Toxic Part One (Celestra Series Book 7) (31 page)

Arrows hail from the sky, dot the path thick with their long slender rods. Two opposing crowds clash in what looks like a mob scene. It looks all-out animal, a tangle of limbs, heartbreaking screams. This isn’t right. None of this makes sense.

Nat catches my eye as she spears a man on the outskirts of the melee.

A frail girl, with long, stringy hair runs past me for cover in the forest. She eyes my gun and pauses.

“Don’t just stand there. The Counts are killing Celestra.” She pulls her words out in a strange manner, making them sound congested, contrived.

I take a breath and head over to the massive crowd. The heat of hatred lights up the landscape. I can smell the bite of perspiration, the metallic hint of blood rising in the air.

The mob pummels a pair of familiar-looking bodies to the ground.

“Oh my God.”

Crap. They’re beating Cooper and Flynn. A heavy-set man with steel toe boots gives the lanky boy, Flynn, a good kick in the teeth. They grind their faces into the dirt and shout for justice for their Countenance brothers. They follow their battle cry up by pounding their fists into the two of them.

If justice is what they want, that’s what I’ll give them.

I fire Logan’s weapon into the crowd, nailing a half a dozen of them. They drop like flies, landing over one another in a satisfying heap.

I spring over and extricate Cooper first. He winces as he rises and helps up his friend.

“I owe you one,” Flynn says as he tries to catch his breath. He’s tall and a little gangly, but they both have gorgeous, cut features and eyes that glow against the sodden sky like polished stones.

“Yeah, well, next time,” I say, heading back to the forest.

They come up alongside me as we make our way into the thicket.

“You knocked out a few of our own who were trying to help,” Flynn says, dusting the dirt off his expensive looking pullover.

“Friendly fire,” Cooper pats my shoulder as we move into the woods. “They’ll be back on their feet in half the time as the Counts. You can’t hold a good Celestra down.” He winks.

“Let’s hope not,” I say. “I feel horrible. We should go back and pull them out.”

We glance at the bodies still motionless on the ground. The fire still rages to the south where Ellis and I were pinned earlier. It congests the region with a layer of smoke, just enough singe our lungs, make us choke with every other breath.

The frail girl comes back, giving a greasy smile. She launches a missile off her shoulder, and the circle of men I put down goes up in flames.

“Shit!” I scream. “Celestra are there, too!”

“They’re going to kill us anyway.” Her pale eyes glare into mine with animalistic ferocity. “All of the Countenance must die.”

Logan spears through my mind. Not all. Dear God, please not all.

The earth shivers, the moon and the lavender sky turn a strange ashen grey, and the ethereal plane melts into nothing.

Chapter 44

Vertical Roughness

Gage and I appear back in the hotel suite locked in a rather compromising position with me wearing Ellis’s clothes.

“Geez!” Gage hops off and switches on the lights. “You’re cut head to foot.”

“What happened? Did we win?” Hope surges in me for the first time.

“I don’t know. I met up with Ellis again. He’s pretty banged up. He’s got a back injury for sure. I told him I’d have my dad stop by and look at him, but he needs to go the hospital.” His features darken. “I saw Logan.” His gives a long blink. “He told me what he was doing for you—for Ezrina.”

“It wasn’t my idea. I swear.” Involving Ezrina in anything is like setting your roof on fire to warm the house.

Gage scoops me in his arms and winces at my wounds before brushing me with a kiss.

“There isn’t anything we can’t survive, Skyla. I promise you this.” Gage gathers our things from around the bed. “I need to get you back to Paragon.”

***

Gage delivers us right to my bedroom and starts the shower for me.

It stings like hell trying to clean these wounds. Just wetting them feels like a fresh laceration. I pray Dr. O doesn’t have to whip out the sewing kit because my leg has been slashed straight up my thigh.

Afterward, Gage helps wrap my leg with a bandage then settles a kiss on top of the wet curls springing to life on my head.

“One day,” he says, peppering my ear with kisses, “the vision we shared will come true, and there will be no one, or no war, no anything to interrupt us—just you and me, Skyla—all night long.”

