In the back of my mind, the Grid ripples with approval and delivers a new surge of confidence. I am doing the right thing. We will succeed in our endeavors.
Once, I lamented my invisible link to other Troikans. Now, I rejoice. Support can mean the difference between victory and defeat. But who would approve of this union? No one but me knows about it.
“Whatever happens next,” Killian says, “doona forget I love you.” The brawler capable of any dark deed leans down to rub his nose against mine. “All right?”
“All right.” I’ll never forget, and I’ll never tire of hearing those words. “I love you, too.”
His smile reignites, and oh, wow, it’s like Cupid’s arrow through my heart. Killian is more than beautiful. He is life. The crystalline flecks in his eyes…there are eight. Eight is the atomic number for oxygen. Killian is my oxygen, the reason I breathe.
“Ready?” He lifts my hands to his mouth once more and traces his tongue between my knuckles.
My stomach flips over. If not for Shells, Myriadians and Troikans would be unable to touch without agonizing pain. Usually Shells mute sensation. Today I feel everything.
“Tell me what to do,” I rasp.
“Our word is our bond. Speak, and it’s done. We’ll pledge our lives tae each other. Simple, easy.”
As simple and easy as pledging our Everlife to one of the realms. Okay, I can do that. The simplicity doesn’t negate the difficulty, however. I’m giving my life—my future— to another person.
He raises his chin. “I’ll go first.”
My heart thuds against my ribs as I nod.
When he releases my hands, panic invades. I’ve lost my anchor. Then he cups my face, holding me as if I’m more delicate than glass. “Tenley Nicole Lockwood, you’ve given me life beyond the grave. Until you, I never knew the power of bein’ connected tae another person. You saw the best in me even when I showed you my worst. You trusted me when all evidence pointed tae my guilt. For that, I give ye my Everlife. Everythin’ I am, everythin’ I have, is yers.”
Be still, my heart. How am I supposed to match such a glorious pledge? Well, I have to try.
Nope. Troikans do not try. Troikans do. “Killian—” Zero! “I don’t know your middle name.”
“Niall.”
Killian Niall Flynn. Five Ls. Four Ns.
5 + 4 = 9
Killian Niall Flynn + Ten = 5 Ls and 5 Ns.
5 + 5 = 10
10 = existence. 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 = 10. (1) the FirstKing (2) the Secondkings (3) human life (4) the four elements: earth, air, fire and water.
Ten is completion: the end of one cycle, the beginning of another.
Concentrate!
Oops. My bad. I tend to lose myself in number trivia when I’m nervous. But there’s nothing to be nervous about, right? This is Killian. My Killian. Together, we can handle whatever comes next.
“Killian Niall Flynn.” I wrap my fingers around his wrists as I peer into his eyes. “You found me before the grave and taught me how to live. Until you, I’d known only disappointment and betrayal, but you picked me up every time I fell. You carried me when I was too weak to walk, and you put me first, even when it meant torture and possibly Second-death. For that, I give you my Everlife. Everything I am, everything I have, is yours.”
His expression softens, and I wish, so badly I wish, that my family and friends could witness our union. While my mother is in the Kennel, my father is training to be an ML. He hates me, anyway. My aunt Lina, his twin sister, is missing. No one knows where she is.
Lina can see into the future. As a child, she taught me a rhyme that aided my escape from Many Ends. Only a few weeks ago, she taught me a second rhyme, saving my life when a supposed friend—Victor Prince—attempted to kill me.
My life has taken so many wrong turns and hits, but things are finally on the right track. Except… I frown. “I don’t feel any different.”
“We are no’ done.” Killian steps back, his arms falling to his sides. “Out of yer Shell, lass.”
I’m confused by the command, but still I obey. He steps from his Shell, as well, gifting me with the sight of two potential husbands. The inanimate Shell, and the spirit man— the real Killian. Usually darkness surrounds him, his own personal veil of smoke. Now the darkness is muted, but there’s no Light emanating from him, either.
He’s so much taller than me, I’m forced to look up, up, up. Scars circle his neck, proof of the pain he’s suffered throughout his Secondlife.
