Burn (27 page)

“Come on.” Gage leads us onto the crowded wooden platform and digs us deep into the center of the crowd.

He cages me in with those blue flames staring back at me. My stomach bottoms out as he pulls me in, places his warm arm low across my back. The sweet scent of cologne drifts softly from him and the very distinct scent of minty toothpaste escapes his lips.

He grazes me with a kiss, then pulls away to see if it’s wanted.

I’m not sure why being this close to Gage makes me nervous, sends butterflies to my stomach—Gage, who I’ve been melting all over for weeks to prove a point to all of Paragon and the Counts, that we’re together.

He comes in again, presses his mouth against mine, and our teeth bump accidentally. I can’t hear the music, or feel my feet on the floor, or remember to breathe—I just float in the soft sea of his kisses.

“Break it up.”
Marshall pushes Gage back rather violently and takes
his place. A quick smile appears as he pulls me in tight. An entire orchestra of intense vibrations fills me, and I can’t find the strength to protest.

I watch as
Gage
drifts off the dance floor over to Logan.

“Sunday, the population of Paragon will drain onto my property. Will you wear the wings for me?” Marshall looks past me as though he weren’t speaking to me at all.

“No.”

“I’ll give you five hundred dollars.”

“Done.” My eyes spring open. I’d wear nothing but wings if he wanted me to, for less.

“I can hold you to that.”

“Forget it. I’m not that desperate for money.” I lay my head upon his chest. I’m so exhausted it takes everything in me to keep up with the rhythm. It feels like a major workout wearing heels like this. I’m not so sure I’m cut out to be a girl.

“Not the shoes I would have chosen,” he says, “but it gives you that edgy flair so many young women gravitate towards these days. They’ll be a dozen dressed just like you at winter formal—wait and see.”

“It’s slut fashion. They’re Brielle’s.”

“That explains it. If I knew you were shoeless, I would have gladly given you a pair.”

“Yeah, but they’d probably be magical.” As in magically landing me in his bed—more like cursed. “I’m powerless—can you give me an infusion?” I pull back, hopeful.

“I can give you lots of things,
Skyla
, but that’s not necessary. Your blood will reconstitute in time, shortly in fact.”

Marshall looks cutthroat handsome in this shadow-filled room. His entire person sparks like a flame. If I chose Marshall—become his wife—my father could live again. If there weren’t Logan or Gage…

“You would choose me.” His expression sobers.

“Well, don’t kill them. I love them.”

“You love them both?” He ticks his head to the side considering this. “You know the entire universe frowns on such arrangements. They never work—always someone with a bitter heart. Of course, in this case it wouldn’t be you. The single gender is always the victor. Who’s the bitter heart? Logan or Gage?”

“Logan.” I breathe his name in a demonic whisper.

“I see.” His lips twitch. “And that’s the one you favor.”

My heart breaks for Gage.

“I don’t favor anyone.” It’s true.

“Well, you don’t favor me, and that makes you a rare breed.” He pulls back a notch, rakes his eyes all over me. “How is this?” His features morph, just barely. They take him across the finish line until he completely replicates Logan in his exact eminence.

“You’re still you,” it comes out breathless.
 

Here I am, swaying to the droning rhythm of a very sad love song with a replica of Logan. A small part of it feels right—feels real
.
My heart tries to reject the idea, but I won’t let it. I want this moment anyway I can get it.

Gage taps on his shoulder and evicts Marshall by way of his elbow.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” I say, pecking a quick kiss on his cheek.
 

His dimples push in without a smile. I take in his clean scent as we finish up the tail end of the song. From behind his shoulder, I see Logan leaning up against the table pretending to hear whatever
Lexy
is saying, all the while staring right at us. To his left Michelle claws at Marshall for attention as desperate as ice in a fire.

Marshall looks over and gives a wicked grin.

He still looks suspiciously a lot like Logan.

Chapter Thirty-S
even

One Enchanted Evening

“Shit!”
Carly
drops her compact to the floor and slaps her hand over her mouth.

I roll my eyes at Brielle and push past her into the ladies room.

Napkins are laid out on a granite counter with the hotel initials embossed in gold, along with an assortment of perfume and a bin of hair products. A huge burgundy sofa sits nestled against the back wall. I love it when an entire living room acts as the entry to the actual restroom.

“I thought you were dead!”
Carly’s
face bleeds out all color.

“I am,” I say, examining myself in the mirror.

“File that under who gives a shit,” Carson, the one who served toxic lemonade at her party a few weeks ago, swoops by in a creamy pink birthday cake of a dress that would make my mother proud. “
Skank
,” she hisses as they make their way out the door.

“I hate them,” I say staring blankly at myself in the mirror.

Brielle does her lips,
then
passes me her strawberry gloss. I not only managed to forget my shoes, but my purse and my cell, too.

