Firstlife (12 page)

A twig snaps. I stiffen. “Bow?” This time, her name is little more than a whisper.

A brute of a man steps from the foliage—along with two of his friends. They are Big, Bigger and Biggest, and they are covered in grime. I can overlook the grime. Each man has something I desperately want: a coat.

I hope they speak English. I hope they're friendly. But I don't count on either.

Still, I try to barter. “You hungry? I'm willing to trade a can of chicken for a coat.” More than fair.

The one in the middle licks his lips—and I'd bet it's not at the thought of dining on chicken.

Self-preservation instincts scream,
Run!

I'm about to do just that when a violent gust of wind nearly sweeps me off my feet. Worse—or better—Bigger's coat blows open, and I catch a glimpse of chopped pink hair. Bow! She's clutched against his beefy chest, unmoving, and my heart shudders with fear.

Judging by the leer the men throw my way, I can guess what they want from two lone girls, and it's not witty conversation. I know the odds of defeating them suck. Three brutes against one wily scrapper. At least six hundred pounds of muscle against one hundred and five pounds of me.

“Did you hurt her?” My words are gritted.

Biggest grins, revealing crooked, yellowed teeth. “We capture escapees for doctor.” His accent is thick and Russian. “We take back to asylum...but not before we have fun.”

Now Vans's hidden door makes a whole lot of sense.

“Come nicely, girl.” Big. “We have fun with you, too.”

“No harm.” Bigger. “Unless you misbehave.”

No harm, my ass. I free the scalpel from my pocket, hiding the glint of metal behind my arm. My teeth chatter, and the goose bumps return to my skin. “Counter offer. You drop the girl and walk away, and
I
won't harm
you
.”

Bigger and Biggest guffaw as Big's eyes flare with glee. He likes a challenge. Noted.

Big moves toward me, and I realize I'm not the only one hiding a weapon. There's a wicked-looking dagger clutched in his hand, but I hold my ground...hold...

There's no other way to save Bow.

The closer he gets to me, the more his excitement
grows
. Literally.

He swings at me, aiming for my shoulder. If his punch lands, it won't be a deathblow, but it'll make me scream.

Now!
I duck, avoiding impact, and slam my scalpel deep into his femoral artery. I may not remember everything from my human anatomy class, but I
do
remember the smallest nick to the femoral can be fatal.

He bellows in pain, blood spurting from his leg. As he crumples to his knees, I try to roll out of the way, but he manages to tangle his fingers through my hair and yank me to my back.

His friends step toward us. He holds up his free hand—the one with the dagger—stopping them. Then he gives me a cold smile...and strikes.

This time he's serious, and he's mad. His target? My heart.

I suddenly see the merits of Troika's way of thinking: being led by emotions can do more harm than good.

I raise my arm to block the blow, and the blade slices through my wrist, coming out the other side. Pain consumes me in a brutal flash, stars glittering behind my eyes, dizziness overwhelming my mind. I fight to remain conscious. If I pass out, I die
.

The color in Big's cheeks is draining fast. He teeters back and forth, close to passing out, too. But first, he wraps his fingers around my neck and squeezes.
No!
I swing the scalpel at his throat, but he bats my arm away, nearly dislodging my already bruised shoulder.

Come on!
As I buck and flail against his hold, he only tightens his grip. The stars behind my eyes are replaced by spiderwebs of black. This can't be it. This can't be the end. Here one second, poof, gone the next. I didn't survive Vans's torture just to be strangled on a mountain.

“You want my help, lass?”

I recognize that gravel-and-smoke voice, that seductive Irish accent. Killian is here! In an instant, joy consumes my fear.

“Lass?”

I can't speak, can only nod.

It's enough. He says, “You'll want ta let her go, lad. Consider this your one and only opportunity to walk away. After this, you won't even be crawling.”

I can make out his silhouette. He's tall, but he's not as tall as the brutes. With three against one, he could get seriously hurt. Or worse! I don't want him hurt.

“You leave before too late, boy,” says one of the brutes.

