Lifeblood

  Everything inside me goes haywire. My heartbeat slips out of rhythm. My blood heats, melting my spirit inside my Shell. Different parts of me tremble...all the places Killian has touched... I ache in the most delicious way.

  Finally! He is nearby. The boy who 143s me is within reach.

  I smooth my hair, my clothing. How do I look? How will he react when he sees me?

  Dior pales. Her eyes chill to frostbite-cold.

  "How did he get past our guard?" Elizabeth demands. "How did he find us?"

  Dior's fear, maybe? But I doubt she's in the mood to hear my opinion.

  "I don't know," Victor replies.

  "Let's go." She grabs hold of Dior's arm and pulls her to her feet. "I'm taking you to a new safe house."

  "Stop and think this through." Victor crosses his arms. "You take Dior away, and the Myriadians will leave. She stays, and we can send Ten out to talk with Killian. For her, he might let good intel slip. Like how he managed to track us. You still want to know, right?"

  Elizabeth throws a death-glare at me. "Apparently we're doing things her way today. If Numbers wants to risk Dior's safety in order to talk with the guy who will destroy us, she can."

  He high-fives me. "Way to go, Ten. You're in training, but you're being trusted to lead. What an honor!"

  Stomach cramp. What if this is a test, and I'm failing?

  "If you go out there," Elizabeth tells me, her tone grave, "you will endanger us."

  Dior steps forward, her hands balled into fists. "My fate hangs in the balance. I should be the one to decide."

  Uh, no. That would be a huge mistake. She doesn't see the whole picture.

  Do I? Not even close. Am I allowing my desire to see Killian to direct my actions?

  I zip my lips. Testing, one, two, three.

  I nod at Dior. She's right. Her future, her decision.

  At first, she says nothing else, and I shift from one booted foot to the other. If she says no...

  "You can go out there." She expels a deep breath. "You do what you promised me. You bring back Gingerbread, alive and well."

  My knees nearly buckle with relief. "I will."

  "You heard her." A victorious Victor hikes his thumb at the door. "Go out there and get answers, Ten."

  I rush forward, stopping abruptly when Elizabeth grabs my arm. Eyes now resolved, she says, "You're about to learn the harsh reality of the war between realms, and the betrayal you will always face at the hands of our enemy. Not because you're facing Killian, but because you're facing a Myriadian. Good luck."

  chapter ten

  * * *

  "Action without love is still action."

  --Myriad

  I rush out of the farmhouse, certain of only one thing. I don't believe in luck.

  When something good happens, someone has been working behind the scenes to see it through. Luck will not dictate Killian's treatment of me. His character will.

  On the porch, I look past the Buckler--aka jellyair--and search for Killian.

  Clay races to my side. "I know what you're planning, and I'm asking--no, I'm begging you to stay within our Buckler. I've been in Troika longer than you. I've heard rumors about Killian--"

  "I know what you've heard. He's mad and bad to the bone. He wins whatever the cost." Until me. "He's changed."

  "No. I mean, yes. I've heard those rumors, too. But there are others. New ones." His tone drips with trepidation. "Worse ones."

  Searching... "I don't care about gossip. Rumors are a disease, usually started by people with an ax to grind, and they mutate as they spread."

  "You're right. And that's the reason I never said anything until now. But this... I think Killian's life hinges on his ability to neutralize you."

  "No." I give a vehement shake of my head. Killian would have told me when he messaged me. "How could anyone in Troika know what a Myriadian has or has not been ordered to do?"

  "I'm not sure. I just know I overheard Levi and Meredith talking."

  Shock kicks me back a step. If Levi and Meredith truly believed Killian intends to "neutralize" me, they wouldn't have used him as an incentive for me to work harder, to learn faster.

  Searching... "You must have misunderstood."

  The next time we're together, we will fight. There's no way to avoid it. Be ready.

  My chest hollows out, but again, I shake my head. He would never hurt me. "I'm going to talk with him."

  "Then I'm coming with you."

  "No. You're in danger, I'm not." Still searching... Dang it, where is he? "Stay here, and stay safe."

  There! A tall, dark blur through the jellyair. I race off the porch and through the trees, closing in on the shield...almost there.

