He shakes his head before laying his face next to mine. “This was right. The right time.” He reaches down and picks up the mirrored heart and kisses it as the protective hedge floats off to the side. He lends it to my lips as I do the same. “I want you to remember tonight. When you look at this heart, think of me—of us.”
I take the heart from him and clasp it in my palm.
“I won’t have to.” I press my lips to his and linger. “I’ll have you around to remind me.”
“Skyla,” it expels from him despondent.
I tuck my finger to his chin and move my hips beneath his. Logan rouses back to life again inside of me.
“This is just the beginning of our happily ever after, Logan. And I won’t hear of anything else.”
“Happily ever after.” A smile bleeds from him. “Right here, right now.”
And with those words, we exit the end of a very long journey, straight into another.
Logan and I explore our love, every single inch of our explosive desire, all night long.
Days bleed by. The sun rises and falls, straining its citrus hues through the windows before the stars host the night sky, and the Colosseum lights up like a relic from some other planet.
“You sure you don’t want to see the city?” Logan traces the outline of my bare hip. He rides his fingers lower until he hits the inside of my thigh and stays there. The sheets snake around the two of us, wrapping us ever so discreetly. The mini fridge is just about empty. We’ve lived off room service and kisses. Logan and I have feasted off our love for three days straight. I’ve become inebriated off the deep well of his love, our tongues traveling every inch of one another, the touch of his skin gliding over mine, the incredible way my body responds to his, it’s all too wonderful to comprehend. All of the heat, the primal lust, every sound that wrenched from his throat I’ve treasured. These were the golden moments—the sweetest desserts that life had to offer.
“So why did she do it?” Logan sinks his arm around my back and pulls me. “Why did Chloe arrange for Stella Landon to die? Why take out Ethan?”
“Chloe had Demetri lay out what he knew about the future long before I came to Paragon. And, apparently, everything he knew was bogus.”
“Which was?”
“That Stella Landon’s firstborn child was destined to be the most powerful Nephilim on the planet. That he was going to wage a faction war and win.”
“Doesn’t make sense.”
The sunset just outside our window, sprays the room in tangerines and gold. Logan glows with an unearthly tan that makes him look as if he belongs in a magazine, a billboard for the entire world to see.
“Chloe got the wrong information,” I say. “It was
my
father’s firstborn child who would be the most powerful Nephilim—it was me who waged the faction war and won. My mother knew the danger I was in. Maybe she was trying to keep one step in front of Demetri? She created a future so taxing, so wrapped up in the past that Demetri couldn’t keep the facts straight. Chloe was nothing but a ruse. My mother created two paths, one real and one fake. She made Chloe look so believable, Demetri was led astray. And, I think maybe Stella was a ruse, too.” I take a breath. “That’s all I know. I wasn’t really probing my mother too hard on the subject. I had just enough info to get that protective hedge back, and that’s really all I wanted.”
“What’s the deal with Emerson?” He plants a kiss right in my belly button, and my body quivers from his touch. I hold his head there for a second and soak in the magic of Logan’s touch.
“Emerson has a full confession to Ethan’s murder in a safe bolted in her closet back at the Kragger’s estate,” I say, pulling him next to me. “Emerson never trusted Chloe. She didn’t think she’d kill her though.”
Logan leans back and stares at the ceiling. His chest expands flat and hard as the ridges of his abdomen redefine themselves in the shadows.
“There are still so many unanswered questions.” He rolls over and blows a breath through his lips. “I guess you can ask your mom another time if you’re interested.”
“I am, but I was most interested in what she said about you.” I bite down hard on my lower lip to keep the tears at bay.
Logan gives a slight nod. “I want you to burn my body, Skyla.”
“No.” I don’t bother hesitating. In a way I knew he’d ask. “Never.”
“The Counts can steal it.” Logan interlaces our fingers and tilts into me with his silent plea. “It won’t change things between you and me.” He sinks a kiss over my bare shoulder. “Promise me you’ll do this.”
My heart breaks. Every last part of me wants to cry out from the pain. I swallow hard and give the hint of a circular nod.
“What are you thinking?” He rattles my hand.
