Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection: Firstlife ; Lifeblood ; Everlife

by Gena Showalter

  Well. “We’ll stay, then. Just…do me a favor and wait out here for a bit, okay?” I want a little privacy with my—with Killian.

  Archer’s nod is stiff, and Biscuit looks as if I kicked him in the ribs.

  I’ll make it up to both of them. Somehow. I rush past Raanan, Clay and Reed, who are arguing about their guardian animals, and soar toward the house. I need to talk to Raanan about his promotion. Need to confirm that he is, in fact, a Conduit. Later.

  My heart thuds against my ribs. Anticipation propels me faster and faster. I jump onto the porch and burst through the front door. Eagerness and dread join the emotional deluge.

  Ignore. Focus. Where is—

  There. My gaze finds him, and I nearly melt with relief. At the same time, I come alive with awareness, every cell in my body aflame. He’s alive and well, seated on the floor, surrounded by metal bars. His expression portrays boredom.

  Icy eyes look me over and heat. “There’s my sweet baby,” he says.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  * * *

  “Anger lasts but a moment. The things you do while angry can hurt others forever.”

  —Troika

  Killian

  I’m beyond frustrated. I’m trapped in a home with a ceiling made of glass. Light streams into my eight-by-eight cage, which occupies a single corner. Normally, standing in sunlight while in spirit form brings pain. Today, I can tolerate the beams with only mild discomfort.

  Another perk of my bond to Tenley.

  As she looks me over, her relief is quickly replaced by a blend of fury and horror, her mismatched irises haunted and haunting all at once. What I expect to see but don’t? Fear.

  In the small house furnished with only a couch, two chairs and a table piled high with study guides, she is a treasure. Basically, she’s my only source of hope.

  “I hoped Biscuit was mistaken, but no,” she says. “Shamus caged you like an animal.” At her sides, her hands fist.

  Biscuit? I know of no one by that name.

  Tenley seems genuinely upset on my behalf, and I’m not sure what to think of that. Girls desire me, or obsess over me, determined to win what I refuse to give. Truth, commitment. Affection. But no one has ever truly cared for me, because no one has ever truly known me. Not the real me, anyway.

  She must think she has a handle on my deepest, darkest secrets and desires. I don’t need my memory to know she doesn’t. She can’t. One, I can barely handle them myself. If I struggle, well, she’s definitely not strong enough. Two, she’s no different from other girls. If you’ve been with one, you’ve been with them all. The very reason it’s always so easy to walk away.

  “Are you all right?” Tenley asks.

  “I spent the last however many hours locked in a cage,” I reply, my tone sharp. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’ll recover just fine.”

  I’ve been scouring my mind, fighting my shadows. Fighting to recall who I am. More and more of my past has surfaced, though no interactions with Tenley.

  What is truth, and what is lie? Who has my best interests at heart? The shadows or the Light?

  The two war. Always they war. What one loves, the other hates. What one wants, the other opposes.

  One fact needs no clarification. “I’m not a very nice person,” I say. It’s not like she hasn’t figured out that particular gem. I’m rude when I want to be, charming when I need to be and always self-serving. If I won’t look out for my best interests, who will? “Why are you here, helping me?”

  “You’re a good guy,” she says, sounding confident. “You just haven’t figured it out yet.”

  No, she’s wrong. Not only have I seduced women and lied about my feelings, I’ve also killed in battle just for grins and giggles. I’ve tortured countless Troikans for information and for vengeance. I’ve convinced humans to make the worst possible covenants with Myriad. For a bonus, yes—whatever a Laborer is able to cut from a human’s covenant, he can keep—but also for bragging rights.

  I’ve turned negotiation into a blood sport.

  I am no prize.

  Tenley Lockwood should have run from me at our first meeting and never looked back. But here she is, flying through the door of my prison, and my body’s reaction is immediate. I feel as though I’ve been hooked to a generator. My heart races, my blood heats and my muscles vibrate over bone. I’m tense, waiting for some sort of blow to the solar plexus.

