My wife.

Skyla molds her body to mine, and I bury my face in her hair a moment. There have been many things I have craved, wanted, desired, but none as strong as my yearning for this girl right here. I remember those early hazy days of West Paragon High when she wasn’t mine at all but someone else’s. Then she became mine as a ruse, a means to protect the love she had with Logan. Slowly, her love for me awakened. I’d like to think somewhere, deep inside, that it was always there. Long before Logan ever perished, Skyla and I were together. I think maybe if we weren’t, if she had never looked me in the eye and said she loved me until the terrible time of his death, our love would never have fully flourished the way it has. But then we married, became one in body and spirit, and the rest as they say is history. My entire existence was orchestrated to fall in love with this woman. It was my father’s business, the culmination of his life’s work to unify the two of us in flesh and in blood in hopes to create the perfect being. And we did. Two of them. And here we are a year later, stronger than steel, drawn to one another like a flame to oxygen. Logan had erected himself as an obstruction without meaning to. We loved one another when we shouldn’t have, and now under the banner of our covenant, we love one another thoroughly as we should. We were the sinners, and we were the saints. Skyla and I were born of deceit. The world believed in us long before we ever did. And yet, here we are, knit to one another like the stars in the sky, like the sun and the moon that Logan tries to own. He can never own what we have. This is imperishable. And as much as my father needed me with Skyla, his burden to seal us at the seams evaporated once the boys were born. And then, there is her mother, the celestial grand supreme. I am less than the dirt under my shoe in her eyes—nothing more than a sperm donor that provided life to her grandchildren. I have no pull with my all-powerful mother-in-law. She would no sooner give me a sideways glance than she would come to my aid. I am the obstacle to her desire. And there is nothing she desires more than to have Skyla and Logan together at last. There will be a celestial choir howling on that day. I have no doubt. And I have no doubt she is working very damn hard to make that day a reality very, very soon.

It’s also a disheartening feeling to know that my father is through with me—in this form, in my coat of flesh, with the blood still pumping through my body. It’s a disheartening feeling to know that my mother-in-law, the neck of destiny, the head of fate, finds me useless in my union to her daughter. It’s a disheartening feeling to know that no matter what that smooth stone predicted—my number will most likely be up sooner than expected. Once we crested July, the seventh month, we knew it could only mean one thing. I was destined to have seven more years with Skyla. Of course, Skyla, ever the optimist, is clinging to the belief it’s decades, but there’s not a shred of hope in me for that. There are simply some things you know, and I have always known that I would die young. It’s never been something I’ve disputed or until recently, lamented.

A shadow flirts at the edge of the pines, and my gut grinds at the sight. He’s been here all night, lurking, leering, watching me from a sacred distance. And just like that, he steps out of the shadows and across the field, through the bodies of those on the dance floor, through the merry ghosts that came all the way from the Transfer. And all the while he watches me. His illuminated gaze never leaves mine.

“Whoa.” Skyla pulls back, her blonde mane rising like that of a lion. “Everything okay?”

“Are you kidding? This is our night. Our babies are one. We are one, and soon we will take off to the one and only home I ever want to set foot in.”

A gritty laugh brews in her chest. “I like where you’re going with that. Hey, maybe now that the dust has settled in our world, you can finally get around to writing that novel you’ve been tinkering with.”

“That’s the plan.” I twirl her in my arms and seal the landing with a kiss. “But first, I plan on tinkering with you, over and over and over again.” I dot a string of kisses along her neck and soak up the vibrations from her laugh. The scent of vanilla pours from her, and I take it in like a balm. Skyla has always been just that, a healing balm.

“You are a naughty, naughty boy, Mr. Oliver.” Her hands lie flat over my chest as she tips her face to the moon, her laughter growing with each passing breath. How I love to see her laugh—to see her smile. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to invoke that very reaction in her. “I’ve got an idea.” Her tongue does a quick revolution over her lips, and my balls ache, hungry to have her. “How about you and I steal away for a minute—somewhere private, secluded.” Her arms circle around my neck as she draws me in. “Someplace where a girl can lift her skirt—maybe let the girls out for some air?”

“I think you’ve got me beat in the naughty department.” I lean in and crash my mouth over hers, suctioning her tongue into my mouth and catching it with my teeth. I pull back and grin at my beautiful bride. “You’ve got a date.” I rub my growing hard-on over her stomach. “You’ve just started a war I hope you’re ready to finish.”

Her brow lifts over her glittering mask. I’ll admit, I’m a sucker for this sexed-up vixen version of my wife. I’ve had a hard-on brewing the second she put on that dress. Hell, I always have a hard-on brewing for Skyla. Always did. Some things remain unchanging, and that just so happens to be one of them.

