Everlife

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 doorways 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 the 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?”

How dare she go there. “He fought and killed during battle, while at war, not in cold blood. There’s a difference. And let’s be honest. You have no right to cast stones. I bet you’ve murdered just as many Myriadians, yes?”

Thanks to the Grid, I know she’s considered a peacekeeper in Troika. After a year and a half of torture inside Prynne Asylum—where my parents sent me to live when I refused to sign with Myriad—I know a sword is sometimes the only way to facilitate that peace.

Luciana flushes. With anger...or shame? Perhaps even a smidge of pride?

Shamus notches his chin. “I don’t want to believe our Conduit is so stupid that she bonded with a Myriadian determined to ruin us from the inside out. I would rather eat glass.”

Double ouch. Telling him, You had better believe it, doesn’t really strike me as the proper response. “It’s done. It can’t be undone.” I don’t want it undone. “Trust me to have our best interests at heart. Let me move forward, full steam ahead.”

“I don’t trust you with your life, much less mine.” Luciana drags me to my feet, then winds an arm around my waist to hold me up.

Anger blisters my insides, and I scowl. I despise weakness in any form, which is probably why I was drawn to Killian from moment one. He is a torrent of energy and ambition. Nothing stops him.

The General’s grip on me tightens. “Centuries ago, a friend of mine fell for a Myriadian.”

“By friend she means mother,” Shamus interjects.

Luciana flicks him a narrowed glance. “Ultimately she bonded to him. He used their bond to navigate the Troikan Grid. And guess what? He let his friends in. Their shadows spilled into our Grid. To stop them, I had to kill my mother—and everyone she’d tainted. Everyone they tainted. Don’t you see? We’re all connected. What affects one has the power to affect us all.”

My stomach twists, only to quickly settle. If—when—I share the shadows, individuals have the option to resist, like the General, and remain unaffected. There’s hope, even if I fail.

“A bond forged in love cannot be a mistake,” I tell her, my tone steady with conviction.

“You know nothing about love,” she says, her tone hollow. “Love isn’t a feeling but a choice. Feelings can change in a blink, as today has proven. You chose to turn your back on Troika, all for a pretty face.”

In some ways, she’s right. Love is a choice. “He’s more than a pretty face.” Far more. “In the end, we’re helping Troika. You’ll see. There are good Myriadians just like there are bad Troikans. We deserve a chance to live in peace.”

“They deserve death,” Shamus snaps.

“If you think you’re better than someone, guaranteed you’re better than no one,” I snap back.

“You think this is about simple prejudice, little girl?” He sneers at me. “You haven’t lived in the realm long. Haven’t seen what I’ve seen. Haven’t endured betrayal after betrayal at the hands of liars and thieves.”

“Kill.” Killian pulls at his own hair. “Kill, kill.”

Breathing is suddenly a little more difficult. Forget the war. Right now, my husband matters most. Voice breaking at the edges, I ask, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Only everything.” Luciana gives me a little shake. “Of all the inter-realm couples I’ve hunted, observed and killed, the Myriadian half always has a harder time adjusting to the bond at first. Our Light forcibly attacks their shadows while their shadows gently seduce our Light. However, Troikans have a difficult battle in the end.”

The heat drains from my face, then my torso, before evaporating from my feet. What fresh horrors await me in the future?

“You shouldna be surprised.” Shamus glares at me. “Since the beginning of time, shadows have crept, and Light has exploded.”

Whatever happens, we will overcome this. We’ll do more than survive; we’ll thrive. To believe less is to accept defeat.

“Kill, kill.”

“Enough of that.” With a scowl, Shamus closes in on Killian once again.

Though I fight Luciana’s hold, I get nowhere fast. “I told you to stop, General.” The boy who was rejected by family after family—even the one that eventually adopted him—is mine to protect. I’m his family now. “Killian is one of ours now. He’s going to defect.”

“Good intentions aren’t guaranteed action.” Rather than grabbing hold of Killian, Shamus circles him and plucks a dagger from the sheathe anchored to his waist. “But I’m neither a liar nor a fool. I merely plan to collect the boy. He’ll be comin’ with us to Troika.”

I go still, inside and out. “Killian can pass through the Veil of Wings without harm?”

“Yes,” Luciana hisses. “Congratulations. You’ve ensured the Butcher can walk among us without hindrance.”

“Are you certain?” I won’t take any chances with Killian’s life. And I won’t respond to Lucian’s the Butcher comment. Not again. One, she won’t believe my protests. Two, I comprehend the reason for her distrust. Killian has killed our people and recruited hundreds of humans to his side, if not thousands. But the past is the past. Like feelings, people change. Only time will prove her wrong.

She nods and says, “I am. Unfortunately.”

Relief crashes over me, cool and sweet. At some point, one of those bonded Myriadians must have entered Troika, not just the Grid.

“We’ll keep Mr. Flynn safe,” Shamus says, “and you’ll vote to Resurrect General Orion.”

That is a thinly veiled threat, I’m sure of it. I’m supposed to pick which of this year’s fallen soldiers rises from the dead. “Why Orion, and not Levi?”