  I hate it, almost as much as I love it, but at least I don’t have to wonder why. The bond. Always the bond.

  I have no doubts about its validity now. Forget everything else. We can push our thoughts into each other’s minds. A Troikan and a Myriadian. Should be impossible.

  So. For some reason I haven’t yet decided on, I pledged my Everlife to this girl. Even more astonishing, she pledged her Everlife to me. Why? And why did she come back for me? Earlier I threatened to kill her. Anyone with half a brain would stay as far away from me as possible, even if I called her baby and asked for help, as if I’m without other options.

  “This brings back memories,” she says.

  I arch a brow, doing my best to hide the depth of my curiosity. Must know! “Do tell.”

  “You’ve been kenneled many times in your Everlife, and you despised every instance.”

  I…remember. Yes. Kenneling is a custom in Myriad. Cage is stacked upon cage. Punishment is given for breaking the realm’s only rule: putting personal desires above the good of Myriad. A few times, my jailer told me he would release me if I begged. I broke his nose instead.

  I beg for nothing. Not even my freedom. Helplessness is the one feeling I’ve never embraced, but I will never compromise my pride. I’d honestly rather die.

  Wait. There is another emotion I abhor. The worst of the worst: Love. Love involves trust, and I trust no one. I realized it before, but with the few memories I’ve regained, I’m more certain now. People never stick around. Everyone bails, because selfishness is ingrained at birth and only gets worse with age.

  Tenley steps to the side, allowing a ray of Light to shine upon me. An image suddenly flashes through my mind. Chains string her up, and crimson blood leaks from her nose, mouth and ears. Sweat drenches her, and her clothes are torn. She’s being tortured, but she isn’t breaking. Fire still crackles in her eyes.

  All right. She might be stronger than I thought.

  Admiration sneaks in. I fight it, even as I say, “How about you come over here…” I keep my tone light, my voice husky, almost seductive. “And free me. Conversation is overrated. I can think of better things to do with our mouths.”

  “Freeing you is the plan,” she says. “Even though I kind of want to throat punch you right now.”

  I blink with shock and disappointment. Not about the threat. Bring it. “What is wrong with you? Care about your realm, at least a little. Do not loose a wolf among sheep.”

  More shock. More disappointment—in myself. I’m warning her now? What’s wrong with me?

  “I can handle you.” She makes a gesture that is one hundred percent dismissive and zero percent acceptable. “Where’s my ring? And what happened to your accent?”

  Her ring? She must mean the small, antique five-shooter that General Shamus took from me, despite the lack of bullets.

  I wanted to kill him for his daring…and thank him. My head and heart had threatened to change places every time I looked at that stupid ring. Good riddance.

  “What do you think happened to the ring?” I smile a cruel smile. “Shamus removed it, along with my daggers and the garrote wire that was hidden in my leather wrist cuffs. Leaving me armed would have made him a fool.” I ignore the question about my accent. No need to tell her about my lower birth, or how my speech patterns are proof that I spent most of my childhood inside a Myriadian orphanage, nothing but a drain on society.

  Her
lush red lips purse. “Right now you remind me of the boy I first met. I bet you even trust the lies Myriad has fed you, right?” She doesn’t wait for my response. “Once again, you believe Fusion is legit.”

  Once again? Try always. “I do. It is.”

  She smirks. “I’m about to prove spirits that experience Second-death never return to the Land of the Harvest.”

  I roll my eyes. “Let me guess. The vote everyone is talking about. Someone has come back to life. Hate to burst your smug little bubble, baby, but just because Troikans enter into the Rest doesn’t mean Myriadians do the same.”

  Her head falls back, and she pushes a heavy breath at the ceiling, as if praying for patience. Facing me, she says, “Forget the Light and shadow thing. Our people are the same. And stop calling me baby.”

  “You’re right. We are the same. Baby.” I motion to my cage with a wave of my hand. “Troikans praise love and forgiveness, and yet they keep prisons inside their homes. How very Myriadian.”