I give a naughty smile. My stomach tenses up at the idea of no war left to interrupt us—the war may not but Logan will. It’s strange how I’ve accepted this season with Gage yet haven’t bought into the future. I can’t stand the thought of losing one of them for good. I guess that’s the upside to the faction war. I have them both for a time—Logan won’t accept me, and Gage won’t let me go. I hate how greedy that sounds. They’re both worth their weight in gold. “Hey, that reminds me.” I retrieve the note I jotted down at Marshall’s and tape it to the mirror above my desk.

“I’m as pure as gold.” Gage reads.

“I had this dream. I think it was a vision. It was my dad. He said I needed to repeat that each day—that I should never forget it.”

Gage warms me with a hug from behind as we look at the strange verse, trying to decipher what it might mean.

“I disagree with him.” Gage sears a line down my neck with his lips. “You’re much better than gold, Skyla.”

I catch my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are swollen, my lip split in two, my right cheek rises from my skin like a red water balloon. Obviously Gage is talking about what’s on the inside because, physically, there’s not a whole lot I’m better than at this moment.

I spin into him and wrap my arms around his neck. “You’re pure gold inside and out, Gage Oliver.”

The door bursts open.

“Skyla?” Mom opens her mouth to say something then just continues to gape at the two of us as if she caught us gutting a litter of puppies. “Good
God
!”

 Gage steps in front of me to cover my injuries, but it’s too late. Mom makes a beeline in my direction.

“
Skyla
,” she gasps.

Tad rushes in like that’s the code for all holy hell is about to break loose.

“What have you done?” Mom touches her hand to my cheek, and I wince in pain.

“Can’t you tell?” Tad’s entire body jerks as though the source of my injuries is painfully obvious. “He clobbered her.”

“He did not.” Mom doesn’t hide her disgust with my step-moron.

“I would never lay a hand on Skyla.” Gage refutes the accusation with a pissed off look that suggests he’s not opposed to clobbering Tad.

“Nor did he.” I try to emulate my mother’s look of disgust, but my face finds it too painful to comply. “I fell.”

“That’s what they all say.” Tad raises his head in suspicion.

“You fell?” Mom’s eyes bulge, clearly she’s not buying my version of the truth either.

“I fell down a flight of stairs as we got back on the ferry.” I shrug. It seems reasonable. I mean they practically have you climbing down a ladder to get into that sardine can. It’s completely plausible.

“We’ll sue!” Tad’s face springs to life at the prospect of a windfall.

“No—they were really nice about it.” I shoot a look to Gage that suggests he should support my falsehoods with a few of his own.

“Why don’t I get my dad to look at those for you?” Gage presses in a warm smile as he brushes the hair from my eyes.

“He’s a mortician for crying out loud,” Tad yelps. “What the hell is he going to do? Embalm her?” He whips the cell from his pocket and has me stand still while he snaps away at my swollen features. “I’ll just take these pictures down to the Pacific West Boat Lines main office tomorrow and see how fast they pull out their checkbook. They hate lawsuits. It’s cheaper to do a payout right there in the office. I’m betting on at least ten grand.”

“Tad!” Mom looks mortified by his get-rich-quick scheme.

“We can remodel the kitchen, Lizbeth.” It comes out more of a threat than a tantalizing proposition.

The idea of new cabinetry silences my mother into submission. 

“I’m fine, really.” God—Tad is going to cause all kinds of trouble over something that never even happened. “It was slippery. Ten different people took a tumble.” That’s right. I sigh. Nothing like another lie to try and rectify the first. That always works.

“Perfect!” He beams. “We just need to contact those passengers, and we’ll threaten ‘em with a civil action suit. They’ll throw the entire safe in our direction.”

“You mean class action.” Gage makes the egregious error of trying to correct Tad in his moronic state of agitation.

“No, I mean
civil
action.” Tad asserts the fact his legal knowledge is a force to be reckoned with. God knows he’s logged enough hours to earn his YouTube degree. He’s forever goofing off at his laptop—amusing himself with talking cats and crazy people who read their freshly-penned manifestos. “Say”—Tad’s eyes pop with an epiphany—“why don’t you come down with me as an eye witness. I’ll give you kids a portion of the take. A nice crisp twenty so you can go out to dinner and a movie.”

Shit. Tad is going to get Gage inadvertently thrown in jail for perjury. I can see it coming a mile away. Gage has more than served enough time thanks to me and my light driving debacles. There’s no way I’m going to let him rot in a cell in this dimension, too.

