Firstlife

by Gena Showalter

  "Stupid boy." They all smile their hungry smiles, no longer afraid of repercussions.

  "Come, try to take me down," Killian says with a smile of his own. "Welcome your Firstdeath with open arms."

  They attack with a brutal clash of fists. A mistake. A pop, pop, pop sounds as Killian breaks their bones. He laughs as he punches, parries, then punches again and again, going for the nose, the throat and, as the men howl in pain, the kidneys and bowels. He reminds me of a bear playing with its food.

  When Bigger abandons the fray to concentrate on me--planning to scoop me up and run?--Killian stops laughing, stops playing and delivers a lethal blow. A kick so powerful one side of the man's head caves in and his eyeball pops out.

  Horror claws at me, and fear eats the remains.

  I shake so forcefully I probably look like I'm having a seizure. Killian has revealed his true nature. He's a black-hearted snake, and he's going to win this battle...he's going to turn his attention to me. What will happen then?

  I shouldn't wait around to find out, but I can't bring myself to leave Bow, even though she's gone.

  With a war cry, Biggest dives on Killian. The two hit the ground and roll toward me. I scramble back to avoid a foot to the face, watching as the mountain man loses all control, fueled by rage and adrenaline as he pounds his fists into Killian like a jackhammer set on high. Bile burns my throat.

  Killian shows no signs of tapping out. Or even pain! He doesn't try to protect his face from the next blow...or the next and the next...as he grips the man by the neck. I feel like I take the blows for him, my entire body jerking. He flings Biggest deeper into the trees, ensuring I'm no longer within the man's reach, and my heart flutters with equal measures of relief and panic.

  A kind gesture from a murderer.

  I quiver as I smooth pale locks of hair from Bow's brow. What the...? Confusion slaps me, overshadowing everything else. I've seen death, and this isn't it. Her eyes are open, but she has no irises, no pupils, doesn't even have whites. The sockets are just empty.

  My heart stops fluttering and starts galloping as I brush my fingertips over one socket, then the other. They aren't actually empty, I realize, but covered by a film as clear and smooth as glass. I bend down to peer past the film. Inside her head I see no blood, tissue or brain.

  I don't understand.

  I look her over more carefully. At the moment of death, everyone's bladder and bowels release. It's just a fact of life. A final humiliation, I guess. Death's ultimate F-you. But her jumpsuit isn't wet or stained between her legs.

  Is she alive?

  Hope flares, even though I know the thought is impossible. Those sockets...

  I turn my attention to the blade protruding from her chest. There's no motion to indicate she's breathing. An-n-nd, not a speck of blood discolors her jumpsuit around the blade. There's a wet spot, but it's covered by...diamond dust?

  What is going on?

  My mind is spinning but getting nowhere fast as I yank the collar, ripping the top to her navel. The blade is buried hilt-deep in her heart, but there's still not a drop of blood. There is more liquid diamond dust.

  I don't know what to think...or what to do. I'm too fogged by pain, fatigue and uncertainty to make sense of anything.

  A grunt captures my attention. A snap. Another pained howl.

  I focus on the battle still raging and swallow a whimper. The boys are back in the clearing, and Biggest is doing his gold-star best to land a blow anywhere on Killian's body. But Killian is too fast--it's like comparing a horse-pulled wagon to a race car--ducking and punching with mesmerizing rhythm. His skill is masterful, and the part of my brain enamored with numbers sits up and takes notice, even sighs dreamily.

  Punch, punch, duck. Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch--wow! He uses every part of his body to inflict maximum damage. He is a lethal weapon.

  I flinch as he executes a perfect head-butt. As his opponent reels, he dives into the guy, his teeth ripping into a tender throat...and he's beautiful, so terribly beautiful while he does it. While Biggest howls, he breaks the guy's beefy arm and, with a well-placed elbow jab, breaks the man's already-broken nose.

  Biggest drops, but he's not yet out for the count. He snarls and crawls toward Killian. "Will...kill..."

  My mouth goes dry--up, get up, do something!--but Killian laughs his gut-chilling laugh devoid of humor. "You won't. If you want me to end you quick, you'll give me your coat before I have to bloody it further. Otherwise your pain will only get worse."