“For your information, there happens to be a very real war brewing in my underpants as well. Let’s hope you are ready to take it home, Oliver.” She stabs her finger over my heart, and I feel the sting long after she removes it. “Now, kiss me.” She tips her head to the side with all of the innocence she can afford. “Kiss me as if it were your last night on earth because that’s exactly how I’m going to kiss you.”

Skyla waits to close her eyes until the very last second, and I pour out all of my love into those pale eyes of hers. I tell her I love her far more efficiently and deeper than I ever could with words. And finally, with my lips, I do the same. Skyla explodes into my mouth like a nuclear warhead, anxious and hot, and I meet her right there. If this were my last night on earth, I wouldn’t hesitate to take her right here in the midst of the crowd. I wouldn’t waste a moment. I couldn’t. As horrifically crude as it sounds, it would be a thing of beauty.

I make love to Skyla’s mouth, turning the earth beneath our feet into holy ground, turning the stars shining down over us into a halo of blessed light.

“Skyla!” a familiar voice calls from a distance, and I don’t need to look over to know it’s Brielle. “Get a room, you two!”

Skyla and I pull away reluctantly to find our bubbly friend with her hair freshly dyed a bright caustic shade of red—and on Bree it works.

“Skyla, you have to help”—she grabs ahold of my wife’s shoulders as if she’s about to shake her—“Lexy is tanked, and she’s dry-humping Liam in the woods. Michelle is going to kill her!”

Skyla makes a face. “I’m going to kill Liam.” Sorry, she mouths over to me. “I’ll find you, and we’ll finish that war we started!” she shouts as Brielle drags her off to the side of the house.

“I’m looking forward to it! Skyla”—I cup my hands around my mouth as I try to shout over the music—“I love you!”

Her laughter rises to the sky. “Love you, too, Gage Oliver! Forever!”

And just like that, the night swallows her whole.

My body aches at the sight of the void in her wake, and my dick twitches as my hard-on struggles to subside.

“Perfect,” I mutter as I head back toward the house. I may as well help Coop find Laken, if he hasn’t already.

I jog up to the house and thread my way through the bodies congesting the entry. I sidestep into the kitchen, and just as I’m ready to pull my phone from my pocket, a pair of arms comes at me and shove me hard against the wall.

“Shit.” I meet up with the angry eyes of Zander Richards, and I launch at him. I twist my hands into his shirt and thrash the shit out of him against the refrigerator, and a neat dent sinks in where his head just gave a dramatic bounce. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He kicks my foot out from under me and lands a solid fist in my jaw. His face is screwed up tight like a bulldog, and saliva runs down his beard.

“Shit!” I dab my lip for blood, but come up clean, and he shoves me to the wall once again.

“Listen, Daddy’s Boy. You think the Videns give a shit about you? We can’t stand that obnoxious look on your face. You broke your promise to your people. And now your people are getting ready to break a few promises themselves.” His lips curve at the edges like a pair of pale worms. “You took our family and damned them to hell.”

“Wes took them.” I shake my head, pissed. “Scratch that—he didn’t take them. They fucking volunteered!” I riot those last words right in his dirty face.

“They didn’t volunteer for that!” he roars back. “That’s your problem, Prince of Shit—or is it King? Both are laughable.” He takes a staggering step back. “You don’t get it. You’re too removed. I guarantee if those were your sons—your brothers, you would be hauling ass to free them, to get them back to their rightful form. Dude, the Videns don’t need you.” He shakes his head as he slips into the murky shadows. “Be on guard. Be afraid. I’m going to make your every nightmare come true.”

He takes off, and I’m left alone, the threat still hanging in the air like a sickle. The throngs of Videns come to mind. Young men, boys, all of them so ready to help Wes with whatever the hell scheme he dreamed up. Not one of them realizing they would be sacrificing everything. Zander is wrong. The Videns do need me. They need me to protect them against my brother.

I set out in a rush to find my lookalike, but the lights are too low, the bodies too thick. It will be a miracle if I ever see Skyla again, let alone Wes.

“My son!”

I turn to find Demetri’s smile eroding on his face at the base of the stairwell. “Come.” He curls his fingers my way as he starts upstairs, and without reservation I follow him. I want answers, and Demetri’s got them by the truck full. What better night to start talking than, on this, the sacred night of his bastard’s birth.

“Where to?” I stride alongside him as we head down the elongated familiar halls. I made this haunt my home for a time, a time I no longer wish to remember. I thought Demetri had saved me, and yet it was him who tossed me down that cliff instead.