  The ground quakes, as if a giant fist just smacked into the planet. I trip and land on my knees. My gaze lifts to the sky. The dome is gone, and a guard tower hovers above the farmhouse.

  Like clouds, towers are mobile, steered wherever the action is.

  Along the parapet, TLs and MLs are locked in a fierce battle--for rights to Dior? Fiery swords swing, appearing like bursts of lightning.

  Such violence. When will it end? How many lives will be lost today?

  Within seconds, the Buckler reappears, the battle nothing but a blob on the horizon.

  I stand and kick into motion, finally exiting the dome. Surrounded by trees, I'm sheltered from the battle by a canopy of leaves.

  Adrenaline surges as I search nearby thickets. Where is Killian? Was he attacked by patrolling TLs? Hurt? For that matter, where are the TLs? Now in the guard tower?

  I spin, calling, "Killian!"

  In the distance, leaves rattle. I palm the dagger sheathed in the side of my boot. Branches part...and Killian emerges, the rest of the world forgotten. His dark hair is messy, his shirt and battle leathers ripped in several places. He holds a sword in a tight grip.

  There's a rope tied around his waist, the end stretched behind him like a tail. Whatever he's dragging is hidden behind the line of trees.

  Our gazes meet, and we both go still. His savage intensity threatens to unravel my calm. His blue-gold eyes sing to me...always they sing, and the anguished melody haunts me.

  "Ten." The huskiness of his Irish lilt turns my name into a thousand other words. The one I cling to--Love.

  I can't catch my breath, and I'm not sure I want to. Every inhalation marks the passage of time. A second closer to our parting. I want to stay here forever.

  "Killian." His name is a soft invocation. He's here, and he's in front of me. A literal dream come true. I wish I could scent his peat smoke and heather, my two favorite scents in the world.

  I wish I could touch him.

  I remember the bone-deep cold a single graze of skin-to-skin contact causes, but I can't bring myself to care. I know the agony of being without him, and I would endure anything to hold him in my arms again.

  I sheathe my dagger and step forward.

  "What are you doing? Arm up not down." Expression hardening, he lifts his chin, squares his shoulders and straightens his spine. He angles the sword, pointing the tip in my direction. "I told you what would happen the next time we were together."

  I've seen him do this with others, and I know he's preparing himself for battle. For the horrors to come.

  Unease pricks the back of my neck. Elizabeth's warning... Clay's warning... Am I a fool to ignore them?

  Stop! Why am I entertaining doubt? When it came time to pick a realm, doubt kept me imprisoned with indecision. I have to trust my instincts.

  Right now my instincts are screaming: remember the dream. The birds attacked me only when my attention veered away from Killian.

  What if the birds represent misgivings and other people's expectations?

  "I'm not going to fight you," I tell him.

  "Your new family hasn't convinced you to hate me, then?" His voice is devoid of emotion. "They must not have shared the worst of my sins with you."

  Does he fear my disdain? "You're a horrible p
erson, blah, blah, blah. I've heard it all. Can we move on to the happy to see you portion of our reunion?"

  A flash of hope--of Light?--before he scowls. "Still your stubborn self, I see. Your instructors must mourn the day they met you."

  Does he? "You can't stay here. TLs are stationed around the perimeter, commanded to kill Myriadians on sight."

  Now there's a flash of surprise. "I've done a sweep. We're clear--for now." His gaze roves over me...and heats. "How are you, lass?"

  I shiver and lick my lips. "I'm curious. What does 143 mean?"

  A smile flashes, gone within a single heartbeat. "What do you think it means?"

  "I...love you," I say and shift from one foot to the other.

  "Do you, then?" He sheathes his sword at last, a gleam of wickedness in his siren-song eyes. "I had no idea. Thank you."

  "Killian." I anchor my fists on my hips. "Do you love me or not?"

  He extends his arm and holds his wrist under a ray of golden sunlight. I notice his slight tremor and melt. I--His Shell has been tattooed. The numbers 143,10 stare at me, and I gasp.

  I love you, Ten.

  My hand flutters to my heart.

  Killian closes the distance and frames my face with his big hands. I expect pain, but there's none. I expect a chill, but the temperature of my Shell never changes.

