Читать книгу Everlife - Gena Showalter - Страница 25

chapter one

“Life isn’t about what you gain; it’s about what you give.”

—Troika

Ten

Present day

I peer up at the indomitable Killian Flynn, my heart thudding against my ribs. Every breath I take fills me with hope, wonder...and dismay.

Our relationship is about to change. Everything is about to change.

Earlier, we snuck out of our realms to meet in the Land of the Harvest. A secret cave in Russia’s Ural Mountains, to be exact. Now we stand face-to-face, hand in hand. Jagged rocks create the perfect frame for Killian’s wild, ravaging beauty and the unwavering strength he wields. Strength forged on the bloodiest of battlefields.

There’s no other warrior I’d rather have at my side.

Our people might be at war, but we are going to usher in peace. One step at a time.

I drink him in, this boy I’m trusting with my present—and my future. His skin is a magnificent shade between bronze and gold while his hair is jet black. His eyebrows are thick, masculine, and his nose sharp as a blade. His mouth is soft and lush. Pure temptation...

A shadow of a beard dusts his triangular jaw. Under his T-shirt and jeans, his deliciously muscled body is covered in tattoos. Skulls, stars, roses and other images, all connected by lines, creating some sort of map. That map appears on both his spirit and his Shell—an outer casing made to resemble a spirit—but he’s never told me where it leads.

One day, he’ll share all. We both will.

But it is his eyes that draw me in and hold me captive. His eyes are a soulful gold with flecks of electric blue. Always those flecks strike a chord inside me, different songs piercing my soul. Some are fast and erratic, eliciting passion, while others are slow and dreamy; always they are haunting.

Today I hear a seductive melody that sets my blood aflame and chills me to the bone. Makes sense. I am fire, he is ice, yet we fit. After all, the warmth of a fire is best enjoyed on a frigid winter’s day.

So many differences. Too many, most would say.

Just enough to rock the entire world.

I am day. He is night.

I strengthen in Light. He is unrivaled in darkness.

I like rules, structure. He thrives in chaos.

I believe our worst emotions should never dictate our actions; we should help, forgive and care for others. Emotions are fleeting, after all, and subject to change. Why let one ruin your life? He believes emotion should drive us every moment of every day, and caring for others is foolish. Those you help now will stab you in the back later.

To me, today’s choices dictate tomorrow’s reality. To him, Fate decides for us.

I’m a Troikan Conduit. He’s a Myriadian Laborer. We are Lifeblood-born enemies, and yet he is the love of my Everlife.

As different as we are, we are also the same. Painful pasts shaped us, made us stronger. We hold on tight whenever something—or someone—threatens the people and things we love. We fight for what we believe is right, no matter the obstacles in our way.

I’m one of only two Conduits responsible for lighting Troika, and I’m supposed to kill Killian, our enemy. I’m going to marry him, instead.

Chemistry doesn’t care about expectations. I love and adore this boy, and I hold on tight, remember?

Even if I despised him, I would say “I do.” There’s more at stake than our hearts.

Once we unite our spirits, we will have the opportunity to unite our realms and facilitate the peace we so desperately crave. Together, we will enter Myriad and slay Ambrosine, Prince of Ravens. The realm’s corrupt Secondking.

A corrupt leader corrupts his people absolutely.

Then Killian will take the crown, and command, and order his armies to stand down. He will accept the truce Troika once offered. A truce Eron, Prince of Doves and the Secondking of Troika, has wanted for centuries.

Finally the war will end.

Once that is accomplished—or maybe before, we haven’t decided on an order yet—we will save the poor souls trapped inside Many Ends, the hellish sub-realm connected to Myriad.

Many Ends is home to the Unsigned who experience Firstdeath, as well as monstrous beings with a single goal: kill everyone. Spirits are hunted and killed in the most horrific ways. Again...and again. Because, once a spirit “dies” in Many Ends, it comes back to life, ready for round two...three...four...

Four, the number for stability, order and justice. A strong foundation, considering there are four sides in a square. Four cardinal directions—north, south, east, west. Four seasons to complete a year—winter, spring, summer, fall. Four winds, and four phases of the moon.

Four is the only numeral spelled with the same amount of letters as its numerical value.

Focus. I believe the spirits trapped inside Many Ends come back to life, but my theory hasn’t yet been proven.

Another uncertainty? Killian’s mother, Caroline, and my friend Marlowe could be there. But here’s the thing. Neither Caroline nor Marlowe were Unsigned. Caroline made covenant with Myriad years before, only to experience Second-death within days of reaching the realm. Marlowe made covenant with Troika, only to void it when she committed suicide. Different people, different policies.