“Let us admire my treasures.” He lifts a finger to the mouth of the trophy room, and my gut cinches. I hate this place. I hate the fact there are creatures with their heads mounted to the wall filling the auditorium length room, and I hate the fact a majority of those creatures are exactly what I am—a Fem.

I step in before him and take in the horrors, the eyes set agog, the gaping mouths, lion-looking creatures with human jowls, the mouth and nose of a man. Clowns, rows and rows of ghastly looking creatures that would frighten the holy shit out of just about anybody. The bear-like Fems with their black eyes, the fangs emanating from those dark holes they call mouths. I look to Demetri, perhaps the most frightening of them all, and scowl.

“Has Lizbeth seen this? Maybe this is the room you can host her in. I’m betting she’d think differently of you then.”

“Never—to all of the above, never. The room has properties. It can have an entry or not, and it knows how to behave when my Lizbeth is afoot. No, these treasures are only shared with a given few.” He slaps his hand over my back and looks to the trophy wall before him with pride. “You’ve done it, Gage. You’ve created the next generation of Edingers—the perfect bloodlines, the perfect frame. I could not be prouder of you in every respect. In all that you’ve accomplished, you’ve served me well. And yourself. Skyla was a prize, wasn’t she?”

My stomach sinks when he speaks of her in past tense. “She still is.”

His brows furrow, and that forever grin of his dissipates. “Yes, I see.” Something about his answer, his demeanor, has me itching for the door. “You do realize what this is.”

“The room? The party? Or the conversation in general? Because I’m fucking lost at the moment.”

He winces at the expletive, and, in truth, I gave it for that reason.

“The room is a poem written in blood.” He looks to the expanse of corpses. “It says my love for you has no borders. I will kill, maim, and steal to seat you on the throne, my son. Nothing or no one can tame my velocity. The party is for you, my beloved. A proper introduction to the gentry. Our people shall bow to your feet soon enough. They have waited so long for you, and tonight they are in the presence of greatness.” The flicker of a smile comes and goes. “The conversation—a father speaking to a son. A heart to a heart. Power to power. I am yours, and you are mine.”

I can’t help but look Demetri in the eye. It’s unsettling, a dark pit of longing, a black hole, twin ebony balls of anxiety—that’s all I see when I look at them.

“Okay,” I say it quiet, the way you would to defuse a madman. “Let me find my wife. We can cut the cake and call it a night.” I slap the old man over the shoulder and lead us out of this den of demons, and once we leave, I can’t help but note the doorway into that nightmare has sealed itself off, blending seamlessly into the wall.

Yes, that was just for me. I’m afraid Demetri has a lot of plans that are exclusive to me. He takes off, and I assure him I’ll be right behind him, but the sound of laughter emanates from farther down the hall, toward that private theater where we’ve seen far too many horrors on the big screen.

The closer I get, the thick smell of weed takes over, and soon I’m walking through a warm cloying fog. More laughter, grunting. I swing the door to the theater open and head inside to find a plume of smoke rising from the back row. The screen up ahead plays a black and white silent cartoon as if an eerie homage to the guests of honor tonight.

“Who’s there?” I call as I head toward the tangle of bodies. A part of me knows I should duck out, leave whoever it is the hell alone, but that laughter, something about it.

“Gage?” a tiny female voice calls out.

“Shit. Giselle?” I speed over to find her seated on Ellis Harrison’s lap with his pants pulled down to his ankles. I realize they’re fucking—this is old news to me really—but it enlists such a fresh hell in me, it doesn’t seem to matter. I pluck Giselle off a little too violently and land her on her feet before yanking Harrison up, causing his joint to fly across the aisle with its orange glowing tip. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I thunder in his face as I slap him around and thrash him. “You’re smoking with my sister? You promised me you would never fucking do that!” In my rational mind, I very well know he most likely didn’t promise me that on any level, but in the heat of the moment it felt like the right thing to say. “Ellis!” I scream over his pot smoking face as loud as my lungs will allow. “Pull it together, or I will fucking kill you!”

Giselle lands her tiny fists over my back, shouting something about celebrating life.

“You can’t see Ellis anymore!” I bark at her, and she stills—a look of fright frozen on her innocent face. “This ends tonight.” I turn back to the boy I grew up with. “You’re done. You will not pull my sister down. You will not take this life she was given and squander it under a fucking haze of this shit you’re addicted to!” I give a hard kick to his leg. “I won’t let it happen.” I stalk out of there, my adrenaline pumping through me like a war drum, my rage hitting the stratosphere. If it wasn’t the twins’ birthday party, if it wasn’t mine, I could have very well strangled the shit out of him. I’ll make it a point to talk to my parents about this. I don’t care how much my sister protests. I’m prying them the hell apart.

