Lifeblood (Everlife #2)(86)
Brigitte frowns, puzzled by the interruption.
Win her. Win him. Try not to alienate.
I hear the ghost of Levi’s voice in my head. Don’t try, Miss Lockwood. Do.
Right. Brigitte doesn’t know I’m a Shell. She thinks I’m human. Probably thinks Killian is, too.
“I’m his girlfriend,” I say and hike my thumb in Killian’s direction.
“Ah. She’s the one you were telling me about,” she says to him.
He talked about me? To a human? What the heck did he tell her?
“She is,” he says, his tone brusque.
At least he didn’t deny it. I pat his hand and wink. “We’re working through our problems, aren’t we, sugar bear? I’ll never give up on our love, and I’ll never give up on you, no matter how naughtily you behave.”
His jaw drops, and he sputters. “You continue to endanger yourself, so I will be spanking you at my earliest convenience.”
I swallow a laugh. “Not that. Anything but that.” I bat my lashes at him.
Brigitte looks between us, a little dazed.
All right. Let’s get down to business, shall we? I decide on a course of action and say, “Killian is a Myriad loyalist, but we’re working on that. He’s probably been promising you the world, and hopefully you’re skeptical because you’ve heard the horror stories about the girl who signed with Myriad without reading the fine print. She was a med student, and her contract stated she couldn’t help a Troikan supporter without severe punishment.” I wave my hand through the air for emphasis, and I know I’m coming across as a whirlwind, but time isn’t exactly my friend. “But again, you’ve probably heard this, so there’s no need for me to repeat it.”
Her mouth flounders open and closed. “I haven’t.” She leans away from Killian, saying, “Tell me about the fine print.”
“There will be no fine print in your contract.” Killian crosses his arms over his chest, and though he directs the words to her, his gaze remains hot on me.
“Are you sure about that?” In an effort to maintain my “human” facade, I pick up his mug and drink—and fight to hide a shiver. I taste the bitterness of coffee, the sweetness of sugar and feel the warmth of the liquid as it settles in the Shell’s version of a stomach. “With Troika, the contract is the same for everyone.”
“I’m sure. And a boilerplate isn’t a reason to brag,” he says, his gaze now locked on my lips. His pupils expand, black swelling over blue-gold.
“How are you sure?” Tingling now, I shift in my seat. “And a boilerplate removes any hint of favoritism.”
“Myriadians aren’t governed by a strict set of rules meant to control our behavior. If we want something, we take it. We follow our heart wherever it leads us. And favoritism isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”
“It is when you’re not the favored one,” I say, and I swear he regards me with pride. “In Troika, anyone who asks receives help. We love. We forgive. We feed you when you’re hungry. We help you pay your bills. We are the family you always wished you had.”
“A family without fame or accolades,” Killian says with no real enthusiasm.
He’s not even trying, is he? “Accolades.” I wrap my arms around myself and pretend I’m being cuddled. “They keep you so warm at night.”
He covers his mouth—to stop a laugh?
“You want to know what Troika doesn’t do? Surgically insert a tracker inside a human.” I meet Brigitte’s confused gaze. “You should find yourself a Troikan doctor, get yourself checked.”
She begins to shake, the color draining from her cheeks, leaving her waxen. In a burst of movement, she stands, her chair skidding behind her. She backs away from us. “I don’t want to hear any more. I’ve never liked discussing the Unending, and you two are only making it worse. As realm representatives, you are lacking. Besides, you obviously have a lot to work out. Among yourselves! I’m not needed.”
I don’t try to stop her, because I’ve said everything I know to say. I’ve given her things to think about. I’ve planted seeds, as Levi would say.
To my surprise, Killian doesn’t try to stop her, either. As she races off, we stare at each other, trapped by an ever-thickening tension.
“Alone at last.” His tone gives nothing away. “Just the way Myriad wanted. You’re happy, but you shouldn’t be.”
“You mean you hope I’m happy, sarcastically speaking.”
“Not sarcastically. The Greek root for hope is elpís, which means an unwavering assurance of an expected outcome.”
Oh. “Then no. I’m not happy. Not yet. But I hope I will be.”
I stand, lean over and cup the back of Killian’s neck, yanking him toward me.
chapter twenty
* * *
“Every thought has merit.”
—Myriad
Killian doesn’t accept my kiss—he returns it. His fingers tangle in my hair, fisting the strands at my nape. It’s not a power move meant to dominate me, but a possessive one, as if he fears I’ll be snatched away at any moment. The same possessiveness roars inside me.
I burn with desire, despite the muted physical sensations caused by my Shell. I’m being branded deep in my soul, and I’m desperate to hold on to him...to hold on and never let go.