  As he speaks, the ground shakes. His gaze slides to me. To ensure I'm okay or that I'm watching? Is he showing off or does he fear I'll run?

  Run...yeah, I should probably run. He's proved to be homicidal, untrustworthy and just plain crazy.

  Pure evil. Bow tried to warn me.

  If I stay, we're going to fight. Definitely verbally, maybe physically. And the bottom line? I'll lose against him. Gotta slay a lion before you can slay a dragon. He's far more experienced at combat. My knowledge is limited to cafeteria brawls and guards who won't take no for an answer.

  At the moment, however, none of that matters. I stay put, despite the danger. I have questions--a whooole lot of questions--and he might have answers.

  As a precaution, I use what little strength I have left to wrench the blade from Bow's chest. A blade bearing zero drops of crimson. I'm flabbergasted all over again. Her wound gaps open, but there's no muscle or bone underneath her savaged skin but...pulsating electrodes?

  Confusion bombards me, my mind spinning all over again. I don't... How... Why?

  "Just want girl." Biggest takes a swing at Killian and curses in Russian when he misses.

  "Aye, I know that." Killian lands a punch to the guy's jaw, causing him to whirl while spitting blood and teeth. "Problem is, I've never liked to share my toys."

  So I'm a toy now?

  Forget confusion. Hello, rage. I'll cut first and ask my questions later.

  Biggest lumbers to his feet, preparing to launch another strike, but I've had enough. Playtime is over. I'm still weak, and I'm still trembling, but my goal is simple. Get in and out without either guy noticing--until it's too late.

  I race into the fray. Or rather, I try to race into the fray. The frigid cold has turned my blood into sludge, slowing my movements, and it doesn't help that the injuries Vans inflicted on me are swollen, my skin stretched taut over every wound.

  Biggest notices my approach and pivots toward me. So much for stealth. As I raise the blade, intending to go for his already injured throat--far too late to turn back now--he swipes out his arm to backhand me. I duck, but I'm not fast enough and end up taking the blow at the side of my head.

  Pain explodes inside my skull as I fall. Thankfully a surge of adrenaline floods my veins when I collide with the ground. Determined, I roll toward him, reaching up to stab him. The blade sinks into his side, blood spurting. He yowls and reaches for me.

  Killian kicks his arm out of the way and jabs a dagger deep into his eye socket. Biggest's next howl makes a mockery of his first. Then he goes quiet.

  I collapse on the ground, gasping for breath. It's over. The battle is over.

  One of them, at least.

  A shadow falls over me. I stiffen, my gaze roving up, up to Killian's blood-spattered face. Blood-splattered, even though I see no real injuries on him. Even stranger, he's far more beautiful than before, because his smooth veneer has been stripped away. His charm and seduction are replaced by savage determination.

  For some reason, the fear leaves me. Whatever happens, happens. I'll deal. I've dealt with worse.

  His hands fist at his sides. "I had everything under control, lass."

  "Yeah, well, you were taking too long."

  "Complaints? I saved your life."

  "Why did you save it? To kill me yourself--the way you killed Bow?"

  "Bow overstayed her welcome." He kicks the girl in the stomach and grins with satisfaction. "You, I'm not going to hurt. Why would I?
I now own your soul. Isn't that the save-a-life rule?"

  And now the charmer is back. "You're with Myriad. You're anti-rules."

  "For you, I'll make an exception."

  "How sweet. But, no. Hard pass."

  "You might want to reconsider. There are cuts and bruises all over your face, and there's a lump on your jaw. You, Tenley Lockwood, are currently hideous. You'll scare all other potential rescuers away."

  "A risk I'm willing to take."

  "Too bad." He extends a hand to help me up--the very hand that slammed a blade into Bow's chest. I crab walk backward, but he sighs and follows me. "I'm going to help you, lass, and that's that."

  Zero! With every inch I gain, my bleeding wrist screams anew. Finally I stop. I have no other option, my body refusing to cooperate. Moving did me no good, anyway. "I'm a mess. How are you so...fine?"

  He chuckles. "I'm fine, am I?"

  Not going to respond to that. "You have no cuts, bruises or lumps." His short dark hair is slightly rumpled. The flecks of blue in those eyes of molten gold are glowing with different degrees of menace despite his amusement. "Just thirteen streaks of blood."

