Firstlife (27 page)

“You lost me anyway.” I did love this boy, but only a mirage of him.

Feminine twitters draw my attention to the stairs. Killian stands at the top. He—is—gorgeous. Our gaze meet, and oh, the blood in my veins heats, sizzles and melts me.
He's here. He's unharmed.

Slowly he descends the staircase, every female he passes stopping whatever she's doing to watch him. Some even try to gain his attention. A few reach out to touch him, but he's focused only on me.

“Him?” James snarls at me. “You want
him
?”

I'd forgotten he was standing next to me. I yank from his clasp once again, my heart pound, pound, pounding. Like James, Killian is wearing a suit: black, pin-striped and perfectly tailored to his Shell. When he's right in front of me, his heated gaze sweeps over me, making me shiver.

“You look...” His gaze slowly works its way back up. “There are no words good enough.”

“Thank you.” I smooth my hand down the sides of my dress. I decide not to tell him about Pearl's threat. I'm not putting him in a position to fight on my behalf and perhaps be returned to the Kennel. “And you...wow. Only three words are good enough. Delicious man-meat.”

The warmth of his chuckle strokes my skin. “That's my favorite compliment ever.”

James puffs out his chest. “Killian.”

His amusement fades as he meets the boy's gaze. “You'll want to move. Now.”

James sputters. Killian cants his head—that's it—and James backs a few feet away.

A girl I've never met sidles up and wraps an arm around Killian's waist. He stiffens and flicks her off, but she doesn't seem to mind the negative reaction, returning to rest her head on the crook of his shoulder.

She looks me over. “Is she your flavor of the week? Well, I approve. Those mismatched eyes are striking, aren't they?”

He
wraps an arm around
my
waist. “Excuse us.” As she stares in astonishment, he leads me away.

“Another conquest of yours?” I ask.

“There's nowhere in the world you can go and not find one. I told you I was very good at my job, and I meant it. But...”

I'm teetering on the edge of anticipation as I await his words. “But?”

“You aren't just a job.” He stops to cup my jaw, peer deep, deep into my eyes. “I didn't like being parted from you today.”

My knees go dangerously weak. “I could admit I didn't like being parted from you.”

He gives me the slow, wicked smile he first unveiled in the asylum. “Could you, or do you?”

“I do.” I lean into him, breathe him in. I'll never get enough of his scent.

James approaches—again—and clears his throat. Was he always this annoying?

Without looking away from me, Killian grabs him by the tie and shakes him. “Go. Away.”

James slaps at his hand like a bitch but it does no good. “I have a gift for you, Ten.”

“Tenley,” I snap. “And you can stuff your gift—”

A smiling Sloan peeks over his shoulder. “Actually, I think you'll want to keep this one.”

chapter twenty-one

“There is no line we won't cross to get the job done.”

—Myriad

I push James out of the way and throw my arms around Sloan, so happy to see her I could cry. Who am I kidding? I am crying.

“Thanks for ruining my makeup,” I tell her.

“Anytime.” With a laugh, she pulls back and twirls. “Tell me you've never seen a more glorious sight and mean it or I'll hate you forever.”

“I've never seen a more laborious sight. There. Did I say it correctly?”

She flips me off, but she's still smiling. A scarlet dress adorns her body all the way to her knees, where the material flares and flits with her every movement. Her pale hair is swept to the side of her nape in an elegant knot of braids.

She waves a finger from the top of my head to the bottom of my heels. “Even with the mascara streaks, you're a hot tamale. If I were into girls, I'd give Killian a run for his money.”

I snort. “You just won a little piece of my heart.”

“Like I didn't already own one hundred percent.”

“I'd love a chance to—” James begins.

Killian punches him in the throat, causing the Shell's voice box to collapse. Suddenly all James can do is flap his lips open and closed, no sound emerging.

I pat Killian's cheek. “My night just got better. Thank you.”

Grinning now, he leans in to kiss my ear. He whispers, “I want you to choose Myriad, but I want you to want to choose the realm. I'm not going to pressure you, and I'll prove it.” He traces his fingers along my arm, causing goose bumps to rise. “Take Sloan to your room.”

What?
“No. I don't want to leave you,” I whisper back.

“I'm going to keep Pearl occupied. There's something you need to see.” He kisses my cheek and lifts his head.

My heart thumps against my ribs. Do I need to see a good thing or a bad thing?

“Ugh. Enough lovey-dovey crap already,” Sloan says.

I force a smile as I face her. “Why don't we go to my room and get away from all this noise? We can catch up.”

“Nutter, that's the best offer I've had all day. Which is saying something!” She links her arm with mine, adding, “That guy over there wanted to—and I quote—teach me the meaning of
ecstasy
.”

“So lucky,” I say drily. I meet Killian's gaze, silently telling him,
Stay close.

His gaze says,
Nothing will keep me away.

