Toxic Part Two (Celestra Series Book 7.5) (8 page)

I hope to God he’s telling the truth.

And if he’s not, I just might have to kill him.

Chapter 64

The Other Side of the Mirror

I give a few hard power knocks to Marshall’s oversized door, then a series of shorter, more aggressive blasts that threaten to burst my eardrums. I don’t really want to tear my way in. Truthfully, I’m half afraid if Marshall doesn’t answer soon I might just weaken and text Gage. My head is spinning at the idea he may have thrown the region. What am I saying? He would never do that. Right? 

I stomp my fist against the door until it feels like I’ve tenderized my hand and the door swings open with Marshall looking far too gorgeous for me to ever be safe here.

“Finally,” I say, brushing past him as I make my way inside. The heavenly scent of something delicious lights up my senses.   

“Come in,” he says with a note of sarcasm.

Marshall strides over and takes me in with my hair all frizzed out, my sweater torn in two places and I look like I’ve just indulged in a mud bath. A dirty smile slides up the side of his face and I can practically see the pornographic implications playing out in his mind.  

“You’re absolutely filthy—and I most definitely approve.” His smile blooms into an all-out sexual leer as he comes in close. “I might be moved to bathe you.” He caresses his hand over the side of my cheek. I’m so damn tired I close my eyes and lean into his good vibrations. “Oh, how I’ll scrub,” he whispers.

Scrub? I perk to attention and take a full step back.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the blackened window over his shoulder and note my hair is in bird’s nest mode.

“You’re right. I am filthy.” I jam my fingers into my haystack and try to comb out the tangles but it’s impossible. “I’m disgusting. Don’t look at me. And, for sure, no scrubbing.”

“You, my love, are far from disgusting. Although, if you prefer, we can continue this conversation somewhere devoid of light—horizontally if you wish.”

This isn’t going to end well. Marshall is sexually vexing and my defenses are worn to nothing.

I eye him like a predator and wonder how the hell my virginity will escape intact if he keeps up with his fresh-scrubbed horizontal proposals.

“I’m moved to run a bath for you,” he purrs. “You could sit on my lap while I offer you a massage.” Marshall unleashes his pent-up frustration over my shoulders by way of an oh-so-needed back rub.

Damn, he knows just what I need and how to give it to me.

My head falls back and I let out an involuntary moan.

Marshall blows a kiss over my ear. “I’m sure we could both let out a little pent-up frustration in the process.”

“No need.” Crap. I haul ass a good two feet out of the trajectory from his frisky fingers. “I’ve got Logan for that.” I add that last part in the event he thinks we’ve advanced bases in our malformed teacher-student relationship. Wait, do I have a “relationship” with Marshall? And why does it suddenly feel like sexual baseball analogies are involved? Speaking of which, I feel bad for spontaneously cutting Gage out of the sexual equation. 

“I was expecting you hours ago. This far from pleases me.” Marshall twists his lips with an unsatisfactory look. “I’ll be sure to let Logan in on my displeasure as well.” A sinister brand of anger boils in his eyes and I can tell he’s plotting Logan’s demise—most likely Gage’s future is in peril as well. “Let the record show, I disapprove of your nocturnal wanderings.”

Nocturnal wanderings? An avalanche of words gets caught in my throat. “Excuse me—I had a war to fight.”

“Which you lost.”

“Which my mother lost because she flipped the switch before your frat brother could give me the heads up on how to take the region.”

“She’s not one to make things easy.” His lips twitch the beginnings of a smile.

I suck in a breath at his audacity. He’s reveling in the fact my mother’s non-maternal instincts are heavily at play in my life.

“What are you laughing at?” I needle him with all the aggression I can muster.

“Dare I say, you.” He doesn’t bother to hide the fact my frustration arouses him on some level. Marshall’s body language is practically shouting
get in my bed
. “You, Skyla, certainly know how to bring the passion to the table with your virulent outbursts of both the emotional and physical variety—and how I look forward to more of the physical.”

I so knew it.

“We’ll see about that.” I ditch the sexed-up Sector and head over to the stove and lift the lid off the cast iron pot. A pleasing aroma fills me. I’m about to pass out at the thought of consuming something so exotically delicious. “Smells like heaven!” I don’t know whether to be thankful or mournful that Mom can’t cook up a storm like Marshall—if she did, both my jeans and arteries would soon need replacing. “What is it?”

