Revolution (The Revelation Series Book 4) (12 page)

A throat being cleared pulls me out of my Asher haze. Mortification creeps on my cheeks as I meet Asher’s amused irises.
Crap. He caught me sniffing his shirt like an obsessed stalker, again.

“I was just, um. Don’t you ever knock?” I narrow my eyes at him.

His laugh is deep and rich. “I guess we’ve come full circle then, siren. You smelling my shirt again?” The damn gargoyle’s grin is sinful.

I fold my arms and push my shoulders back. “Maybe I was just seeing if it was clean.”

Asher strides to me with no pretense in his expression. It’s full of possession. “I don’t knock, because you’re mine. Therefore, I have the right to be where you are. And it’s clean.”

My gaze slides to Asher’s face. “You’re so cocky.”

“I didn’t hear you complain about my cock-yness a few moments ago, siren,” he answers.

I notice his hair is wet. He must have showered in his room. Studying every striking angle of his face, I realize he’s everything a girl should steer clear of, but his darkness calls to me.

“Do you need help getting dressed?” he teases.

“I think I’ve got it. Thanks.”

“Alright then. No protector needed to dress. Good to know, siren.” He chuckles and leaves the bathroom.
God, we really have come full circle.

***

The steam from my mug drifts to my nose and I breath in the earthy aroma of my coffee. For the first time all week, the house is peaceful, quiet. Even Fiona is sleeping in today. I stare out the French doors off the breakfast sitting area and into the gardens.

The last time I was in Wiltshire, the grounds were covered in a light layer of fresh snow. Today, rays of sunlight angle through the lush leaves, swaying in the breeze on the full trees, and beaming off the canopy of deep purples and pinks peeking out of the green.

My mind drifts to my mother, and a small pang of sadness descends. Her affection for flowers and plants is almost as strong as her love for me. It’s in this moment I’m reminded of why I’m here. What I’m willing to protect, no matter the cost.

Swallowing the last sip of my caffeine, I move back to the counter to pour myself another cup, only to be startled at the sound of heavy footsteps. I turn and see Asher’s tense expression as he rounds the kitchen island and prowls toward me.

I still in confusion as he strides at me like a man on a mission. Once in front of me, Asher crowds me, pushing my body further into the countertop before burying his hands in my hair. He dips his head so his mouth is nearly brushing mine when he speaks.

“You weren’t there when I woke up.” His voice is edgy.

“I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful,” I answer. “Do you want coffee?”

In an instant, Asher’s lips crash to mine. His kiss is bruising and insistent, and my thoughts become foggy as lust runs through my veins. Just as quickly as his attack began, he pulls away, breathing heavily against my mouth, collecting himself.
What in the…

The distress that was wound through his muscles a moment ago seems to ease as he runs a hand through his messy morning hair. “Next time, siren, wake me.”

My eyes narrow in speculation at his off tone. “Ash, I’m not going to disappear again.”

His sad eyes slide to the gardens and then back to me. Without thinking, I take his face between my palms, forcing him to look at me. “I’m here. With you. Forever. I swear.”

Swallowing with difficulty, he nods and exhales.

“Now that we’ve reached an understanding, do you want coffee?” I ask, smiling.

A soft, relieved sigh releases from him and his eyes fix on the curve of my lips. “Yes, I want coffee,” he whispers. “God, all I want is your coffee, forever, siren.”

“Wow, cutie, you must have some magical Arabica beans,” Callan jokes from the doorway before making his way over to us. He’s wearing a light blue t-shirt that says
I’m Grumpy because you’re Dopey.
I raise a questioning glance to the adorable gargoyle.

He shrugs. “Abby bought it for me on our last trip to Disney.”

“I see.” I giggle and pour each protector a steaming mug.

“Keegan told me he hasn’t been able to connect with Priestess Arabella to request an audience. I have to say, Ash, it’s odd that we haven’t been able to reach
anyone
from that realm,” Callan says and takes a thoughtful sip.