I hit the base of the stairs before I realize that ridiculous mask I was given is nowhere to be found. A body knocks into me, and I look up to find the ever-elusive shadow man, nothing but a dark breath of demonic air. His eyes meet with mine as he offers a laughing smile, and a shiver runs through me. He’s not real. He can’t be. For sure he isn’t one of those things that spins around the Transfer. He walks through the stairwell, straight through it, and I force myself to look away.

Crap. I take in a full breath as I set foot toward the mouth of the great room filled with its blaring music and riotously happy guests. I don’t see Skyla. I don’t see anyone I know in fact, so I head down the dark hall instead, desperate to get my head together. I should have asked Demetri about that figure, about the Videns. I slap the back of my neck as if swatting that smug grin off Demetri’s face. I should have wrung Ellis’ neck. And just like that, I relent. I shouldn’t have been so hard on him, on my sister. I left her there in tears, and now I feel like a monster. But there’s something about this place, about this night, that has me on edge. Maybe it’s the fact Skyla and I never finished that sex war we threatened one another with. That’s what I should do—find my wife and then find a very dark corner in this haunted estate, take the edge off this tension I’ve been hauling around all night.

Just as I’m about to turn around, I spot a lone light at the end of the hall. I know that room all too well. It’s Demetri’s office. I head over to check it out, fully expecting to find another couple locked at the hips. This celebration might be under the ruse of my sons’ birthdays, but those dresses, those masks out there, they’re acting as fuel for the lust that’s long taken over this island.

I step to the edge of the door, ready to bolt if I see one shiny ass in the air, but I don’t. I see one shiny ass seated at the leather throne, looking sour and down as if someone just pissed in his favorite breakfast cereal.

“Wes.” I nod over to my brother as I head inside. “What’s up? Where’s Tobie?”

“Out and about. Last I saw, Emily had her.” He glares at the desk as he thumps his fingers over it at a manic pace. “Coop says Laken is missing.” He doesn’t look up, still lost in his catatonic gaze.

“We’ll find her.”

“You won’t. I will. She’s not here.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I just reviewed the security footage.” He glances to the monitor to his left before reverting to me. “Chloe was here.” His brows rise. “It looks as if she was turning in one last angelic being to the government.” His gaze falls to the dark mahogany of our father’s desk—an antique he once told me. “Laken followed her to the edge of the driveway. Who knows what lie she fed her. A car pulled up, and Chloe evaporated. But they took Laken.” He looks up at me and sharpens his gaze. “She’s at Raven’s Eye as we speak.”

“Shit. Does Coop know?”

He shakes his head. His eyes are slow to drift from mine. “Cooper can’t save her.”

“Let me guess. Only you can do that? I’ve got news for you, Wes—you weren’t there the last time we helped her get out of that hellhole.”

“They took her back, Gage. What do you think the future holds? She comes back to Paragon and resumes her life as if nothing happened? They want her there, in that cage so they can do those things to her.” His voice shakes with the undertones of rage. “But I’ll make sure she’s out long before morning. They’ll process her tonight, and I’ll make sure she’s back on Paragon soil before they ever try to harm her.”

There is something to be admired in my brother’s arrogance, in his self-assuredness in keeping the girl he loves safe above all else.

“So, what’s the plan?” If I’ve learned anything about Wesley over the last few years, it’s that he is a man who always has a plan.

“I knew going into this that there was a chance she would be taken. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would actually happen.” He belts out a manic laugh. “And so soon.” He tosses a hand in the air before pinching his eyes shut. “I had accounted for it, though. I couldn’t get too deep without making sure it wouldn’t backfire and bite me in the ass. I needed Laken safe no matter what. For her I made assurances. I knew there was one person able to help me—but she wasn’t willing.”

My heart jackhammers as I hang on his every word. Then it hits me. “Ezrina.”

“That’s right. Tobie is hers as much as she is mine, and I played that card over and over. Ezrina will do whatever I ask to have access to the child. And she should. She’s genetically her mother.”

My heart breaks for Ezrina, for the desperation she must have felt. “Ezrina stepped outside of her better judgment and turned Kresley into the clone you’ve always wanted.”

“And now that clone will take Laken’s place. Laken will have to be careful for a time. But the feds will be happy that she’s seemingly still under their charge—and the beauty of it is, it won’t be Laken at all.” He gives a dull smile. “And that, my brother, was the plan.”

A thousand different scenarios run through my mind, none of them good. “Does Kresley know?”

“She knows nothing.” He blinks back an inch. “And she won’t until the very last minute. She doesn’t have a say.”

My blood runs cold listening to him. This mirrored version of me, this blood relation, I can’t wrap my head around the fact he’s so ready and willing to be so cruel.