“Squirrel—caught two in the yard.” Marshall expands the girth of his chest as if squirrel were suddenly classified as big game hunting. “A man with good aim is difficult to come by. And, I assure you, that skill is best employed in the bedroom. I’m more than willing to demonstrate—show, don’t tell, and all those good lascivious adages.”

“I’ll pass,” I say, replacing the lid and distancing myself from the fragrant culinary disaster. “And really? Squirrel? That’s freaking gross.” Looks as though my skinny jeans and arteries are safe for the time being.

“That’s not ‘freaking gross,’” he mocks in horror. “That, my love, is dinner.” He tosses the dishrag over his shoulder and looks decidedly hot while doing so, but I’ll never admit it. Everyone knows there’s nothing hotter than a man in the kitchen, with the exception of Tad.

He frowns into me. “And, where were you after the war? I was beside myself with worry.”

“With Logan and Gage, thank you very much.” I stagger over to the couch and kick off the ridiculous high heels I decided to wear today. Who knew a war would break out? I might have to invest in a pair of steel-toe combat boots. That way, I can literally and figuratively kick some Count ass. Not that any ass kicking has yet to take place. Actually, if the ass kicking in question is geared toward Celestra, then yes, it has totally already manifested in the physical sense.

“You, my dear kitten, are impossibly titillating.”

I glance over at Marshall, lacking the energy to properly roll my eyes. I think the expression “one-track mind” was literally derived from him.

“I don’t know what the hell you just said, but it sounds disastrous.” My eyelids sear themselves shut. Normally, I wouldn’t fight my body on the much-needed snooze-fest its trying to procure, but I feel rather exposed spread over the length of Marshall’s couch and he’s gearing up to pounce. I can feel it.

“Never you mind your pretty little head,” he says, making his way over. “What’s important is that you’re no longer with the twisted Olivers—you’re here. And, might I note, that you lose each time you’re in their presence. Accept the fact they’re cursed and move on. I suggest you find someone of noble character, someone who comes from victory—like me.”

My lids open just enough for me to view him hovering over me. I give him less than five seconds—he lands next to me in less than three. 

“I want to hear all about your time in the ethereal plane. Tell me everything.”

“Really?” I sit up on my elbows and he’s quick to scoot over, so I use his legs as a pillow and nestle in. I start in on the night, sans my freshly penned and more-than-slightly unorthodox agreement with Ezrina. I rattle on about the faction meeting, the popup war that my mother’s wry sense of humor seems to spring on me with decidedly ill-timing, and how pissy Nicholas Haver acted because I lost yet another region.

Marshall gazes down at me with a content look on his face. I reach up and touch my hand to his cheek.

“You really are a good listener, you know that?”

He loses himself while grazing over my body with those sun-scorched eyes, so I place my hand over his to listen in on his private musings. Usually, he can throw them at me at a distance, which is his way of showing off his Sector prowess, but for now, he’s lost in lust, too far gone to throw anything coherent my way. 

My mouth desires to trace out the landscape of her every curve. I crave to have her, right down to her tiny beautiful feet. How I yearn for the moment she graces my chambers night after luscious night with all of the affection we can afford. We’ll charge the air with our ferocity. I can almost feel her skin burning against mine, the singe of her thighs smoothing over me as I make her my wife with a pronounced finality.

And there’s that.

“I can hear you,” I say.

A smile rides up his cheek. “Though the deep drink of our love tarry—wait for it.”

“As I was saying…” I carry on about my night at record speed. It feels so good to have someone listen for a change. Even if Marshall isn’t picking up on a word I say, it feels rather therapeutic lying on a couch, giving an expository of my most unusual day. “And, that’s how it ended.” I blow out a sigh. “You know…” I readjust my neck over his lap. “Sometimes I feel as if I’m all alone.”

“You have me.” His serious eyes penetrate mine. “For the rest of your days, I will be here for you—someone to trust, to lean on—to have and to hold from this day on.”

Marshall is a thing of beauty both inside and out. I reach up and touch my fingers to his lips. Somebody is going to be very lucky to love him fully one day.

“Those sounded an awful lot like wedding vows,” I whisper.

