Weeks whip by with Paragon locked in a windy fury, blowing the fog banks across the island in angry volatile jags. It’s almost offensive in nature to watch. The fog has been here for us for as long as I can remember, and the bitter wind is something new, novel, that most residents of the island want nothing to do with. Watching the fog get bumped around saddens me, like watching an elderly relative get shoved by some menacing bully, and yet there’s not a thing you can do about it. But Paragon doesn’t relinquish the fog. She refuses to dismiss the thick layer of dark clouds that lurk overhead, either. But she is relentless in shooing away this wind-born stranger, rebuffing his incessant need to claim her. No, Paragon is stubborn, and, for this arrogant pride alone, I find her endearing. Paragon wins again and again. She reminds me a lot of Skyla.

The Landon house is dark inside, mostly because, according to Gage, they are in serious conservation mode. Rumor has it, Tad is officially on the outs with Althorpe and is trying desperately to manufacture a plan that might keep his bustling inn up and running. In fact, that, in part, is what’s prompted my visit. As much as I didn’t appreciate the shakedown Tad and Lizbeth elicited on the bowling alley last year during that well-thought-out slip and fall routine, I would do anything to help this family out. But I can’t save the world. Hell, I can’t even save myself. I’m simply here to pay a visit to my favorite people on the planet. Gage and his tiny beautiful family.

Mia lets me in with a huff and grunts something about Rev under her breath. I know for a fact she’s seeing him, sleeping with him, according to Skyla, but if the disgruntled look on Mia’s face suggests anything, it’s that things are not going well in paradise. They seldom do. I know this firsthand, considering I’m there at the moment and simultaneously here. I’m still a bit puzzled why Candace chose to gift me a Treble, a permanent yet not official placement on planet earth, where I’m free to roam and stalk Skyla as I wish. And dear God Almighty, how I wish.

I head upstairs, give a gentle knock over their bedroom door, and Gage moans for me to come in. Even though he’s still very much in the dog house, Skyla has relented enough to have him over to help out with the boys. Gage has become the official snot sucker of the family, an act and title I could have never imagined, still don’t want to. But, if anything, that alone should prove to Skyla that Gage Oliver is devoted to his little clan, through and snotty nose through.

“Logan.” Skyla gives a limp wristed wave that looks suspiciously like the white flag of surrender as the babies lie slumped in her arms. “They were up all night. They really do hate me.”

The boys both raise their fists in tandem and writhe with their eyes closed as if they were about to fall into a heavy afternoon nap. My heart melts at the sight of those dark-haired angels with their twitching dimples, their pudgy little arms and legs that I can’t get enough of. Deep down, I suspected that both Skyla and Gage would have adorable children one day. I just never imagined they would be having them together.

“Nobody hates you.” I thread my way through the cramped space, trying not to look at the clutter that abounds—diapers and clothes on every surface, a pile of towels and blankets amassing against the window. A part of me wonders if this is a fire hazard. The entire room looks like a tinderbox. I lean in and offer my beautiful princess a kiss to the cheek and her flesh feels hot and clammy. The room smells thick with sickness and sweat intermingled with the slight hint of baby powder, but I’ll be the last to point out they should put a crack in the window.

“Put a crack in the window,” Skyla belts the command out to Gage faster than I can process the fact she’s just read my mind.

“My abilities are fading.” Her legs curl under herself on the mattress as she pats a spot next to her. “You can leave, Gage.” She dismisses her husband as if he were a mere servant, a paid employee, and at this point Gage would be honored to be both.

Gage puts a crack in the window just like he’s told but takes a seat at the edge of the bed next to me in an outright act of defiance. I shake my head at him. Gage and I have gone around the block regarding how to fix this mess. Skyla simply isn’t ready to hear anything that transpired that night with Demetri. And I get it. She’s not opposed to what Gage has done—or at least I’m hoping she won’t be—but she’s opposed to us making another move behind her back. And that’s exactly what we did—what we seem to keep doing.

“Emily isn’t talking.” Gage looks to the two of us. “I’m trying to figure out if the Videns went in against their will. Ethan swears it’s the truth. The Faction isn’t willing to come to the meetings anymore, so I’m basically thinking of heading door to door.”

“I’ll go with you.” I tap my knee over his. Gage and Skyla have both been knocked out by the flu—or as Skyla calls it, The Great Emma Plague of the Millennium. Emma and Barron have yet to fully recover themselves. And believe me, Emma has made herself that much more miserable knowing her grandchildren had to suffer for it.

“And I won’t go with you,” Skyla quips. “Again, you can leave now.” Her voice wobbles as she blinks back the moisture in her eyes.

“Did I walk in on something?” I rise to leave, and Skyla lands her leg over my thighs, pinning me down once again.

“You know, on second thought, I think I can use some air.” She scoots past me and lays the boys down in a single bassinet and neither of them makes a sound. “I’ll get dressed”—she heads to the closet—“maybe you can supervise me as I try to run around the block?” Her hair billows over her head, an entire foot like a blonde halo, and she looks comical in a breathtaking way. Skyla’s kinky curls have always delighted me. Her hair, those velum clear eyes, everything about her has a personality of its own.

“I can be your trainer,” I whisper as loud as I can as she entombs herself inside the walk-in. Gage shoots me a look, and a twinge of guilt eats at me. “Sorry, man.” I slap a hand over my nephew’s knee.

“No, it’s fine.” He rubs his eyes in a lethargic move. Gage looks as if he hasn’t slept in months, and he hasn’t.

“Just thought of something.” I offer a congratulatory pat to his back. “The boys are two months old to the day.”

“Nathan.” His head bobs with the admission. “Barron is holding out until tomorrow.”

We share a quiet laugh. The boys were born minutes apart on two different days, just like Skyla and Gage themselves, and on exactly their birthdays. Nathan on Skyla’s and Barron on Gage’s big day.

“Hey”—he whispers as he cuts a quick glance to the closet—“I want to talk to you about something real quick.”