All right. Time to concentrate and figure out what he wants me to see upstairs. I lead Sloan away, saying, “Have you signed with Myriad?” Why else would Pearl allow her to come?

“No, ma'am. When we parted, I hit the road with Deacon, thinking my first order of business would be destroying my family once and for all.”

“Right.”

She stiffens, adding, “They were so broke they couldn't afford my stay at Prynne, so...they made a deal with Vans. While he convinced me to marry the man they'd picked out for me, he could have me anytime he wanted, as long as he didn't get me pregnant. I kept thinking my prospective groom would grow tired of waiting for me and marry someone else, and I'd finally be freed, but he never did.”

My hand flutters over my heart. “Oh, Sloan. I'm sorry.” The words aren't good enough.

“Guess I'm worth waiting for,” she says, every word sharp enough to cut.

“I had no idea what you were going through.” And I'd only added to her problems.

When we reach the top of the stairs, she says, “No one did, which was the way I wanted it. I hated him, hated the times he...visited me, and I don't think I could have lived with the humiliation if everyone knew what was happening.”

“I'm sorry,” I say again. What a horrible existence.

She waves the words away, the motion clipped. “Anyway, I fired my ML Elena for her attitude problem.”

“You mean you fired her because she wouldn't do everything you demanded the second you demanded it?”

“Exactly. I love that you know me so well.” She beams at me. “Anyway. My case was given to James. He was invited here, and he asked me to join him. I decided destroying my family could wait another day or two so I could see my friend.”

A friend. I have another friend, one I made all on my own. A human who understands my predicament.

There's a crowd of people milling about on the second level, so we have to push our way through. Someone waves at us. Others smile. We just keep trucking. When a couple drunkenly spills out of my mother's room, I have to swallow a curse...but I can't swallow the next one.

“No way. This isn't happening.” I stomp to them—
calm, remain calm
—and barely manage to stop myself from chewing off their faces. “You don't go in that room ever. Ever! Do you understand?”

Sloan grabs my shoulders and pulls me back. “Fits of temper can wait.”

“I mean it.” I scan the rest of the faces around me. “
No one
goes in that room.”

People rush downstairs. Good riddance!

A guard is posted at my bedroom door. A big, beefy guy with a mean scowl. But he opens the door as if he knows me. As if he's been waiting for me.

I grin and bear it. For now. “No one goes in the other rooms.”

He nods. “Your command, my honor.”

I like his readiness to please, but I kind of hate it, too. I'm not who he thinks I am.

Once inside the bedroom, I shut the door with a hard kick and Sloan flips on the light.

“Take a breather,” she says, “and calm down.”

My heels clink against the hardwood floor as I walk to the bed. I plop on the edge and sigh. Last time I was in here, Archer and Killian snuggled me.

I want to be snuggled again.

“Don't take this the wrong way, but...this place is kinda sterile,” Sloan says, her lips curled in distaste.

“A decorator selected everything, and I was expected to keep it clean.” A room should be a sanctuary, but mine became a gilded cage over the years.

There's a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice. What Killian wanted me to see?

I pop the bottle's cork and pour the contents on the white rug at the end of the bed. Last time I had alcohol, I got stupid. Well, stupider.

Sloan laughs. “You dirty the carpets while I plan to torch an entire house. How do we even like each other?”

I smile at her. “Maybe we shouldn't dig too deep.”

“That's true.” She sighs, the amusement leaving her with the breath. “Okay, so. Let's get down to the nitty-gritty. I need your advice.”

The reason Killian sent me away? “Shoot.”

“Well, I kinda threw myself at Deacon, and he kinda turned me down.”

“Kind of?”

“He told me he'll never date anyone outside his realm, and no one in his realm would ever do what I'm planning—the torching, in case you need a reminder—so I sent him away. Then James showed up and I thought, as crappy as he is, maybe he'll make Deacon jealous and you know, spur the guy into motion. And I know, I know. I'm immature. Whatever.”

“I don't hear a question.”

“Well, you know how eager I am to avoid Many Ends.”

“I do. And having been there—twice—I can officially give the realm a one-star rating.”

“What! You died?
Twice?
Why am I just now hearing about this?” She stomps over and slaps my arm. “What was it like?”

“Well, if your worst nightmare and the black plague had a baby, and that baby grew up to marry the boogeyman, and they had a baby, that baby would be Many Ends.”

“Wow.” She plops beside me. “You want to know what's sad? That's only
slightly
worse than I imagined.”

“What are you waiting for?” I asked. “Why haven't you signed?”

She nibbles on her bottom lip. “Myriad and Troika refuse to give me what I really want.”

“Which is?”

“Vans's spirit. I hate him more than I love anything else.” In that moment, she reminds me of a live wire—ready to strike the first person dumb enough to touch her. “Troika doesn't play that way, and Myriad says they can't get to him, that he died as an Unsigned and ended up in Many Ends.” I can
hear
the hate in her voice; it's so thick I figure it must be choking her. “My only real option is to go to Many Ends myself.”