  A Troikan and Myriadian Shell can touch without complications?

  He presses his forehead to mine and breathes me in. "I love you so much I hurt."

  My pulse points hammer. Suspecting his feelings isn't the same as knowing his feelings, and I... I'm... I throw my arms around him, embracing him the way I've longed to do since we parted. I hold him tight, so tight I would bruise him without the insulation of the Shell.

  He runs his fingers through my hair. "I've missed you. I've thought about you every day, dreamed about you every night. I've had to play my bosses to keep myself out of trouble and assigned to your case."

  "I'm still a case?"

  "You're a Conduit, lass. You'll always be a case." He rubs his cheek against mine. "I'm supposed to romance you and convince you to betray your realm."

  Elizabeth would insist he's playing me now, only telling me what I want to hear while explaining any actions he takes against me. Clay would insist he hadn't misunderstood Levi and Meredith.

  My trust never wavers. "How can I help you stay out of trouble with your bosses without harming Troika or a human?"

  He straightens, as if he's been jerked by an invisible chain. His beautiful eyes fill with amazement as they search my face. "Convince your Generals to deny Dior's request for a day in court."

  Wait, wait, wait. "How will that keep you safe? How doesn't that harm Troika? Or Dior! If she's with you through duress, she's not really with you."

  "Forget trying to keep me safe. Myriad is using Dior against you."

  "How?"

  "I don't know."

  You're about to learn the harsh reality of the war between realms, and the betrayal you will always face at the hands of our enemy.

  What possible motive could Killian have for--

  Um, hello! That's easy. He's already given me the answer--to stop Dior from going to court.

  I grind my teeth. Enough! Instinct over circumstance. Heart over logic.

  "I believe you," I tell him. People can call me foolish and judge my decisions all they want. They will be looking at the situation through the dusty lens of the past. I see who this boy has become. "But I can't abandon Dior. You haven't seen her sobbing on the floor. If you're worried about Penumbra--"

  "Yes. No. I don't know," he repeats. He gives a single shake of his head. "Penumbra is above my pay grade. A well-kept secret among our Generals. The fewer people who know the ins and outs, the less Troika can discover."

  "So you don't know how Dior was infected?"

  "All I know is that General Rosalind Oriana left Myriad to meet with Dior and never returned. Word is Rosalind was ambushed by TLs when she stopped in a guard tower on her way home. And she's not the only General we've lost this week. This morning, General Abdul Ibqal visited Javier Diez--Dior's boyfriend--and like Rosalind, he died during an ambush on the way home."

  I arch a brow. "You sound skeptical."

  "I am. If Troika were responsible, they would have taken credit. Maybe gloated. So far, they've been silent, as if they have no idea what happened."

  There's another option, I suppose; Myriad could have taken out their own Generals.

  Impossible. They wouldn't...would they?

  "Dior is desperate to escape her contract, Killian. I can't turn my back on her just because we don't know what's going on behind the scenes. If I can help her get to court, I will. I must." I have to act while I have the opportunity.

  His sigh is heavy. "I knew you'd say that." His hands travel the ridges of my spine and stop just above my bottom, leaving me tingling with anticipation. The perfect torment. "Be careful who you trust. There's a spy among you. That's how we found your location."

  A spy? "Who in their right mind would agree to live in Troika while remaining loyal to Myriad?"

  "Someone who isn't in their right mind."

  Right. "But how would we not know? I mean, we're all hooked to..." I go quiet as tendrils of dread coil around me. We aren't all hooked to the Grid, are we? Some Troikans...like my attackers...can unhook to hide their location. "I'll be careful," I croak.

  He reaches up to trace his knuckles along my jaw, and I wish, I wish so hard, I could feel him skin-to-skin rather than Shell-to-Shell. His touch is like the wind. I know it's happening, but I only experience a vibration...like the ghost of a memory. But it's enough. Today, it's enough.

  "I should go," he says, but remains in place.

  Every cell in my body screams No! Stay! But I reply with a soft, "I know." I flatten my palm on his chest and imagine I feel the echo of his heartbeat through his Shell.

  He utters a bitter laugh. "I'm not ready to leave you. I'll never be ready."