“What’s up, man?” It hurts my heart to see Skyla and Gage not getting along. Hell, it hurts my heart that she’s still pretty pissed at me as well, but the fact she wants to go anywhere with me is a huge step in the right direction. “You want me to talk to her?”

“No—yes, maybe.” He grinds his palm into his hand. “I don’t know. Actually, I wanted to let you know that I went to the bank this morning.” He frowns at the closet door a moment. “A few weeks back, Demetri brought this woman to the New Year’s party Lizbeth threw, and I met her. Her name was Dominique. It turns out she’s Melody Winters’ mother, the chick from the morgue.”

I shoot a quick glance out the window, trying to absorb this. “I take it her mother was grateful.”

“Too grateful. She said she wanted to give me a reward. She mentioned something about making a straight deposit to my account. I didn’t think too much of it at the time, and then the boys got sick and I got slammed. So this morning when I went in to deposit a few checks, I about dropped dead when I saw the balance.”

“She was generous.” I nod, trying to put the pieces together. The fact this is Demetri’s friend we’re talking about sends off all sorts of bells and whistles. “What are we talking? A hundred bucks? A thousand? Ten thousand?”

He shakes his head and hitches his thumb in the air. “One hundred thousand dollars.”

“Holy shit.” My body heat spikes just hearing the number. “Did you tell Skyla?”

“Nope.” His brows hike a notch. “I called Mrs. Winters to let her know I couldn’t accept it, but she said I could donate it to any charity I wished. She’s not taking it back.”

“What are you going to do?” A part of me wonders if I’m the charity in question. I wouldn’t take a dime even if Gage offered it.

“I’m keeping it.” His dimples dig in deep. “I’m setting some aside for the boys’ education, and I’m using the rest to fix that damn house.”

That Damn House is just about the official name of the haunted shack Skyla and Gage purchased a few months back. It just so happens to sit on the property next to Barron and Emma’s. Skyla will be her mother-in-law’s next-door neighbor one day, that is, if she and Gage survive this current crisis, and I have no doubt they will. And when they do, Skyla will have a whole new crisis to deal with. I wish I could have stopped them from making the purchase, but That Damn House is behind the damn gates, which means it has the potential to be worth a lot of damn money one day.

I reach over and slap him a quick five. “I’m damn glad for you, man. Just let me know what I can do to help.”

“You really want to break your back with me?”

“All day long, dude. All the damn day long.”

“Thanks, man.” He reaches over and pulls me in for a quick pat to the back. “And another thing, something isn’t sitting right with me about the Winters. I asked Brody about them, and he didn’t seem to know too much. He said he’d look into it for me.”

“It’ll be interesting to see what comes of that.”

“Maybe a little too interesting.”

Skyla emerges in a pair of black leggings and Gage’s old practice sweatshirt from our football days at West. Just looking at Cerberus’ ugly three-headed mug on her chest brings a crooked smile to my face. She whips her hair into a ponytail and nods for me to follow her out the door. I give Gage a quick wave, and he falls back on the bed, his eyes close before he ever hits the pillow.

Skyla and I are off—let’s hope my balls survive the effort.

* * *

Skyla leads us straight downstairs, past the heavy argument Tad and Lizbeth are engaged in, past Mia and Melissa’s squabble over a hairbrush—that one of them is threatening to shove up the other’s ass, past a giant beast of a dog that I only vaguely recognize, and out into a fresh burst of powder white Paragon fog.

Skyla throws her arms back and turns her face to the sky, a wide smile spreading across her face as if her freedom were newly issued, and in a way it has been, temporarily at least.

“I love the way Paragon kisses me. First kiss of the new year. First day outside in weeks.”

My own smile quickly fades as I try to wrap my head around the idea. “You mean you haven’t left the house in a month?”

Her expression sours as she leads us down to the street. “It hasn’t quite been a month. But it’s crazy, right? I mean, people literally lose their minds staying cooped up like that, and believe me, in that house in particular, the odds of being sane are never in your favor.”

After the melee I just witnessed in that one small thirty-second microcosm, I’d have to agree. But seeing that I’m walking a fine line, the last thing I’m going to do is insult her family.

“Ha.” She gives a tiny laugh, half-hearted at best. “I heard you. My powers are fading, though.” I look down and marvel at the fact we’re not touching. She takes a moment to rework her ponytail until her hair is in a bun. I love Skyla with a bun. Hell, I’d love her bald. Did you hear that? I love you, Skyla Oliver. I pump a smile and wait for a response, but she bends over and tightens the strings on her tennis shoes, and I can’t tell if she didn’t hear or if I’m still in the doghouse.

“Doghouse.” She stands up straight and gives a quick wink. “I know you love me, Logan.” A cloudbank of fog bursts between us as if Paragon herself has something she’d like to insert regarding our love. She can save it. This island doesn’t have a right to something so sacred. “I know you love me in a lot of ways, but not in the way I would hope. Even if you won’t admit it, I know you love Gage just a little bit more.” Her crystal eyes sharpen over mine when she says it.

There it is, the slap in the face. Her bitter words penetrate to my marrow and poison my blood—toxic enough to kill me, that is, if I were living.

“No.” I can hardly get the word out. I take a step in, closing the distance between us. “A thousand times, no. I love you more than him.” It’s true. I’m not sure how it’s possible because my love for Gage is infinite, but I know this to be true. “I wanted to protect you. I was a fool not to tell you, but if I did, it would have hurt you more in the end.”

“Ugh!” She tosses a hand in the air and walks away, fading into the mist. “Stop being so obstinate.”

“Stop being so stubborn,” I bark as I run up ahead of her, jogging backward just to keep pace.

Skyla lets out a grunt, shaking her head at just how obstinate I can be. “You’ve got nerve.”

“And you’ve got to listen.” It comes out with far more fury than it ever does pleading. “If you knew the facts, we could work with them—make them our bitch.”