I’ve become a master at holding my thoughts at bay, just the painful ones, the curtain of despair I’d like to keep from him forever.
“When will I see you again?”
“I’ll always be your Elysian, Skyla. I’ll always be thinking about you, loving you even while we’re apart.” The muscles in his jaw pop. “The rest is up to your mother.”
My mother. I cut an icy look outside the window.
“Hey”—he says it sweetly, scooting me in until our bodies align as one—“I’m still here. We still have tonight.”
My fingers clutch tight over his, and I catch his beautiful gaze and hold it.
“I will always love you, Logan Oliver.” I catch my breath a moment. “Nothing, and no one, will ever change that.”
“I love you, too.” His dimple dips in approvingly. “Come here, princess.” He brushes his lips over mine. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.” He glances down at our bodies pressed tight against one another.
“Are you kidding? This is the highlight of my life.”
“Then, by all means, don’t let me deny you.” He swipes the sheet off our bodies as that lewd grin takes up residency on his face again.
I give a little laugh, and force his lips to mine by way of his chin. Logan’s heated hand runs down my bare back as he rounds out my bottom and slips between my thighs.
A sweet groan vibrates through me as Logan works his magic over me with the scorching fire of his mouth.
It’s bliss like this with Logan, if only for a little while.
***
In my dreams I’m a little girl in the arms of my father. He looks pensive, austere, not at all like the ever-jovial man I’ve come to know. He tells me to be strong—that the future holds both pleasure and pain in equal doses.
Don’t forget to love deeply,
he says it stern.
Forfeit all of your judgments of those around you—be quick to forgive. Be wise. Be the child of righteousness you were destined to be. Death is not the stronghold the world would have you believe. Be strong. Love deeply.
The dim light of day penetrates my eyelids as I rouse from my slumber. Instinctually I reach out for Logan. My limbs swim the length of the bed, but they come up empty, nothing but the cool of the sheets, and even those feel slightly unfamiliar.
It takes everything in me to pry open my eyes. My lids grit like sandpaper, my vision is blurred and unstable. It feels as if I’ve been sleeping for weeks, for years.
“Logan?” I stretch like a cat until the room comes into focus, and my heart sinks like a boulder.
Logan’s bedroom forms around me. The round desk in the corner, the pictures of me from ski week still prominently displayed over the wall.
“Paragon,” I whisper. “Logan?”
A viral sense of panic rails through me. I glance down, and I’m dressed in Logan’s team jersey, a pair of his practice sweats with the number 12 ironed onto the side.
“She took him.” It pants out of me. “You took him?” I glance out the window at the dark-sooted sky, and a cry rips from my throat, burning and alive like a fire.
The door bursts open, and Gage rushes to me. He pulls me in and wraps himself around my body as I succumb to violent sobs, my spirit irrevocably broken. Emily’s vision of that volatile heartbreak, my mouth locked in its perennial scream, this was it. Logan was gone, and this deep well of pain would never end.
Three days she said I could have him, and now he had vanished. We knew the math, but we denied its power. It was impotent, rhetorical, and, in a way, I’m glad we didn’t let death or its impending separation deny us of those final moments of euphoria, intoxicating as opium.
Gage rains heated, silent tears over my neck. He presses his body into mine as his chest rides heavy with grief. I can feel his pain, his aching sorrow of losing the one who was like a brother to him.
Gage and I hold each other tight. We had become a harbor for one another, a safe haven, a desperate isle of refuge.
This was the deepest laceration, Logan ripped from our lives. We had fused ourselves together, and now our flesh was torn, bones and hearts were broken.
Chloe has to pay.
There are still so many damn things Chloe Bishop has to pay for.
***
Late the next afternoon, under a blood red December sky, Dr. Oliver holds a private memorial for his brother in the chapel of the mortuary. Marshall is here, along with Giselle, and Ellis, but other than that, it’s just the Olivers and me.
Emma lights a candle that holds the scent of bitter weeds, a dark rich odor that I’ll forever hold in connection to Logan and his separation from me. I hate death. I hate that Logan exists somewhere else entirely and that I can never visit.
