Gena Showalter - Everlife

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 even resist.

Part of me is ready to die. Death will be a relief. I’ll wake up Fused to someone else. Two will become one. But the other part of me fights to live now. The enemy is here. Two Troikan Generals want me dead. I’ll do them no favors. I won’t just survive; I’ll thrive.

As I fight for every labored breath, the Generals talk amongst themselves.

The female: “From what I’ve observed in the past, he’ll revert to the worst version of himself. The more he fights his dark impulses, the better he’ll become...but she’ll begin to deteriorate.”

The male: “Basically, they’re screwed either way. And so are we.”

I focus inward, searching for answers. Where am I? How did I get here, in this condition? I’m a blank slate, and the answers elude me. Emotions do not. A tide of misery, sorrow and grief rises, as if they’ve seethed for months, held back by a dam that no longer exists.

Anger joins the deluge, sparking a fall of acid rain inside my chest. Who can I trust, if not myself? I need my memories.

What did the General say earlier? Myriadians always have a harder time adjusting to the bond. Our Light forcibly attacks their shadows while their shadows gently seduce our Light. However, Troikans have a difficult battle in the end.

Bond?

Truth or lie?

Rays of Light burrow through my skull, shining, shining so brightly. In contrast, shadows wind and twine through my thoughts, memories and even the Grid to...protect me? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, those shadows are quite literally keeping me in the dark.

Bar me from what’s mine? Die bloody.

Kill. Kill! A demand from the shadows. Kill the Light, kill the girl.

Some part of me protests. Embrace the Light, trust the girl.

There are only three people I trust right now. Me, myself and I.

Usually I avoid any hint of illumination. In the Light, destruction awaits. In the dark, indulgence is the name of the game. Today, I rush toward the brightest beams, determined to chase the shadows from my memories. Desperate times, desperate measures. To get something different, you must do something different.

Shadows disintegrate. Not all of them, not even close, but enough. Information unfurls. I have a name—Killian Flynn. An occupation—Laborer. A goal—to please my king. A purpose—save my mother, whatever the cost.

The anger heats, quickly turning to rage. That rage races through my veins, my muscles seeming to plump and tighten on my bones. My skin pulls taut, threatening to rip at the seams. How can I not know more about myself? Why does the information seem...wrong?

On my wrist are the numbers 143, 10 and I have no idea why they’re there. What else has been wiped away with mental Windex?