Toxic Part Two (Celestra Series Book 7.5) (40 page)

Logan scoffs. “I don’t know what the hell you just said, but I’m damn sure Skyla isn’t going to parade around as your
wife
anytime soon.” He glares at Marshall, smoldering in his hatred.

“There’s no doubt she’ll be mine.” Marshall taunts with a fire blazing in his eyes. “You, my friend, are already at the curb. Your anger stems from the simple fact the one you sent to keep her safe, swept her from beneath you. Must be unpleasant to know her needs are better met elsewhere.”

Dear God. If this conversation somehow reverts back to Gage’s baseball bat, I am going to freak the hell out. It’s like we’re on a loop or something. And by the way…

I glare at Marshall because he so obviously doesn’t care that my father is in the room.

Masturbation? Celestial wife?
Needs
? What the hell is wrong with these people?

“I don’t have needs.” I shake my head at Dad while trying to grow a pair of balls to finish my line of thinking. “I’m practically asexual. And in case you’re wondering, I’m still a virgin.” I sort of mouth that last part because I swore I’d never say those words again. However, this situation warranted breaking said vow of sexual silence in order to help restore my dead father’s sanity.

“Sounds like neither Oliver holds the power of persuasion,” Marshall says it mostly to himself. He looks up slowly across the table and glares. “Enough.” He holds a finger out at Gage who sits seemingly innocent while molesting the hell out of a glass of water. “I’ve warned you to abstain from the fornicating frolics. Tell your grey matter to keep it clean. Refrain from the vulgarity until you are no longer in my presence.”

“Does this ever end?” Dad asks, appalled at the bizarre display of carnal indecency.

“Never.” Gage is quick to answer. “It never ends. But it will. I have the gift of knowing, remember?” He guts Marshall with the dig. “And you will be a
guest
at her wedding.”

The table flips toward the wall. The dishes, the glasses, the food—it all slides to the floor in one horrific crash.

Marshall secures Gage by the throat and lifts him off the ground with just one hand—holds him out like a spectacle for all to see.

“Go ahead—think just one more carnal thought in my presence,” Marshall taunts. 

Logan gives Marshall a hard shove, and in one swift move Marshall picks up Logan in the same manner. There they are, in their own home, both Oliver boys with feet dangling off the floor—nothing but choking sounds emitting from the two of them.

“Put them down!” I scream.

Marshall chants something low, whispers it out like a curse.

“There’s no need for this.” Dad holds out his hands as if he understands the gravity of Marshall’s nefarious threat.

Logan and Gage drop like limp rags. They glance at one another before taking him down by the legs. It’s all fists, a tangle of limbs, the occasional expletive, and yes, even Marshall has joined in on the vocal offensive.

“You know what I’m thinking?” Dad holds that twinkle in his eye that I miss so much.

I wrap my arms around him and feel his breath bless my temple.

“What are you thinking, Daddy?”

“That you’re already well loved.”

***

After the almost meal, Marshall was kind enough to restore the dining room to its pre-assault state. Emma served her famous apple pie while the ruffians mostly ate ice to soothe their swollen jaws.

We decide to conclude the evening with something far more American than apple pie, and that just so happens to be war.

Logan, Gage, Marshall, my father, and I, all end up in Logan’s room going over strategy.

“Tell me again why she did this to you?” Dad asks, telescoping a magnifying glass over my heavily inked body from ski week. Logan has a series of these pictures pinned to his wall so I guess, technically, that makes me a pinup girl.

Dad traces his finger over the colorful creation. There I am in all my bare-skinned glory, tattooed from the neck down like a member of the Japanese mafia.

“She’s got this weird gift,” I say.
She
being, Emily.

I lean in and inspect the body mural she turned me into.

“Logan’s the lion,” I whisper. “Gage is the vine.”

“They’re everywhere,” Dad marvels.

“Do you understand any of this?”

“Skyla,” he whispers as he takes in the minute details inscribed on the soles of my feet. “The Master
abhors
any type of sorcery. Although, I’m not sure what this falls under. He will, however, allow it if he’s propagating it through his own will, for his own purposes. This may very well be a reading of great value.”

