Everlife (An Everlife Novel)

by Gena Showalter

  How he can take my mouth so slowly, and make me drunk on him so quickly, is a true testament to his skill… or a revelation of the intensity of his desire for me.

  A low growl rumbles deep in his chest as he jerks his lips from mine and lifts his head. Panting, he stares down at me, his eyelids hooded, his irises glittering, wild. His lips are red, slightly swollen. My lips prickle.

  “The things I want to do tae you,” he tells me, and he sounds drunk.

  Don’t stop. Don’t give me time to think. “More,” I beseech. “Please.”

  “Oh, aye.” Once again he descends. But something has changed. The sparks between us have intensified. This time, he slams his mouth against mine and thrusts his tongue deep, taking, giving. Demanding. Hard hands settle on my backside, and knead.

  This is a full-on sensual attack.

  Shadows writhe against the Grid, agitated by our connection, paining me, and yet, the pain is diluted by the great storm of pleasure raining inside me.

  So easily I could lose myself in this moment, forget the trials and tragedies ahead. I could be selfish for once; here, now, with him, I’m happy. We’re a family. A family that chooses to be together. But selfishness, even momentarily, could cost other loved ones their lives and condemn the dead to their hellish eternity in Many Ends.

  Somehow I find the strength to break the kiss. Though every cell in my body mourns the loss of him, and shouts in protest.

  “All right,” I croak, unable to catch my breath. The drugging taste of him lingers, nearly sending me straight back into his arms. “We need to go.” Now, now, now.

  The crystalline flecks in his eyes are like raindrops falling from a sunny sky. His hands fist at his sides. “Yer plan failed. I did no’ fall in love, doona trust you fully and won’t betray my home.”

  He doesn’t sound certain, and I take heart.

  “The day isn’t over.” Still trembling, I curl my hand around his shoulder. With my other hand, I type a message to Clementine into my comm. Thankfully, she messages right back to tell me she’s ready.

  A beam of Light slams into me and transports me to the cave in Russia. Through my physical connection to Killian, he’s caught up in the beam, as well, and appears beside me.

  Without the warmth of a blazing fire, the air is frigid. I’m wearing a catsuit, covered from neck to toe, but still I shiver.

  My gaze seeks the numbers Killian carved into the wall. 68 + 39 = Love

  “Now it’s your turn,” I say. “Take us to the Veil of Midnight. And Killian? Don’t betray me. I’m begging you. You reap what you sow.”

  He flinches, then runs his tongue over his teeth. “You don’t believe in Fate, but you believe in karma, an extension of Fate?”

  Ugh. His accent is gone again. “Actions equal consequences. And one way or another, in one life or another, we will face the consequences of our actions. That isn’t karma but truth.”

  A pause as he absorbs my words. “You want me to believe Troika is perfect. You—”

  “I never said Troika is perfect. Where there are people, there are problems.”

  He continues as if I haven’t spoken. “What about your Secondking? He is touted as a leader without flaw while his brother is touted as a leader without valor. Yet, under Eron’s command, bad things happen, same as they happen under Ambrosine’s. Why?”

  “Why is the wrong question because it makes the assumption Eron is responsible for all of our deeds. He isn’t. We have free will. We alone are responsible for the things we do and say. Bad things happen because people make wrong choices, even good people.” Always everything comes back to choice. Mine, Killian’s. Everyone’s.

  Irritation radiates from him, and I’m not sure if it’s directed at himself, or me. Then he shocks me, reaching out to frame my face with one beautiful, scarred hand.

  Do. Not. Move. Impossible. How can I not lean in to his touch? For too long, physical contact was impossible for us. Now the warmth of his skin tantalizes me, a dream come true. A fantasy made flesh. Tremors overtake me.

  “What is the right question, hmm?” he asks.

  Easy. “What can we do to make things better?”

  He peers at me as if he can’t quite decide what to make of me. “You are a singular lass.” Without disrupting our connection, he uses his other hand to type into his comm.

  My gaze never strays from his. I’m ensnared, a song of hope and Light singing in my veins.