Myriad claimed Caroline’s spirit Fused with the spirit of a newborn infant the day of her death, but I think they lied. I think all Myriadians wind up in Many Ends, like all Troikans wind up in the Rest.

If people knew, they might not sign with Myriad. Falsehoods and propagandas keep business booming.

I need to save the damned, and I can. I know I can. Not because I’m special. Please. I’m just a girl who can navigate Many Ends’ treacherous labyrinth better than most, because I’ve been there.

A shudder of dismay rocks me.

“I hope you weren’t thinkin’ of me just then, lass.” Killian lifts my hands to his lips and kisses my knuckles, sending tingles down my spine.

“Are you kidding? The great Killian Flynn only ever makes girls shiver with desire.”

“Or vibrate with anger.”

I’m smiling as I nod. “That’s fair.”

The ring on his thumb glints in the firelight, warming my heart. After my grandmother Meredith experienced Second-death, I was presented with a token of remembrance. A gun-ring with six-round cylinders, 2mm pinfire. A gorgeous piece of weaponry and a fashion statement. My most prized possession.

I could think of no better gift to give to Killian when he gave me a hand-carved pendant in the shape of pi. Infinite possibilities rest within the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter; every possibility for every life. A number without end. Convert letters to numbers, and they, too, can be found within pi. Meaning, every number with any meaning—from our birthdays to the date we die—and every word ever spoken, every word that will be spoken, exist within pi.

“I love you” becomes 9 + 12 + 15 + 22 + 5 + 25 + 15 + 21 = 619.

Or as Killian says:

I = one letter.

Love = four letters.

You = three letters.

143, 10.

Even now, the pendant hangs from a string of leather around my neck, both beautiful and useful. Whenever I’m in trouble, I can press the center, and my location will be sent to Killian’s comm. He can find me in an instant and help.

Now, we’re going to help each other and intertwine our futures with an unbreakable covenant.

What if, despite this, I’m unable to enter Myriad?

Zero! The doubt devil surfaces, and swarms of others follow. Will my Light hurt him? Will his darkness harm me? Will we weaken or strengthen each other? Will our covenants to the realms be voided? What if, after this, neither of us can return home?

Firstlife was a dress rehearsal. Now the curtain is up, and we’re performing in front of a live studio audience. Every word, action and decision comes with a consequence. There are no second chances to right our wrongs. No do-overs.

I’ve been told I’ll turn the tide of the war, somehow, some way. What if my bond to Killian turns the tide in Myriad’s favor?

Maybe I should back out. Except...every fiber of my being suddenly screams in denial. Both realms have reached a boiling point. Every day innocents are slaughtered. Something has to change, and fast. This is our best shot at peace. Our only shot. And really, I want to save Myriad just as much as I want to save Troika. I shouldn’t put one realm above the other.

Face it. If I back out now, fear wins and everyone loses.

I will not make decisions based on “what if.” I will do what’s right, always. Because, in the end, I’m the only one who has to live with my regrets.

Doubt devils can suck it.

Killian squeezes my hands. “Yer paler by the second, lass. There’s still time tae back out.” His accent—a mix of Irish, Scottish, and I have no idea what else—is thicker than usual, his voice low and husky, and irresistibly sexy. “I doona want you feelin’ pressured.”

“I just... I wish we could speak with other inter-realm couples. We aren’t the first Troikan and Myriadian to fall in love. We can’t be.” Though we’ve searched high and low, we’ve found no one else. Either the others are in hiding...or dead.

He stiffens, as if he’s expecting a devastating blow. “We can put this ceremony on hold and continue searchin’.”

And end up right where we are, perhaps far too late. “We’re doing this. I’ll share my Light with you, and you’ll share your darkness with me. I’ll pass through the Veil of Midnight.” The doorway that leads into Myriad freezes Troikans to Second-death. But I’m about to become half-Myriadian. Maybe. Probably. Fingers crossed.

He is far from comforted. “If yer only doin’ this for your mother...”

Mom is locked in the Kennels, a prison in Myriad. I’m going to find and free her, so she can defect to Troika to raise my little brother, Jeremy. “She’s one of many reasons,” I say.

He relaxes, but only slightly. “Yer only seventeen years old. We can revisit the bond in a few decades, yeah?”