“Our reasons do not matter.” Luciana flexes her grip. “A bargain is a bargain.”

Exactly. “I never enter into a bargain lightly. Any bargain. I never agree to terms until I know all the ins and outs.”

Still in the process of disarming Killian, Shamus crouches and snags a gun holstered at his ankle. A quick snatch and grab. In and out. “Orion will put Troika first. Nothing else matters.”

Wrong. Something else matters greatly. We need someone who will put all people first. But I make no mention of this fact right now. “I’ll vote for the person who shares my vision for a better tomorrow.” So far I think I’ve narrowed my choices down to Archer, Meredith and Levi. I’m sorry, Elizabeth.

But no pressure, right?

Killian’s eyes blink open. He stumbles to his feet and backs away from us, shaking his head before banging a fist into his temple. Then, moving with lightning fast speed, he palms a hidden dagger, one Shamus missed, and points it—at me.

“You live,” he snarls, and his accent is gone.

I almost despair. Every word he utters now comes with an edge sharp enough to cut through steel.

The problem is, my heart isn’t made of steel but something akin to silk. If this keeps up, the organ will be shredded, leaving me raw, vulnerable.

“What happened to your accent?” I ask. I know him. He hides it only when he wants to keep someone at a distance.

“Why do you live?” he continues, as if I haven’t spoken. “You were supposed to die.”

Supposed to die? As in, he planned to kill me with the bond all along?

Yep. Shredded.

I must be mistaken about his meaning. My Killian would never do such a thing. Never! His love for me was—is—genuine. Something is very wrong here.

The madness...

I tremble as Shamus gives me a look: Told you.

He expects me to crumble, doesn’t he? Determined, I lift my chin and focus fully on Killian. We’ll get through this. We must. “What you’re feeling right now is—”

“Shut up. Just shut up. You are... I can’t...” He gives a violent shake of his head, then bangs the dagger’s hilt into his temple once, twice; pain lances through my temple, and I wince. “I’m going to kill you.”

Five minutes ago, he kissed me as if he couldn’t breathe without me. Now he hates me and wants me dead?

Still mistaken, Lockwood?

Surely. Life cannot be this cruel.

Who am I kidding? Life can be far crueler.

“He doesn’t remember you,” Luciana says, and sighs. “They never do.”

No, no. Killian would never forget me. But okay, say she’s right. Knowledge is power. I need to learn more. “Will he ever remember me?” I swallow the barbed lump growing in my throat. “Will I later forget him?”

“I don’t know.” Now she shrugs, and it’s obvious she doesn’t care. “We had to ensure no couples survived more than a few weeks together.”

Meaning, what? She murdered the couples?

Oh, zero. That’s exactly what she did.

I suck in a mouthful of air, but my lungs constrict, refusing to accept the breath. If I wasn’t a Conduit, she would murder me, too. That much, she’d already made clear.

Stomach churning, I meet Killian’s narrowed gaze. “Remember me. Please.” Help me. I’m not sure I can do this on my own.

“I’ll kill you,” he says, and frowns. “But I don’t want to kill you.”

Well, thank the Firstking for that. My Killian is still in there. “Fight this,” I tell him, relief giving me strength. “Fight for me. For us.” For our cause. There’s so much left to do.

“Fight for a target?” He sneers at me, as if I’m not just an enemy but a foolish enemy.

Wait. He considered me a target? He truly doesn’t remember me.

I struggle to maintain my composure, every nerve ending frazzled. The bond was supposed to bring us closer together, not rip us apart.

Shamus uses Killian’s distraction to his advantage and tries to kick the weapon from his hand. But Killian kicks back. Unprepared, Shamus hunches over even as he stumbles.

Killian is a skilled fighter. The best I’ve ever seen. Whatever weapon he holds at any given time becomes a part of him. But he’s in no condition to fight, a fact made clear when Shamus gains his bearings, leaps at him and whales. Jab, jab, jab. Meaty fists hammer at Killian’s face.

I gasp with shock, horror and pain, feeling as if I’m the one being pummeled. Stars wink before my eyes, though they fail to obscure the glittering Lifeblood pouring from Killian’s nose. A warm gush of Lifeblood pours down my chin.

Huffing and puffing as if I just ran a marathon, I wipe my face with a shaky hand. In the crackling firelight, the liquid on my fingers is as breathtaking as it is priceless. Every drop ensures my survival. The more I lose, the weaker I become. At least Luciana’s warning has been verified. Whatever injury Killian sustains, I will experience, too.

As Killian stumbles backward, Shamus finishes disarming him. But I know Killian, and I know what he’s capable of—does he let the General do this?

I manage to wrench free of Luciana’s hold and rush between the combatants with my arms extended.

Shadows cackle with glee, and I cringe. Does close proximity to Killian strengthen the darkness?

Flames still glitter in his eyes—eyes wild and crazed. Does close proximity to me strengthen his Light?

“Please, stop this,” I say. “You’re hurt.” He needs to eat ambrosia, Myriad’s version of manna. He’ll heal in seconds. “Do you have—”

He lashes out his arm and wraps his hand around my bicep. If I’d been human, the force of his grip would have broken my humerus.