Lifeblood (Everlife #2)(16)

He gives my head another pat. “Keeping the citizens comfortable is an important part of business. Happy people are productive people. And there’s nothing wrong with pleasure.” He leads me to the smallest room in the apartment. “All right. Last stop. The kitchen.”

Seriously? “There’s no stove or refrigerator.”

“You’ll never need to cook again. The only food your spirit craves is manna.” He waves to a shelf where the manna is prepared in different ways: liquefied, cut into wafers, soft like ice cream, baked into little cakes. “We also have an abundance of honey, fruits and nuts to mix into your treat, better than anything you had as a human.”

He opens a jar, dips a spoon inside and offers me the dripping treat. “This is manna with pecans and honey.”

I accept, my eyes closing in rapture as the sweetness coats my tongue. My Lifeblood fizzes with electricity. I could run ten races. No, twenty. A hundred! I could—

I yawn.

“Uh-oh. You’re about to crash.” He wraps an arm around my waist. “Your spirit isn’t used to so much stimulation and demands a respite.”

“No, I—” Fatigue pours through my veins, my limbs suddenly as heavy as boulders. Black dots wink through my vision, and my legs wobble.

“See!” He helps me to the bedroom and tucks me under the covers. “Sleep well, Number Girl.”

I close my heavy eyelids, whispering, “One...two...threeee,” and drift off...

*

I dream about my brands, only then realizing the numbers line up. One glows, then another and another. There’s a clear sequence, I realize, and excitement sparks.

The number ten kicks off the first row, with seven numbers lined up after it, each bracketed by a period. Added up, those number equal 688. Eleven starts the second row, with seven numbers following it; when added, they equal 859. Twelve leads the final row, with seven numbers after it. When added, they equal 228.

And by adding the three totals, I get 1,775.

The year of the American Revolution. Any significance? I mean...am I supposed to start my own revolution? No, no. Why would I need to start one of those?

If my numbers are anything like Meredith’s words, they represent three specific ideals.

The dream shifts, those ideals remaining at bay. Suddenly I’m standing on a mountaintop, the world at my feet, the wind dancing through my hair. I’m alone.

Above me, a squawk rings out.

My gaze jerks up, my insides twisting around pins and needles. A flock of monstrous birds circles me. Spikes protrude from their beaks, and their wings look like a jumbled mess of razor blades, the rest of their bodies made from bone without muscle, flesh or feather. Metal claws glint in the sunlight.

Self-preservation screams, Run!

I take off in a mad sprint. I’ve encountered these birds before, in Many Ends, when they attempted to eat me alive. How did they find me here? I need to hide. Where? My wild gaze darts through the forest stretched out below me. There’s no place to hide, and I—

Crash into a wall of strength. Threat! I bow up, ready to fight for my life. I won’t go down easily.

Fist balled, I throw a punch. The wall—is a boy, I realize. A boy my age. A boy I know. He catches my hand in his and chuckles.

“Killian!” I throw my arms around him, stealing a hug. My skin heats rather than chills, and currents of pleasure ripple through me. The scent of peat smoke and heather envelopes me. “Come on. We can’t stay here. The birds. We have to—”

He presses a finger against my lips, quieting me. He smiles a devastating smile—a rare smile—his siren-song eyes glittering with undiluted joy. I go still. He’s never looked at me like this, as if all his cares have been washed away. As if he is Light. My Light.

“Forget the birds,” he says, his voice nothing but smoke and gravel. “Focus on me, lass.”

Shivers course through me. Looking away from him is impossible. He is my life raft. A promise of better.

Having died as an infant, he grew up in a Myriadian orphanage. Adopted as a toddler, returned a few years later. He’s endured rejection after rejection, trial after trial, hardship after hardship. Now scars mar his soul.

How did I manage to sneak past his defenses?

He cups my nape to draw me closer and presses his forehead to mine. “I’m lost without ye, Ten.”

“You’ll never be lost.” My fingers wrap around his wrists, my heart crying, Never let go. “I’ll always find you.”

Squawk, squawk.

Yelping, I look up, reminded of our audience. The birds are closer now, claws spread and ready to—

“Focus on me, lass.” Killian kisses me, his mouth covering mine.

His taste tantalizes me, and I melt into him—

The dream shifts, Killian vanishing. A scream of frustration bubbles in my throat. Noooo! I want to be with Killian. I want to experience his kiss, enjoy his sweetness and bask in the beauty of his strength.

How do I return to him?

I spin, searching for a way out of this...orchard? Zero! I’m standing in the orchard I passed on the way to the cathedral. Something terrible has happened here. The leaves are withered, the fruit rotten, worms slithering from holes.

A crowd of people surrounds me, penning me in, everyone reaching for me, pulling at my clothing.

“Why didn’t you help me?” someone cries.