Decades? I inhale deeply, drawing in the familiar and beloved scent of peat smoke and heather. His scent. A new wave of calm flows over me, as warm and sweet as honey. “I’m almost eighteen, and you’re only nineteen. So what? We’ve lived, died and lived again. I’m not going to wait to fight for what’s right, and I’m certainly not going to wait to claim you.”

“I doona want ye doin’ something you’ll regret.”

His accent has reached maximum thickness. Aka sweet, mouthwatering molasses. Meaning his emotions are engaged and running rampant, and I’m melting as my blood heats. “How could I regret a miracle?” I ask.

One dark brow arches as his incredible eyes glitter. “Explain.”

“There are over one hundred billion galaxies. And counting! There are incalculable universes, two realms in the Unending, two sub-realms, nine planets in our solar system, one hundred and ninety-six countries, seven seas and over seven hundred islands. The fact that we found each other—miracle.”

He laughs. “You tryin’ tae seduce me, lass? ’Cause it’s workin’.”

This boy. Oh, this boy. He’s the one seducing me. Heart, mind, body. I love him.

But go ahead. Remove love from the equation. It doesn’t matter. Still I trust him. Time and time again, he’s defied the orders of his Secondking in an effort to protect my family. He’s helped me when he should have harmed me.

“It’s working, but it hasn’t carried you to the finish line yet?” I mock-growl. “I can’t believe you’re making me talk you into this. It was your idea. Maybe I should wait until you get down on one knee to beg for the honor of becoming my husband.”

His good humor fades in an instant, his features tight with tension. “I willna beg. I had tae beg for scraps as a child, simply tae survive. Now I’d rather die than beg for anythin’.”

“Hey, hey.” Amusement gone, I gently cup his face. Tenderness wells inside me. There’s so much I don’t know about him. So much I’m eager to learn. “I was only teasing, I promise.”

He releases a shuddering breath. A second later, his lips curve in a slow smile full of promise, and tendrils of heat unfurl inside me. He is beautiful beyond imagining, though every chiseled line is cut by cruelty, as if pain lives and breathes inside him. I look at him, and I want to kiss him, hug him and shake him all at once.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You get I’ll be cherishin’ you every day of my Everlife, aye?”

Just like that. I’m undone. One smile—and I fall deeper in love with him. One moment of time—and I can’t imagine a single day without him. One sentence—and I’m happier than I’ve ever been.

I rise on my tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Will you be cherishin’ me? I mean, yer wearing Troikan armor. Think yer marriage is goin’ to be a battlefield?” His irises glitter with a teasing light, but his tone is serious.

I give the collar of my black catsuit a self-conscious tug.

“I kid, I kid.” Killian brushes his knuckles across my jawline. “You look good in anythin’. And I canna imagine a more beautiful bride.” His voice takes on a husky timbre. “Later, you’ll look even better in nothin’.”

Heat blooms over my cheeks.

His smile returns, and it’s full of mischief, wonder and adoration. He brushes his thumbs over the rise of my cheekbones. “Yer eyes are like mini-TV screens. They broadcast yer emotions.”

Others have told me I’m impossible to read. But then, Killian knows me better than most, and he wants me anyway. Not because I’m a rare Conduit, but because I’m me. Tenley Lockwood. A girl who’s messed up, time and time again, but continues to get up and keep fighting the good fight.

“Today, a new future will be forged,” I say. “Enemies become family.”

“The first step toward concord between our realms.”

Wind whistles outside our cave, snow billowing, while a fire crackles inside. My gaze snags on the far wall, where the numerical equivalent of our names is carved. 68 + 39.

Killian: 11 + 9 + 12 + 12 + 9 + 1 + 14 = 68

Ten: 20 + 5 + 14 = 39

68 + 39 = 107

“Sonnet 107” by William Shakespeare.

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul

Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,

Can yet the lease of my true love control,

Suppos’d as forfeit to a confin’d doom.

The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur’d

And the sad augurs mock their own presage;

Incertainties now crown themselves assur’d

And peace proclaims olives of endless age.

Now with the drops of this most balmy time

My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,

Since, spite of him, I’ll live in this poor rhyme,

While he insults o’er dull and speechless tribes;

And thou in this shalt find thy monument,

When tyrants’ crests and tombs of brass are spent.

In other words, love is not subject to time, or even death.

In the back of my mind, the Grid ripples with approval and delivers a new surge of confidence. I am doing the right thing. We will succeed in our endeavors.

Once, I lamented my invisible link to other Troikans. Now, I rejoice. Support can mean the difference between victory and defeat. But who would approve of this union? No one but me knows about it.