“In conclusion”—Barron wipes his eyes with his handkerchief—“none of us knows when the good Lord will call us home. We must choose to live each day with love and wisdom as if it were our last. Might I remind each one of you to keep the details of his passing amongst yourselves. Per his request, the population of Paragon will be under the assumption he’s left the island.” He gives a peaceable smile.
I sigh into Gage, pulling his strong arms around me like a safety harness. Logan had cloaked himself with mystery from the day we met, and now, even in his death, a thin veiled half-truth would follow him to the grave. But it was for the best—everything he ever did was.
Our small group disbands. Emma offers to take Giselle to dinner, and Ellis asks if he can tag along.
“See you guys later?” Ellis latches onto me with a heavy embrace. He’s wearing his wire-rimmed glasses that I’ve tried to convince him are much more effective with the ladies than any of his cheesy pickup lines—although, he’s officially with Giselle now. I’m still not sure if Gage has processed the idea. “You’re my favorite love honey, you know that?” He presses a kiss over my forehead.
Giselle clears her throat and looks up at him from under her dark lashes.
“Well, one of them.” Ellis gives a quick wink before drifting to Giselle. “You gonna be all right, Skyla?”
“Yes.” I’m quick with the lie. “I’ve got Gage.” And that’s the truth. “I couldn’t breathe without Gage,” I whisper, leaning into his strong embrace.
“Sorry, dude.” He reaches over and clasps onto Gage with a half-hug. “I want you to know that I’m going to help run the bowling alley. You know, until you figure out if you’re going to keep it or sell it.”
“We won’t sell it.” It speeds out of me. That would be like selling Logan, parceling him off in pieces in exchange for useless dollars.
“Ms. Messenger.” Marshall strides over, and I can feel Gage’s chest expanding over my back, his grip tightening around my waist.
“I’ll just be a second.” I follow Marshall to the oversized framed picture of my smiling sweet prince. It’s his senior portrait, the one of him in a suit. His lips curve into a knowing smile, and a patina of sadness coats him as if he knew what this picture would be ultimately used for.
“Have you seen him?” I sniff back tears as I latch onto Marshall’s hand.
“He’s fine, Skyla. He’s more concerned for you than anything.” His features soften. Marshall looks heartbroken for me and stymied at how to fix this mess.
“When will we know the results of the war? When will I be judged?” I know for a fact I’ll see Logan then.
“Your mother has never been known to rush things. Expect her at any moment. However, don’t be disappointed when you don’t see her. She’ll show. She always does.”
I’m already disappointed in so many things.
I cut a glance to Logan’s picture.
“He left a gift for you.” Marshall caresses my cheek ever so sweetly. “I’m to present it to you when the time is right.”
“Thank you.” Ironic how the time never seems to be right for Logan and me.
Gage comes up and lays his hands over my shoulder.
“You ready?” He nuzzles into my hair with his words.
“Yes.”
Marshall and I say our goodbyes as we head to the door.
“Skyla, wait.” Emma comes up with two bunches of white roses. “Take these. There’s no use in leaving them at the mortuary.” She holds them out, and I eye them as if they were snakes. Funeral flowers. I hate the way they look. Their scent has been reduced to the sickly smell of the morgue.
Gage takes them from her. “Thanks.” He wraps his arm around my waist, and we make our way to his truck, the sky still raw as a steak. He helps me into my seat. I’m still so numb, so lost like I have been these last twenty-four hours. This is madness. This is a curse without reason. I despise this day. I hate the division and unnecessary pain that it symbolizes. It’s the pain of losing my father again, magnified times ten thousand.
We drive out on the abandoned Paragon highway as it unfurls for all the lonely miles. It’s so desperately hollow without Logan on this overgrown rock. How Gage and I will ever help one another heal is beyond me.
Gage pulls onto the familiar offramp leading to Rockaway Beach and drives us all the way down to the base. We get out, and I take off my shoes. Gage and I walk hand in hand down to the shoreline with the roses Emma gave us. They glow against the ebony sand as they force us to look at them, force us to remember why they’re here in the first place. We toss them out to sea by the fistfuls, the ocean continually vomiting them back at our feet.
We settle over the sand and Gage holds me, sheltering me from the breeze with his body.