“You will be everything to me, Skyla. A lover…” He kisses a finger. “A friend…” He kisses the tip of another. “A spouse…” He pushes my finger into his hot mouth and I pluck it out. “Where shall we spend our honeymoon?” He goes right there without provocation.

“No honeymoon—but, well…” I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m sort of not really seeing Gage, since I can’t trust him. Logan wants to wait until the end of the faction war before we see where our feelings lie, so I suppose I’m open.”

“Open?” His head twitches to the side just so.

“You know, for wooing—no kissing though. You’ll have to woo without lingual contact.”

“No kissing.” His chest broadens under the guise of this new turn of events. “Fantastic.” He says it sharp as if this were a war and he just gained ground on the enemy. “What shall we do to commemorate our first day of coupledom?”

That haunted speculum, gifted by none other than my least favorite Fem, catches my attention. Its long oval frame sits on the base of a gilded ostrich leg.

“Let’s hop in that mirror of Demetri’s and see what’s cooking on the other side.” I nudge him in the hip. “You’re a Sector. You can get us out of any number of messes. Come on.” I jostle him. “I’ll be fun.”

“Absolutely not.” He grinds his jaw. “There’s an off chance it might have diminishing effects on my powers. I can’t risk getting caught with my proverbial pants down. I won’t have it. I should give you a good tongue lashing for entertaining the idea.” A lewd smile begs to glide across his face. “Shall I start now?”

“No.” I crimp a smile and pluck my hand free from his. “And, I seriously doubt you’d have anything to be ashamed of with your pants leveraged to the ground.” Did I just go there? “In fact, I’m betting you’d draw an awful lot of attention.” Again with the innuendo? I’m so freaking exhausted I should probably just go straight to bed.

I lick my lips and make a half-hearted effort to readjust myself. I bet Marshall would have the masses bowing to him if he did manage to lose his pants. “Something tells me you’re a real crowd pleaser,” I add without thinking. Come to think of it, Marshall is always trying to please me. “You’re a giver, aren’t you, Marshall?” It comes out more of a statement than an epiphany. “And I can tell you have a lot to give.” So true.

Marshall’s eyes round out with horrific delight and it occurs to me I’ve just played to his ego in the entirely wrong way.

He plucks a twig from my sweater. “Shall we run upstairs and get you into something a little more comfortable?”

“Let’s see—” Oddly I want to say yes, but I’m thinking sweats, and I bet he’s thinking something more along the lines of
sweating
. “I bet your bed falls under the category of something more comfortable.” I flat line.

“If you insist.”

A knock erupts at the door before I take total leave of my senses and pull off his jeans to discover for myself what exactly he’s equip to “please the crowd with.”

“Give me a second—I’ll get rid of them.” He springs to his feet and nearly lands me on the floor.

“It’s probably Gage,” I say, rolling off and heading over. A part of me sings at the thought of seeing him again tonight, until I remember what has me so ticked in the first place and my stomach sours.

“Like I said, give me a second—I’ll remove them from the planet.”

Marshall flings open the door and I find myself staring in the face of a pissed off, rather dazed and confused, Michelle Miller.

“Expecting company?” I look over at Marshall.

“What’s going on?” She demands.

Michelle plucks at a long, dark curl over and over as if its code for some sexual promise. She’s dressed to seduce with a skintight sweater, no bra and a pair of bright red FMs that look suspiciously like a pair Brielle lent me once.

“Just hanging out,” I say before a thought comes to me. “You wanna come in? We were just about to play a game.”

“Sure,” she says, crossing the threshold, her gaze never leaving Marshall’s blessed-by-God face.

“Shelly, you can’t stay.” Marshall gently pushes her back out. “Skyla and I are calling it a night. We’ve a game to play in private.” He’s quick to let the sexual implications fly.

“You
are
sleeping with him!” She slices her nails across my face so quick I don’t have time to duck and cover. I touch my fingers to my cheek and affirm the fresh glow of crimson.

“On second thought,” Marshall says, plucking her in by the elbow, “there’s always room for one more in our late night shenanigans.” He’s good and pissed, but Michelle is too doped up on her lust for him to see it.

“Kinky.” She laughs. Her features reduce to cinders at his magical soothing touch and she snatches up his hand and plunges his finger into her mouth.