“I’m not a monster,” he whispers.

“How can you say that? You’re about to imprison Kresley to a life of hell.”

“To spare Laken!” he roars, knocking down all of the knick-knacks Demetri hosts on that overgrown desktop of his. “Get out,” he whispers, his gaze once again lost in his ruminating thoughts.

“Let me help you. We can find a way. We can free the Videns. Wes, don’t you see? You dug a hole deep enough to bury yourself in. This isn’t the way to claim victory over the Factions. Let me sit down with you, and we’ll think of a better way. We’ll shut them down without endangering our own people. Stop taking the rope. You’re about to hang yourself with it, and you don’t even realize it.”

His eyes flit to mine, quick and curious. “You would help me?” His brow lifts as if he were amused.

“Yes.” A surge of allegiance courses through me, and with everything in me I mean it. Skyla bounces through my mind, the boys, our people, and I come to, dazed as if I just stepped off of a demonic merry-go-round. “I’d better go find Coop.” I stagger from the office, my head still swimming in the conversation I had with Wes. How quickly I yielded to my father’s wishes. How quickly I stepped to the left and abandoned my wife and her people. I was right. It’s this damn house. It’s draining me of my good senses. I should get the boys, and my wife, and speed us the hell away from here.

I head down the hall and spot a sight for my sore and tired eyes.

“Logan.” I clamp my hand down over his shoulder and lead him right out the door.

“Happy birthday.” He socks me in the arm as we step into the darkness of the enormous front porch. “I almost forgot to say it.”

“Yeah, well, the boys should get all the attention anyway.” We walk to the edge of the house and take a seat on the cold stairs—a stoic marble lion sits on either side of us.

“Ellis says you whooped his ass.” He sinks his hands between his knees and folds them. Logan has always had a paternal way about him, and at this moment he very much feels like a father figure wanting an explanation of my poor actions.

“And I made my sister cry. Yes, I feel like an ass. But I don’t want to talk about my sister or Ellis.” I let out a breath, and a giant white plume escapes me. “Something is happening.” There. I said it. It’s always been my deepest fear to verbalize the very things that I’m afraid of. I’ve always understood that there is power in words, specifically in speaking them out loud. Words have the power to bind things to you, good or bad. I always figured the longer I ignored things, the less power they have to become real. But on nights like tonight, filled with ghosts, with shadow stalkers, with visitors from paradise, it feels easy to verbalize the things that I’m afraid of. “The night that you died”—I catch him on a double take as he gives me his full attention—“what happened? What did it feel like?”

“What?” He kicks my foot out from under me. “It felt like shit. I was leaving Skyla—something you’re never allowed to do. Stay strong. Demetri and his mindfuck of a party are getting to you. Bastard’s Ball,” he says under his breath while glaring at the house. “You are Gage Fucking Oliver. Half this island wishes it could be you. Heck, sometimes I wish I could be you. The other half wishes they could sleep with you. So you see, right there, that proves you’re pretty awesome.” He slaps his hand over my knee and gives it a wobble. “Things are moving so fast for you. It’s no wonder your head is everywhere. And I’m betting you had zero sleep last night—and that it had very little to do with the kids.”

That vision of Skyla and me rolling around like tigers over the sheets comes back to me, and I can’t help but shed the idea of a smile.

“Knew it.” He kicks my foot again. “You’re going to be fine. Everything works out for the two of you.”

“What’s going on with Coop?” I’m as eager to change the subject as I am to let Cooper know what Wes said.

“He took off to speak with Ezrina. We found Laken’s phone at the base of the driveway.”

I tell him about my conversation with Wes in a few angry sound bites. “He’s had a backup all along.”

“Shit.” Logan pulls out his phone and starts in on a texting spree. “Coop is going to lose his fucking mind.”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you that first. My head’s all clogged up. You’re right. I didn’t sleep. We should probably close out this party so we can help Coop.”

Logan winces at his phone as he hits Send. “I’d better find Wes and see if he needs any help. Cooper keeps threatening to kill him, but after tonight, he might want to thank him.” He shakes his head incredulously. “And what about Kresley? She’s a person. She’s someone’s daughter, a human being—at least in partial.”

“I know. We need a better way. I’ll get on that. I can’t have Kres there either. And as much as it may have filled a need for Skyla—I can’t leave the Videns there.”

“They’re as good as dead. The irony being they are basically dead to begin with.”

“They’re my people.” It comes out far more caustic than intended. “Skyla can’t have them.” I sink my head between my knees because it feels as if there’s a force bending my mind to its unreasonable will. “Dude, I don’t know what the hell I’m saying.” I give a few hard blinks before lifting my head to the cool night air. “Let’s get back there.”

