Lifeblood (Everlife #2)(47)
He utters a bitter laugh. “I’m not ready to leave you. I’ll never be ready.”
A familiar pang cuts through me. “We’ll see each other again, right?”
His eyes heat like a thousand suns. “With us, there will always be a next time.”
Shivers consume me. His words...they are beauty incarnate, poetry and passion. They are hope.
Before Killian, I wasn’t a romantic girl. I existed with no real purpose, anger directing my actions. He’s changed me for the better.
The rope attached to his waist jiggles. Scowling, he grabs hold of the center and tugs...and I discover Sloan Aubuchon hog-tied at the end.
I grab my dagger, a curse brewing in the back of my throat.
“Behold,” Killian says. “My new partner.”
His...partner? I swallow bile, suddenly sickened in body and soul. My boyfriend and my killer are teammates. He’s teaching her how to fight, the way he once taught me. Worse, he’s teaching her how to defend herself from me.
Decisions...consequences. What did I expect when I picked Troika over Killian? Smooth sailing? No storms along the way?
She frees her ankles and hands and, with a moan of relief, rips the blindfold from her eyes and the plugs from her ears. Spotting me, she palms a dagger and leaps to her feet. Her narrowed gaze zooms from me to Killian and back again. She’s pale and panting. Dirt streaks her from top to bottom.
I know it’s wrong of me, but I like seeing her in this condition.
“If you harm Ten,” Killian says, the menace in his tone almost frightening, “I will hurt you in ways you cannot fathom.”
Even now, he defends me. My hurt begins to fade.
A thousand different emotions flicker over her features; shame, remorse and guilt are the front-runners. Finally she returns the blade to its holder. “I’m not going to... I know you won’t believe me but...”
“Sir Zhi Chen, our Leader, extends his blessing. He’d like you to punish Sloan for her crimes against you.” Killian’s hands fall away from me. “Proceed any way you see fit.”
I mourn the loss of his touch.
Sloan’s jaw drops. “Wh-what?”
I’m tempted to accept, I admit it. But if I hurt her, I’ll be worse than she was—than she is. She lashed out at me, yes, but she never wanted to harm me. I yearn to harm her.
Desire will not prevail over duty. I, too, sheathe my weapon.
Her sky blue gaze widens and she points an accusing finger at Killian. “He’s using you. Trying to win your affections so you’ll betray your realm.”
Killian doesn’t lash out at her but cants his head to the side and studies her more intently, as if he can’t quite understand what just happened.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask her. She has no idea he already admitted Myriad has a hidden agenda. Then I shake my head. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t trust you, so your answer is moot.” I placed my faith in her once, and paid the ultimate price. This could be another set up. Pretend to help me now, destroy me later.
Tearing up, she rubs at the center of her chest. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I loved you. I still love you, despite everything.”
“But you hated Dr. Vans more. I know. I received your message loud and clear. And you’re not sorry. Not really. Words without actions mean nothing. You wouldn’t change the outcome, even if you could.”
She trembles and wraps her arms around her middle. A position of defeat. What doesn’t she do? Refute my claim.
“Tell me. Did Myriad live up to their end of your unholy bargain?” I ask. “Did they deliver Dr. Vans?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “He lives in a cage in my apartment.”
He’d been Unsigned. He should have gone to Many Ends.
More proof Myriad has access into the third realm.
“Where is your satisfaction?” I demand. “Where is your happiness?”
Sniffle, sniffle. “I don’t know. I’ve hurt him, again and again, the way he hurt us, but I can’t...nothing I do fixes this.” She thumps a fist above her heart.
If she’s faking her turmoil, she’s the best actress in the Everlife. Her shame and guilt are almost tangible.
My anger begins to deflate. In that moment, I understand her distress, and part of me pities her.
There was a time I hated my parents more than I loved myself. They locked me in Prynne. They paid to have me tortured. Later, my dad paid to have me killed, thinking he could use Jeremy as a contractual substitute.
Hate never kept me warm at night. Never held me when I cried. Never patched me up when I was injured.
Like bitterness, hate is poison. It hurt me, not the ones I despised. Worse, hating my parents had made me exactly like them. I was doing to them what they’d done to me. Had I continued down that road, I would have had to deal with guilt and remorse the rest of my life.
I much prefer love.
Still. I don’t feel like letting go of my resentment; I do it, anyway, imagining it floating away like a balloon. “I hope you find peace,” I say, and I mean those words from the bottom of my heart.
My number brands tingle and throb, the sensations too strong to ignore. I know I’ve done the right thing, and the Grid is pleased.
Sloan blinks with confusion, fat tears raining down her cheeks. Is it possible my compassion is doing what my anger never could and...changing her?