  A familiar pang cuts through me. "We'll see each other again, right?"

  His eyes heat like a thousand suns. "With us, there will always be a next time."

  Shivers consume me. His words...they are beauty incarnate, poetry and passion. They are hope.

  Before Killian, I wasn't a romantic girl. I existed with no real purpose, anger directing my actions. He's changed me for the better.

  The rope attached to his waist jiggles. Scowling, he grabs hold of the center and tugs...and I discover Sloan Aubuchon hog-tied at the end.

  I grab my dagger, a curse brewing in the back of my throat.

  "Behold," Killian says. "My new partner."

  His...partner? I swallow bile, suddenly sickened in body and soul. My boyfriend and my killer are teammates. He's teaching her how to fight, the way he once taught me. Worse, he's teaching her how to defend herself from me.

  Decisions...consequences. What did I expect when I picked Troika over Killian? Smooth sailing? No storms along the way?

  She frees her ankles and hands and, with a moan of relief, rips the blindfold from her eyes and the plugs from her ears. Spotting me, she palms a dagger and leaps to her feet. Her narrowed gaze zooms from me to Killian and back again. She's pale and panting. Dirt streaks her from top to bottom.

  I know it's wrong of me, but I like seeing her in this condition.

  "If you harm Ten," Killian says, the menace in his tone almost frightening, "I will hurt you in ways you cannot fathom."

  Even now, he defends me. My hurt begins to fade.

  A thousand different emotions flicker over her features; shame, remorse and guilt are the front-runners. Finally she returns the blade to its holder. "I'm not going to... I know you won't believe me but..."

  "Sir Zhi Chen, our Leader, extends his blessing. He'd like you to punish Sloan for her crimes against you." Killian's hands fall away from me. "Proceed any way you see fit."

  I mourn the loss of his touch.

  Sloan's jaw drops. "Wh-what?"
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  I'm tempted to accept, I admit it. But if I hurt her, I'll be worse than she was--than she is. She lashed out at me, yes, but she never wanted to harm me. I yearn to harm her.

  Desire will not prevail over duty. I, too, sheathe my weapon.

  Her sky blue gaze widens and she points an accusing finger at Killian. "He's using you. Trying to win your affections so you'll betray your realm."

  Killian doesn't lash out at her but cants his head to the side and studies her more intently, as if he can't quite understand what just happened.

  "Why are you telling me this?" I ask her. She has no idea he already admitted Myriad has a hidden agenda. Then I shake my head. "You know what? Never mind. I don't trust you, so your answer is moot." I placed my faith in her once, and paid the ultimate price. This could be another set up. Pretend to help me now, destroy me later.

  Tearing up, she rubs at the center of her chest. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I loved you. I still love you, despite everything."

  "But you hated Dr. Vans more. I know. I received your message loud and clear. And you're not sorry. Not really. Words without actions mean nothing. You wouldn't change the outcome, even if you could."

  She trembles and wraps her arms around her middle. A position of defeat. What doesn't she do? Refute my claim.

  "Tell me. Did Myriad live up to their end of your unholy bargain?" I ask. "Did they deliver Dr. Vans?"

  "Yes," she whispers. "He lives in a cage in my apartment."

  He'd been Unsigned. He should have gone to Many Ends.

  More proof Myriad has access into the third realm.

  "Where is your satisfaction?" I demand. "Where is your happiness?"

  Sniffle, sniffle. "I don't know. I've hurt him, again and again, the way he hurt us, but I can't...nothing I do fixes this." She thumps a fist above her heart.

  If she's faking her turmoil, she's the best actress in the Everlife. Her shame and guilt are almost tangible.

  My anger begins to deflate. In that moment, I understand her distress, and part of me pities her.

  There was a time I hated my parents more than I loved myself. They locked me in Prynne. They paid to have me tortured. Later, my dad paid to have me killed, thinking he could use Jeremy as a contractual substitute.

  Hate never kept me warm at night. Never held me when I cried. Never patched me up when I was injured.

  Like bitterness, hate is poison. It hurt me, not the ones I despised. Worse, hating my parents had made me exactly like them. I was doing to them what they'd done to me. Had I continued down that road, I would have had to deal with guilt and remorse the rest of my life.