Logan helps me to my feet and pats my back as if comforting me. “I’ll help you get through the night as soon as I touch base with Wes. Let’s go find those boys of yours.” We head back toward the front of the house, and the sounds of laughter and the band bleed through the walls like a riot. Then as caustic as it was, it all stops as if someone pulled the plug on the party—and a voice shouts something about heading to the back. It’s just like Demetri to herd everyone to a single location. How could he possibly make his eloquent speeches without the rapt attention of every soul in this haunted hall? At the end of the day, Demetri is nothing more than an attention whore.

“Before we go in”—I pull Logan back by the elbow—“I just want to say thank you for all you’ve done for me. I know you’ll always be there for Skyla, for the boys. Sometimes it feels like you’re the glue that holds all this madness together.” I pull him in and wrap my arms around him tight, the boy I grew up with, my brother, the best man I know. “You know I love you.” I can’t bring myself to look at him. The world wobbles through my tears, and I sniff hard into his neck without meaning to.

“Hey.” He pulls back and gives my arm a hard squeeze as if pulling me back to reality. “It’s your birthday—yes, you can cry if you want to, but don’t.” He gives a dry chuckle. “That was beautiful, but I need you to get back in there. Tonight is ending on a good note for you. There will be cake. You will undoubtedly get laid. By my ex-wife no less.” He frowns at the revelation. “And, as weird as it sounds, that makes you a lucky, lucky bastard.” He lifts a finger my way, and we share a dull laugh. Logan lands his arm over my back with a thump. “I love you, too, man. Now, how about we put the happy in birthday? Let’s make this next year the best one yet.”

“Will do.” We head inside, only to find both the halls and the grand room drained of its guests. A growing murmur comes from the rear of the property just like I surmised.

“I’ll go find Wes and see what he’s thinking.” Logan pulls me to him. “Hey—sometimes death comes in stages, and the life it craves to acquire is dead long before the soul ever leaves the body. Don’t let that be you, man. You have a lot to live for. Live life to the fullest. Go out there and hold your boys extra tight.”

“That’s the plan.” We go our separate ways, and I head to the back where Ingram spots me before I ever set foot outside.

“Master Oliver.” He hands me an envelope with my name scrolled across the front in fancy handwriting. “A mysterious woman left this for you.” He gives a sly wink before returning to his post at the door.

I pull the card from the inside, a single thick stock of paper with the words, Meet me in the grand room where the band once played. Let’s see if you and I can come up with a rhythm of our very own. It’s time to get dirty.

A smile floats to my lips, and my feet are already carrying me in that direction. I’ll choose getting dirty with my wife anytime over listening to some over bloated speech Demetri has to give. I make my way to the great room and head to the stage set up near the back, deep in the bowels of the ballroom. Skyla is coming. My Skyla. And we’re going to set this night on the right trajectory. I’m done with dark thoughts and the morbid outlook they sponsor. I need Skyla’s heated kisses just to breathe. Something quick and dirty is just what the doctor ordered. I need to feel her skin, feel myself deep inside of her. I spot an alcove behind the stage where we can do just that.

A gentle tap lands over my shoulder, and I turn with a dirty grin already tucked high in my cheeks. Then, just as quick, it leaves me.

“It’s you,” I whisper, stunned—caught off-guard.

A searing heat slices across my neck, and I hit the floor, my eyes wide open as I stare at my body a good three feet away. I give a few rapid blinks, still disbelieving, a thousand thoughts run through my mind—not one of them anchors. Snippets of my life sail through me—early memories surface, looking up at my loving parents, my mother who sacrificed so much for me. She is so beautiful, so very young and hopeful. The loving father who raised me, Barron. His face is smoother, his hair darker and fuller, and I can feel that tender love in his eyes that he’s always had for me. Giselle comes in next, and a pinch of grief hits me as I grieve the loss of my sweet little sister all over again. I should have never taken my eyes off her that day. I let the world hurt her, and I have never forgiven myself. And I’ve hurt her again tonight. I keep hurting my sweet baby sister. In truth, it’s why I never fought Logan for Skyla. I hadn’t thought I deserved her in the beginning. I had already let down one girl. I didn’t deserve another. I see Logan and me running around the island, laughing, growing from boys to men at an alarming pace. There we are in the bowling alley, staring with wide-eyed wonder at Skyla for the very first time, and the world stops. Beautiful, beautiful Skyla. I’m so in love, my heart aches for her the most. The scene changes, Skyla and me running from Fems, the very creature I turned out to be, a ball of air, a dark force of nothing. Skyla and I on our wedding day, making sweet love in that cheap hotel. An entire montage of Skyla and me setting the sheets on fire, making one another our own, tasting one another, drinking each other down like holy nectar. The boys appear, Nathan and Barron. I see them clearly with their bright eyes, their deep-welled dimples, the smiles that never end. I see that day on the stone of sacrifice, offering myself to Demetri to save those precious beings I love so much. Then with Logan tonight as I offered him one last embrace with my body. But my final thought, the very last one, is reserved for Skyla. How can I possibly leave her and the boys? How I love my little family, my wife. My entire being hurts so much for them. I love her. I love the boys. I love them so very much. I can’t bear the pain. I need them. God, Skyla. I’m so sorry. I tried. I really did try.