  In the ancient past, thirteen steps led to the gallows. A hangman's noose has thirteen knots. At thirteen, children are considered teenagers.

  No wonder the number thirteen is hated worldwide. If there were thirteen months in a year, the thirteenth would probably be called Helluary.

  "Counted, did you?" Killian crouches in front of me, his determination only growing. "I've noticed your affinity for numbers. A little obsessive, a lot cute."

  "I've noticed your affinity for cold-blooded murder." He's not going to distract me or win me over. Answers followed by escape. That's my plan and I'm sticking to it.

  He isn't the least bit abashed. "Hardly. The mountaineers were self-defense, so they don't count. Archer--Bow--is still alive."

  The lack of blood...the sparkling liquid...those clear eye sockets...the electrodes under her skin...

  "Impossible," I say, but there's a tremor in my voice.

  "Trust me. You'll see him again."

  "Him? Are you trying to tell me Bow is--was--a guy named Archer?"

  "I'm not trying to tell you anything, lass. I'm simply stating facts."

  However improvable, I think... I think there's truth to what he's saying. Bow isn't Bow...and maybe Bow isn't dead. "How will I see her--him--again? In the Unending? And why did you stab him?"

  Show her who you really are...

  "A thousand different reasons." He shrugs. "At the top of the list--I knew it'd feel good."

  Irritation is like a bull with horns, ram, ram, ramming my calm facade. "Victors are adored and failures are abhorred, right?"

  He ignores my dry tone and nods. "Exactly."

  "Meanwhile, you have no idea how wrong you are. Victors can be hated."

  The bull with horns begins to ram him, I think. He snaps, "Your precious Bow is my enemy."

  "No. She's--"

  "A Troikan Laborer."

  The statement echoes between us. "Im-impossible." Right? "I touched her, and she never protested. Never accused me of committing a crime."

  "Think, lass. Why would the law exist if not to hide those who wish to pass as a human? When undercover, a Shell is allowed to touch whomever he or she desires. Have to blend in, don't you know."

  The coolness of Bow's skin...just like the coolness of James's skin...and the coolness of Killian's.

  I lick my lips. "Are you a Myriad Laborer?" No, no. He can't be. He's not a Shell.

  Shells can't have sex with humans. Can they? And yet, he's bragged about his conquests.

  He eyes me intently as he says, "What do you think?"

  "Are you?" I insist, bordering on desperation now.

  "What. Do. You. Think?"

  "Just tell me!"

  He stretches out his hand. "Just touch me. Then you tell me."

  I give a violent shake my head. Touch him? No way, no how. Not ever again.

  He smiles without humor. "I like you, lass. I shouldn't, but there's something about you. You're smart, and you make me think. Now use your brain and figure this out, because we both know you're not going to believe anything I tell you."

  My hand flies to my heart and rubs. What did I know beyond any doubt? "You love Myriad. You were able to give me a virtual tour unlike any other. Dr. Vans paid you to target me, but you killed him."

  "Oh, yes, I most certainly did kill him," he says. "With relish. But he wasn't paying me. He had nothing I prized.

  Easy to say, hard to prove. "How do you know his mind-set if you weren't working for him?"

  "I wired the entire building and listened to his every conversation. As soon as I tapped into your final torture session, I began looking for you. He thought it was okay to hurt you, to use my actions against you. I taught him the error of his ways."

  A violent gust of wind blows between us, so strong it sends me skidding into the base of a tree. Air bursts from my lungs, my bruises screaming in protest.

  My gaze looks past Killian. I have no idea what to say to him.

  Is he or isn't he?

  I lumber to my feet. My teeth chatter as I trip around him and crouch beside Big. He's the smallest of the three and, even better, his clothing has sustained the least amount of damage, despite Killian's best efforts. There are only a few drops of blood on his coat. I remove it with quivering fingers. My wounds protest as I shove my arms through the holes and pull the hood over my head.

  "Stealing clothes from a corpse?" Killian sounds impressed. "That's pretty hard-core, yeah?"

  "You planned to do it."

  "Yes, but I'm actually hard-core." His accent has changed. No, not changed, not really, but the more intently I listen, the more I detect accents from different parts of the world.

