“So, an easy job.”

His next smile is megawatt.

“Maybe my first act as Abrogate will be ensuring you’re publicly flogged.”

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

The throwaway admission actually...saddens me.

“If Troika wins you, their light will intensify and encroach into our realm. It’s happened before. Only once, but we lost millions. Our spirits cannot survive in light, just as theirs cannot survive in darkness.”

The fate of the war depends on my decision? No, absolutely not. The pressure...it’s too much. “I’ve seen you in the light, and Archer in the darkness.”

“No. You’ve seen my Shell in the light and his Shell in the darkness.”

Pressure...growing... “I’m not interested in another tour or answers.” Not right now. I’m in the middle of a tug-of-war, the rope wrapped around my neck, and every answer he gives me removes a little more slack. “There’s too much to do. As soon as you’ve patched me, I’m going after the other inmates.”

“We’ll see about that.” Killian cleans the gel he’d applied with a moist towelette, and it stings, but only at first. There must be some type of numbing agent soaked into the cloth.

He selects a syringe, and when his finger makes contact with the belly, the liquid inside begins to bubble. Bubbling liquid he injects deep into the wound. All hint of numbness wears off, foam rising from the center and spilling over the sides. I hiss.

“Would it break your heart to discover Saint James is a Laborer?” he asks as he works. “That he was sent to convince you to sign with Myriad?”

Mind...threatening to break down again... “He loved—loves—me.”

“Are you sure? You would stake your life on that fact?”

“Yes,” I start to say, only to hesitate. Zero! I can’t overlook evidence just because I don’t like it.

“Did he?” I ask softly. “Does he?”

“You tell me.”

Not this crap again. I need the truth, even if it does shatter me. At least I’ll be able to put myself back together. “I admit he’s a Laborer, okay. Now you tell me. Was I simply a mission to him?”

He gazes at me with heat growing in his eyes, and it’s like a fever suddenly overtakes me. “Remember, the truth hurts for a little while. Lies hurt forever.” His voice is as soft as mine. “Yes, you were merely a mission to him. I’m sorry.”

I...believe him. I believe him because he has no reason to lie and every reason to hide such a damaging truth.

James used me. Tricked me. Those stolen moments of comfort, so precious to me, were as much a tool of manipulation as Vans’s torture. But the worst part? Vans, a vile mercenary, was honest about his intentions, while James, who professed to love me, only ever deceived me.

How he must have laughed at me, the blind, desperate fool.

“I’m sorry,” Killian repeats. “James uses a script. A method of deception for getting what he wants.”

A long con.

My dream of happily-ever-after with him, one I hadn’t known lingered in my heart despite his supposed demise, dies a thousand violent deaths.

For once, a death really is the end.

Keep it together. “You also have a script,” I say without any inflection of emotion.

“I never lied to my assignments. And I had a script. Show you a part of Myriad I knew you’d love, impress you with stories of my strength. My script worked as well as his.” Killian weaves the spool of glowing thread through my skin—threads that are as hot as fetters, cauterizing the wound after drawing my flesh together. “Now I’m doing something new. I’m winging it.”

Sweat beads over my brow, and another hiss escapes me. “That’s not going to work for you, either.”

“We’ll see about that, as well.” He flicks me a small smile that hints at a wealth of secrets. The past he’d only begun to share. “Your threshold for pain surprises me. I thought you’d scream.”

“Why would I scream? Physical pain will never compare to mental anguish.”

The amusement drains. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “You should only ever be pampered.”

Is he flirting with me? Here, now? Or is he simply winging it?

“Just stop, okay? Unlike your other targets, I realize the fickleness of human attraction.” I may be led by many of my emotions, but not lust. Never lust. “The body doesn’t always crave what’s good for it. That’s why attraction will never be enough for me. That’s why there has to be more. Love. Devotion. Determination. Things you can’t offer me.”

“How do you know what I can offer? And you only think you can overcome lust. If you’d ever experienced true physical pleasure, you’d realize how ridiculous you sound.”

My temper—a wild thing—blasts free of its cage. “Dreg! You have no idea what I’ve experienced. You’ll never know.” I huff and puff in an effort to calm. “Lust will never be more important than commitment. Commitment stacks the odds of a successful relationship in my favor.”

Still he scoffs. “You think relationships can survive centuries? There are many tasty treats out there...many beauties to be sampled.”

“Beauty fades.” Beauty, Bow once said, was simply an outer shell. Heart and respect—those last forever. “Character lasts forever.”

One of his brows wings up. “Are you politely telling me you like my outside but not my inside?”

“I was polite? Well, score one for me. Unintentional counts for something, right?”

He chuckles softly as he finishes the stitches. Gently he wraps my wrist in a bandage. “There. All done.”

I hate to say it, but gratitude is owed. “Thank you.”

“Oh, lass. Don’t thank me yet.” He smiles again, this one all about seduction. “Once you’re healed, I’m coming after you with everything I’ve got.”

A warning. A challenge. My heart performs a series of flips inside my chest. “You forget,” I say. “I’ve seen you in action. You’re no match for me.”

His smile only widens. “Is that so?”

“That’s so. Prepare to experience your first defeat, Killian.”

Chapter nine

“The end will always justify the means.”

—Myriad

I pull my injured wrist to my chest, ending all contact with the guy who’s proved to be a cornucopia of contradictions. Kind yet cruel. Amiable yet acerbic. Concerned yet uncaring. For someone living in a realm where emotions are practically gold, he doesn’t seem to know how to manage his. And maybe that’s the point: releasing his emotions purges them.

But purging always leaves you empty.

Empty, you can be filled.

I expel a breath. Will I ever stop this tug of war?

Killian studies me, his expression unreadable as he says, “What makes you think losing you would be my first defeat?”

He might have been able to mask his expression, but he can’t disguise the threads of bitterness in his voice, and I’m intrigued. “What—or who—did you lose before me?”

One second slips into another, tension sparking between us. Tension...and an undeniable awareness. It’s as if I’m seeing into his soul and, despite what I said earlier, there’s beauty inside him. He’s a boy with hurts as strong as my own and dreams just as vivid.