No. I don't want that for her. “Holding on to the past prevents you from grabbing on to a better future.”

“I don't care. You don't know the things he did...”

I reach out and take her hand. Her tremors vibrate into me.

A tap sounds at the window. I share a frown with Sloan before walking over to investigate. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, and yet there's another tap. I open the pane and lean out.

A boy I've never met is dangling from the edge, white-knuckling the ledge.

“Who are you?” I demand.

He meets my gaze and smiles. “Why don't you take a guess?”

You've got to be kidding me.
Deacon's eyes. “What are you doing out there? Come in, come in.”

“Don't mind if I do.” He kicks a leg over the ledge and hoists himself the rest of the way. He plucks the device Killian attached to the pane before shutting the window. “I tried coming in as a spirit first. As you can guess, it didn't work.”

I glance outside. There are armed men patrolling the backyard and probably the entire property. To keep Troikans away from the party—or me inside it? I draw the white curtains with a flick of my wrists.

“Who the hell are—” Sloan sucks in a breath. “Deacon?”

“The one and only.” He shows off his ripped biceps. “What do you think of the new Shell?”

“It's...weird.” He's bald and now that I have a full view of him, I realize he's mostly naked, his skin nearly translucent, causing him to blend in with his surroundings. His junk is wrapped with a loincloth, making him look like... “This is awesome! You're a Ken doll.” I laugh.

“I am not.” He glares at me. “And stop staring at my package, perv.”

“Are all Shells so anatomically incorrect?” Sloan asks, and she's staring harder at his package than I am. “Or is this the real you? Should we call you Microman?”

“Only camo Shells are like this, thank you very much.” He gets real serious real fast. “Once a month there's a ceremony for those in Troika who are deserving of punishment. The ceremony is about to start, and I'd like you to watch it.”

This. This is why Killian sent me up here. Archer is about to experience the Exchange. He wanted me to see it, to turn my back on Troika once and for all. But...that doesn't explain why
Deacon
wants me to see it.

“I don't understand you,” I say. “What's your motive for showing me this?”

“You once expressed curiosity about the Exchange. Now you can see it for yourself.” He stalks to the bed and stretches out in the center, and wow, it's difficult to track him; I manage it only because his iridescent flesh ripples like waves in an ocean. “Come,” he says.

Sloan reaches out and squeezes my hand before taking the spot at Deacon's left. My knees shake as I close the distance and lie at his right. He types in the light projected from his hand and, just like the time Killian gave me a tour of Myriad, an image appears on the canopy above the bed. An image that begins to expand, until the entire bed is surrounded by the most breathtaking garden I've ever seen. There are hanging vines of wisteria, honeysuckle and ivy. The fruit trees are in full bloom, branches heavy with peaches, oranges and lemons.

“Usually we can use cameras to guide you, but cameras are forbidden in this part of the realm. I'm linked to a friend of mine,” Deacon says. “You're seeing Troika through her eyes.”

“Her?” Sloan waves a hand, as if she doesn't care. “Whatevs. You two get married and have a million babies.”

The friend is clearly walking, taking us deeper and deeper into the garden. We pass an archway, a patch of wild strawberries and blackberries, and navigate a maze of wildflowers. Someone comes up beside us, a grim-faced girl with freckles on her nose and fire-engine-red curls.

“Don't want to be late,” she says. “Better hurry.”

We clear the garden and come to a sea of people. No one looks as if they're over the age of thirty-five. There's not a gray hair or wrinkle in sight.

“They're so beautiful,” Sloan says.

“Yes. Only the human body decays,” Deacon replies.

“Why is everyone wearing a robe?” In Myriad, the people wore clothing from what I assume was the era of their Firstlife. But here, almost everyone is draped in a violet robe with gold trim, elaborate and ornate, absolutely stunning. Those who aren't in violet are draped in red. I count one, two, three...six. Definitely the minority.

“Ceremonial robes,” Deacon says.

Up ahead is a dais and behind the dais a palace, the walls glittering like diamonds, the trim...
ah-maz-ing
. Sapphires, rubies, emeralds. Topaz, beryl, onyx and jasper, each pure and flawless. Three people exit the palace to stand in the center of the dais. They, too, are dressed in robes, but unlike the others, they also wear crowns.

A tall, strong man consumes the middle. I can't make out his features. There's a light behind him—a rainbow, as if he carries it on his back, like a bow and arrow—and it glows so brightly he's partially obscured.

Power radiates from him. So much that I can feel it through the connection Deacon has with the girl. It makes my blood fizz, and my skin feels as if lightning is zinging over the surface.

“Behold. The Firstking,” Deacon says, his tone reverent. “Creator of the realms. Father to the Kings.”

At his left is a woman with long braided hair the color of newly fallen snow. Her features are more apparent, but I almost wish they weren't. Her beauty is overwhelming, overpowering, and as I stare at her, I'm tempted to edge closer just to touch her.