“Whatever happens next,” Killian says, “doona forget I love you.” The brawler capable of any dark deed leans down to rub his nose against mine. “All right?”

“All right.” I’ll never forget, and I’ll never tire of hearing those words. “I love you, too.”

His smile reignites, and oh, wow, it’s like Cupid’s arrow through my heart. Killian is more than beautiful. He is life. The crystalline flecks in his eyes...there are eight. Eight is the atomic number for oxygen. Killian is my oxygen, the reason I breathe.

“Ready?” He lifts my hands to his mouth once more and traces his tongue between my knuckles.

My stomach flips over. If not for Shells, Myriadians and Troikans would be unable to touch without agonizing pain. Usually Shells mute sensation. Today I feel everything.

“Tell me what to do,” I rasp.

“Our word is our bond. Speak, and it’s done. We’ll pledge our lives tae each other. Simple, easy.”

As simple and easy as pledging our Everlife to one of the realms. Okay, I can do that. The simplicity doesn’t negate the difficulty, however. I’m giving my life—my future—to another person.

He raises his chin. “I’ll go first.”

My heart thuds against my ribs as I nod.

When he releases my hands, panic invades. I’ve lost my anchor. Then he cups my face, holding me as if I’m more delicate than glass. “Tenley Nicole Lockwood, you’ve given me life beyond the grave. Until you, I never knew the power of bein’ connected tae another person. You saw the best in me even when I showed you my worst. You trusted me when all evidence pointed tae my guilt. For that, I give ye my Everlife. Everythin’ I am, everythin’ I have, is yers.”

Be still, my heart. How am I supposed to match such a glorious pledge? Well, I have to try.

Nope. Troikans do not try. Troikans do. “Killian—” Zero! “I don’t know your middle name.”

“Niall.”

Killian Niall Flynn. Five Ls. Four Ns.

5 + 4 = 9

Killian Niall Flynn + Ten = 5 Ls and 5 Ns.

5 + 5 = 10

10 = existence. 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 = 10. (1) the FirstKing (2) the Secondkings (3) human life (4) the four elements: earth, air, fire and water.

Ten is completion: the end of one cycle, the beginning of another.

Concentrate!

Oops. My bad. I tend to lose myself in number trivia when I’m nervous. But there’s nothing to be nervous about, right? This is Killian. My Killian. Together, we can handle whatever comes next.

“Killian Niall Flynn.” I wrap my fingers around his wrists as I peer into his eyes. “You found me before the grave and taught me how to live. Until you, I’d known only disappointment and betrayal, but you picked me up every time I fell. You carried me when I was too weak to walk, and you put me first, even when it meant torture and possibly Second-death. For that, I give you my Everlife. Everything I am, everything I have, is yours.”

His expression softens, and I wish, so badly I wish, that my family and friends could witness our union. While my mother is in the Kennel, my father is training to be an ML. He hates me, anyway. My aunt Lina, his twin sister, is missing. No one knows where she is.

Lina can see into the future. As a child, she taught me a rhyme that aided my escape from Many Ends. Only a few weeks ago, she taught me a second rhyme, saving my life when a supposed friend—Victor Prince—attempted to kill me.

My life has taken so many wrong turns and hits, but things are finally on the right track. Except... I frown. “I don’t feel any different.”

“We are no’ done.” Killian steps back, his arms falling to his sides. “Out of yer Shell, lass.”

I’m confused by the command, but still I obey. He steps from his Shell, as well, gifting me with the sight of two potential husbands. The inanimate Shell, and the spirit man—the real Killian. Usually darkness surrounds him, his own personal veil of smoke. Now the darkness is muted, but there’s no Light emanating from him, either.

He’s so much taller than me, I’m forced to look up, up, up. Scars circle his neck, proof of the pain he’s suffered throughout his Secondlife.

I reach out, intending to trace a fingertip along the raised flesh, but stop myself just before contact. “You’ve been a spirit all your life. Why didn’t you regenerate after you were injured?”

“A spirit is unable to regenerate fully until reachin’ the Age of Perfection. What you receive as a child, you carry with you always.” He crooks his finger at me. “C’mere. I’m goin’ tae kiss you now.”

A kiss. Of course! A wedding always ends with a kiss.

I move toward him, eager, and he enfolds me in his muscular arms. His lips descend, claiming mine in our first spirit-kiss, no barriers between us, and he isn’t gentle about it. He’s demanding and possessive, pure masculine aggression, and I love every second.

Everything about him makes me think of forbidden nights and carnal indulgence.

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.