“Wrong answer.”

Suddenly I'm free, Big ripped away from me. Gasping for breath, I scramble to my feet, ready to fend off Big before he's able to pin me again, but I find him on the ground, his eyes closed, a pool of blood forming around him.

Killian is focused on the remaining brutes. Whatever he did to Big scares the other two greatly.

Bigger drops Bow to the ground. “She yours. Take, take.”

A small gasp leaves the girl. She blinks open her eyes as she struggles to sit up. One second...two...she proves unsuccessful, as if her body has turned to stone.

“Malfunction,” she manages to grit out.

Bigger and Biggest hold up their hands, palms out, and take a step back.

I race forward, but Killian beats me to Bow's side. He raises his arm, his own dagger glinting in the sunlight, and angrily meets my gaze. “These men are Unsigned, which makes them your brethren. Is this really what you want for your life? Do you wish to spend eternity with them?” I expect him to throw the weapon at the brutes—but he says, “Show her who you really are, Archer,” before slamming the blade deep, deep into Bow's chest.

TROIKA

From: A_P_5/23.43.2

To: L_N_3/19.1.1

Subject: Ten, Ten, Ten

Bow is toast. The inferior Shell malfunctioned, allowing the Unsigned to overpower me, and Killian to stab me.

Speaking of the worst spirit in the Everlife, Killian has the girl all to himself right now—and that's the good news. She's intrigued with him, just like—never mind. I can see it in her eyes, and I know any attempt to keep the two apart will only make the intrigue stronger. How would you like me to proceed? What have I been cleared to do?

Archer Prince

TROIKA

From: L_N_3/19.1.1

To: A_P_5/23.43.2

Subject: Your Capacity to Forgive Is Humbling

You need to let go of your anger with Mr. Flynn. Miss Lockwood was right. It wounds
you
. And if you aren't careful, one day it will wound innocents.

I'll send you another Shell. As generous as I am, I'll even send one from your personal collection.

And yes, you're right. Finally! Attempting to keep Miss Lockwood away from Mr. Flynn will do more harm than good, but try to remember that Mr. Flynn is his own worst enemy. He'll destroy her intrigue all on his own. After all, pushy people get pushed, and Mr. Flynn's actions will speak for him. Let yours speak for you.

Her grandmother has spoken with the Generals and, because Ten has admitted she needs help, you have permission to help her through any means necessary—unless, of course, the girl dismisses you. Unfortunately, we still can't stay where we aren't welcome.

Also, watch your six...or rather, your ten.

General Levi Nanne

TROIKA

From: A_P_5/23.43.2

To: L_N_3/19.1.1

Subject: Does Every Moment Have to Be a Teaching Moment?

It's annoying.

Anyway. I'm getting through to Ten, I know I am. And yet she's still drowning in a sea of doubts, unwilling to trust her own instincts. If she won't grab hold of the life raft I've thrown at her, we ARE going to lose her.

I've grown to like her. I don't want to lose her.

TROIKA

From: L_N_3/19.1.1

To: A_P_5/23.43.2

Subject: Prepare for Another Teaching Moment

I remember the day Miss Lockwood was born and the uproar it caused in the realms. She absorbed and released so much Light our monitors were blinded. You remember the day, too; you simply weren't told why such a bright light cut through our realm. Myriadians claim she glowed so brightly because she was Fused with one of their Generals. Though they also claim to love the darkness, they want our light. They always have.

And I know, I know. Miss Lockwood isn't exactly glowing right now. Darkness shrouds her. But we don't give up, Mr. Prince. Ever. And while we have permission from the Generals to do what needs doing, Miss Lockwood's will comes first. What she accepts from you, give. What she rejects, try again another way. If she won't grab hold of your life raft, throw her a rope. If she won't grab hold of your rope, throw her a branch.

TROIKA

From: A_P_5/23.43.2

To: L_N_3/19.1.1

Subject: I Really Hope...

I'm not this irritating to Ten.

chapter eight

“Fear is the enemy at your back with a knife to your throat.”

