When he stills, he raises his gun. I open my mouth to pick a realm at long last—either realm. This is it. The end for me. But two flashes of bright light appear in front of me, and when they fade, bodies are in their place, shielding me.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
One of those bodies jerks, as if hit, and I catch a glimpse of Deacon’s rugged features.
Wait. He should be with Sloan.
“The girl is protected.” Archer, the other body, punches the shooter in the arm, sending the gun flying. His next blow is to the man’s nose. As a pained bellow cuts through the night, I lurch for the gun. The moment I’ve got it, I aim both weapons. Archer has the man—a human, judging by the blood trickling down his face—on the ground, a booted foot pressed into his neck.
Deacon wraps a hand around my wrist to force me to lower my arm. “No.”
“That’s not our way,” Archer says. “Death isn’t the answer. Where there’s breath, there’s hope.”
“Agree to disagree.” Killian steps from the shadows into a beam of light cast by the car’s headlights. He must have returned to Myriad to get a new Shell while Archer and Deacon disarmed the shooters. “They hurt the girl, and I’m not okay with that. They die.”
He lifts a gun of his own and fires.
Chapter eighteen
“Without pressure, there would be no diamonds. Without tests and trials, you wouldn’t know your own strength—or weaknesses.”
—Troika
My adrenaline crashes in an instant, leaving me to deal with every new injury I’ve sustained. I drop the gun as my knees buckle, my weight suddenly too much to hold up. Unlike the boys in the Shells, I’m only human.
Before I hit the ground, Killian is there, wrapping his arms around me and cradling me against his chest.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers.
I rest my head in the hollow between his neck and shoulder.
“We could have questioned the shooter,” Archer snaps. “He could have told us who’s targeting Ten.”
“He could have lied,” Killian snaps back.
Archer takes a step toward him, his body primed for action. “Or you were afraid of what he’d say.”
“I’m not responsible for the attempts on Ten’s life.” Each word drips with menace. “I would never—”
“No, but your realm is. You don’t want her to know, because you don’t want her to align with Troika. Better to end up in Many Ends,” Archer says with a sneer. “Isn’t that right?”
“I don’t want her in Many Ends. And how many times do I have to say Troika is just as likely to put a hit on—”
“No! You know better, but you’ll never admit it, even to yourself. And this is your problem, Killian. This has always been your problem. You want so badly to win, you’ve become blind to the truth. And I get it. I do. My father told us victors are adored and failures are abhorred, and more than anything you wanted to be adored by someone, anyone.” Archer is shouting so loudly, his voice is echoing from the trees. “Well, I adored you. I loved you. But you changed, and not for the better. You turned everything into a battle. And even back then, I understood. You’d never had a family, and you craved one, craved unconditional love. But now you have to decide what’s more important—your pride, or Ten’s life. Because in this instance, you can’t have both!”
Never had a family...craved respect, love. The words echo in my mind as Killian grows so tense I’m almost afraid he’ll shatter like glass.
“Enough,” I murmur. “What’s done is done and can’t be undone.” The dizziness returns with a vengeance, and I moan as my stomach threatens to rebel. “We can only move on from here.”
Silence. Good, that’s good.
“Deacon... Is Sloan...?” I say.
“She’s fine. She told me to leave her, that I wasn’t sufficient eye candy.” I hear the offense in his tone.
I know Sloan. I know she finds the boy intriguing. There has to be more to the story. “Has she reactivated her cell phone?”
“No. Like you, she doesn’t want to be traced.”
“I’ll have a message sent to her on your behalf.” Killian brushes my cheek with his own, some of the tension draining from him. “Stop worrying about her and start recovering.”
There’s command in his voice, but also concern. The concern warms me, because I know he doesn’t feel it for everyone. Or often. “Some General I’ll be, huh?”
“A General leads and learns. You’re golden.”
Archer scrubs a hand down his face. “We have a safe house an hour from—”
“No.” Killian gives a single but violent shake of his head. “I’m taking her with me. We’ll see you tomorrow—at her parents’ house.”
“No safe house,” I say. “No time.” If my mom dies before I reach her...
“I’ll get you there,” Killian vows. “Tomorrow.”