“Why would you need the facts to be your bitch, Logan? I’m your bitch, remember?” She hits her stride with a light jog, and I take up the position beside her.

“Don’t talk like that. You’re the love of my life. My wife.” There. I said it. “I still see you that way, Skyla. I would bend over backward for you, crawl through blood, kill or be killed. I would die for you, my queen, and I did.” The words come out sharp as knives. A poem dipped in ashes and soot. I never was good at sweet talk.

She flits her irritated gaze my way and stops short, already panting out of breath, and we haven’t even cleared the next driveway. “You’re a liar, Logan. You always have been—always feeding me half-truths just to appease me. If that’s any indication of your undying love for me, then you must love me about as much as you love Chloe.”

“I’m too tired to fight with you. Whatever you’re doing with Chloe, it’s going to backfire spectacularly in your face. Shit. I fully expect it to. I’ve been watching you long enough to know there’s no other way.” My stomach clenches when I cast that barb without meaning to. If I could only take it back. There are so many things that I’ve allowed to happen to the two of us that I would gladly take back.

She stops cold. Those steely eyes of hers pierce into mine with sorrow and pain and outrage all at once. “I think I’m going to run.” Her cheeks pinch bright pink when she says it. “I think running might be better. How about I run to the end of the block and you time me?” she pants the words through an open mouth, her face straining as if begging for mercy before she ever begins.

She’s closing me off, putting our argument on the shelf for the time being. Skyla has a gift of carrying her grudges and her arguments and dividing them, compartmentalizing them for later, and for whatever reason, I’m okay with it. I don’t think I could take her anger all at once. It’s too hot under the white light of her fury. I can’t take the heat.

“All right, as your coach, I say move it.” I clap my hands as she takes off, legs already kicking wild, her arms jamming down like hammers as she takes a few gyrating steps forward. She hits the middle of the block and stops cold, bends her head over her knees like she might vomit. A dry laugh pumps from me as I catch up to her.

“You okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. I’m never getting my body back.” She squeezes her eyes shut tight as she straightens. “At this point I’m not too sure I care. I need sleep, Logan.” She latches onto me without warning, and my body adheres to hers. Skyla lays her full weight onto me. Her warm breath heats my chest, and it feels like heaven. “I’m taking us to Whitehorse.” She wheezes into my chest. “I think I can.” Her head writhes from side to side. Skyla is delirious with fatigue. “We’re just going to lie in bed a minute. I’m gonna try to get some sleep.”

The world around us fades in and out like a bad dream as we land on a soft mattress. The walls around us form, and the room is suddenly familiar. Skyla hasn’t landed us at Whitehorse, far from it. We’re in my old bedroom at Barron’s. Skyla has been in my room hundreds of times. It makes sense. This is where her mind equates my bed.

“Did I do good?” Her body curls into mine, but she doesn’t bother opening her eyes to inspect the surroundings.

“You did good.” I don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. Instead, I lean over and land a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

A light knock comes over the door. “Logan, is that you?” Emma calls from the other side.

“It’s me.” I try to sound casual, not at all as if I’m in bed with my nephew’s wife.

The door swings open, and Emma leans in with a smile that quickly fades to a scowl.

“Oh, for shit’s sake.” She steps back out and shuts the door with a slam. In all my life, I think that’s the one expletive she’s ever spoken in my presence, at least toward me—or more to the point, toward the woman lying in bed with me wrapped lovingly in my arms the way I thought it would be from the beginning. The way fate decided that it wouldn’t be, at least not in the beginning, and everything about that sad scenario breaks my heart.

Skyla jolts to attention and gives a sleepy-eyed glance around. “Oops! Wrong house.” A sheepish giggle strums from her. “I’ll try again.”

“No, it’s fine.” I try to assure her, but the words come out too late, leaving my voice behind in a room that our bodies have already vacated.

Another room forms around us—dark paneling, darker furniture, a ridiculous amount of Victorian décor, and this time we’re not alone on the oversized mattress. Lying down with nothing but a sheet precariously covering home plate, Marshall Dudley relaxes on his elbows with the remote in hand while some psychotic screams her head off on the IMAX-sized television blaring in front of us, and he’s quick to mute it.

“I didn’t realize I should have prepared for guests.” He offers a bored glance my way as if I were nothing more significant than a gnat in his presence, but his fingers find their way into Skyla’s hair as if they belonged there. “My love—you’ve finally come to your senses.”

A deep-welled groan evicts from her simply from his touch, and she does her best to burrow into his mattress before offering a groggy look around.

“Am I dreaming?” She looks from him to me. “Oh no.” She buries her face into the pillow for a moment before coming up for air and locking those red, tired eyes my way. “Is this going to turn into one of those flesh-fests where you suck my nipples?” She turns to Dudley. “And you lick my—”

“All right.” I pull Skyla toward me before she initiates anything she might regret. “You’re tired. Get some rest. When you wake up, I’ll get you home.” Her eyes seal shut before I can finish.

I glare over at the wily Sector who’s trying to hide his boner under that sheet snaking around his body. “Party’s over, sweetheart. Get dressed. We’re going downstairs. There are a few things we need to discuss.”

His fingers dance over Skyla’s bare arm, and she takes in a soothing breath as if she hasn’t felt that level of comfort in years.

“I’ll meet you down there,” he grumbles, his sexed-up gaze is still very much fixed on the sleeping beauty between us.

“I’m not leaving.” I lean back and focus in on the screen. I’m not interested in inspecting his junk. I’m interested in protecting Skyla from it. My body melts into the butter soft sheets, the mattress that seems to be made from angel feathers. Damn, this bed is comfortable.

“Very well.” Dudley rises, suddenly fully clothed in a suit minus the jacket. His fingers work over the buttons around his wrists as if he actually put in the effort rather than materialized the clothing onto his body. “I’ll meet you downstairs.” His body evaporates quicker than the fog, and just like that, he’s gone.

Skyla nestles against me, and my urge to vacate the premises goes out the door right along with Dudley. I lean over and brush my lips against the soft velvet of her cheek.