  Branches snap, though neither of us moved. Is someone out there? One of the kids from the institution? One of the guards? Another mountain man? I shudder, sway. And zero! Dizziness is knocking on the door of my mind.

  I do my best to focus as a large shadow slips over the leaves, moving slowly, a mere inch at a time. Gnarled fingers of dread creep down my spine. I'm not sure how much fight I have left.

  "Killian," I whisper. "Someone's coming."

  His scowl is dark, a promise of violence. "I know. Tell him to stay away from us."

  Him? "Who's out there?" An inmate?

  "Tell him he's not wanted here."

  A guard? "Words won't do any good. We have to--"

  "In this case, words are all you need."

  All I need. Not him? Though I don't understand, I lift the knife he used on Bow. "We're armed. Don't come any closer."

  "You can do better than that, lass. Tell him you want nothing to do with him."

  Why? Something about this situation is wrong, I feel it in my frozen bones, so I say nothing else.

  "Very well. I'll work with what I've got." Killian clasps my wrist and drags me away. "Let's get you to a safe place."

  The shadow follows us, but maintains the same distance, as if he won't--or can't--come any closer.

  Along the way, Killian sends my blade flying with a single bat of his arm. "You won't be needin' this."

  My shoulder vibrates with pain, and I whimper as I wrench away from him.

  The noise makes him flinch. "I'm sorry," he grumbles. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

  I offer no reply. I still have the scalpel, but I don't use it as he turns, picks me up and cradles me against his chest, his arms strong, intractable bands around me. I even sag against him, surprisingly docile. I'm tapped out. Got nothing left. I'll fight tomorrow.

  He heads toward...my cave, I realize. He knows where I spent the night?

  The fire is low but still crackling. He sets me down and stokes the flames with logs hidden in the shadows. When the flames are high enough, heat wafting through the air, he wrestles me out of the coat.

  "What are you doing? Hey! Give that back! It's mine. I stole it fair and sq
uare."

  "I'm going to tend to your wounds. You couldn't pay me enough to wear the coat. I have standards."

  Then why was he trying not to bloody it during the fight? For me?

  The idea throws me for a loop.

  He adds, "I suggest you dig deep and find your own." The derision in his tone...

  As if we're playing a game. Enough of his games! They keep me off balance and--

  They keep me off balance. Well, no wonder he plays them.

  I go still. If he is an ML, he won't hurt me. He'll do as he claimed and tend my wounds. Because I'm the one with power in our relationship. I'm the one with something he wants: the key to my future.

  He settles in front of me and claims my wrist in a grip as intractable as his hold. Like Bow, like every time before, no heat radiates from him.

  "Are you afraid of me?" he asks, and there's now an edge to his tone.

  Does he actually care about the answer? "I was. Now I'm not exactly sure."

  "Do you think I'll take advantage of you?"

  "Maybe. I don't know you. Not really. Wait. Scratch that. I know you're a murderer."

  "Still harping on a few measly kills?" His expression is gentle as he meets my gaze. "I will never hurt you. Not again. All right?"

  I nibble on my bottom lip. "Are you a Myriad Laborer?" I ask again.

  "If I were, do you think the powers that be would allow me to admit it before you figured it out?"

  Maybe. Maybe not. "If you are, you should know I can't be charmed or frightened into making my choice. My allegiance has to be earned."

  "Are you certain you can't be charmed?" He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles, making me shiver. "Or is it my charm that frightens you?"

  "No?" Ugh. Just ugh. A question? Really?

  He's smiling as he releases me and pulls a thin black cloth from his back pocket. When he unwinds the material, I see syringes, a spool of thread glowing as brightly as fetters, packaged cleaning wipes, thin tubes of ointment and bandages.

  I remember the vodka in the backpack and though I would love to drink my way to oblivion, I decide not to indulge. Too vividly I remember my wine-buzzed attempt to caress this guy's eyelashes.

  Besides, the warmth of the fire is helping to clear my thoughts, and the answers I don't want to face are beginning to crystallize, battering against what remains of the disbelief. I may not want to accept the truth, but I must.

  Bow without eyes...without blood...the electrodes...the name Archer...my doubts shed one by one until I'm left with the only bare-naked truth.