Firstlife. Gena Showalter
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thing I poked holes in the cake.”
A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, and I can’t stop it. I don’t want to like this boy, but dang it, he’s witty.
Then I remember Vans, and the urge to smile diminishes.
I gasp when Killian throws a plate at the cage-covered camera in the corner. A plate that clatters to the floor without shattering. The cage is unaffected, as well. Even still, the action makes us both feel better, and we share a look of understanding.
“What do we do now?” I ask.
“I could remove my shirt and do push-ups, impressing you with my manly strength.”
I think he’s kidding, but I’m still tempted. Watch him ripple and sweat? Yes, please. I force myself to say, “No, thanks.” An idea strikes, and I go with it. “I want to talk about your parents.” He’s here to lure. I can’t allow him to enjoy the experience, now, can I? “And I’m sticking to our rules. I’m not asking questions. I’m demanding.”
He flicks his tongue over an incisor. “Pick a different topic. Otherwise you’ll be bored.”
“You mean adored.”
He snorts, even relaxes. Then he sighs, his stare seeming to drill into my soul. “My mother died before I had the chance to meet her, but my birth was recorded. I’ve watched the video so many times I’ve memorized every detail. At the end, she nuzzled my cheek and told me she’d never forget me. Now I wonder...”
A lump grows in my throat. Now he wonders, what? If she’s Fused? If she remembers him?
I reach over and pat his hand. “I’m sorry for your pain.”
He searches my eyes—for what? “I think you mean that.”
“I do.”
We go quiet again, but this time, awareness crackles between us. Crackles over my skin, making me tingle.
“If you’re not going to discuss the realms, you’re going to do a trust-building exercise.” Vans’s insistent voice makes us both flinch. “Ten, stand in front of Killian and fall backward. Killian, catch her before she falls.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Killian pops his jaw but stands. “If I wasn’t eager to get my hands on you, I’d hunt the bastard down and choke him with his own intestines.”
My brain locks on one thought: Killian will soon have his hands on me.
I drain my glass before I, too, stand. What? I’m thirsty. A fog spills through my brain and a sweet voice whispers, His towering height is a very good thing, there’s nothing to be afraid of, and maybe you should hold on to his shirt. For balance.
No! I call foul!
The fog is clearly a whore galore, and I decide to teach her a lesson by stepping back...into my chair. Oops! My butt hits with a little too much force, and I wince.
Killian pulls me to my feet. “You’re not getting out of this, lass.” He leads me away from the table. As he moves behind me—or rather he tries to move behind me—I turn with him. I don’t want him at my back.
He has to know the problem, but rather than castigating me, he distracts me. “What kind of punishment were you given this morning? I’ve wondered all day.”
His blue-gold eyes sizzle with a shocking amount of anger. Anger on my behalf.
He has a protective streak, doesn’t he?
Finally I turn. I don’t give myself time to think about my actions. Here goes nothing. I...lean...back. My stomach leaps into my throat, and I honestly expect to hit the ground.
He catches me and smiles. “Well?”
I’m so relieved, I find myself saying, “I kept a calendar on my wall.” RIP, sweet calendar. “Vans had it washed away.”
Killian’s brow furrows as he helps me straighten. “You screamed because of a calendar?”
“Well, it was a good calendar,” I say, defensive.
“Noted.” He twirls a finger, silently telling me to turn around. “What else has been done to you during your stay?”
“Just about everything you can imagine. Whippings, beatings. I’ve even been fried with a cattle prod.” I turn more easily this time. “Oh, and let’s not forget the time I was waterboarded. So fun!”
Shut up! common sense shouts. I’m oversharing when it’s time to be a vault.
Oh, who cares? This is a wonderful day, and I love absolutely everyone!
“Dr. Vans has waterboarded you?” Killian asks, his voice so low, so silky, I’m almost hypnotized by it.
“Yep. But here’s a better question. Are you ready for me?”
“Can anyone ever be ready for you, lass? But don’t worry. I won’t let you get hurt. You have my word.”
I hold my breath as I fall...fall...
Killian catches me again. This time, he spins me around, so that we’re face-to-face. “Do you want me to kill Vans for you?”
Maybe. I step closer, intending to reveal the most important piece of information in the history of the universe: his eyelashes are pretty and I’d like to measure them. Who am I kidding? I already know how long they are. Perfect inches. But I say, “There’s a pond in my brain, and a lovely fog is dancing over the water.”
Killian looks at me as if I’m the best birthday present ever.
Wait. I planned to tell him something... “Eyelashes.”
“You’re drunk,” he says.
“How dare you. I’m only probably drunk.” I reach out and trace a fingertip around each of his eyes. Soft eyelashes.
Frowning, he clasps my wrist and places my hand at my side. “Why didn’t you fight back today?”
Fight back...fight back? Oh! Vans. “There’s only so much I can do. I bet you’ve never been on the receiving end of an attack. You’re so big.”
“Oh, I’ve been on the receiving end of an attack.” His anger returns in a flash. “I’ve also gone back and repaid the person responsible a thousand times over.”
I’m shivering. Why am I shivering? “Not one for mercy, huh?”
“Victors are adored, failures are abhorred.”
As many times as I’ve failed to escape the asylum and save myself from more pain, well, he must think the worst about me. “I’m going to disrespectfully disagree with you. If victory is achieved the wrong way, it’s not really a victory at all.”
He arches a brow and sneers, “Your opinion is very en-light-ened.”
Ugh. Do I sound like a Troikan? Bow must be rubbing off on me.
“Your turn,” I say. “Turn around.”
“You really think you can catch me?”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
“And yet I’m still not reassured.”
I twirl my finger.
He rotates slowly, reluctantly. “By the way, victory is victory. I end up on top, not the bottom.”
“On top of what? The pile of heartbreak and suffering you leave in your wake?”
He opens his mouth, closes it with a snap—and falls.
I catch him, but he’s heavy, heavier than I expected. He keeps falling, taking me with him. We hit the ground and he laughs, then I laugh. We remain on the floor in a tangle of limbs.
“I’m