“Sleep tight, princess.” I press in another quick peck, and this time I savor the feel.

* * *

Downstairs, Dudley’s home is still festooned with Christmas décor, an impeccable Victorian motif that Lexy mentioned she helped him with. His tree is lit in the living room with thousands of tiny white lights, and a large raging fire fills the room with a homey glow, but believe me, there is not a single homey thing about this mausoleum. It’s stale, as welcoming as a museum, a morgue for that matter.

“What have you been up to these days, young Oliver?” Dudley takes a seat on the couch and kicks his Italian leather shoes up onto the coffee table. He flicks on the television right back to that raging, talking head he was glued to upstairs. FNX News. It’s the same station that’s kept Barron and Emma riveted for years. “Are you keeping up with the humor these days?” He raises the volume on the one-eyed monster, and a panel of angry men and women rage about the recent clown sightings that have half the country in a state of panic.

“It’s just Wes up to his old games. I don’t need a road map to draw that conclusion.”

“That it is. But the Videns aren’t doing this for Wesley. Aren’t you in the least bit interested as to who exactly has taken an interest in joining forces with him?” He mutes the cacophony of sound once again, and the fire crackles, soothing the room with its flickering rhythm.

“Fems.” I close my eyes a moment. “So it begins.”

“Not yet.” Dudley tosses the remote onto the table and misses by a mile, but that remote floats right back into the air and lands softly on the marbled top table as if Dudley scored the first time. Only on rare occasions have I seen Dudley do anything so blatantly unhuman around me. Not that there is anything remotely human about Dudley. He’s the only created being outside of Demetri that I know of roaming this planet. “They’re waiting for their leader.”

“Gage doesn’t take the position until he’s good and dead,” I say the words lower than a whisper, because let’s face it, there is nothing good about Gage’s impending death. “And I plan on keeping him around for a long time to come.”

“I’m afraid his father doesn’t share your sentiment. In fact, he’s worth more to him without his heart pumping away in that useless body. He’s procured his heirs—heralded one magnificent commitment from his favorite offspring. That was some covenant ceremony. Skyla was quite pleased to witness the event.”

“You wish. She’s still pissed as hell.”

“She should be.”

I pick up a small pillow and beam it at his head, but Dudley catches it like a pro at the last game of the World Series and launches it back, nearly decapitating me in the process.

“Do refrain from physical violence. I’d loathe rearranging that pretty face I’ve gifted you. And you’re welcome.”

It’s true. It was revealed not that long ago that Dudley here is an Oliver gene generator, and that somewhere back in time our lineage meets up with Coop’s as well. That explains the good-looking family dynamics, although there’s not enough left to gift me any Sector glory. I scowl over at this created being that somehow managed to infiltrate my DNA.

“Why is Skyla suddenly friendly with Bishop?” I growl as if it were somehow his fault. A thought comes to me. “You know what? It is your damn fault, too.”

“Language.” Dudley’s eyes boil like rusty cauldrons as he glowers my way. “I know not what you speak of. Ms. Messenger and Ms. Bishop haven’t seen eye to evil eye in years.”

“Until this year.” I lean in, ready to pounce and strangle this menace I’m facing. “If you didn’t invite Skyla to that hell Gage put himself through at the christening, then she never would have turned to Chloe. It’s clear she’s trying to get back at him—hell, she’s pissed at me, too. But what I don’t get is how she could ever think it’s a good idea.”

“That’s funny. She said the same about you and Tweedledum the night he grafted himself to darkness.” He offers a shit-eating grin that melts off his face just as quick as it came. “The Fems, though not a fallen brotherhood, are just as damning to mankind as the nefarious ones, much like Bishop herself.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Chloe is fallen. She is evil through and through. I know for a fact she’s feeding Skyla whatever bullshit it is she wants to hear. And right now, I’d prefer bullshit to the truth myself. The truth is pretty bad.” I think that’s where Skyla is at with Chloe. She’s a bandage covering up the real wound, which is Gage. But why Chloe? To piss us off? She’s achieved that.

“Were you present at the hour when Jock Strap laid himself on the altar to his new master?”

The thought of Demetri being Gage’s anything makes my stomach turn.

“Are you senile? Yes, I was there. Or were you too busy getting a boner watching Skyla lose her mind?”

“Must you always either invoke an expletive or a sexual analogy? Does your mind offer any other avenue of expression other than one that leads to the gutter? Please keep the grime of your thoughts to yourself, young man. You are in desperate need of my supervising services. You’ve informed me of this yourself just this afternoon, or perhaps you’ve forgotten and it’s you who’s going senile.”

“Wait.” I can only catch so many of Dudley’s verbal throwing stars at a time. “Back up. Yes, I was present at the altar call for darkness.” I tick my head in his direction. “And?”

“You seemed to have been paying attention to what was being said—you tell me.”

That night comes back to me in jags—Gage and I following Demetri into the woods like lost children to the slaughter, Demetri’s dissertation on wickedness, Gage stretching out his hands to heaven, begging forgiveness. Then it comes back to me. “Demetri—there was something he said that stood out to me. He mentioned something about the Steel Barricade, about the Fems, but he never mentioned that Gage was bound to the Counts.”

“Relay it to me word-for-word.” A smug grin twitches up his lips.

“I can’t do that. I can hardly remember what I had for breakfast.”

“Who’s the senile one now?” Dudley closes his eyes for a moment and takes in a quick breath. “He said—may the Lord of Glory find favor upon my son, Gage Edinger, who is willing to war against the enemy in the name of the Steel Barricade, in the name of the glorious Fems, upon the dissolution of his soul from the flesh that is mortal. And that, my friend, is word-for-word.”