—Troika

I'm numb with shock as much as cold. Killian—the boy who saved me from Vans and potential rapists—just stabbed Bow in the heart.

Killian just stabbed Bow in the heart!

Rage peeks through my numbness. Sorrow bulldozes through it.

One blow. One life—now gone?

After everyone Killian killed at the asylum, I should have seen this coming.

He spits on Bow before turning to the giants.

As I dive on top of the girl, hoping to protect her from further harm—
can't be too late, just can't be
—hoping there's some way I can save her—
too late, already too late
—the mountain men realize Killian has just relinquished his only weapon.

“Stupid boy.” They all smile their hungry smiles, no longer afraid of repercussions.

“Come, try to take me down,” Killian says with a smile of his own. “Welcome your Firstdeath with open arms.”

They attack with a brutal clash of fists. A mistake. A
pop, pop, pop
sounds as Killian breaks their bones. He laughs as he punches, parries, then punches again and again, going for the nose, the throat and, as the men howl in pain, the kidneys and bowels. He reminds me of a bear playing with its food.

When Bigger abandons the fray to concentrate on me—planning to scoop me up and run?—Killian stops laughing, stops playing and delivers a lethal blow. A kick so powerful one side of the man's head caves in and his eyeball pops out.

Horror claws at me, and fear eats the remains.

I shake so forcefully I probably look like I'm having a seizure. Killian has revealed his true nature. He's a black-hearted snake, and he's going to win this battle...he's going to turn his attention to me. What will happen then?

I shouldn't wait around to find out, but I can't bring myself to leave Bow, even though she's gone.

With a war cry, Biggest dives on Killian. The two hit the ground and roll toward me. I scramble back to avoid a foot to the face, watching as the mountain man loses all control, fueled by rage and adrenaline as he pounds his fists into Killian like a jackhammer set on high. Bile burns my throat.

Killian shows no signs of tapping out. Or even pain! He doesn't try to protect his face from the next blow...or the next and the next...as he grips the man by the neck. I feel like I take the blows for him, my entire body jerking. He flings Biggest deeper into the trees, ensuring I'm no longer within the man's reach, and my heart flutters with equal measures of relief and panic.

A kind gesture from a murderer.

I quiver as I smooth pale locks of hair from Bow's brow. What the...? Confusion slaps me, overshadowing everything else. I've seen death, and this isn't it. Her eyes are open, but she has no irises, no pupils, doesn't even have whites. The sockets are just
empty
.

My heart stops fluttering and starts galloping as I brush my fingertips over one socket, then the other. They aren't actually empty, I realize, but covered by a film as clear and smooth as glass. I bend down to peer past the film. Inside her head I see no blood, tissue or brain.

I don't understand.

I look her over more carefully. At the moment of death,
everyone's
bladder and bowels release. It's just a fact of life. A final humiliation, I guess. Death's ultimate F-you. But her jumpsuit isn't wet or stained between her legs.

Is she
alive
?

Hope flares, even though I know the thought is impossible. Those sockets...

I turn my attention to the blade protruding from her chest. There's no motion to indicate she's breathing. An-n-nd, not a speck of blood discolors her jumpsuit around the blade. There's a wet spot, but it's covered by...diamond dust?

What
is going on?

My mind is spinning but getting nowhere fast as I yank the collar, ripping the top to her navel. The blade is buried hilt-deep in her heart, but there's still not a drop of blood. There
is
more liquid diamond dust.

I don't know what to think...or what to do. I'm too fogged by pain, fatigue and uncertainty to make sense of anything.

A grunt captures my attention. A snap. Another pained howl.

I focus on the battle still raging and swallow a whimper. The boys are back in the clearing, and Biggest is doing his gold-star best to land a blow
anywhere
on Killian's body. But Killian is too fast—it's like comparing a horse-pulled wagon to a race car—ducking and punching with mesmerizing rhythm. His skill is masterful, and the part of my brain enamored with numbers sits up and takes notice, even sighs dreamily.