“We need to analyze these better,” I say, snapping them off the wall and heading over to the round table that Logan has set in his palatial bedroom. “My dad thinks these are far more valuable than we’re giving them credit.” I lay them in front of Marshall and a lewd smile forms on his swollen lips.

“He’s correct.” He peruses them with a gleam in his eye. “I see the lake, the falls.” Marshall points toward the lower torso.

Logan leans over and tracks his finger down the picture. He traces my belly all the way down to my bikini bottom and stops with his finger firmly planted over my vagina.

“That would make this Ahava.” Logan takes a breath as he announces it.

Perfectly perverted.

“That makes sense.” Marshall tips his head thoughtfully. “It’s forbidden, yet is the treasure trove of pleasure and fruit. The future of Celestra depends on it.”

Are they freaking kidding me?

“Nice.” I am so not amused.

Gage darts a quick look in my direction and his dimples invert. The naughty curve to his lip suggests the mental cinematography must be exquisite.

“It’s hidden,” Dad says, hovering over Marshall’s shoulder. “It means it’s holy and reserved for the right person.” He catches my gaze and holds it for a second. “An intimate union requires a covenant with the Master. The one who is allowed to retrieve the sword must comply by his commands.”

I hear everything he’s saying, but mentally I’m picturing a sword hidden in my body like some medieval tampon, and suddenly, I’m afraid to sit down.

“This picture.” Marshall pulls a series of photos taped together to recreate the long canvas that stretches the length of Emily’s dining room. “I’m here.” He glides his finger over a pair of wings ridding high over his back. “Look at this.” He taps over to my effigy where Emily has me wearing a pair of feathered appendages. A bloodied hole lies over one shoulder and it looks as if I had just plucked an arrow from my back. Logan and Gage sit slumped and injured—God, I hope they’re simply injured.

“When do you think this happens?” Gage spins the picture to get a better look. “Eleventh region? Twelfth?”

“Twelve will be Ahava.” Marshall pulls another series of photos out to inspect. “What are your thoughts, Nathan?”

It startles me to hear my father’s name. It sounds beautiful like a song. I had been craving the sound and hadn’t even realized it until Marshall filled in the void, poured sunlight where there had only been the dark cover of earth, six feet deep.

“Ahava must be its own region.” Dad agrees. “I’m not even sure a full challenge will be issued. This one will be exclusive.”

“Just Skyla?” Logan darts a quick look to Dad.

“The war is in her honor,” he affirms, “but it doesn’t mean she’ll be the only one trying to fulfill the task.”

“She’ll be the only one who
can
,” Marshall amends. “Or so we hope.”

“From what I understand,” I start slow, “the sword of the Master isn’t just mine for the taking. Why would the Counts try so hard unless they believed they were capable of the grand prize?” They’re capable of just about anything and that includes swiping the sword before I ever get a chance to see it.

“True.” Dad looks up with anticipatory excitement. “But I’d like to believe you’re the only one that can truly complete the mission. This blade is private issue from the King. The sword of the Master, much like the war, was meant for you.”

“And the Sectors?” I ask. Certainly we haven’t forgotten whose war this really is. They want to rule just as much as Celestra.

“The Sectors,” Marshall says with a satisfied growl, “are interlinked with the destiny of your people. The covenant shall be ours.”

The covenant, in my pants, where all things are holy.

Dear God. 

If there is a sword at the end of all this madness, I might just fall on it.

Chapter 106  

The Fear in Cheer

The next morning, I rise with a song of wicked intent blossoming in my heart. Not only is the sun filtering through the ethereal haze to ensure a perfect morning, but I managed to beg Giselle in all her Emerson-inspired magnificence to sleep over last night. I can’t wait to drag her downstairs for a little show and tell. I plan on eating the look of fear in Chloe’s eyes for breakfast.

We get dressed and head on down for curtain call. I’m counting on Giselle to put on the performance of a lifetime. All she really needs to do is look eternally pissed and scowl at Bishop once in a while. God knows that’s all Ethan does, and oddly, look where it landed him.

A smattering of Landons are present as we enter stage right.

Chloe in her unstoppable pursuit of bitchiness doesn’t quite notice the tall, dark, and very much alive beauty beside me. 

Mom and Tad give an unenthusiastic reception to our guest, but Chloe stops short of injecting a spoonful of cracked wheat into her mouth, letting the milk dribble down the side of her petrified face.