I reach out, intending to trace a fingertip along the raised flesh, but stop myself just before contact. “You’ve been a spirit all your life. Why didn’t you regenerate after you were injured?”
“A spirit is unable to regenerate fully until reachin’ the Age of Perfection. What you receive as a child, you carry with you always.” He crooks his finger at me. “C’mere. I’m goin’ tae kiss you now.”
A kiss. Of course! A wedding always ends with a kiss.
I move toward him, eager, and he enfolds me in his muscular arms. His lips descend, claiming mine in our first spirit-kiss, no barriers between us, and he isn’t gentle about it. He’s demanding and possessive, pure masculine aggression, and I love every second.
Everything about him makes me think of forbidden nights and carnal indulgence.
I’m burning up rather than freezing as usual, pleasure consuming me, the pain I’m used to feeling nothing but a distant memory.
Realization: We can touch without consequence!
I melt into him, the rest of the world is forgotten as I luxuriate in the sweetness of his flavor.
Now the deal is sealed. This boy is now my husband. And this, our first kiss as a bonded pair, is everything I’ve ever dreamed and more. It’s—
A bolt of ice slams into me, tossing me across the cavern. I collide with the wall and slide to the ground, fighting for breath. Agony sears my right arm. Panting, I look down. Double take. An image appears in my flesh, as dark as ink and in the shape of…a horse?
The animal rests under the words Loyalty, Passion, Liberty.
Loyalty to my realm. Passion for the truth. Liberty for all.
The words appeared immediately after my Firstdeath. Actually, numbers appeared. The moment I figured out what those numbers represented, the words took their place.
Why a horse? There has to be a reason. There’s always a reason.
I rack my brain, but all I can come up with—Killian once likened me to a warhorse.
The warhorse paws fiercely, rejoicing in his strength, and charges into the fray. He laughs at fear, afraid of nothing; he does not shy away from the sword. The quiver rattles against his side, along with the flashing spear and lance. In frenzied excitement he eats up the ground; he cannot stand still when the trumpet sounds. At the blast of the trumpet it snorts, “Aha!” He catches the scent of battle from afar, the shout of commanders and the battle cry.
He…or she. But I’m not here to fight. I’m here to make peace. Unless…
The moisture in my mouth dries. Ready or not, a new battle is headed our way.
My vision goes hazy, and I moan. I am Light, and I’ve never needed to see more! Blinking rapidly helps, allowing me to search for Killian. The same terrible phenomena must have bombarded him, because he’s slouched against the opposite wall. When our gazes meet, he reaches in my direction, the numbers tattooed on his wrist visible.
143, 10. I love you, Ten.
Beneath the numbers I spy a new image. A horse. A match to mine, though his is white and mine is black.
His eyes are alight with… No, impossible! The flecks I so adore cannot be doused in literal flames, flickering with both light and shadow.
I need to get to him, now, but my muscles are like frozen blocks of ice. And the Grid—
The Grid! My connection to Troika, and a reminder that there is so much more to the world—to my world—than what I can see and feel at any given time.
Shadows dance along the Grid, where multiple doorw
ays loom. Those doorways lead to rooms. In some, I’ve stored extra Light. Others provide a link to the conscious minds of different citizens. One in particular opens up to the Rest, where our dead spend eternity at peace.
A pang of homesickness strikes me. Meredith, Archer and Levi are there. I miss them desperately.
Radiating hatred, the shadows try to sneak into one room after another. I fight to keep the doorways closed as information bombards me. Darkness is measured by the absence of Light. These shadows, whatever they are, must have come from Killian, and our bond, and yet they are so familiar to me…as if they are old friends. How is that possible?
Doesn’t matter. Must…do…something. Now!
Left with no other choice, I change tactics and open a door to one of my storage rooms. In a vivid, dazzling rush, bright Light escapes. Shadows hiss, some dying the second they come into contact with a beam, others slithering away, and, oh, zero, sharp pains explode through my head, and I scream.
Can’t give up. Strengthen in the Light, die in the darkness.
