Everlife (Everlife #3)

“Yes. Of course. Or I will be? I’ve forgotten.”

Okay. We’re dealing with future tense again. “To whom will you be wedding?”

“Who else? My husband. The General.”

Ugh! Can she not— Wait, what? She’s wedding a Myriadian General?

Can I really trust her?

As Victor continues to shout, I place my hand on Clay’s shoulder. Tension radiates from him. “Daze him, but let him live,” I say, my tone soft. Light equals love. Love is always the answer. “Murder is his forte, not ours.”

“His death will save us a lot of trouble.”

“His death will cause us trouble. Trust me on this. I’ve killed before. You haven’t. Some actions you can’t ever take back, and guilt follows you around like a boulder chained to your ankle. Are you ready to condemn someone to an eternity of torture?”

“Grace, grace,” he mutters before exchanging the gun for a Dazer. One shot. He nails his target.

Victor goes still, and quiet.

Clay is a good guy, exceptional actually, and violence is never his first choice. I don’t want that part of him tainted.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Enough chitchat. Let’s go,” Lina says.

As we follow her through the darkness, Biscuit remains beside me. Killian will have no idea where I’ve gone, but that’s okay. I don’t want him and Lina near each other. I still don’t trust him, but I don’t want him dead, either. And not just because his death would cause mine.

We run, race, sprint for hours, or what seems to be. We skirt around skyscrapers, fly through alleys, and maneuver through a throng of people dancing in the streets. Above us, a group of boys bungee jump from the surrounding buildings to grab purses, hats and other items from the crowd. Shirtless muscle men swing from ropes. Half-naked women twirl from ribbons that are hanging from an overhead canopy.

Drunk people call out, “Is that a dog?”

“It is. It’s a dog!”

“Dude. Are you hallucinating, too? I think I see a dog.”

“Don’t be fooled. It’s a costume,” someone else shouts. “So lame.”

Is this Killian’s party? The one that will get us inside the Kennels?

“Wait,” I call, grabbing Archer’s hand.

He stops and orders the others in our group to do the same.

I haven’t believed in Fate for years. And I still don’t. But some part of me is beginning to see divine intervention at work. I had nearly given up all hope, only to be surrounded by friends. We rushed to escape capture, only to stumble upon the very party that can lead me where I want to go? A party Killian planned, even though he’d betrayed me and never expected to enter Many Ends.

Some part of him must have been on my side.

Lina’s visions… No matter which way I slice it, she is the reason we’re here, together. But where do her visions come from? The Troikan Grid?

She must have had access all her life. But to whom was— is—she connected?

Only one person would have the power…

Eron, I realize. Eron is helping us through Lina, and others. Through his body.

My heart races toward an invisible finish line. How else has he helped? And there are other ways, I know it. Even if I can’t see them. He’s been teaching us, preparing us for our futures. We’ve learned to work together, to rely on each other. To see our enemies as people like us, with hopes and dreams, rather than insects in need of extermination.

“Your costume sucks,” someone sneers to Biscuit. Then adds, “Hey, want to give me a ride?”

Biscuit chomps his teeth in irritation.

Around us, laughter and cheers blend together. Bodies bump and grind to a fast pulse of music. Anyone who accidentally touches my group hisses in pain. Archer pulls me out of the mob, using his big body to shield me from slapping hands and kicking feet as couples grind together. Clay and Raanan herd Lina to my side and take up posts beside Archer.

I should be shielding them. They are bright, too bright, like night-lights. But booze and drugs are flowing freely— from one kiss to another—and everyone seems too inebriated to understand what’s truly happening.

“What are we doing here?” Archer asks. “We won’t be able to blend in for long.”

“We’re not blending in now,” Raanan says, his tone dry.

“We need a plan.” I explain Killian’s idea to use the party to get inside the Kennels.

“Very well. We’ll head for the Kennels. But first, we’re disguising you. You’re the one they’re looking for.” Archer steals a hat from a guy standing nearby. When the guy growls in protest, Archer puffs his chest, ready to throw down.

The guy rushes off. A grinning Archer tucks my telltale hair under the hat. This boy is a priceless treasure. Brave. Strong. Fierce. And weird as heck.

“A hat won’t hide me for long,” I tell him.

Biscuit rubs against my leg. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of anyone who thinks to out you. Tongue is a sweet treat.”

Nice. “Good boy.”

“We don’t need it to hide you for long, just long enough.” Archer’s head tilts to the side as he scours the sea of faces, and squeezes my hand. “Victor is famous for these types of parties. You sure this is Killian’s handiwork?”

“I am.”

Archer’s eyes—so lovely, like freshly polished pennies— radiate anger as his smile evaporates. “Killian isn’t going to come through for you. He’s going to hurt you, again, and I’m going to have a hard time not killing him.”

No. No more killing. “You were friends once. You know he’s endured rejection, humiliation and loneliness.”

Whoa. I’m defending him?

“I also know he plotted against me even after we called a truce,” Archer says.

“Of course he did,” I say, and Archer’s brow furrows with confusion. Yep, I’m definitely defending Killian. “He’s connected to Ambrosine, which means he’s connected to an endless pit of paranoia, rage, envy, hatred, bitterness. I’ve gotten a taste of it myself. It’s a miracle Killian didn’t stab you in the back literally.”

Realization dawns. With me, Killian did what he thought was right and turned to the person he once trusted most. The male he saw as a father figure and longed to impress. At the time, I was an unknown entity.

I have to forgive him for his betrayal, don’t I? Face it. My distrust stemmed from hurt and anger that he chose Ambrosine over me, nothing more, nothing less.

Sow, reap. My harvest finally came in.

“I’ll take care of Killian. You take care of Dior,” I say. “I spoke with her right before you arrived, but she took off and I don’t know where she was headed. When Killian searched the database for her home address, it was blocked. I’m sorry.”

Determination and anticipation flare in those copper eyes, no hint of dread. This boy will not be giving up. Ever. “No worries. I’ll find her.”

I’m certain he will. “While you’re doing your thing, we’ll be herding the party into the Kennels.” I give him a little push. “Join us when you can.”

Biscuit brushes against my leg. “Leave the herding to me. Plus, I’ll clear a path for you, Arch.”

“You don’t know your way—never mind.” Who am I kidding? This super-dog can find any place, any time. “Thank you.”

Biscuit takes a step forward, only to pause. He sniffs the air, frowns. “I scent two heavily armed guards coming this way. I’ll take care of them and herd. I’m an excellent multitasker.” Off he goes, his howl cutting through the cacophony of laughter.

Again, drunk people cry out, surprised to see a dog in their midst. Others complain about his “costume.”

“Dior?” Archer gasps out. “Ten, I see her.”

What? She’s here? “Go.”

“I’ll cleanse her and meet you in the Kennels.” He leaps forward and disappears in the crowd.

“Tenley.” Lina’s hand gloves mine. With a hard yank, she pins me to the wall.

I don’t fight back. Yet. I remain aware of her other hand, hanging at her side, clutching a dagger.