“I can rest in the car as we trav—”
He presses his lips against mine, silencing me, the sweet taste of honey and sugar teasing my tongue. I’m shocked—want more, need more—and I’m unable to stop myself from kissing him back, rolling my tongue against his. I forget we have an audience. I forget I’m in pain and bleeding. The world ceases to exist. My head swims...and swims, but it’s different from the dizziness, exponentially better.
Lethargy sneaks through my veins and invades my limbs. “Killian—”
He raises his head. “Sleep now.” He sounds so far away.
“No,” I mumble. I’ve slept enough. Too much. But I’m unable to fight the need as I’m tugged closer and closer to a sea of nothingness.
“You drugged her?” Archer gasps out.
He did? At the moment, anger is beyond me. I’m warm, deliciously warm, two strong bands wrapped around me as I drift...drift...
I’m not sure how much time passes before I hear a soft whisper in my ear.
“What am I going to do with you, Ten Lockwood?” Killian’s voice.
I continue to drift without an anchor—
A sharp sting against my cheek. A bug bite? I want to brush my fingers over my face, but my arm refuses to cooperate. Another sting, this one sinking deeper, past skin. Tingles erupt in my shoulder as if the nerve endings are finally coming back to life.
“Wake up.” A third sting.
This time, my arms works properly and I grab—a wrist. My eyelids pop open, and I come face-to-face with Elena. I don’t think, I just act, balling my free hand and throwing a punch. Her nose breaks, and she grunts. There’s no blood. Right. The Shell. No lasting damage for her.
As I release her and sit up, she readjusts her nose with a hiss. I take stock. I’m in another palatial tent, the scarves surrounding me a vibrant shade of purple. The pillows scattered about are cobalt. There’s a tub, but it’s empty. In the center, glowing stones are stacked next to a tray of half-eaten fruit and crumpled candy-bar wrappers. More chocolate meant for me...that this girl has obviously eaten.
I’ll do as I told her during our first meeting and go through her ribs. I’ll—
Do nothing. I wouldn’t touch Killian’s chocolate with a ten-foot pole. It’s a bribe for my forgiveness, nothing more. But...then I see one of the wrappers isn’t completely empty and make a dive for it. Okay, okay. While I wouldn’t touch the chocolate with a ten-foot pole, I will touch it with my fingers.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
One of those bodies jerks, as if hit, and I catch a glimpse of Deacon’s rugged features.
Wait. He should be with Sloan.
“The girl is protected.” Archer, the other body, punches the shooter in the arm, sending the gun flying. His next blow is to the man’s nose. As a pained bellow cuts through the night, I lurch for the gun. The moment I’ve got it, I aim both weapons. Archer has the man—a human, judging by the blood trickling down his face—on the ground, a booted foot pressed into his neck.
Deacon wraps a hand around my wrist to force me to lower my arm. “No.”
“That’s not our way,” Archer says. “Death isn’t the answer. Where there’s breath, there’s hope.”
“Agree to disagree.” Killian steps from the shadows into a beam of light cast by the car’s headlights. He must have returned to Myriad to get a new Shell while Archer and Deacon disarmed the shooters. “They hurt the girl, and I’m not okay with that. They die.”
He lifts a gun of his own and fires.
Chapter eighteen
“Without pressure, there would be no diamonds. Without tests and trials, you wouldn’t know your own strength—or weaknesses.”
—Troika
My adrenaline crashes in an instant, leaving me to deal with every new injury I’ve sustained. I drop the gun as my knees buckle, my weight suddenly too much to hold up. Unlike the boys in the Shells, I’m only human.
Before I hit the ground, Killian is there, wrapping his arms around me and cradling me against his chest.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers.
I rest my head in the hollow between his neck and shoulder.
“We could have questioned the shooter,” Archer snaps. “He could have told us who’s targeting Ten.”
“He could have lied,” Killian snaps back.
Archer takes a step toward him, his body primed for action. “Or you were afraid of what he’d say.”
“I’m not responsible for the attempts on Ten’s life.” Each word drips with menace. “I would never—”
“No, but your realm is. You don’t want her to know, because you don’t want her to align with Troika. Better to end up in Many Ends,” Archer says with a sneer. “Isn’t that right?”
