Everlife. Gena Showalter
Читать онлайн книгу.
give the collar of my black catsuit a self-conscious tug.
“I kid, I kid.” Killian brushes his knuckles across my jawline. “You look good in anythin’. And I canna imagine a more beautiful bride.” His voice takes on a husky timbre. “Later, you’ll look even better in nothin’.”
Heat blooms over my cheeks.
His smile returns, and it’s full of mischief, wonder and adoration. He brushes his thumbs over the rise of my cheekbones. “Yer eyes are like mini-TV screens. They broadcast yer emotions.”
Others have told me I’m impossible to read. But then, Killian knows me better than most, and he wants me anyway. Not because I’m a rare Conduit, but because I’m me. Tenley Lockwood. A girl who’s messed up, time and time again, but continues to get up and keep fighting the good fight.
“Today, a new future will be forged,” I say. “Enemies become family.”
“The first step toward concord between our realms.”
Wind whistles outside our cave, snow billowing, while a fire crackles inside. My gaze snags on the far wall, where the numerical equivalent of our names is carved. 68 + 39.
Killian: 11 + 9 + 12 + 12 + 9 + 1 + 14 = 68
Ten: 20 + 5 + 14 = 39
68 + 39 = 107
“Sonnet 107” by William Shakespeare.
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Suppos’d as forfeit to a confin’d doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur’d
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assur’d
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,
Since, spite of him, I’ll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o’er dull and speechless tribes;
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants’ crests and tombs of brass are spent.
In other words, love is not subject to time, or even death.
In the back of my mind, the Grid ripples with approval and delivers a new surge of confidence. I am doing the right thing. We will succeed in our endeavors.
Once, I lamented my invisible link to other Troikans. Now, I rejoice. Support can mean the difference between victory and defeat. But who would approve of this union? No one but me knows about it.
“Whatever happens next,” Killian says, “doona forget I love you.” The brawler capable of any dark deed leans down to rub his nose against mine. “All right?”
“All right.” I’ll never forget, and I’ll never tire of hearing those words. “I love you, too.”
His smile reignites, and oh, wow, it’s like Cupid’s arrow through my heart. Killian is more than beautiful. He is life. The crystalline flecks in his eyes...there are eight. Eight is the atomic number for oxygen. Killian is my oxygen, the reason I breathe.
“Ready?” He lifts my hands to his mouth once more and traces his tongue between my knuckles.
My stomach flips over. If not for Shells, Myriadians and Troikans would be unable to touch without agonizing pain. Usually Shells mute sensation. Today I feel everything.
“Tell me what to do,” I rasp.
“Our word is our bond. Speak, and it’s done. We’ll pledge our lives tae each other. Simple, easy.”
As simple and easy as pledging our Everlife to one of the realms. Okay, I can do that. The simplicity doesn’t negate the difficulty, however. I’m giving my life—my future—to another person.
He raises his chin. “I’ll go first.”
My heart thuds against my ribs as I nod.
When he releases my hands, panic invades. I’ve lost my anchor. Then he cups my face, holding me as if I’m more delicate than glass. “Tenley Nicole Lockwood, you’ve given me life beyond the grave. Until you, I never knew the power of bein’ connected tae another person. You saw the best in me even when I showed you my worst. You trusted me when all evidence pointed tae my guilt. For that, I give ye my Everlife. Everythin’ I am, everythin’ I have, is yers.”
Be still, my heart. How am I supposed to match such a glorious pledge? Well, I have to try.
Nope. Troikans do not try. Troikans do. “Killian—” Zero! “I don’t know your middle name.”
“Niall.”
Killian Niall Flynn. Five Ls. Four Ns.
5 + 4 = 9
Killian Niall Flynn + Ten = 5 Ls and 5 Ns.
5 + 5 = 10
10 = existence. 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 = 10. (1) the FirstKing (2) the Secondkings (3) human life (4) the four elements: earth, air, fire and water.
Ten is completion: the end of one cycle, the beginning of another.
Concentrate!
Oops. My bad. I tend to lose myself in number trivia when I’m nervous. But there’s nothing to be nervous about, right? This is Killian. My Killian. Together, we can handle whatever comes next.
“Killian Niall Flynn.” I wrap my fingers around his wrists as I peer into his eyes. “You found me before the grave and taught me how to live. Until you, I’d known only disappointment and betrayal, but you picked me up every time I fell. You carried me when I was too weak to walk, and you put me first, even when it meant torture and possibly Second-death. For that, I give you my Everlife. Everything I am, everything I have, is yours.”
His expression softens, and I wish, so badly I wish, that my family and friends could witness our union. While my mother is in the Kennel, my father is training to be an ML. He hates me, anyway. My aunt Lina, his twin sister, is missing. No one knows where she is.
Lina can see into the future. As a child, she taught me a rhyme that aided my escape from Many Ends. Only a few weeks ago, she taught me a second rhyme, saving my life when a supposed friend—Victor Prince—attempted to kill me.
My life has taken so many wrong turns and hits, but things are finally on the right track. Except... I frown. “I don’t feel any different.”
“We are no’ done.” Killian steps back, his arms falling to his sides. “Out of yer Shell, lass.”
I’m confused by the command, but still I obey. He steps from his Shell, as well, gifting me with the sight of two potential husbands. The inanimate Shell, and the spirit man—the real Killian. Usually darkness surrounds him, his own personal veil of smoke. Now the darkness is muted, but there’s no Light emanating from him, either.
He’s so much taller than me, I’m forced to look up, up, up. Scars circle his neck, proof of the pain he’s suffered throughout his Secondlife.
I reach out, intending to trace a fingertip along the raised flesh, but stop myself just before contact. “You’ve been a spirit all your life. Why didn’t you regenerate after you were injured?”
“A spirit is unable to regenerate fully until reachin’ the Age of Perfection. What you receive as a child, you carry with you always.” He crooks his finger at me. “C’mere. I’m goin’ tae kiss you now.”
A kiss. Of course! A wedding always ends with a kiss.
I move toward him,