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dream—this is the only arena, the only microcosm of time that this eternal love will ever exist in.

    Skyla! Wake up! It’s not me. Open your eyes—please!

    I rouse to a warm body nestled to my side. Deep throaty kisses that linger and… oh crap!

    I start to slide off the couch in a panic only to be pulled into another round of Marshall’s bad intentions.

    Then a vision appears—me in the forest, running in the rain, arrows stream by, missing me by inches.

    I get up on my elbows exhausted, far worse off than before I closed my eyes. I can see the sun coming up over the barn from out the back window.

    “And I suppose that was my immediate future?” I pant into it.

    “You suppose right.” Marshall pushes out a sigh.

    “And do I get speared by these vagrant arrows?”

    “You might. I believe the question you want to ask is, who was shooting them at you.”

    “Who?” Pierce, Chloe, Mom, Tad, the list could go on forever.

    “Me.” He gives a shameless wicked grin.

    Chapter Eight

    There’s No Place Like Home

    Gage picks me up from Marshall’s early in the morning and drives me to Casa Count where I once laid my head secure, not realizing it held the promise of a guillotine.

    “Happy birthday,” I say once again, carefully watching the Landon house as though it were a black widow lingering behind him.

    “Thank you.” He gives a warm kiss that momentarily makes me forget about my harsh new reality.

    “Come on.” He nudges me towards the house.

    “I’m going to confront them,” I tense up as I say it.

    “I wouldn’t do that, at least not yet. You’re holding all the cards, Skyla. Once you let it out that you know—things could change fast. And,” he pauses to run his fingers through my hair, “there’s always the chance they don’t know they’re Counts.”

    I find this doubtful.

    I don’t dare go in the house alone, instead, I secure myself to Gage and hold my breath as though I were heading into a minefield.

    “Here she is!” Tad shouts craning his neck up towards the stairs.

    My mother glides down in her pink bathrobe, the flap opening with every other step.

    “Where were you?” She slits the words out.

    “I was,” I look uneasily towards Gage, “with Brielle.” Is that right?

    “Ha!” Tad barks pointing a finger at me. “See this, Lizbeth? We fork over hundreds of dollars for a birthday party, and she thanks us by blatantly spending the night with her boyfriend!”

    Brielle and Drake come racing down the stairs, then abruptly turn around when they see me in the doorway.

    Great.

    “Mia ran next door to tell you something early this morning.” Imposter Mom hitches her hair behind her ear. “Darla said you weren’t there. What’s going on? Did you spend the night at the Oliver’s? Just the truth please.”

    I look to Gage for answers. The truth is I don’t ever want to speak to these people again. In fact, I want nothing more than to rush upstairs and pack all of my crap and never lay eyes on any of them, not even Mia who I totally suspect turned me in on purpose because she’s a maniacal little Count.

    “OK, let’s try this another way.” Mom’s voice spikes a little. “Gage—did Skyla spend the night at your house?”

    “No.” He doesn’t even hesitate.

    I firm my grip on his hand and move in a little closer. A sharp bite of perspiration explodes all over me at once, and for the first time ever I’m nervous just standing here, in the entry with the people I thought I knew so well.

    “That’s too simplistic,” Tad scolds. “Were you in a hotel? His car? On the beach?”

    “We weren’t together at all. I spent the night at Mr. Dudley’s.” I head upstairs to my room and pull Gage behind me.

    “We’re going to finish this later!” The sound of my mother’s voice fills the void between the walls and sends a tremble of fear through me—as though it means something—as though a part of me still considers her an authority