Everlife. Gena Showalter

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.

      Shamus and Luciana rush toward us, but Killian spins me, putting my back to his chest as he places the dagger at my throat. But what is worse? He does it without pause. Cold metal meets warm flesh, and both Generals freeze.

      My heart pounds with erratic fervor as I circle my fingers around his wrist. “You don’t want to hurt me, Killian. We’re bonded. We plan to—” I zip my lips. Every word I speak will be relayed to other Generals and even my Secondking. No matter what happens here, I’ll have to attend a debriefing at some point to explain my words and actions. I’ll be judged by a jury of my peers.

      Judged, convicted of a crime—and punished?

      “You love me,” I say.

      “You’re wrong. I know better than to fall for a Troikan.”

      But I don’t know better than to fall for a Myriadian. “Fine. If you won’t trust your love for me, at least trust our determination to—” Argh! Again, I have to proceed with caution. If others learn about our plan to invade Myriad and Many Ends, they might erect obstacles.

      There are too many obstacles already.

      Praying he understands, I recite,

      You cannot trust me.

      I’m lying when I say

      “Today, tomorrow, forever, I will put you first.”

      And

      “You are my everything.”

      I admit

      Without hesitation

      I will let you go.

      You must know sweet lies flow from my lips when I say

      “We will get through this.”

      Listen. Hear me now.

      I love you not.

      Never, ever believe that

      I love you.

      During tough times, I play with numbers, yes. I also craft poems. This one can be reversed, proving there are two sides to every story. Good versus evil. Light versus dark. Blessing versus cursing. Let the Generals and everyone else assume I hate Killian and I’m working some sort of Troikan agenda, but please, please, please let Killian understand the truth.

      He doesn’t. I know he doesn’t when the tip of his dagger pricks my skin, and a bead of Lifeblood trickles down my throat. At the same time, he hisses, forced to endure a similar injury.

      Our bond remains intact, at least, despite his memory loss.

      “Inter-realm couples always turn on each other.” Shamus sighs. “I expected you two to last longer than immediately.”

      I would rather die than betray Killian. Too bad my hubby doesn’t currently feel the same.

      “I’m going to walk out of this cave with the girl,” Killian says, “and you’re both going to—”

      Whoosh!

      A flash of azure lances him, and he grunts. He’s been Dazed, no longer able to move. I try to step from his hold—and fail. Zero! I’ve been Dazed, too.

      I glare fire at Luciana.

      “I kept my word,” she says, unrepentant. “I didn’t shoot you. I shot the Butcher.”

      Semantics.

      My stomach begins to churn with broken dreams and promises. Killian and I, we’re anchors to each other now. If Troika decides I’m no longer worth the hassle, they can take both of us out with a single blow. Same with Myriad. Kill one, kill the other.

      I don’t want to die, but I’m not afraid of my end. What terrifies me? The thought of Killian’s end. I want him to have a chance to live the life he’s always been denied.

      “Take the boy to a safe house inside Troika,” Luciana tells Shamus. “Tell no one where he is, least of all Miss Lockwood.”

      What? No. I won’t be separated from Killian while he’s inside Troika, and definitely not while he hates me. If we’re apart, that hatred could fester and grow. Together, I can remind him of all the reasons he loves me.

      “What happened to your desire to finesse the situation, eh?” Shamus asks her. “What about the vote?”

      Her gray eyes narrow on me. “If she wants to learn the location of her beloved, she’ll vote for Orion.”

      Are you freaking kidding me? I’m being blackmailed by Generals? Love and honor are supposed to be prized; revenge and deceit are not supposed to be a viable option, ever.

      There’s another way, a voice whispers along the Grid. A voice I’ve never heard before, and yet I recognize it as my own. Temptation wrapped in desire, too good to be true, yet too dark to be good.

      The voice comes from deep, deep inside me. A place now mired in shadows. A place I didn’t know existed...the worst part of me. There I find rage, hate and a thousand other things I thought I’d dealt with.

      The shadows didn’t come from Killian, I realize. They came from me. For years, they’ve been hiding, waiting to strike. Ready.

      Despite this, I find myself replying. Tell me.

      Make her pay. Make them all pay.

       chapter three

      “You cannot free a fool from the chains he reveres.”

      —Troika

      Killian

      Pain. Heat. I’m consumed! Flames engulf me from head to toe. If my skin melts from my bones, I’ll scream and I’ll curse and I’ll probably beg for mercy, but I won’t be surprised.

      Might not