Punch, punch, duck. Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch—wow! He uses every part of his body to inflict maximum damage. He is a lethal weapon.

I flinch as he executes a perfect head-butt. As his opponent reels, he dives into the guy, his teeth ripping into a tender throat...and he's beautiful, so terribly beautiful while he does it. While Biggest howls, he breaks the guy's beefy arm and, with a well-placed elbow jab, breaks the man's already-broken nose.

Biggest drops, but he's not yet out for the count. He snarls and crawls toward Killian. “Will...kill...”

My mouth goes dry—
up, get up, do something!
—but Killian laughs his gut-chilling laugh devoid of humor. “You won't. If you want me to end you quick, you'll give me your coat before I have to bloody it further. Otherwise your pain will only get worse.”

As he speaks, the ground shakes. His gaze slides to me. To ensure I'm okay or that I'm watching? Is he showing off or does he fear I'll run?

Run...yeah, I should probably run. He's proved to be homicidal, untrustworthy and just plain crazy.

Pure evil. Bow tried to warn me.

If I stay, we're going to fight. Definitely verbally, maybe physically. And the bottom line? I'll lose against him.
Gotta slay a lion before you can slay a dragon
. He's far more experienced at combat. My knowledge is limited to cafeteria brawls and guards who won't take no for an answer.

At the moment, however, none of that matters. I stay put, despite the danger. I have questions—a whooole lot of questions—and he might have answers.

As a precaution, I use what little strength I have left to wrench the blade from Bow's chest. A blade bearing zero drops of crimson. I'm flabbergasted all over again. Her wound gaps open, but there's no muscle or bone underneath her savaged skin but...pulsating electrodes?

Confusion bombards me, my mind spinning all over again. I don't... How... Why?

“Just want girl.” Biggest takes a swing at Killian and curses in Russian when he misses.

“Aye, I know that.” Killian lands a punch to the guy's jaw, causing him to whirl while spitting blood and teeth. “Problem is, I've never liked to share my toys.”

So I'm a toy now?

Forget confusion. Hello, rage. I'll cut first and ask my questions later.

Biggest lumbers to his feet, preparing to launch another strike, but I've had enough. Playtime is over. I'm still weak, and I'm still trembling, but my goal is simple. Get in and out without either guy noticing—until it's too late.

I race into the fray. Or rather, I try to race into the fray. The frigid cold has turned my blood into sludge, slowing my movements, and it doesn't help that the injuries Vans inflicted on me are swollen, my skin stretched taut over every wound.

Biggest notices my approach and pivots toward me. So much for stealth. As I raise the blade, intending to go for his already injured throat—far too late to turn back now—he swipes out his arm to backhand me. I duck, but I'm not fast enough and end up taking the blow at the side of my head.

Pain explodes inside my skull as I fall. Thankfully a surge of adrenaline floods my veins when I collide with the ground. Determined, I roll toward him, reaching up to stab him. The blade sinks into his side, blood spurting. He yowls and reaches for me.

Killian kicks his arm out of the way and jabs a dagger deep into his eye socket. Biggest's next howl makes a mockery of his first. Then he goes quiet.

I collapse on the ground, gasping for breath. It's over. The battle is over.

One of them, at least.

A shadow falls over me. I stiffen, my gaze roving up, up to Killian's blood-spattered face. Blood-splattered, even though I see no real injuries on him. Even stranger, he's far more beautiful than before, because his smooth veneer has been stripped away. His charm and seduction are replaced by savage determination.

For some reason, the fear leaves me. Whatever happens, happens. I'll deal. I've dealt with worse.

His hands fist at his sides. “I had everything under control, lass.”

“Yeah, well, you were taking too long.”

“Complaints? I saved your life.”

“
Why
did you save it? To kill me yourself—the way you killed Bow?”

“Bow overstayed her welcome.” He kicks the girl in the stomach and grins with satisfaction. “You, I'm not going to hurt. Why would I? I now own your soul. Isn't that the save-a-life rule?”

And now the charmer is back. “You're with Myriad. You're anti-rules.”