  “Get ready.” Even as he speaks, shadows rise from the rocky ground. Then, we’re swallowed whole.

  I lose sight of Killian—of everything. Panic threatens as bone-chilling cold invades, a cold far worse than the icy wind whistling along the mountain.

  In a blink, the shadows fall away, leaving us standing—

  Inside a home.

  I hiss at him. “This isn’t the Veil of Midnight. Where are we?”

  “The Land of the Harvest. This is one of my safe houses. You’re welcome, by the way. As recognizable as you are, you need a Shell. Otherwise you’ll be captured or gunned down.” His gaze roves over me. “And you could maybe use a shower. Okay, you could definitely use a shower. I could use one myself.” One of his thick, black brows arches. “Want to conserve water? We’re married, after all. Showering together is perfectly acceptable, even encouraged, considering this is our honeymoon.”

  Sweet temptation…

  He’s right. This is our honeymoon…

  Shivers slip down my spine and spread to every limb. Resist! I’m supposed to seduce Killian, not the other way around. Not yet, anyway.

  “Let’s be wild and crazy and splurge for once,” I say, my tone as dry as the desert. “We’ll shower separately.” Even though I would be wise to keep this boy in my sight at all times. But then, I’ve already established I’m a few cards short of a deck.

  “Your loss.” He shrugs, as if my answer mattered very little to him, though he can’t stop the tingle of disappointment that arcs through our bond.

  To hide a smile, I turn on my heel and study my surroundings.

  If home is where the heart is, Killian’s heart is empty. There’s no furniture, only a backpack in the far corner. There are no pictures on the walls, no decorations of any kind.

  Now I’m the disappointed one. I’d hoped my husband’s decor style would teach me more about him and his turbulent past.

  Learn the past, ensure a better future. True for both of us.

  Killian stalks forward, leading me down a hallway, through the master bedroom—as empty as the rest of the house—and into a bathroom.

  “Where are we, exactly?” I ask.

  “Oklahoma City.”

  “And no one cares that the owner of this house is never home?”

  “It’s a ranch house on thirty acres of land. No one notices.” He fishes a yellow towel out of the cabinet and tosses it my way. “When you’re done, a new Shell will be waiting in the bedroom.” He moves to the door, hand curled around the knob.

  “Wait.” What if he returns to Troika while I’m distracted? Or messages his Leader, and I emerge, soaking wet, to find the house overrun with MLs determined to capture me? Argh! I’m dumb, but I’m not that dumb. “I’ve changed my mind. We’re showering together.”

  He turns so fast he might have whiplash in the morning. The crystalline flecks in his eyes flare with Light as he shakes his head. “I think I misheard. Did you say you had changed yer mind?”

  Annnd we’re back. I melt like butter.

  “I did. Soon we’ll be rushing headlong into danger. Why not enjoy the moment?” Wetting my lips, trembling with nervousness, I drop the towel and remove my catsuit. Head high, I stand before Killian in nothing but my bra and panties. A matching set, black, and just about as sexy as—zero! I can’t think of a decent comparison. The circuits in my brain are fraying, connections misfiring.

  Despite the plainness of my undergarments, his gaze heats as it slides over me, and I begin to tremble for an entirely different reason.

&nbs
p; “Your turn,” I croak.

  “You got two more pieces tae remove.”

  No, oh, no. What little resistance I have, well, it will crumble. “Our underwear stays on.”

  Motions clipped rather than smooth, he strips down to his underwear and the wrist cuffs. I’m utterly mesmerized. Every cut of muscle…every tattoo… Now that I know what the images mean—the treasures he’d hidden throughout his realm, the people he misses—they are even more beautiful to me.

  I reach for the knobs in the stall blindly…there! Twist. Water sprays from the spout. Soon, steam fills the room, creating a warm, dreamlike haze. As Killian approaches, my tremors intensify. His hand brushes mine, and I jolt. My breaths go shallow.

  “Yer in control, yeah,” he says. “We do nothin’ you doona want tae do.”

  I nod. He twines his fingers with mine and pulls me into the stall. The hot cascade of water rains over me, soaking my hair, my skin.