My body goes rigid at Callan’s statement. “Is that what Keegan wanted to discuss with you last night?” I ask Asher in a low tone.

“Yeah, siren. It is,” Asher responds before rubbing his face in agitation.

“Something isn’t right, Ash. I can feel it,” I say.

Asher looks at me pensively. “Then we go, uninvited.”

12
A Real
m Falls

THE SHADOWY COLORS OF THE ETERNAL FOREST morph into a toiling mess of beauty and contradiction. An odd stillness clings to the dark, arched canopy of black bark protecting the leafless, tall trees. The patchwork of bare twigs shields us from the endless evening sky.

Small slivers of silver and blue moonlight cut through the lifeless boughs. My boots sink into the damp, black soil under the exotic, low-lying plant life. Asher takes a step forward, placing his hands on my shoulders before leaning to my ear.

“You all right, siren?” he asks with concern. “Are you out of sorts at all?” he asks, referring to our stone state realm jump. It’s the only way we can enter this land and normally it leaves a sense of unease and dizziness.

I shake my head. “I’m fine this time,” I whisper, staring at the pools of water.

Unlike the last time we were in this realm, there are no layers of smoke coming off the top and it’s not glowing.

“Hey, the water, it’s not steaming,” I point out to the group.

Gage walks over and dips his fingers into the clear jade liquid. “It’s ice cold.”

Asher laces our fingers together and directs me toward the pathway on the left, away from the one that leads us to the trolls. “Stay close,” he orders.

We follow Nassa, Gage, Abby and Callan with quiet, guarded steps. I attempt to avoid the olive green, scaly, serpentine rocks lining the toxic dirt.

“It’s too quiet,” Abby says with a nervous edge lining her voice. “I don’t hear the shadow warriors,” she says, meeting Callan’s worried expression.

We stop walking and just listen. Our stillness is met with silence. The hissing sounds of the priestesses’ protective army that normally hide in the shadows are nonexistent.

“We’re here uninvited. By now, the serpents should be all over us,” Callan states.

Asher releases my hand, stepping closer to the dark forest. I can feel his dark energy searching the shadows for the sentinels. Disappointment and slight fear fill his eyes when he turns back to us.

“Nothing,” he says. “We need to alert the priestesses of the security breach. Our presence in the realm also needs to be announced since we’re here without invitation.”

“Nassa can send Noir ahead to the temple. The bird will get word of the breach and our attendance before we arrive by foot,” Gage suggests. “That okay, buttercup?”

The sorceress nods, her black and purple hair falling over her petite shoulders. She holds out her palm as Noir rests on it. Leaning in, Nassa whispers something in Latin before the black familiar blinks in understanding and takes off. The firm beat of the birds’ flapping wings is the only sound echoing in the realm.

“Everyone on guard. Something is most definitely off and we still have a bit of a hike,” Asher commands.

“Wait, let me put us under a protection spell,” Nassa rasps before chanting in a low murmur. A few moments later, she meets Asher’s gaze. “It’s done.”

“Thank you, sorceress,” my protector says in the tone he uses when he’s in prince mode.

“Let’s roll.” Callan walks in front of the group, leading us on our continued journey.

Hours later, we come to the small opening within the inky forest that frames the Grecian Temple of The Seven High Priestesses. The full moon is sitting low to the ground, under the dark canopy of the forest. The bright orb appears to be larger than life this evening. The silver streams of the celestial body reflect off the white marble stone, revealing the luminous sanctuary to us through the darkness that surrounds it.

The urns, normally lit with fire, are empty. For some reason, the sight of the gold containers, without warmth alive in them, sends chills down my spine.

“Oh shit,” Callan exhales as all of us turn our attention to what he’s looking at.

On the ground, in front of the temple’s first stone step, is Krea. The white owl’s neck has been snapped and its eyes are rolled back into its head. My stomach heaves at the sight of the priestess’ companion lying lifelessly. Its snow-white plumes, a stark contrast to the black soil.