  Up goes her chin. “We have rules. When those rules are broken, measures must be taken. Punish the guilty, protect the innocent.”

  I arch a brow. “Are you protecting innocents now? I mean, you plan to free me.” Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up. Am I trying to stop her? But I can’t halt my next flood of vitriol. “Why are you really here? You claimed you love me not, and told me not to trust you.”

  Shame tightens her exquisite features, and I experience a jolt of regret. What is wrong with me? I never regret. But…

  I want to see her smile.

  I don’t know her, not really, but between one blink and the next I remember she has three different types of smiles. The one reserved for her friends, genuine and open, rare; a cold facsimile for those who have pricked her temper; and the special one for me alone that is soft and plaintive, inviting me to taste.

  That one. I want to see it now. I feel as if my life depends on it, something searing my chest, branding, burning, just like before. This time, there’s no denying the truth. The culprit is absolute, utter yearning.

  I want to see that smile because… My reasons do not matter! I want only what I need.

  Want nothing, need nothing. I gnash my teeth.

  “I couldn’t let the Generals know how much you mean to me,” she says softly. “They were trying to use my feelings for you against me. As for the poem…my Killian would have known there are two sides to every story, and the order could be reversed.”

  Her Killian. As if I belong to her. Or rather, the old me. A version I’m suddenly not sure I want to be ever again. “You’re lying. No way the order can—”

  “I love you,” she interjects, starting with the last line of her poem. She’s flipping the order, I realize. “Never, ever believe that I love you not. Listen. Hear me now. We will get through this. You must know sweet lies flow from my lips when I say, I will let you go, without hesitation. I admit, you are my everything. And today, tomorrow, forever, I will put you first. I’m lying when I say, you cannot trust me.”

  My throat tightens, and my lungs constrict. This girl isn’t like others. Not even close. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever known.

  How am I supposed to deal with her?

  She kicks into motion and stops at the door to my cage. I haven’t moved from my perch in back. The part of me that I no longer understand longs to stand up, close the distance and sift her fall of azure hair between my fingers. The other part of me comprehends the absolute ridiculousness of such a desire. What good will contact do?

  As she fiddles with the lock for a bit, learning it, I can see the wheels in her head turning. She thinks she can find a way to bypass Shamus’s blood and fingerprint.

  A sharp pang lances my chest. How is she even more beautiful than before—even a second before? It’s maddening. But it doesn’t matter. My comm is functional, and I’ve already made contact with my Leader. My mission is clear: get Tenley Lockwood inside Myriad.

  What the Powers That Be have planned for her, I don’t yet know. Don’t really care. Yeah, yeah. I know whatever befalls her will befall me as well, but I don’t care about that, either. There’s no fighting Fate. If I die, I die. My spirit will Fuse with a human, and I will be reborn.

  Maybe this time I’ll live past infancy and actually experience Firstlife. Maybe I’ll Fuse with a Leader or even a General, and better my station.

  Once, the Prince of Ravens believed I was Fused with a General. But as weeks passed, I failed to control the darkness in myself, as well as others. I let him down. I let everyone down.

  Victors are adored, failures abhorred.

  Maybe, if I have a better station, someone will be obligated to care about me. Perhaps my new mother. Out with the old, in with the new. I’ll finally have a family of my own. Not that I want a family that is obligated to care for me. No, I’d rather have what so many others take for granted: unconditional acceptance.

  An impossible dream most likely. We are what we are, whatever our form. Still, hope can be stronger than reality.

  Tenley grips the bars of my cage, her knuckles quickly leaching of color. “I wasn’t going to ask but I can’t help myself. No, that’s not true. We can always help ourselves. We simply choose not to. So. I’m asking because a part of me is desperate to know. Have you remembered anything about me yet?”

  Yet. She considers a successful reboot of my brain inevitable. I wish I had her confidence. I need the return of my memories, even if I don’t want to be the boy I once was. I need to know why I did what I did, exactly, what I had planned—surely I had something planned—and what I deemed as my endgame. Myriad’s salvation…or my own?