  “Goin’ tae clean you up now.” He shampoos and conditions my hair, then picks up a bar of soap and lathers me up, his fingers traversing every inch of me, even beneath my undergarments… Such an intimate act. “Or am I makin’ yer thoughts dirtier, hmm, lass?”

  “You are.” I’m aching and quaking, reduced to sizzling need. “But I will resist until you remember me.”

  “I remember what you taste like. Heaven.”

  Shivering, I take the soap to return the favor, driving him wild. “Our first time—my first time with anyone— will be a memory I relive again and again for the rest of my Secondlife. I have enough regrets, and don’t want this to be one of them. Don’t want to be vulnerable with a boy I can’t trust. I want to give myself to a boy I love and who knows he loves me.”

  His muscles tense under my hands. My gaze chases the bubbles sliding over his skin, and I like my lips.

  Temptation made flesh…

  Stay strong!

  He cups my jaw, and I lean into his touch. “I think you like bein’ the giver as much as the receiver, lass.” He sounds surprised.

  “Why wouldn’t I? Your body is a work of art. A true masterpiece.”

  Water droplets catch in his eyelashes as he smiles. “Wet is a good look for you, lass. Strike that. Everything is a good look for you.”

  Irresistible boy. I lift my lips to press against—

  What are you doing? Stop! I can’t kiss him a second time. I won’t be able to stop again. Look how little control I have right now.

  “We’re clean,” I say, my tone harder than I intend.

  Bending down, he nuzzles his cheek against mine and runs his hands down my sides to clasp my hips. “Yeah, but my thoughts are still dirty.”

  A grin blooms. Charming boy. “I’m getting away from you before I decide to spend the rest of my life in bed with you.”

  “I know what gets my vote.”

  Laughing, I hop out of the shower and scoop up the towel.

  Killian exits soon after, drops his soaked underwear, and grabs a towel from the cabinet. I catch a glimpse of his perfect butt before he anchors the white cotton around his waist.

  He casts me an odd look before he stalks into the master bedroom. I follow just in time to watch him disappear inside the closet.

  “Killian?”

  “I’m dressing. You’re welcome to watch if you’d like.”

  His accent is gone again. Not a good sign.

  I probably should watch him. I mean, just to keep tabs on him. Got to protect myself, and all that.

  Just as I step forward, he exits fully dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. Disappointment flares. He tosses a handful of garments my way, including a new bra and panty set. In neon pink. The tags are still in place, but my shadows do not care; they spring from hiding to prick me with jealousy.

  This. This is why I don’t want to be with him until he remembers me.

  “You keep lingerie in your safe house?” I ask, one brow arched. “In my size.”

  “I keep lingerie in all sizes.”

  Ugh. The accent is still gone. “Why?” The same reason he has top-of-the-line conditioner in his shower, most likely. And I doubt it has anything to do with a dislike for split ends.

  “Better question. Why not? I recruit women. Women like presents. I like women.” For some reason, he won’t meet my eyes, and his cheeks are flushed.

  What’s going on? He’s not embarrassed. Or is he?

  “You used to like women,” I grumble. “Now you like me.”

  “And you’re not a woman?”

  “I—oh!” I’ve talked myself into a trap, and I know it. “I’m a woman, yes, but I’m yours.”

  He casts me another one of those odd looks, and I have no idea what it means. There’s something almost…vulnerable about him.

  My Killian is never vulnerable. Is he?

  Silent, he heads down the hall. I hang back, exchanging one set of undergarments for another, then don the rest of the clothing. A tight, white T-shirt and equally tight leather pants. As soon as I’m decent, I comb my fingers through my hair and trail his wet footprints to a room on the other side of the house, where at least twenty Shells peer at me through empty eye sockets.

  He motions to a female with shoulder-length white hair and black brows. A silver hoop pierces her bottom lip, and the Myriadian symbol is tattooed on her neck. A black tank top molds to her very large chest, and a pair of short shorts displays the long length of her legs. Combat boots complete the outfit.