“OK,” I shout, slicing my arms through the air like a referee. “That’s not exactly how it went down.”

“Knew it.” Tad grimaces like he just got a bad taste in his mouth. “The linebacker knocked her around.”

“Actually…” I look to Gage. I’m certainly not going to let them think he beats me. “We were locked in one of the luggage compartments, and I tripped over a bag—head first.” And this is what I opt for as a more realistic fabrication? Do they even have a luggage compartment?

“Luggage?” Mom narrows her gaze on me. “What were you two doing in a dark service closet?”

“Brushing up on their math skills,” Tad says, while deleting the pictures off his phone in haste. “What do you think, Lizbeth? They were playing a game of vertical skin tag. That, Lizbeth,” he says, pointing at my face, “is nothing more than the end result of rough sex.”

I gasp. First, Gage would never be rough with me and second, there’s a spirit in the sky that ensured the aforementioned activity did not take place.

“There was no vertical skin tag.” I can’t even bring myself to say the word “sex” around Mom and Tad—possibly not even Gage.

“OK, then,” he barks, “vertical fiesta, vertical body planking, call it what you like. You’re not leaving this house the rest of this summer.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I balk. “Drake and Brielle practically made that baby under this roof, and Ethan has a bona fide sex slave hostage in his bedroom.” Gah—I just said sex! Run and hide! Run and hide!

“Drake and Brielle are off limits, too,” Tad seethes. “No more of this spending the night baloney. One invisible grandchild is enough. And, as for Ethan, he’s made a very shrewd business decision and brought in a boarder.” He stalks off before I can shoot down any of his claims.

I shake my head in disbelief.

“Sorry,” Mom whispers. “Gage you’re welcome to stay for dinner.”

The only thing she should be sorry about is the vertical funeral she dared to commit twice. In fact, I’m pretty sure being married to Tad is enough to drive someone to a funeral of their own.

“Actually,” Gage starts, “my parents invited Skyla to dinner. We’re going over plans for Logan’s birthday—it’s two weeks away.”

“Of course.” Mom leans in and pats the skin below my eye. “Don’t stay out late.” She gives a distressed look from me to Gage before stepping in close. “I hope to God the two of you are using protection.”

“Oh, there’s no need.” I shake my head furtively before the conversation lands us in that cringe-worthy place that has my mother espousing uncomfortable sexual adages.

“Making love rarely involves a bandage,” Mom says it as a fact. “This isn’t the football field, Gage.” She glowers at him a second before leaving the room.

I’m so exhausted and mortified from the exchange, I forget to exhale.

“Is it really Logan’s birthday in two weeks?” I had completely forgotten it was coming up.

“July twenty-first.” Gage pushes in with a dark expression. “Will he be around to celebrate?”

I wish I knew the answer to that myself.

Chapter 45

A Stitch in Time

The Oliver’s home holds the heavenly scent of cinnamon and apples, an undeniable feast for the senses.

Turns out we’ve missed dinner, but thanks to Emma’s spontaneous urge to turn the kitchen into a bakery, we’ll more than make up for it with the sugar and carb fest that’s about to commence.

“This is magnificent,” Marshall says, after taking his first bite. He wands the fork in the air as if composing a symphony. “You must share the recipe with me.”

Emma chortles. “I hardly believe a Sector of your stature has the time to play in the kitchen.” She gives a coy smile, and I do believe there is some primitive form of flirting taking place.

Dr. Oliver sits beside me at the breakfast table and threads a large needle that holds the shape of a letter C.

“You should heal by morning,” he assures. “But let’s button you up to ensure infection doesn’t set in. No reason your blood supply should have to work any harder than it already is. How have you been feeling otherwise?” he asks, jabbing the tip into my flesh, causing my skin to rise unnaturally.

I lurch alive with pain.

“Marshall?” I hold out a hand. No reason he shouldn’t spare me from the torment.

“I gather Skyla is feeling vacated of any victories,” Marshall answers for me as he takes up my hand. “Region five was a fail. We’ve just about lost half the war.” His good mood dissipates as soon as the war comes to mind.

“It’s not Skyla’s fault.” Gage folds his arms tight across his chest not bothering to hide the fact he disapproves of having a
Sector of his stature
in his presence—comforting his girlfriend no less.