I drink down his words a moment, examining them as they swim by. “Okay, you’re better than me. You are not senile. I’m senile in comparison. But I was right. The Counts are left out of the equation. Yes, the Steel Barricade is a reboot, but it’s not a Faction. It’s a rebellion. If the Barricade is dismantled, then Gage is—”

“Still the king. He’s a Fem. Demetri is gifting Gage his right as leader of the pack.” He forces a tight smile. “Gage Oliver is a Fem, and he is their future king. There is no changing the facts.”

“No changing the facts.” I scan the carpet while trying to decipher his words as if they were a riddle. “What if the Fems suddenly sided with Skyla and her people? What would it really matter if Gage was the king of the Fems? There would be no discourse.”

“Young Oliver.” He sighs with that perennial look of boredom returning to his face. “The Fems are insistent on removing the Sectors from their high place. We side with the light. We side with Celestra. We side with Skyla. Our beings entered into a bonding covenant with Celestra long ago, as did the Fems with the Counts. The ramifications during the church age are significant yes, but the real struggle holds eternity in the bounds. Time is running out. The Sectors must hold secure their standing.”

“Gage will gladly give it to you. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why Demetri didn’t just slap a crown on Wesley’s head and call it a wicked day. He’s far more enthused with the idea of ruining our people and running over whoever the hell he needs to on the way to ruling the world.”

“Wesley is greedy, yes. An attribute one would think valuable, considering the circumstances. But Skyla doesn’t care for Wesley, nor is she willing to bear his children.”

“So Demetri wants Gage and the twins.” Shit. Shit. Shit.

“That is the prize package. I’m sure he has fantastic plans for them all.” He glowers at the fire, and it rages ten times in ferocity, igniting the room in a flash of nuclear light.

“You’re right. I’m going to need your help.” A thought comes to me as abrupt as a slap to the face. “But I didn’t visit you this afternoon.” I’m not even going to bother suggesting Dudley is losing his mind after his word-for-word play-by-play. If Dudley says it happened, then it did. “Which version of me was it?” I already know the answer. It’s the same version that met me in the woods that horrible night Gage committed his soul to all of Demetri’s no-good intentions.

“The one that counts. You saw a vision that night after Skyla let you have it. He mentioned you saw Gage on his throne, his body transfiguring into the serpent he is destined to become.”

“The dragon.” It’s true. I saw Gage on a throne with fire and rage shooting from him as he rose up and morphed into a hideous beast with wings—breath born of fire.

“You will need me, indeed, but not in any way that you imagine.”

“I can’t lose him. I can’t lose Gage. We have to save him. He cannot die.”

“You of all people understand there is only life after life.”

“The longer Gage lives in his body, the less time he has to get his hands dirty with the Fems. And in the event you were being literal—because death sucks if you haven’t noticed—it hurts to be separated. It hurts that nothing is the same—even if we do get to see him again. Nothing ever gets to be normal again.” I fall into the seat next to him as I try to envision that dismal version of the future.

His brows hike into his forehead as if I’ve amused him on some level. “Which version of normal is it that you’re looking to preserve?”

Skyla blinks onto my lap, naked as the day she was born and moaning, “Are we done with our run?” She looks up at me with sleepy eyes as my arms swoop over her body to cradle her, my fingers drinking in the feel of her bare, heated flesh.

“Yes, we’re done.”

“Oh, that’s right.” She glances over to Dudley and offers a weak wave. “I took a nap. It was heaven.”

My gaze dips down to her oversized nipples, her tits heavy and weighted with milk, and my heat index spikes without meaning to.

“I’d better get you home.” I glare at Dudley a moment. “Dressed and in bed, please.”

He glares right back before offering the hint of a crooked grin. “As you wish.”

The room disperses as Skyla and I float through time and space. A thick darkness envelops me. The air is heavy and moist as something settles over my head, and I’m quick to snap it off—Skyla’s sweatpants.

Both Skyla and I have landed back in her bed, Skyla stark naked and me with her sweatshirt twisted around my legs.

“You’re not funny, Dudley,” I whisper as Gage sits up next to me and frowns over at his deliriously exhausted, yet decidedly naked wife.

He offers up a grunt. “A good time was had by all, I assume.”

“Something like that.” I roll Skyla onto the mattress and blow a kiss to each of the boys before turning back to Gage. “I just want you to know that I have your back.”

He lifts a brow as he sweeps his gaze over his wife’s luscious curves. “I can see you have something going on behind my back too.”

It’s not worth getting into. Not with both Gage and Skyla running on empty. “We’ll talk.”

“Whatever, dude.” Gage presses his head against the pillow and closes those sleepy lids of his.

No sooner do I get on the other side of the door than I hear the boys roaring back to life with their hacking cries. Both Skyla and Gage moan in unison.

And that’s when I realize I’m powerless to help Gage with his life in any real capacity.

* * *

January drags its tired feet through Paragon’s muddy waters and ends with as much lackluster enthusiasm as it began—at least when it comes to the customer base at the bowling alley. So I’ve summoned together what little employees I have and filled them in on the fact I’ll be letting them go in the next few weeks for a remodel that just might span the length of Nathan’s and Barron’s childhood. Nobody seems too surprised by the news. In fact, the girls who work the kitchen head back to their post as if I’ve just filled them in on a new menu item that they couldn’t care less about.

“Cool beans.” Brielle winks as she takes a sip of her soda. Bree hasn’t taken a formal check from me in months, but still shows up to work the odd shift when I need her. In fact, I called in several people—Gage and Skyla, who in turn brought the boys out to the bowling alley for the very first time. Ellis and Giselle, Drake and Ethan, Emily, Liam, Natalie Coleman, Michelle, and Lexy all stare back at me, flabbergasted, as if I’ve just announced the fact I’m taking a jackhammer to the entire damn island. Laken and Coop walk in late, but Gage leans over and whispers my plans of deconstruction and then hopefully construction. The only person who isn’t shocked as hell is Ellis. Ellis Harrison, my new partner in corporate crime, stands staunchly by my side with an ear-to-ear grin.

“Dude, we are going to kill it.” He slaps the back of his hand into his right palm. “Tell them about the gym. Tell them about the hookah parlor.”