Between one breath and the next, the pain leaves me, and a scene opens in my mind. A memory that is not my own.
I’m standing in a doorway, watching a young couple walk down the center of a hallway. There are thirteen children lined up beside me, all under the age of ten. The couple stops to question a little girl before dismissing her and moving on to a little boy. He, too, is dismissed. The next three children are ignored, but the couple pauses to inspect the teeth of the fourth.
Closer to me by the second…
I’m nervous. I would kill to have a family of my own— literally—but no one will look at me twice. What’s wrong with me? What do I lack?
Easy: Absolutely everything.
Once, my superiors thought I was destined to become a General. Everyone wanted me, then. When I failed to develop the necessary skills, the want turned to disdain.
I try so hard, and I train harder than everyone else combined. I learned how to use a sword and every type of gun. Even the Stag and the Oxi, the most dangerous weapons in a Laborer’s arsenal. One day I’ll kill more Troikans than any General in our history. I vow it.
Just give me a chance. Please!
The couple is on the move again…so, so close to me… the woman looks me over and gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head before passing me, silent. My heart sinks, tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.
Me? Cry? Never! I keep my head high. If this family doesn’t want me, fine, I don’t want them, either. They aren’t good enough. I’m better off at the Learning Center, anyway.
The scene goes blank, and I—Ten—blink open my eyes. I’m back in the present, back in the cave, panting and drenched in sweat yet shivering with bone-deep chill. I was wrong. The pain didn’t subside; it ramped up.
The memory…it came from Killian. I know in my heart. Having died soon after his mother gave birth to him, he spent his childhood inside the Learning Center, a Myriadian orphanage.
Humans—both in flesh and spirit form—could be ugly in so many ways. Rotten inside. Vile and cruel. But they were also layered. Pull back the ugliness, and you might see a hurt. Pull back another layer, and you might see a child who used to crave approval, affection and acceptance.
A child like Killian had been. My husband has seen the worst the world(s) have to offer. I want so badly to hold him in my arms and comfort the boy he’d been, and praise the man he’d become.
My gaze seeks him. He’s on his back, pulling at his hair. Like me, he’s panting and drenched in sweat. But he’s muttering, “Kill. Kill. Kill.”
Kill…who? Is he seeing into my memories?
“I’m here,” I tell him. “I’m—”
My heart stops, stealing my words as a man and woman storm into the cave.
chapter two
“Life is about what you gain. What you don’t have, you can’t enjoy.”
—Myriad
Ten
The identity of our intruders clicks. Two Troikan Generals: Shamus Campbell and Luciana Rossi. Behind them, four Laborers I’ve never met. A total of six invaders.
6: symbolizes beauty and high ideals. The sixth sense: ESP. The sixth astrological sign in the Zodiac: Virgo.
Focus! A soft pitter-patter of footfalls echoes outside the cave. More TLs?
Killian isn’t safe.
Panic claws its way up the ridges of my spine, and my blood flash-freezes. I strain with all my might, desperate to move, but my body refuses to cooperate. Every attempt to raise my arms threatens to pop my shoulders out of joint. I don’t care. Nothing will halt my efforts.
“Kill, kill.” Between each command—desire?—Killian snarls like a wounded animal. “Kill!”
Shamus, a big, barrel-chested redhead with pale skin and countless freckles, slams a fist against his armor-clad chest to gain my attention. His dark eyes are narrowed, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “What did you do, Miss Lockwood? And do no’ tell me nothin’.” His accent is similar to Killian’s.
Luciana, a slender brunette with lovely brown skin and startling gray irises, backs away from me, horror contorting her expression. “I’ll tell you what she did. She doomed us all.”
Doomed…
Is she right? She can’t be. She just can’t.
I look down at Killian. My new husband is pulling at hanks of his hair.
Hopes, falling from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows.
“Out,” Shamus snarls at the TLs. “Now.”
All four soldiers rush from the cave without protest.