“For you, I'll make an exception.”

“How sweet. But, no.
Hard
pass.”

“You might want to reconsider. There are cuts and bruises all over your face, and there's a lump on your jaw. You, Tenley Lockwood, are currently hideous. You'll scare all other potential rescuers away.”

“A risk I'm willing to take.”

“Too bad.” He extends a hand to help me up—the very hand that slammed a blade into Bow's chest. I crab walk backward, but he sighs and follows me. “I'm going to help you, lass, and that's that.”

Zero! With every inch I gain, my bleeding wrist screams anew. Finally I stop. I have no other option, my body refusing to cooperate. Moving did me no good, anyway. “I'm a mess. How are you so...fine?”

He chuckles. “I'm fine, am I?”

Not going to respond to that
. “You have no cuts, bruises or lumps.” His short dark hair is slightly rumpled. The flecks of blue in those eyes of molten gold are glowing with different degrees of menace despite his amusement. “Just thirteen streaks of blood.”

In the ancient past, thirteen steps led to the gallows. A hangman's noose has thirteen knots. At thirteen, children are considered teenagers.

No wonder the number thirteen is hated worldwide. If there were thirteen months in a year, the thirteenth would probably be called Helluary.

“Counted, did you?” Killian crouches in front of me, his determination only growing. “I've noticed your affinity for numbers. A little obsessive, a lot cute.”

“I've noticed your affinity for cold-blooded murder.” He's not going to distract me or win me over. Answers followed by escape. That's my plan and I'm sticking to it.

He isn't the least bit abashed. “Hardly. The mountaineers were self-defense, so they don't count. Archer—Bow—is still alive.”

The lack of blood...the sparkling liquid...those clear eye sockets...the electrodes under her skin...

“Impossible,” I say, but there's a tremor in my voice.

“Trust me. You'll see him again.”

“Him? Are you trying to tell me Bow is—was—a guy named Archer?”

“I'm not trying to tell you anything, lass. I'm simply stating facts.”

However improvable, I think... I think there's truth to what he's saying. Bow isn't Bow...and maybe Bow isn't dead. “How will I see her—him—again? In the Unending? And why did you stab him?”

Show her who you really are...

“A thousand different reasons.” He shrugs. “At the top of the list—I knew it'd feel good.”

Irritation is like a bull with horns, ram, ram, ramming my calm facade. “Victors are adored and failures are abhorred, right?”

He ignores my dry tone and nods. “Exactly.”

“Meanwhile, you have no idea how wrong you are. Victors can be hated.”

The bull with horns begins to ram
him
, I think. He snaps, “Your precious Bow is my enemy.”

“No. She's—”

“A Troikan Laborer.”

The statement echoes between us.
“Im-impossible.” Right? “I touched her, and she never protested. Never accused me of committing a crime.”

“Think, lass. Why would the law exist if not to hide those who wish to pass as a human? When undercover, a Shell is allowed to touch whomever he or she desires. Have to blend in, don't you know.”

The coolness of Bow's skin...just like the coolness of James's skin...and the coolness of Killian's.

I lick my lips. “Are you a Myriad Laborer?” No, no. He can't be. He's not a Shell.

Shells can't have sex with humans. Can they? And yet, he's bragged about his conquests.

He eyes me intently as he says, “What do you think?”

“Are you?” I insist, bordering on desperation now.

“What. Do. You. Think?”

“Just tell me!”

He stretches out his hand. “Just touch me. Then
you
tell
me
.”

I give a violent shake my head. Touch him? No way, no how. Not ever again.

He smiles without humor. “I like you, lass. I shouldn't, but there's something about you. You're smart, and you make me think. Now use your brain and figure this out, because we both know you're not going to believe anything I tell you.”

My hand flies to my heart and rubs. What did I know beyond any doubt? “You love Myriad. You were able to give me a virtual tour unlike any other. Dr. Vans paid you to target me, but you killed him.”

“Oh, yes, I most certainly did kill him,” he says. “With relish. But he wasn't paying me. He had nothing I prized.