Brielle’s phone goes off, and she squints into it.

“It’s Drake.” She pulls a face before heading back into the lobby.

I should go out there and talk to Logan. I should ask for the Count file, or see what my hours are next week, or at least say hi, or maybe fall on him in these prostitute specials I’ve pressed my feet into and accidently dance with him.

I open the door that leads into the actual restroom and choose a stall near the back. A lengthy battle with the paper seat covers ensues. I swear sometimes it sucks being a woman. Why couldn’t God make us so we stand up when we pee? Was that asking too much?

The lights go out, and there’s a palpable black silence.

“Hello?” I say stupidly. Obviously someone turned out the lights and left. But wasn’t I the only one in here? “This isn’t funny.” My voice produces a stale echo.
  

I close my eyes and open them, same effect—
it’s
beyond dark. I hold out my hand and swipe at the air as I try and reach for the stall door.

It’s probably just an innocent mistake. There’s probably a switch at the entrance that any moron can lean up against or flip on their way out the door. Or maybe the entire facility lost power? I bet they’re all out there freaking out—girls screaming, guys scheming. I bet Michelle is taking advantage of this and dry humping Marshall, or worse,
Lexy
on Logan.

I try to calm my nerves by thinking about how funny this is going to be once I finally make it outside. I clasp onto the metal latch, and the door swings open.

Baby steps. That’s all I need to take. I swing my arms out wildly. Every step feels like I’m about to fall down a flight of stairs.

Breathing? I hear breathing!

 
“Hello?” My arm is yanked hard until I slam into something—a person. The waft of bitter cologne takes over, and before I realize it, my hands are both restrained behind my back.

Lips graze against my choker. One of my hands is violently snatched from behind, and a mouth clamps down hard over my wrist. A sharp injection of pain slides across in a clean line. I can hear him slurping, sucking off my flesh like a bloodthirsty savage.

“Stop!” I try to remember how Logan taught me to take someone down. Who knew it would be in the freaking dark? “Get off!” I end the last word in a shrill scream that rattles the windows. “I’m going to rip your balls off, swear to God, if you don’t get off of me!” I’m pinned so perfectly against the cold tiles behind me, it leaves me shivering—nauseated.

He bangs my head hard against the wall, pushes his fingers into my cheeks.

“You going to tell?” He says mockingly. “You let out my little secret, I’ll let out yours. The Counts want to know what
Celestra
on this planet killed my brother. I can make them leave it alone—save you from prison. Or maybe you want to go? Maybe you’re up for a jumpsuit vacation?”

 
It’s, Pierce!

I can hear him feeling around his person before a piece of paper gets shoved in my hand.

“That’s a copy of the letter I stopped my dad from sending out,” he sears the words into the side of my face. “You can thank me later. And you will.”

He takes off, leaving a vacuum in his wake. I can hear the roar of the crowd liven then die down as the door opens and closes. I make wild strides toward the exit, slamming into a wall before flicking on the lights.

A big yellow sign sits outside the bathroom, that reads,
Cleaning
, do not enter.
I give it a swift kick before heading back into the crowd.

***

I spot Logan first—embedded three deep in the bitch squad. I try to circumvent the head-on collision by rounding out to the other side, but there’s a barrier of tables and chairs interlocked with people, so I turn to face them.

“You’re bleeding.” He rushes over and picks up my arm.

“Oh my, God! She slit her wrist!”
Lexy
screams. There’s a clear look of disgust on her face, and she starts to retch. Emily pulls her to the side, and they continue to gawk over at me from a safe distance.

“Holy Shit!” Michelle plunges the black rose on her necklace back and forth like a nervous twitch. That single action alone is probably calling an entire army of
Fems
. She’s a magnet for them now, sort of like me.

“Ouch,” I yell as Logan straps his tie around my wrist, tight as noose. “You’re cutting off the circulation.”

He tilts his head at the irony. Logan has a calm way about him. Something noble, it’s as though he’s living out his true age in this younger teenage version of himself.

“How old are you again?” The words swim from my mouth dreamy. It’s fuzzy math that involves another place, another time, and I really can’t remember.

“Too old for you.” His brows peak briefly. “Let’s get you out of here. What happened?” he whispers, as we make our way out of the main entry of the resort, into the brisk night air.

I look around suspiciously.

“I don’t want to tell you, not here.”

He plucks his phone out and texts Gage.

“It didn’t look that deep.” His eyes sweep up and down. “You look beautiful.” He rubs my shoulders, and pulls me in a little.

“I don’t feel beautiful.” I hold up my hands, revealing the fact I’m still clenching the paper.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a love letter from my attacker.” I hold it close to my chest. “What’s taking Gage so long?” My muscles quiver from the cold.