I love you, my lips mouth the words. The very last words they will ever say.

This was not enough time. It went far too quickly. Too short. Too damn short. I need more time. I want it all. I should have fought harder.

The world begins to fade, and I claw at it with my mind, begging it not to.

And then finally—as I always suspected I would at a very young age—slow and careful I rise. My spirit, the real me, lifts light as a feather, and I stand over my body, my head no longer beneath me, as blood spurts below like a fountain.

A shower of light pours from the ceiling, and then one by one I see them—my welcoming party, my escorts to eternity.

Dudley steps in first. He looks softer, kinder, his eyes bear into mine with love. “Master Oliver.” He gives a slight bow, and for once I feel nothing but gratefulness and admiration for him. “I requested this assignment. It is my great honor and privilege to transport you. I say this with a heavy heart—precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.” He offers a soft smile, but his words speared me nevertheless. “Welcome to eternity.”

A supernatural peace, a calm fills me, the feeling of absolute pure love takes over as I accept my fate. It is not a defeat, not a weakness to understand the fact you have crossed the great divide, and that the body you once occupied, that you cared for, that cared for you, that your children knew, that your wife knew intimately would be of use no more. In the end, it was nothing more than a vessel—a glove that was destined to lie abandoned from the beginning.

“Thank you.” My voice fills the stillness of this chasm, of this dimension that’s resided right next to ours all along. Our eyes lock, and I thank him with something deeper than words could ever do. But mostly, I charge him to look after Skyla—after my precious boys all the days of their lives. Dudley gives a somber nod as if he understands this completely.

I look to his left, and I see the shadow man, no longer hidden by darkness, but exposed in the light as a great and glorious angel of God. The angel of death himself. He is tall and stately, and glows with light as much as he does charm.

He holds a hand toward me. “Gage Oliver, eternal son of God, the kingdom welcomes you home.”

Then the rest of them step into the light—Logan first—and my spirit soars at the sight of him.

He grips me by the shoulders and offers a pained smile. “Welcome home, my brother. I love you so much.”

My arms lock around him, and I can’t help but marvel how solid he feels, despite the fact we’re both missing a body. My chest bucks as all of the grief, the sorrow, the joy presses over me at once. A soft humming, the very embodiment of love vibrates through our beings, and I relax over it, letting that feeling permeate me as if it had owned me all along.

Logan’s mother and father, my grandparents lunge at me with a joyous embrace.

“Sweet child,” my grandmother whispers into my ear. “It’s so good to finally have you home.”

“Daddy!” Little Sage jumps into my arms, and I laugh as I spin her, my heart so full of joy, and yet the sorrow sinks in nevertheless. “Don’t be sad.” Her tiny hand slaps the side of my face, forcing my attention to her and not to the horror that lies at my feet—to the horror brewing beyond these walls. The sorrow is great, and it begs to overpower me. “You’ll live with me now,” she sings. “I’ll teach you everything that Your Grace has taught me. I’m going to be a mighty ruler. She’s already taught me all I need to know. That’s because I’m your daughter, Daddy. You are a ruler, and so am I.” She stabs herself with her tiny finger and laughs. But I can’t stop looking at that long dark hair, those eyes, twins to mine. Sage is the balm I’ll need to get through this. Without Sage, it would have been impossible. It still very well might be.

“You are so beautiful, and I love you.” I land a trembling kiss to the tip of her nose. My eyes beg for tears to come, anything to match this lead coat of grief. I can’t bring myself to open my eyes, to face this new realm and all that it means for me, for Skyla and the boys.

“Look!” She beams as she points behind me, and I turn to find Skyla’s father, Nathan, and Candace standing side by side. They each take me in their arms and welcome me home with a strong embrace. Nathan bucks with tears, and I join him, marveling at the fact I can feel such emotion at all. Here I was every bit the same, the pain all that real, despite the fact I had no body to pour it out with.

