Lifeblood (Everlife #2)(94)

A kernel of panic unfurls. Is everyone okay?

“Guys,” I call, even as I respond to Levi, letting him know I’m on my feet.

Silence.

A thump echoes from the walls, and icy dread slides down the ridges of my spine. The third warning?

My nerve endings throb as I glance at the clock. It’s 4:56.

4. 5. 6.

By four five six, you’ll be glum.

The numbers in the song—four five six. The time of the attack?

Suddenly the hinges on my bedroom door splinter, the entrance swinging open to reveal a scowling Victor, a gun raised, aimed and ready.





chapter twenty-two



* * *



“Never rely on anyone else.”

—Myriad

My first thought is, He’s here to whisk me away from danger.

My second, He’s the fox.

A sense of betrayal sends me stumbling back. Lifeblood is splattered over his face and clothes, and it’s not his. He’s uninjured.

He hurt my team.

He fires a Dazer at me. I dodge and swing my swords, blazing shards flinging his way, knocking the gun out of his palm. He’s fast and palms a semiautomatic, quickly emptying the clip. I block the way Levi taught me. The bullets ping off the metal and fall to the floor.

“Someone’s improved,” Victor says with a cold smile.

Levi is on his way. I need to stall. “How did you keep Myriad informed of my activities while you were Killian’s captive?” I demand.

“How else? I planned ahead and left a mic in your kitchen. Other places, too.” He changes the clip in the gun, but he doesn’t fire a second round. Not yet. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ten.”

“Then why shoot at me?” I screech.

“Weakened, you won’t put up a fight when I drag you to the Land of the Harvest to meet with my boss.”

“I’ve already met your boss. His name is Levi.”

“I have never worked for Levi.” He takes aim. “I work for Myriad. Always have, always will. I have family there, and I want the best for them. An eternity without Troika.”

His family. Meaning his father? The one responsible for the rift between realms, the destruction of the bridge. The one who fans the flames of hate.

I lift my chin. “I love Archer, and I don’t want to hurt his brother. Or worse! I’m begging you not to do this. If you have any love for Archer, you’ll—”

“I have no love for him. He was a traitor to our realm. And you...you were only as good as the intel you provided. I’m not sure if the handler at the end of your leash is leading you or his boss, but I’ll find out.”

Handler... Killian?

I fight a new wave of panic, the pi necklace nearly burning a hole between my breasts.

“So? Are we doing this the easy or hard way?” Victor asks.

“Hard.” I’m wearing my armor, and I have weapons strapped all over my body. I won’t go down easily.

“Very well.”

I step backward. He steps closer—and triggers the traps I set. An arrow shoots from the crossbow anchored on my wall. He manages to duck and even picks up speed. He dodges when he accidentally activates my second trap, a Dazer, his finger hammering at his gun’s trigger.

The bullets meet my swords.

Time seems to slow to a crawl as he dives at me. I lunge, thrusting my swords up and out. But he twists before he lands and rolls to his feet, missing my weapons while remaining trained on me. I am a whirlwind of motion as I walk backward...over the bed...

He pins me against the wall and hammers at the trigger. The swords act as my shield. I kick out my leg, and Victor stumbles backward. I dive over the bed and skid to the door, then rush out of the room, my ponytail slapping my cheeks.

I need to find the number seven. Where is the seven? What is the seven?

Footsteps behind me.

Turn! Now!

The command whispers from the Grid. Not another person, but the Grid itself. I spin, and manage to block another blast.

My boot catches on something solid. Zero! I trip and crash-land on an unconscious, hemorrhaging Elizabeth, who shouldn’t have been assigned to me in the first place, considering her previous injuries.

Victor reloads and fires. At me. At Elizabeth. I guard her as best I can. A bullet grazes my arm. I hiss as my flesh splits open and Lifeblood pours out like a molten, glittering river.

My strength wanes, and I tremble. My head fogs. I’m panting, struggling for every labored breath.

No time to apply pressure to the wound. He fires off another round. I’m sluggish, every action igniting searing, burning agony, but I block.

When he’s forced to pause to reload, I swing my swords at him, and shards of pure Light once again fly from the tips. He dances out of the way—but not fast enough. One of the shards nails him in the chest and pitches him across the room.

He smacks into the wall. I seize the opportunity to both attack and cauterize my wound, slamming the swords together. The staff flames. With a roar, I swipe one end at Victor while pressing the other against my injured shoulder.

The pain! My vision darkens, and I scream; a black crust forms over the top of my wound, ending the flow of Lifeblood.

Victor bellows and wrenches away.

I knock the staff into one of his wrists, then the other, and he drops the guns.