  Prick, prick. “Why do you keep female Shells here? And don’t tell me they’re gifts, because you can’t give the humans you hope to recruit a Shell that is intended for a spirit.”

  “Who said the gifts are always for humans?”

  Right. PRICK.

  He pops his jaw and says, “Just so you know, I’ve never brought a woman or girl or lover to this house. Human, spirit or otherwise. I’ve never brought anyone here.”

  “Not even Erica?” The former lover who’d given him his tattoos. “You used to work with her. Among other things.”

  “I remember. But she and I were never exclusive.”

  How wonderful. He remembers Erica but not me. “As your Flanker, she chronicled your successes.”

  “Also my failures. And yes, there were a few.” There’s a note of bitterness in his tone.

  Am I one of those failures he regrets? “Victors are adored, failures are abhorred, right?” A motto he’s chanted on more than one occasion.

  He frowns, but nods.

  All right. Enough chitchat. We’ve got work to do. “Which Shell will you be using?”

  He points to a short, redheaded boy with freckles, and a laugh bursts from me.

  My Shell could eat his Shell for dinner. “We’re going to make an odd pair.” We’ll stand out. Big-time. At least I think. Maybe all couples are mismatched in Myriad.

  “I’ve used the other Shells. These are the only two not associated with me. I’d give you the shorter male, but your walk is too feminine.”

  I snort. “If that’s your idea of an insult—”

  “At worst, it’s a simple statement of fact. At best, it’s a beautiful compliment.”

  “—then we’re going to have a good life together. Once you remember me, that is.”

  He laughs, but sobers quickly. “Somehow, you always manage to surprise me.”

  Doesn’t like that I can make light of our bonding, too? Good. “So no one will know it’s you and me inside the Shells?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Are you sure? In Troika, Leaders keep a log of every Shell. They know who owns each and every one.”

  “So do the Leaders in Myriad. But I made these, so there’s no record of them anywhere.”

  He made them? Hidden talent alert! Guess I should have known, though. He’s a creative soul. He made my pi necklace, after all.

  “There are voice modulators in their throats, so even our voices will be disguised.”

  “What about our eyes?” Every Shell has empty sockets. Anyone who looks at
me will see my unique, mismatched gaze, and anyone who looks at him will see those crystalline flecks.

  “We’ll wear sunglasses.”

  “In the dark?”

  He shrugs. “We’ll set a new fashion trend. Or bring back an old fashion trend.”

  Very well. I step into my Shell. I had to practice for days to learn how to anchor, and now I do it with ease. Just boom, I’m part of the Shell and the Shell is part of me; the movement of my spirit directs the movement of the Shell.

  This Shell has gun Whells—Shells for weapons. Meaning, I can go in armed. His Shell has Whells, too, even for his wrist cuffs.

  “Do people walk around armed in Myriad?” I ask as Killian straps a gun on either side of my hips.

  “Some of them. Most of them.” Killian enters his Shell, anchoring just as easily, then holds out his hand.

  The moment has come. One of the reasons I agreed to bond with him. To enter Myriad. After all the hardships we’ve endured…putting everyone we love at risk…

  Was it worth it?

  We’ll find out.

  Killian takes my hand, yanks me against him, and presses a kiss into my lips.

  “Do not leave my side,” he says.

  “I won’t.”

  A second later, he transports us to the Veil of Midnight.

  MYRIAD

  From: K_F_5/23.53.6

  To: Z_C_4/23.43.2

  Subject: I have the package

  We’re on our way. Give me a day, just a day, to show the girl our world. I can convince her to help us. I know I can. Just as I know that whatever you have planned for her will fail. She’s too stubborn. Torture won’t break her. But I can. Let me do this. Ambrosine will thank us both.

  So. Here’s the plan. I’ll bring Tenley inside, and you’ll give her a chance to fall in love with Myriad. If I fail—I won’t fail—I’ll return to Troika and personally end their Generals. War over, that easily.

  Face it. I’m bonded to her. If you hurt or kill her, you hurt or kill me, too, and I’m the only one capable of getting inside Troika. You need me inside Troika. Betray me, and lose the war. Your choice.