I snap a quick picture with my cell. The sheer quantity of dumbass written all over her is priceless.

“Morning.” Giselle growls it out all emo, like she might knife everybody in the room if someone reciprocates the greeting.

A strangled gagging noise escapes from Chloe’s throat.

“Oh, hon, are you OK?” Mom jets over and gives her a few good slaps on the back.

I should seize the moment and slap her in the face a few times in an effort to clear the obstruction that’s blocking her sanity. Oh, wait. You can’t cure stupid.

“I think Chloe is just excited about cheer today,” I say, taking a seat at the barstool over from her. I pat the seat sandwiched between Chloe and me for Giselle. “Today’s our first practice of the year. Plus, we get our schedules.”

“Bonfire’s tonight,” Drake adds.

Drake. I can’t even look at him straight without envisioning the remote regions of his underwear that he’s allowed his cell phone to travel.

“What are you staring at?” He barks.

“That bird dropping on your forehead.” OK so his hairline may not replicate bird droppings, but I can’t think under pressure.

“Shut your face,” he grumbles. “Your breath is rancid.”

“You’re weird and your feet smell,” I fire back.

“Enough you two.” Tad pushes his reading glasses up and further inspects the laptop, fueling his Internet addiction disorder—most likely porn per Izzy’s suggestion. I bet he’s fought the temptation to shoot
her
a crotch-shot. After all, Tad is the septic tank of defunct testosterone from which Drake and Ethan spawn.

Chloe remains shell-shocked, stealing quick glances at the warm body seated next to her—inspecting her neck for signs of trauma.

“You know,” Giselle says, hardening her gorgeous eyes over at Chloe. “I had the worst headache yesterday and I can’t figure out why.”

Ha! I had nothing to do with that zinger. Giselle is a natural at tormenting Chloe. Senior year is going to be a freaking blast.

“Funny”—Chloe gives a steely glance my way—“my head feels as though it’s about to explode.”

“It’s the weather,” Mom says, glancing down at Beau who I think mistook her anatomical nipple for the synthetic one that actually produces. “I get this horrible sinus infection at least twice a year. Is your mucus running clear?”

All eyes revert to Chloe for a status update on her bodily secretions.

“It’s fine,” she squeaks. “I think Skyla is right.” She stabs me with look. “I’m just worked up about school. I’m not the biggest fan of things that keep cropping up in my life over and over.” She sweeps her gaze back to Giselle as if she were a giant tarantula waiting to pounce.

“But this is your senior year,” Mom protests. “You’re going to be the kings and queens of the entire school. Trust me. You’ll never forget your senior year. Make sure you do something really crazy to make it memorable. I remember when I was back in school,” she titters, “we filled the fountain with detergent and turned the senior lawn into a foaming sea of bubbles.” She can hardly get the words out—just the thought has her in hysterics.

“Oh, I will.” Chloe gives a black smile. “I will do something so certifiably insane no one will forget it.”

I sink in my seat a little.

I’m not sure what’s worse. Chloe or the Counts.

***

Gage swings by to pick up me and Giselle and we greet him in the entry. We’re taking “Emerson” down to Kragger-ville, where she’ll be forced to interact with emotionally decapitated people for the next several hours.

“Oh,” I call to Giselle as she runs upstairs to get a sweater. “Grab my cheer bag! It’s on the floor next to the bed.”

“How’d it go?” Gage whispers it hot over my lips before surrendering a kiss.

Tad grunts from behind and we quickly part ways.

“See this, Lizbeth?” He dives his finger in the air. “This is the reason you’re going to have another child suckling off your bosom by Christmas.”

Must he be so graphic, and right after breakfast?

“Not true.” I give an impish smile up at Gage. “I’m chaste and pure as mother’s milk.” Mom was more than relieved to learn the donor wasn’t “hitting the reefer” as Tad so indelicately put it.

“This bag?” Giselle calls from the middle of the stairwell, holding up the pink tote full of bawdy bracelets and buckles Demetri sent over to taunt me.

Everything in me seizes. God forbid those contents fly out like candy from some brothel-bound piñata. One look at those thorny devices and Mom and Tad are going to think Gage and I are involved in some heavy hitting sexcapades.