“No hookah parlor,” I say under my breath.

Skyla gags for a moment, the first person even remotely interested in speaking out. “Why haven’t you discussed this with any of us? And by any of us, I mean me.” She holds her hands over the ears of the twin in her arms as if attempting to shelter him from my stupidity. Good luck with that, I want to tell her. I’m teaming up with Ellis. That alone speaks volumes about a lot of things going on in my life right now.

Lexy glares over at Skyla as if she could deck her. “He’s discussing things right now in the event your blonde highness hasn’t noticed.” Lex turns her full attention back to me, batting her lashes in yet another fruitless, flirtatious endeavor.

But as much as Lexy wants to impress me, she’s just taken my affections down a very dark corridor. “You may never disparage my ex-wife in my establishment again.”

The room clots up with an uncomfortable silence. I’m not sure anyone knows what to do with the fact I’ve just scolded Lexy as if she were a child, and I’m too busy trying to assess if I’m actually sorry to apologize. I’m not so sure it ends there.

“Yes, sir, Logan Oliver.” Lexy’s eyes grow wild with what looks to be admiration. If telling her off was meant to send her packing, it backfired. Lexy swoons toward me as if I’ve just cemented myself in her tiny demented heart. Just another thing that exemplifies the fact I can’t get a thing right if I try. “What can we do to help? You need a demo crew? We’re there. You need emotional support sitting by a nice warm fire? I’m there. Anything and everything. Our time, our bodies, our worlds are at your feet.”

Another round of stunted silence crops up, only this time it’s attributed to Lexy’s bizarre outburst.

“I know.” Lexy’s arm spikes into the air as if we were back in school. Although, I can’t recall a single class in which Lexy was so eager to participate. “We’ll throw a party!”

Bree gasps as if it were the best idea. “A goodbye to the bowling alley bash!” Brielle is always quick to board any crazy train that has the remote possibility of a good time. “We practically grew up in this place. We need to give it a proper sendoff.”

The room fills with a light buzz before Lexy clears her throat. “We’ll do a theme party, something retro.”

“Great Gatsby!” Michelle is suddenly onboard. “All the guys can sport zoot suits and submachine guns.”

“No guns.” I grimace at the thought. With all the feds crawling up my ass, I’m pretty sure high-powered assault replicas aren’t the best idea.

“Logan hates that idea,” Lex is quick to reprimand.

Skyla bites down on her lip as if she’s about to cry. “I’m going to miss this place.”

“It will be back. And it will be better. It’s only leaving temporarily.” I swallow hard because a part of me feels as if we just took a sideline and we were suddenly talking about ourselves. It’s selfish of me to think so, considering the fact I love her husband just as much as she does, sans the sexual nature.

Laken raises her hand to her chin briefly, and I nod to her. “How about an ’80s dance? That was sort of a wild decade, and the music will be fun. Not that I should have any say in it but—”

Bree huffs so loud I half-expect her to lunge across the room and deck her. “Darn right you shouldn’t have a say in it. This is for the true people of Paragon, not some outsider who’s been around for like five minutes.”

“Bree,” I bark so loud my voice manages to echo on a loop. “Laken and Coop are family. Get along or get out.” There. I’ve asserted my bullish authority twice in one day—making me feel and look like twice the asshole I was five minutes ago. I glance to Skyla, and she gives a furtive nod.

Bree’s face slaps pink. “For your information, we are family, Logan Oliver. We may not be blood, but this island and all of its milkshake muddy waters are running through your veins just like they are mine.”

A part of me wants to correct her. There is not a damn thing running through my veins these days other than the dangerous affection of Candace Messenger. But I offer a kind smile to my old friend instead.

“Yes, Bree. We are family, indeed.”

“So, why isn’t Chloe here?” Brielle demands. “She’s family, too, you know. I can’t stand the way everyone’s ostracized her for the last five years—and for what? For getting herself kidnapped? No one has ever treated her the same since she’s come back.”

Half the room turns to stare at Brielle Landon, nee Johnson. It’s as if nothing that’s happened in the timeframe she’s allotted has truly penetrated her mind. Bree has her own truths, and she sticks by them. She never had to exonerate Chloe of a damn thing because she never believed in anything other than some fantasy version of her.

Lexy growls at Brielle for me. “Chloe isn’t here because Logan hates her guts. Everyone basically hates her, and if you need a bullet point reminder on why—catch me when I have a free twenty-four hours because that’s how long the list is. Logan Oliver can’t stand the witch. That’s enough for me, and that should be enough for you. And for the record, I hate her, too.”

A dull smile rides on my lips. Lexy doesn’t hate Chloe. She’s merely saying it to impress me, and in truth it might be working. Letting the bowling alley go has left my ego severely bruised, and anyone who wishes to stroke it is welcome.

“For the record”—Skyla raises her hand a moment before wrapping it back around that beautiful baby in her arms—“I don’t mind Chloe so much.” Her mouth contorts unnaturally as she says it because it’s a bald-face lie, and we all know it.

Brielle slaps her hands together. “About damn time my besties pull it together!”

Shit. “An ’80s party it is.” I take a deep breath. “Any of you are welcome to commandeer it.”

“I’ll be in charge.” Lexy demands more than she asks. “How’s a few weeks sound? Maybe middle of March?”

“How about the Ides of March?” I say it with a nod. “It sounds appropriate.”

Lex gives a deafening clap. “Set your calendars, bitches. This is going to be one party you will never forget.”

The baby in Gage’s arms starts to fuss, and one by one the small crowd settles into conversations amongst themselves.

Liam comes over and clasps his hand over my shoulder. “You know I’m in. This is our endeavor.” He winces. “I’m not stepping on your toes, though. I’m still one hundred percent behind this decision. The bowling alley is your baby. I’ll settle for the title of silent partner. Just keep me in the loop.” He frowns out at the bodies before us. “Maybe ahead of everyone else next time. Besides, I’m starting to line things up for myself.”