Moving to the animal’s side, I kneel down next to it and allow my fingers to lightly caress the soft feathers of its unmoving wings. At my touch, a sharp pain shoots through me, forcing my eyes to squeeze closed to alleviate the pain. When I reopen them, I’m in a vision.

Perched on a marble step of the temple, I see Noir. The black crow caws at me and shifts its head from side to side in forewarning. I shake my head, not understanding, while the bird flaps its elegant wings in an irritated manner.

Still on my knees, my eyes flutter as soft grey snowflakes land on my eyelashes. I lift my head up to the sky to be greeted by millions of the gently falling flakes before running my hand over the covered ground.

I lift the soft flecks and rub them between my fingers. It’s then I realize it’s not snow descending from the sky. It’s ashes.

When I raise my gaze to the temple again, the crow is gone.

In its place…Lady Finella.

“The Heavens weep this day,” the queen of the fae says sadly.

“Siren?” Asher’s voice breaks through the hallucination.

I blink a few times, trying to discern if I’m in the here and now or still in the apparition.

Warm hands cup my cheeks and Asher forces me to look at him. “You with me?”

I grab onto Asher’s wrists to steady myself. “I…I don’t know.” I meet his gaze.

“You’re going to want to see this, Asher,” Gage says from the second step of the temple.

Asher studies me for a moment until he’s convinced I’m okay. Once stable on my wobbly legs, I release his wrists and notice ash marks that my hands left. Before I can comment, Asher takes my hand firmly into his and guides me toward Gage.

“What is it?” Asher asks in a deep, authoritative voice.

“See for yourself,” Gage says and motions to the white marble.

The milky stone is stained with a line of crimson liquid. My eyes follow the trail of the wet, thick substance up each of the other steps, onto the landing of the mausoleum. All of us make our way to the top where an obscene amount has pooled, marring the sacred shrine.

“By the grace,” Abby whispers, placing a delicate hand over her mouth.

Asher’s raven wings appear angrily from his back in a loud, snapping motion. At the movement, the rest of the gargoyles release their wings as well.

With the Angelic Sword in his hand, Asher steps in front of me before speaking in his native gargoyle tongue. “Est er aglo dur er ágra an jux, ágra-lem quó er ágra-char tim-por.”

At the Garish command, each protector withdraws some type of weapon. I grip my daggers, moving toward Nassa. She rolls her eyes at the movement and shows me her hands.

“Sorceress, remember? My hands are weapons,” she utters.

“Right. Sorry,” I reply.

The group follows Asher into the temple. With each step the path of crimson liquid merges into larger puddles. The red trail leads us into the white and gold chamber located in the middle of the shrine.

“Holy shit,” I exhale as I take in the blood bath covering the once beautiful room.

Silver streams of the moon’s light filter through the open arched, stone windows, highlighting the four large floor-to-ceiling columns, splattered with blood. The circular pool in the middle of the hall is no longer jade. Instead, it’s a bright red. The elegant white, sheer fabric hanging from the ceiling and large silk pillows are torn, stained with scarlet liquid.

The crystals that decorated the room are shattered in pieces around cloaked, motionless bodies. Each veiled priestess’s throat is slit. Without warning, I’m pulled into Asher’s arms as he spins me and forces my head into his chest.

“Don’t look, siren,” he instructs.

I swallow the bile rising in my throat and attempt to breathe through his tight grasp.

“Qua ágra-tas prae-tim dur ad ku-ánte ter-ort?” Asher says.

“This is an all-out slaughter, Asher. An attack. On unprotected women,” Callan answers in a low, disgusted voice. “There was no struggle.”

The sound of Gage’s designer shoes clicking on the marble floor registers before he exhales a rough breath. “In-korp. Lem-múr. All er ílem.”

“What does that mean?” I question into Asher’s chest, his heart beating fast.

“They’re all dead, siren. Every single one of them,” he replies quietly.

“Arabella?” I ask with hope, releasing Asher to turn and meet Abby’s watery eyes.