Nathan slaps me over the back. “You did good, kid.” He winks in that warm way only he can, but his lips dance with grief as he tries his best to deflect the pain. His tears and mine, they are all for Skyla and the boys.

“And I second that. You did well.” Candace laughs, and yet her sentiment feels genuine. “I never had anything against you.” She frowns at the body lying on the floor in a puddle of sanguine liquid, a marinade of grief. “This action will not go unheeded.”

Dudley steps in and gives a sober nod. “It is time.”

I blow out a quiet breath and hike Sage up on my hip as I give one last look around at this weary world. How could I leave it? How could I stay? Envy rots me from the inside out at those still dwelling in the living world. I’ve sensed as a child I wouldn’t be part of it for long, but I wanted it. I wanted to walk all those golden miles with Skyla by my side. It was my greatest desire to grow blissfully old with her, to die happy in her arms, in our bed, somewhere in our tenth decade of life. Oh, how blessed the soul that lives it. But to abandon Skyla in my youth. How selfish of me to bring this disease upon her. I knew that life wouldn’t last for me. At the end of the day, I was selfish because I truly did know.

“I guess it is time.” My voice breaks, and I marvel at that.

Dudley ushers me forward, and we move through a tunnel of light, our feet never hit the ground as we glide outside of time, far outside the bounds of this weary world.

We step out into a better place, onto the holy mountain of the living God, and I follow Dudley through the wide gates, through the citadels of the holy place, to the royal blue throne of the Almighty.

We walk past a bevy of golden thrones, each with a beautiful spirit seated firmly over its base, and Sage bucks for me to put her down. She walks steadily alongside of me, her tiny hand still safe in mine.

We walk past the thrones of the twelve kings of Israel, past the twelve apostles, until we come upon three thrones each with an emerald rainbow spanning over the girth of them. Beneath their feet lies an expanse of sparkling ice. Seated in the center is the mighty light of the living God, His glory and fire inextinguishable, and my spirit stills in the presence of His radiant beauty. His love washes over me like a river, and I am freer and far more joyous than I have ever been. All of love stems from Him, all things that are good and holy and right stem from this one and only living God before me. The throne to His left is seemingly empty, but instinctually, I know this belongs to the Holy Spirit who is here, and there, and everywhere. The throne to His right belongs to the Son, His Son, Jesus, and He rises from His seat, His spirit already perfectly fitted to His new body.

Marshall clears his throat. “It is my great honor to present to you, Your Royal Highness, Gage Barron Oliver.”

The Son himself comes in close. His eyes are a kaleidoscope of gold flecks, as green and bright as a fresh mown lawn. He is strong and peaceful and a love exudes from him that no human could possibly comprehend in its totality. He is humble and wisdom radiates from His very being.

“I can’t be dead.” My voice cracks. “I have so much to live for, so many goals and dreams.”

“You were born for this.”

“For my death?”

He offers a peaceable smile. “I was born for mine.”

The universe stills around us as this truth sinks in.

“And it will take death to meet my goals—my dreams.”

He gives a single nod. “Gage”—he says my name, and it sounds like a song—“well done, my good and faithful servant.”

He takes me into his arms, the loving arms of a Savior, of my Savior, and I see my life flash before my eyes once again, I see my death, and I see eternity unfurl before me, and I know it will all turn out just right. Despite the fire in Demetri’s belly, despite anyone or anything. I see how it was meant to be, and I sigh in agreement with it.

It is well.

It is well with my soul.

But Skyla is there, ever so in the forefront of my mind, and my heart aches with its undying affection for the girl I married. Our covenant has been severed far too soon, and it will be no more. Our marriage, with all of its joy and all of its sorrows, has dissolved like a vapor, like the fog that moved through the island I once called home.

If only I had known my hour was upon me, Skyla and I would never have left that bed last night. I’d still be there with my arms wrapped tight around her, unwilling to let go even in death. But this chasm is wide and deep, and no matter what happens as we move forward, one thing is certain—we can never go back.

Our love, our marriage, our perfect plans, they were as good as the flesh we stood in. They were ephemeral, on a steady course of entropy, breaking up before our eyes, fleeting far faster than we could have ever understood. All of my hopes, all of my dreams, have surrendered to this eternal abyss. I am no longer a participant in life, but an observer, another soul awaiting the great and wonderful marriage supper of the lamb. But Skyla lives. Her days march on without me, as will the boys. The pain is too much to bear. Even here in eternity it is too heavy, too burdensome, too hauntingly much for me to ever accept.

It all ended far too soon. Skyla. If I could only have one more moment with you in my arms, the boys cradled between us.

The sharp agony of the finality of it all sets in and my entire being aches with grief.

I will always love you, Skyla.

Always.

You have my heart—forever.