“Such as?” I hope to God Ellis hasn’t hit him up to run his impending hookah parlor.

“Construction. Oliver Construction. I’ve been taking night courses ever since I came back. Hopefully by the end of spring I’ll have my contractor’s license.”

A part of me breathes a sigh of relief that he is in no way certified to help me out at the moment. I’m counting on an entire host of certified professionals to piece this place back together—and quickly at that.

“And I’ve already got my first job.” He holds out his arms expectantly, and I can’t find it in me to break my brother’s heart. He laid down his life so I could have mine. His sacrifice was something far nobler than anything I could ever comprehend.

“You bet, man. I’m sure you’ll turn this place into a sight to behold.” I’m not sure I meant that as a compliment.

“Not this place. Dude”—he winces as if I’ve lost my ever-loving mind, and relief pools in me—“Gage wants me to help renovate his house. It’ll be a good hands-on learning experience for me, and I’ll get a chance to bond with our little nephew.”

I glance over at our little nephew with his refrigerator-like build, that babe in his arms. Our little nephew is all grown up and has turned into one upright man. My stomach sours because I pray to God he stays that way.

“Sounds like an adventure. Hey, everything going good with Miller?” Liam and Michelle Miller have had a tumultuous on-again, off-again relationship ever since he’s come back to Paragon just about two years ago.

“She’s good.” He frowns over at her as if she’s not. “She’s a little wild. She’s not one of us. I always thought I’d marry a Faction girl. I think that’s the missing link in our relationship. I want to talk to her about things, but every time I try, she says it’s just fables and folklore. She thinks her friends are in some weird cult. She doesn’t get it.”

“I’m sorry, man. Maybe over time. And if it makes you feel better, there are some of us who still feel the same way she does.” Tad Landon comes to mind. I’ve never met anyone so full of disbelief in all my life. I know for a fact when a Nephilim offspring is that disbelieving, they water down their powers due to a lack of faith.

Michelle purrs to Liam with the curl of her finger, and he heads over to her with his tongue wagging. He might be unsure of her as a whole, but he sure is pussy-whipped.

Brody and Brookelynn stride in, shaking the rain off their bodies like a couple of huskies. Bree squeals and screams at the sight of her sister.

“Just in time! We’re making plans!” She bounces over to them as if we were in the throes of a party—one that celebrates the demise of my business career.

I glance over to Gage because I know that he’s patiently waited to find out what Brody has to say about the Winters, and they both tread over to where I’m standing.

“How’s it going?” Gage looks nervous as if Brody Bishop were about to deliver a grim diagnosis.

“I’ll take this one.” I pluck the baby out of his arms, and instantly I know it’s Barron. Skyla mentioned that the boys now have distinct personalities, and I agree. Barron is far fussier, far more agitated and alert. But when he pins those cobalt blue eyes of his onto yours, it makes it feel as if there isn’t a care in the world. Barron has the ability to soothe me as if he’s silently letting me know everything is going to be okay. It’s ironic, though, when Gage touched Barron for the very first time, he had a strange vision, a flashback to when Demetri threatened him—that if he left the Barricade, the one that he loves would turn against him. Gage was terrified it was Barron who would pledge to Demetri one day. That the curse Gage himself brought onto his family would fall on his precious son, and now he’s taken that curse upon himself. And as far as I know, Skyla and Gage still haven’t spoken about it. Her anger has been set to simmer for all of these weeks, two months and counting. They hardly speak, and Gage has spent every single night since the christening back in his old bedroom at Barron and Emma’s. Enough is enough I say. This beautiful family is begging for restoration whether or not Skyla realizes it. That is the direction in which they are headed.

I nod Coop over, and he slaps me on the back. “Sorry about the tough day, buddy. What’s going on?”

“Brody is about to fill us in on this woman who’s been hanging around with Demetri.”

Coop gives a knowing nod. “The one whose daughter came back to life at the morgue.” He glances to Gage.

“So, Dominique Winters—” Brody shakes his head. Those dark brows of his lay over his eyes like a hedge. The same way Chloe’s do when she’s too deep inside her wicked head. “I did a little digging—talked to Luke Jenson. I grew up with the guy. He’s the Winters’ next-door neighbor. He says the old lady is batshit. He said she had a major heart attack about seven years ago.” Brody does a quick visual sweep of the three of us before leaning in. “They wheeled her out of there as good as dead, but some nurse kept pumping oxygen into her—CPR. Forty-six minutes later, they covered her with a sheet.” He snaps his fingers, and both Gage and I jerk back. “She woke up. Came home like nothing happened. That’s when she started to act erratic.”

Gage glances to me. “How so?”

“Building shit. She’s been tacking on rooms to her house ever since she came home.”

“What do you mean tacking rooms onto her house?” For the life of me, I can’t figure out why I haven’t heard of this woman. Paragon isn’t all that big. “You mean, like Winchester mystery mansion action?”

“Exactly.” Brody looks from Gage to me. “Except it all makes sense. No doorways or stairways to nowhere. She lives in that mega-hovel with her daughter and two sons. Melody, Asbury, and Cash. I’ve seen Mel over at Host a few times. Cash”—Brody glances past the two of us, boring a hole through the wall with a ripe hatred for the guy. Brody starts to stalk off, and I catch him by the arm. I can hardy pull him back. Brody is built like a wall.

“What about Cash?” I hiss so fast it sounds like a threat.

Brody wipes down his face as if this entire endeavor both exhausted and pissed him off. “It’s stupid. I found out this afternoon he’s dating Carly. I went over, and she was there. It just brought back some memories. Made me think of someone I hadn’t seen in a while.”

“Carly Foster?” Gage tips his head back, trying to keep track of where Brody is leading the conversation.

“Yes.” Brody cuts a quick look to Brookelynn from across the room. “We had a son, years ago—Carly and me. He’s about six now. I wasn’t ready to step up to the plate back then. He was taken to New York and raised by her dad, as her brother. His name is Lucas.” His entire body sags, and my heart breaks for the guy. “I gotta go.” He makes a beeline for Bree and her sister, and we don’t stop him.

