk about playing hard to get.”
“You did not.” I give him a playful swat on the arm.
“Oh, that’s right,” he teases. “It only felt like it. But I had to fight a faction war to make you officially mine.”
A laugh bubbles from me. “You are never going to let me live that down, are you?”
