Gena Showalter - Everlife

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.”