“I don’t want her in Many Ends. And how many times do I have to say Troika is just as likely to put a hit on—”
“No! You know better, but you’ll never admit it, even to yourself. And this is your problem, Killian. This has always been your problem. You want so badly to win, you’ve become blind to the truth. And I get it. I do. My father told us victors are adored and failures are abhorred, and more than anything you wanted to be adored by someone, anyone.” Archer is shouting so loudly, his voice is echoing from the trees. “Well, I adored you. I loved you. But you changed, and not for the better. You turned everything into a battle. And even back then, I understood. You’d never had a family, and you craved one, craved unconditional love. But now you have to decide what’s more important—your pride, or Ten’s life. Because in this instance, you can’t have both!”
Never had a family...craved respect, love. The words echo in my mind as Killian grows so tense I’m almost afraid he’ll shatter like glass.
“Enough,” I murmur. “What’s done is done and can’t be undone.” The dizziness returns with a vengeance, and I moan as my stomach threatens to rebel. “We can only move on from here.”
Silence. Good, that’s good.
“Deacon... Is Sloan...?” I say.
“She’s fine. She told me to leave her, that I wasn’t sufficient eye candy.” I hear the offense in his tone.
I know Sloan. I know she finds the boy intriguing. There has to be more to the story. “Has she reactivated her cell phone?”
“No. Like you, she doesn’t want to be traced.”
“I’ll have a message sent to her on your behalf.” Killian brushes my cheek with his own, some of the tension draining from him. “Stop worrying about her and start recovering.”
There’s command in his voice, but also concern. The concern warms me, because I know he doesn’t feel it for everyone. Or often. “Some General I’ll be, huh?”
“A General leads and learns. You’re golden.”
Archer scrubs a hand down his face. “We have a safe house an hour from—”
“No.” Killian gives a single but violent shake of his head. “I’m taking her with me. We’ll see you tomorrow—at her parents’ house.”
“No safe house,” I say. “No time.” If my mom dies before I reach her...
“I’ll get you there,” Killian vows. “Tomorrow.”
“I can rest in the car as we trav—”
He presses his lips against mine, silencing me, the sweet taste of honey and sugar teasing my tongue. I’m shocked—want more, need more—and I’m unable to stop myself from kissing him back, rolling my tongue against his. I forget we have an audience. I forget I’m in pain and bleeding. The world ceases to exist. My head swims...and swims, but it’s different from the dizziness, exponentially better.
Lethargy sneaks through my veins and invades my limbs. “Killian—”
He raises his head. “Sleep now.” He sounds so far away.
“No,” I mumble. I’ve slept enough. Too much. But I’m unable to fight the need as I’m tugged closer and closer to a sea of nothingness.
“You drugged her?” Archer gasps out.
He did? At the moment, anger is beyond me. I’m warm, deliciously warm, two strong bands wrapped around me as I drift...drift...
I’m not sure how much time passes before I hear a soft whisper in my ear.
“What am I going to do with you, Ten Lockwood?” Killian’s voice.
I continue to drift without an anchor—
A sharp sting against my cheek. A bug bite? I want to brush my fingers over my face, but my arm refuses to cooperate. Another sting, this one sinking deeper, past skin. Tingles erupt in my shoulder as if the nerve endings are finally coming back to life.
“Wake up.” A third sting.
This time, my arms works properly and I grab—a wrist. My eyelids pop open, and I come face-to-face with Elena. I don’t think, I just act, balling my free hand and throwing a punch. Her nose breaks, and she grunts. There’s no blood. Right. The Shell. No lasting damage for her.
As I release her and sit up, she readjusts her nose with a hiss. I take stock. I’m in another palatial tent, the scarves surrounding me a vibrant shade of purple. The pillows scattered about are cobalt. There’s a tub, but it’s empty. In the center, glowing stones are stacked next to a tray of half-eaten fruit and crumpled candy-bar wrappers. More chocolate meant for me...that this girl has obviously eaten.
I’ll do as I told her during our first meeting and go through her ribs. I’ll—
Do nothing. I wouldn’t touch Killian’s chocolate with a ten-foot pole. It’s a bribe for my forgiveness, nothing more. But...then I see one of the wrappers isn’t completely empty and make a dive for it. Okay, okay. While I wouldn’t touch the chocolate with a ten-foot pole, I will touch it with my fingers.