  Myriad’s, surely. How many times have I tried to impress my Secondking? I’ve pushed myself hard, won more spirits than most, but I’m still one among millions. A simple cog in the wheels.

  A part of me would like to impress Tenley instead. What would it take?

  In the past five minutes alone, she’s proven to be honest and raw, refusing to wallow in self-delusions about her motives while accepting the consequences of her words and actions. She’s flawed…human, and yet everything others should strive to be.

  Ambrosine isn’t human or flawed. He is power. When he glides into a room, carried on a cloud of darkness, spirits drop to their knees unbidden, no longer able to stand. Shadows continually rise from him, his constant companions. One look into his eyes—deep, fathomless pools—and you are forever entranced.

  “I haven’t remembered anything about you, no,” I tell her, knowing she’ll see through a lie. I lower my voice, letting it become a husky rasp once again. A voice meant to seduce. The ridiculous thing? Every part of me is on board, longing for her capitulation for reasons that have nothing to do with war. The only thing I have to force is my accent-less speech. “But I’m determined to remember everything.”

  I’m given that cold facsimile of a smile. “You can be such a jerk sometimes.”

  Well, that certainly isn’t the reaction I expected. “How am I being a jerk right now?” Especially when I pretended to be nice.

  Pretense is never the answer.

  I grind my teeth.

  “You think I don’t know you, but you are so wrong.” She crouches, pulls a dagger from a sheath anchored to her waist and stabs the edge of the lock. “Before our bond, you looked at me like I was a meal and you were ravenous. Right now you’re looking at me like I’m an experiment and you’re hoping to take home first prize at the science fair. It hurts, Killian.”

  My darker side: Play on those hurts. Win her to your side—use her.

  My new lighter side: Ease her. Help her. She is your ally.

  The two sides of me war, shadows dancing with my synapses, sending bolts of pain through my temples, Light fighting back, marching forward to cover more ground.

  I decide to go with the familiar, calling on the determination I’ve been pr
aised—and cursed—for possessing. “I can’t no’ look at you, baby.”

  Unfortunately, the statement is true on more levels than I’m comfortable with. And why is my accent trying to come out to play?

  She scowls, somehow more beautiful than ever. “Call me baby one more time,” she says, “and I’ll remove your testicles to make a coin purse. And by the way. You don’t remember this about me, obvi, but I never make threats. I make promises.” Her tone is pure sass—and I like it.

  For a moment, a suspended blip of time, the corners of my mouth twitch as if I’m about to smile. Am I? Threats—or promises—are not something I take lightly. Ever. Kill or be killed. That is my wheelhouse.

  “What’s your problem with being called baby? It’s a sweet endearment.”

  “It’s generic, and it implies I can’t survive without my big, strong daddy.” She sneers the word, as if it tastes foul in her mouth.

  She has daddy issues—got it.

  But she’s not the only one. My father killed himself weeks before my birth, ending his Firstlife. With the terms of his covenant, he made it into Myriad rather than Many Ends. Though he’d been a trainee in Myriad—a Laborer just like me—he had the option of taking me in. I’m told he refused and signed away all rights to me.

  Later I repaid him in kind. We were part of the same army, under the command of Madame Pearl Bennett, who later experienced Second-death. He desperately needed my help during a particularly nasty battle. Instead of acting as his shield and stopping his opponent’s lethal blow, I turned my back and focused on a target of my own.

  Payback hurts.

  I sometimes wonder what my mother would say about my actions.

  She met my father in some kind of Myriad-based, get-happy program, while battling depression. I’ve visited the Hall of Annals countless times to read about her life, and, according to her files, she considered her dalliance with my father a mistake, but a mistake she could not regret.

  Even before my birth, she loved me. For the first time in her remembrance, she wasn’t sad but overjoyed, excited. Because of me, she had hope for a better future.