A lone tear falls down her peach cheek as she solemnly shakes her head back and forth.

“Who would do this?” I question to no one in particular.

Asher turns to Nassa. “An-ort?”

“No. Not magic,” she replies with a shocked expression.

“Daemon?” he retorts.

“Ni. De bal an-ámo-lem an gargl,” Callan answers in a low voice, causing everyone to still and meet his firm expression. “It’s true. I feel the essence,” he confirms.

The cawing of Nassa’s familiar pulls the group from their stunned stares at the blood stained temple, into the present moment.

“Let’s discuss this outside,” Asher says, taking my hand and pulling me to the doorway.

We make our way back to the gateway quickly. Just before we’re about to realm jump, Asher speaks, cutting through the shocked silence.

“We need to alert the Royal Court immediately, as well as the protector and angelic councils. All correspondence is to be in Garish and stamped with the royal seal. As the next in line to the protector throne, I’m officially decreeing this brutal act against a nonaligned sovereign a declaration of war.”

My eyes meet Asher’s hard ones before sliding to see each gargoyle, who with grace, stand taller. Their body language and expressions turn proud. My gaze finally stops on Gage who offers a small, sympathetic smile before bowing his head to Asher in respect for his leader.

It’s then I realize, this realm may have just fallen, but in its place, a king has risen.

***

The familiar industrial loft, with grey concrete walls and dark bamboo floors, is bathed in the fire’s soft light. My focus immediately slides to the large picturesque windows. The postcard worthy view is framed by the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. I admire the illuminated Eiffel Tower magically posed in Paris, surrounded by nightfall.

The scent of cigarettes and spice wafts to me as my eyes roam over the room before landing on the sullen gargoyle. He’s hiding behind his cigarette, blanketed in darkness. I walk over to the protector, draped on the L-shaped, modern, black leather sofa.

“Can I get you a drink, love?” Gage asks from around his lit habit.

I nod my head once, sinking into the chair across from him. The shadows from the fireplace add a level of sinfulness to his guarded expression. Non-too-gently, Gage places his almost empty tumbler on the granite coffee table and stumbles over to the built-in bar, unsteadily pouring me a glass of the amber liquid. Is he drunk?

After shoving the glass at me, he returns to the couch with a flop and then slouches his tall frame. With his cigarette hanging carelessly off his bottom lip, Gage twirls the last sip around in the crystal container. Staring at it with an unhealthy fascination.

I notice his normally sparkling sea green eyes are sunken in, surrounded by dark circles. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Gage come unhinged. Normally, he’s so pulled together.

“What are you doing here, love?” he queries in a bored manner.

“I’m not sure,” I answer honestly.

“Does the dark prince know you’re astral projecting to me this evening?” he chides.

“Does it matter?” I pose, taking a sip of the liquid.

Gage uses his thumb and forefinger to remove the cigarette with one hand while watching me over the rim of the tumbler he now has positioned at his lips, in the other. “It feels good, doesn’t it, love? The burn of the alcohol reminding us that we’re alive.” He finishes the last of his brandy in one gulp before getting up to pour himself another glass.

As he tends to his drink, my eyes fixate on his naked back. They study the lion tattoo, the Paris clan of gargoyle’s branding animal. It decorates the entire well-defined, muscular space. Gage spins and faces me before barely making his way back to the couch.

I notice then he’s wearing his large cross necklace, made of hematite, his healing stone.

“Why are you always shirtless when I come here?” I ask, focusing on his perfect chest.

“Why do you always get wet when I’m around you?” he snaps back. Touché.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while. That’s what’s so great about Gage. We can just be. “Why did you come back to Paris instead of returning to Wiltshire with the clan?”

“I needed to stone state,” he answers, closing his eyes.

“Are you hurt? Did you need to heal?” My voice is laced with concern.

At my tone, he reopens his eyes and quirks an eyebrow at me. “Worried about me, love?”

I slam my glass onto the table then stand and make my way next to him. “Always, Gage.”