warmth. A silken caress. Then I’m standing in the gloom of darkness, fat gray clouds hanging in an onyx sky, trees knocked over from the earlier tornado. Locusts are singing and crickets are chirping. A frog croaks. A breath of wind rattles tree branches together, causing leaves to dance.
Anticipation uncoils inside me, but Killian is already gone. I spin one way then the other, finding no sign of him. Dang it! Where is he? I know he couldn’t see me through the jellyair, but surely he wouldn’t leave.
“Well, well. Look who finally decided to show up.”
I do another spin and find myself facing a short black girl. What she lacks in stature she makes up for in curves, and her face...wow! She looks like a living doll with big brown eyes that are heavily lashed, heart-shaped lips that are even now pulling tight in a snarl, and round cheeks.
“I gotta say,” she adds after scanning me up and down, “I expected you to have a third boob or something.”
A boy steps up beside her. He’s the taller of the two, but not by much, and leanly muscled. He’s Asian and beautiful, his dark hair dyed red at the ends and styled in a mohawk.
He gives me the same up-and-down scan. “You must be wearing your jealousy goggles, E, because I can totally see her appeal.”
“Now would be a good time for introductions,” I say. Both kids have Myriad brands on their wrists. Are they here to finish what the plane crash started?
“Or?” the girl asks with a tinkling laugh.
I think she’s a Shell, but I need to touch her to be sure. “Or I prove the way to a person’s heart is through their ribs.”
She smirks at the boy. “Dibs! I get to use that threat the next time we’re up against Ts.”
“Ten.” Killian steps into my line of sight, and my heart leaps. “You’re here.”
The girl has a similar reaction, I think. Her features soften, and the rise and fall of her chest quickens.
Acid-tipped daggers scrape at my insides. Are the two romantically involved?
Killian’s gaze remains locked on me, intense and blazing. “Ten, I’d like you to meet Charles, my Flanker, and Elena.”
Elena. “You are Sloan’s Laborer.”
“I’m also your worst—”
“Enough.” Killian takes my hand, the scent of peat smoke and heather delighting my senses—I’m like an addict who just got a fix. He leads me into a palatial tent. “Dinnae be disturbin’ us,” he says over his shoulder.
The walls are made of jewel-toned scarves, and there are faux-fur blankets and plush pillows scattered around the floor. A small circle of fist-sized stones rests in the center, light glowing from each, illuminating the entire tent. A large wooden tub consumes the far left corner, steam rising from the water.
“Is this a Myriadian safe house?” I ask.
“Merely a temporary camp. Troikans can enter, if they so foolishly choose.”
“The threat to Archer is noted,” I say drily. Now, time to get to the main reason I’m here. I place my hands on my hips and glare at him. “Thank you for staying with me in the plane.”
He gives a casual shrug. “I’m as brave as I am strong.”
“But no thank you for staying in the plane,” I add with bite. “And did you really just compliment yourself?”
“I did. Because you never do.”
The accusation makes me blink. And laugh. I shouldn’t laugh in the midst of such a grave discussion. “Did you get in trouble for staying with me?”
He turns away, blocking my read of his emotions. What he can’t hide? The rigidity of his posture. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Too bad. Did you. Get in. Trouble?” He should know me well enough to know I never give up.
“Yes,” he hisses. “Yes.”
Guilt winds around my neck like a boa. “What was done to you?”
“That, I won’t tell you.”
I jump in front of him, but he darts out of range—only to return in a hurry.
“You have fresh bruises,” he says, voice hardening. “Why do you have fresh bruises?”
He won’t answer my questions, but expects me to answer his? Sorry, but that’s not the way I play. “Why don’t we discuss the crash...and your realm’s involvement?”
His lips purse, letting me know he isn’t happy with my sidestep. “If Myriad is responsible, no one has taken official credit. What makes you so sure Troika isn’t at fault?”
I just...know. “How can one girl be the tipping factor in the war? How can one girl decide the winner?”
A tense pause. “How about we pretend there’s only