I stiffen. The General has evened the odds. Two against two. A foolish move for a war-seasoned veteran. Unless he got rid of any witnesses…
Willing to use my body as a shield, I push through the pain—snap. My shoulder does pop out of joint. Or maybe back into joint. Air wheezes from my lungs. Worth it! Finally, I can move. I crawl toward Killian, every inch I gain only adding fuel to an already blazing fire of agony.
Can’t stop. No, won’t stop. Determination drives me. I only wish it gave me wings.
“Kill. Must kill.” Killian is lost in a world of his own.
“You won’t be killing anyone, you son of a Myriad troll.” With a hand curled around the hilt of a sword, Shamus stalks toward him.
“Stop! He doesn’t know what he’s saying right now.” My voice is barely audible, my gaze locked on my love. So close, yet so far away. Desperation slams a spike straight through my heart.
Any other day, I would have used the comm built into the forearm of spirit and Shell. With the press of a few buttons, it could transport me to Killian’s side and, as long as some part of me is touching some part of him, whisk us both somewhere else. Somewhere safe. Like a fool, I disabled the device to hide from fellow Troikans while meeting with Killian.
I should have known they’d find me one way or another.
“Stop,” I repeat, even as I gain another inch. “That’s an order.” As a Conduit, I outrank the Generals. As a newbie to the Everlife, however, my exalted rank doesn’t really mean squat.
“We can’t hurt him,” Luciana grates. She extends her arm, stopping Shamus in his tracks. “You’ve effectively tied our hands, Miss Lockwood.”
Though the shadows are no longer slithering through my mind, I’m not exactly thinking straight. I struggle to make sense of her words, finally throw in the towel. “I don’t understand.”
“You bonded to him, did you not?” She spits the words, as if they taste foul in her mouth. “That bond forces us to spare Myriad’s favorite butcher and watch as you, one of only two Conduits, slowly descends into madness.”
Madness? No. Absolutely not. But…
Maybe? Those shadows… They might not be threatening the Grid right now, but I can still feel them. A cold, dank presence I can’t shake, hiding in the back of my mind.
With acceptance comes whole-body tremors.
“Do you think the Butcher is the first Myriadian to wed a Troikan?” She rests a hand on th
e Dazer strapped to her waist. One shot, and the weapon can stun a target into hours of immobility. “I’ve lived a long time. Every so often, a Troikan and Myriadian decide to risk everything and bond. The union puts our entire realm at great risk, so both parties are eliminated as quickly as possible, their names scrubbed from our databases.”
My eyes go wide. I’ll deal with everything she said— I hope. “Don’t you dare shoot me. You’ll stop my Light from reaching the citizens of Troika.” If I can’t move, I can’t project.
“I won’t shoot you, you have my word.” She lifts her chin. “Though you aren’t projecting much, are you, Miss Lockwood. The Butcher’s shadows have dulled you and have the power to damage our Grid, harming all of us.”
No. Absolutely not. Yes, there are shadows. But I won’t let them hurt others. I’ll keep fighting.
Not every fight can be won, a new doubt devil whispers.
“Stop calling him the Butcher,” I say. Searching for calm, I begin to count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. There are five rings in the Olympic symbol. Five fingers on each hand, five toes on each foot. Take five means take a break. Deep breath in, out.
“But you…” Luciana’s eyelids slit. “We can’t eliminate you or the B—Mr. Flynn. What happens to one happens to the other.”
Jolt. The information hits me like a punch to the chest, sending me stumbling back.
In my current state, I struggle to make sense of what I’m learning. So I’ll be wounded if Killian is stabbed or shot, and vice versa? It’s not an ideal development, but it’s manageable. What I cannot tolerate is the danger to my realm. I would rather die a thousand deaths than cause innocents to suffer.
“Why wasn’t I warned about the bond’s effect on others?” I demand.
“You were told consorting with Myriadians is dangerous,” Shamus snaps. “You should have needed no other warning. Only a fool would pledge her life to an enemy.”
Ouch. His words are the equivalent of a shame bell, trailing me everywhere I go.
“Did you forget how many Troikans Mr. Flynn has murdered?” Luciana anchors her fists on her hips. “Or did you simply not care?”
Everlife (An Everlife Novel) Page 3