“What was that about?” Skyla breezes right into the empty spot he left between us, but neither Gage nor I are eager to fill her in on the details. “Ah”—her eyes light up like stars—“more secrets to keep from the blonde ditz. I get it.” She shrugs, rocking Nathan in her arms.

“Not true.” I swallow hard. I can’t do it. I can’t keep another thing from the woman I love.

“You mind if I talk to you alone for a minute?” She nods toward the kitchen, and Gage takes off without saying a word. It feels awful—gut-wrenching to witness as this fissure in their relationship gets wider and wider.

“Don’t tell me that wasn’t awkward.” I pull Barron to my shoulder as I lead her back toward the pizza oven, farther still until we hit the opened door with a view of the fog eating away at the forest that lies behind the bowling alley. “I can shut it if you want.”

“No, it’s fine. The boys are bundled.” Nathan spikes his arms up one by one, punching thin air, and Skyla pulls up her sweater without thinking twice. Her full breast drops out the bottom of her bra, and Nathan twists his head into her until he hits home. But that large pale moon of a nipple is still visible, so I force my gaze to stray anywhere but there.

“I can’t believe I’m still nursing.” She huffs a dull laugh. “I mean, I love it. God, I’d have twenty babies right now if I could. It leashes me down a bit—the nursing. But it doesn’t hurt as much now. Thank God I’m not cracked and bleeding anymore.”

“Bleeding?” As horrified and concerned as I am for her, a part of me demands to run to another subject. But I don’t. This is Skyla. My ex-wife. Hell, my wife. And if she wants to discuss bleeding nipples, then so be it. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

“It’s fine now. My mother and her maternal superpowers really did come in handy. But I’m thinking about quitting.” She blinks back tears as she looks to Nathan’s anxious suckling. “I feel terrible, Logan.” Her voice cracks. “I’m a failure. But I’m desperate to get my body back. It’s selfish. I want to nurse, but I miss things. It sounds stupid, I know.”

“Not stupid at all. Like what kinds of things?” I’m sure her freedom is one. It has to be tough feeding the boys for a majority of the day.

“Like...beer.”

“Beer?” I hike a brow at the idea. “You don’t drink beer, Skyla.”

“I know”—her voice pitches to a wail, and the waterworks start full force—“and now I can’t even start if I wanted to.”

A quiet laugh rumbles from me. Barron stirs to life and grabs ahold of my ear with all his little might. “Come here, Skyla.” I pull her in with Nathan carefully sandwiched between us as Barron turns and reaches for his mother. I lean in and steal a sweet kiss off her cheek, catching a tear with my lips.

“Damn hormones.” She wipes her face clean just as Gage and Ellis head over.

I take a step back and hand Barron to his father.

“Everything okay?” Gage offers a mournful smile to Skyla, but all she offers is a quiet nod.

Ellis and Giselle come up, and we all take a step out under the awning as Paragon’s wintery breath puffs by. “So, what are you going to do with the rest of it?” Ellis wraps his arm around Giselle as they take in the forest haunting the landscape. Fog billows off the top of the evergreens like smoke.

“Rest of what?” I’m only mildly curious about anything Ellis has to say. Most of the time I’m mildly alarmed.

“The land.” He nods out toward the forest. “I went to the city, and you own these woods, dude.”

I glance to Gage. “I’m pretty sure my land ends where my feet stand.”

Ellis shakes his head at the idea. “That might have been true once upon a time, but about ten years ago the city granted you the next thirty acres.”

“Thirty acres?” Skyla, Gage, and I say in unison, and the sound of our collective voices sound sweet, downright lovely.

“That’s right.” Ellis sniffs the air. “The city map says that it butts up right against the gates. All these woods are yours to do as you wish.”

“To do as I wish?” My mind swirls with the possibilities. My father, my mother. They would have loved this. Land. Soil. Something they could get their hands dirty with. “What do you mean the city granted me the acreage? I’m pretty sure the people at the planning department aren’t allowed to gift land as they see fit.”

“Dude”—he gives me a light sock to the arm—“I found out they were rectifying an error. When your dad bought this place, he got more than he bargained for. He just didn’t know it. Some damn clerical error that they cleared up for you.”

Clerical error? I glance to the sky, and a quiver of lightning illuminates through the fog. Yes, I suspect Candace Messenger is at the bottom of this thirty-acre clerical error.

“So, what’s it going to be?” Ellis slaps his arm over my shoulder. “Apartment buildings? Condos? A high-rise? Dude, you can parcel off the units for millions.”

I can’t stop staring at those evergreens, at that forest of possibilities. “No apartments, condos, or high-rises.” I shake my head, still dazed at the thought that all this might actually be mine. “I’m thinking a farm.”

“A farm?” Skyla, Gage, and Ellis don’t miss a beat.

“A pumpkin patch.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Maybe some fresh vegetables and fruit trees. We’ll have an entire section dedicated to Christmas trees, too. Paragon needs this.”

“A pumpkin patch!” Giselle shrieks with glee so loud that a dozen birds fly from the branches overhead.

“An effing pumpkin patch?” Ellis is less than dazzled by my line of thinking.

“That’s right.” I glance down at Nathan and Barron. “I want to be their favorite uncle—so a pumpkin patch it is.”

Gage and Skyla share a quiet smile, and that alone was worth the effort.

“Ellis”—Gage nods to him—“Logan’s parents, my grandparents, ran a pumpkin farm back in Oregon. It’s in his blood.”

Skyla looks toward the woods as the fog plays hide-and-seek between its old sturdy trunks. “And now it’s in his destiny.”

Destiny. I almost want to laugh, and I do.

Skyla has her destiny as the leader of the Factions.

Gage will be king.

And I—I will be a pumpkin farmer.

Yes.

This is destiny at her finest.