Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 138217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
One woman stood facing a wall. She fell against that wall the next second, banged her head and bounced back. Then she did it again and again.
“Truly, Upashna?” Grandfather muttered as they passed that woman. “Why are we wasting research funds keeping these subjects around?”
“Each one teaches us something different,” the woman named Upashna replied. “The female we just passed, for example, has retained all physical abilities. No hesitation when we can get her to walk. No shakiness. Full control over the body.”
“Interesting,” her grandfather said.
“Yes, I thought you’d see it that way.” A pause. “Marshall, you’re sure you won’t reconsider? I realize she’s only a 2.7, but she’s still part of your genetic line.”
But her grandfather shook his head. “Let’s get it done.”
Theo hesitated in front of the door through which her grandfather had gone. She wanted to turn, run outside and away. But even as the thoughts passed through her head, she realized the driver had come into the building behind them and stood watching her from only feet away. Theo couldn’t run without being caught.
Then her grandfather came, gripped her shoulder, and dragged her inside.
Chapter 12
Keja Marshall
Date of birth: 19 August 2041
Date of death: 8 December 2057
—Entry for Keja Marshall in the Marshall Family Tree (current)
THEO COULDN’T BREATHE. She literally couldn’t breathe, her lungs collapsing inward as she stared at the gates in front of them. Her mouth dried up at the same time that bile burned the back of her throat.
Images flashed to the forefront of her mind. Faces. Scrubs. Medical masks.
Screams.
Oh, God, whose screams were those?
Her grandfather’s face, telling her that this was her duty as a member of the family.
Cold in her veins. God, she was so cold. It burned, the cold.
“Hey, hey! Theo!” A deep male voice, a big body leaning toward her own.
She knew she wasn’t alone, that she should be wary, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the gates even as lights began to spark behind her eyes from the lack of oxygen in her lungs.
“Govno!”
Movement, the slam of a door, then the slap of chill outside air as someone opened the passenger-side door. She was vulnerable, so vulnerable, but she couldn’t break the loop in her mind.
Screams.
Cold that burned.
Medical masks.
Grandfather.
Screams.
Burning ice.
Straps, straps, holding her down.
Pain.
So much pai—
“Theo!” Arms coming around her, dragging her out of the passenger seat and into the bright cold of the fall day . . . and then he was literally lifting her up and turning her so she faced the other direction, his body behind hers as he put her down, then held her with her back to his chest.
She stared at the asphalt spreading out in front of them and away from that place of nightmare . . . and took a desperate breath. It hurt, shards of broken glass in her lungs.
“That’s it, pchelka. Breathe. Slow and easy, slow and easy.”
She couldn’t follow the advice, had to gulp. But he kept on talking, and though she couldn’t really hear him anymore through the roar in her ears, the calm and warm timbre of his voice got through, gave her something to focus on that wasn’t the road.
She became aware of the power of his body behind her with a creeping slowness, the heat of him a furnace. Changelings burned hotter. She’d read that during her research using Wild Woman magazine. It had been in an article about how to deal with an argument about the temperature of the air conditioning between a mixed-race couple—human and changeling.
The human was too cold. The changeling was too hot.
She couldn’t remember the advice given to the couple who’d written in, but right now, she understood why the human was cold at the temperature comfortable for her husband. Psy burned the coolest of all three races, and Yakov Stepyrev felt like a fire at her back.
She didn’t pull away.
She needed his fire to melt the lumps of ice that had formed in her bloodstream, threatened to choke up her throat, cut off her breathing.
“That’s it,” murmured that voice so deep and warm, “you’ve got it. Slow and easy. Long and deep.”
She took an inhale, released it quietly . . . and finally made herself step away from him. It was the closest she’d been to another sentient being since childhood. It hadn’t felt odd, not in the moment, but now, she flushed. Not out of embarrassment but because of bone-chilling fear.
Because she didn’t want to turn and look at the gate again.
“What is wrong with me?” The words spilled out past her lips.
Yakov shifted so that he faced her, while her back remained to the gate. “Looked like a panic attack to me.” He examined her face. “Your eyes have gone black. Psy I know tell me it’s a response to intense physiological, psychic, or emotional stress. One second.”