LITMIR.BIZ

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is about what you gain. What you don’t have, you

      can’t enjoy.”

      —Myriad

      Ten

      The identity of our intruders clicks. Two Troikan Generals: Shamus Campbell and Luciana Rossi. Behind them, four Laborers I’ve never met. A total of six invaders.

      6: symbolizes beauty and high ideals. The sixth sense: ESP. The sixth astrological sign in the Zodiac: Virgo.

      Focus! A soft pitter-patter of footfalls echoes outside the cave. More TLs?

      Killian isn’t safe.

      Panic claws its way up the ridges of my spine, and my blood flash-freezes. I strain with all my might, desperate to move, but my body refuses to cooperate. Every attempt to raise my arms threatens to pop my shoulders out of joint. I don’t care. Nothing will halt my efforts.

      “Kill, kill.” Between each command—desire?—Killian snarls like a wounded animal. “Kill!”

      Shamus, a big, barrel-chested redhead with pale skin and countless freckles, slams a fist against his armor-clad chest to gain my attention. His dark eyes are narrowed, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “What did you do, Miss Lockwood? And do no’ tell me nothin’.” His accent is similar to Killian’s.

      Luciana, a slender brunette with lovely brown skin and startling gray irises, backs away from me, horror contorting her expression. “I’ll tell you what she did. She doomed us all.”

      Doomed...

      Is she right? She can’t be. She just can’t.

      I look down at Killian. My new husband is pulling at hanks of his hair.

      Hopes, falling from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows.

      “Out,” Shamus snarls at the TLs. “Now.”

      All four soldiers rush from the cave without protest.

      I stiffen. The General has evened the odds. Two against two. A foolish move for a war-seasoned veteran. Unless he got rid of any witnesses...

      Willing to use my body as a shield, I push through the pain—snap. My shoulder does pop out of joint. Or maybe back into joint. Air wheezes from my lungs. Worth it! Finally, I can move. I crawl toward Killian, every inch I gain only adding fuel to an already blazing fire of agony.

      Can’t stop. No, won’t stop. Determination drives me. I only wish it gave me wings.

      “Kill. Must kill.” Killian is lost in a world of his own.

      “You won’t be killing anyone, you son of a Myriad troll.” With a hand curled around the hilt of a sword, Shamus stalks toward him.

      “Stop! He doesn’t know what he’s saying right now.” My voice is barely audible, my gaze locked on my love. So close, yet so far away. Desperation slams a spike straight through my heart.

      Any other day, I would have used the comm built into the forearm of spirit and Shell. With the press of a few buttons, it could transport me to Killian’s side and, as long as some part of me is touching some part of him, whisk us both somewhere else. Somewhere safe. Like a fool, I disabled the device to hide from fellow Troikans while meeting with Killian.

      I should have known they’d find me one way or another.

      “Stop,” I repeat, even as I gain another inch. “That’s an order.” As a Conduit, I outrank the Generals. As a newbie to the Everlife, however, my exalted rank doesn’t really mean squat.

      “We can’t hurt him,” Luciana grates. She extends her arm, stopping Shamus in his tracks. “You’ve effectively tied our hands, Miss Lockwood.”

      Though the shadows are no longer slithering through my mind, I’m not exactly thinking straight. I struggle to make sense of her words, finally throw in the towel. “I don’t understand.”

      “You bonded to him, did you not?” She spits the words, as if they taste foul in her mouth. “That bond forces us to spare Myriad’s favorite butcher and watch as you, one of only two Conduits, slowly descends into madness.”

      Madness? No. Absolutely not. But...

      Maybe? Those shadows... They might not be threatening the Grid right now, but I can still feel them. A cold, dank presence I can’t shake, hiding in the back of my mind.

      With acceptance comes whole-body tremors.

      “Do you think the Butcher is the first Myriadian to wed a Troikan?” She rests a hand on the Dazer strapped to her waist. One shot, and the weapon can stun a target into hours of immobility. “I’ve lived a long time. Every so often, a Troikan and Myriadian decide to risk everything and bond. The union puts our entire realm at great risk, so both parties are eliminated as quickly as possible, their names scrubbed from our databases.”

      My eyes go wide. I’ll deal with everything she said—I hope. “Don’t you dare shoot me. You’ll stop my Light from reaching the citizens of Troika.” If I can’t move, I can’t project.

      “I won’t shoot you, you have my word.” She lifts her chin. “Though you aren’t projecting much, are you, Miss Lockwood. The Butcher’s shadows have dulled you and have the power to damage our Grid, harming all of us.”

      No. Absolutely not. Yes, there are shadows. But I won’t let them hurt others. I’ll keep fighting.

      Not every fight can be won, a new doubt devil whispers.

      “Stop calling him the Butcher,” I say. Searching for calm, I begin to count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. There are five rings in the Olympic symbol. Five fingers on each hand, five toes on each foot. Take five means take a break. Deep breath in, out.

      “But you...” Luciana’s eyelids slit. “We can’t eliminate you or the B—Mr. Flynn. What happens to one happens to the other.”

      Jolt. The information hits me like a punch to the chest, sending me stumbling back.

      In my current state, I struggle to make sense of what I’m learning. So I’ll be wounded if Killian is stabbed or shot, and vice versa? It’s not an ideal development, but it’s manageable. What I cannot tolerate is the danger to my realm. I would rather die a thousand deaths than cause innocents to suffer.

      “Why wasn’t I warned about the bond’s effect on others?” I demand.

      “You were told consorting with Myriadians is dangerous,” Shamus snaps. “You should have needed no other warning. Only a fool would pledge her life to an enemy.”

      Ouch. His words are the equivalent of a shame bell, trailing me everywhere I go.

      “Did you forget how many Troikans Mr. Flynn has murdered?” Luciana anchors her fists on her hips. “Or did you simply not care?”

      How dare she go there. “He fought and killed during battle, while at war, not in cold blood. There’s a difference. And let’s be honest. You have no right to cast stones. I bet you’ve murdered just as many Myriadians, yes?”

      Thanks to the Grid, I know she’s considered a peacekeeper in Troika. After a year and a half of torture inside Prynne Asylum—where my parents sent me to live when I refused to sign with Myriad—I know a sword is sometimes the only way to facilitate that peace.

      Luciana flushes. With anger...or shame? Perhaps even a smidge of pride?

      Shamus notches his chin. “I don’t want to believe our Conduit is so stupid that she bonded with a Myriadian determined to ruin us from the inside out. I would rather eat glass.”

      Double ouch. Telling him, You had better believe it, doesn’t really strike me as the proper response. “It’s done. It can’t be undone.” I don’t want it undone. “Trust me to have our best interests at heart. Let me move forward, full steam ahead.”

      “I don’t trust you with your life, much

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