Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
He sighs. “Let me do it.” Taking the creature from me, he mutters something under his breath that sounds like “equals” and then rips it in half with another thoroughly disgusting show of force. I flinch backward as more blood splatters on me and the ground nearby, and then he grabs my arm.
I jerk away from him, but he’s too strong. With one claw, he digs into my arm and draws blood, then slaps half of the mangled creature against my arm. Something wriggles and burrows into my flesh, and I try to twist away as icy-cold filaments crawl through my veins, but the monstrous man holds me fast.
“Chalath!” Flor screeches as everything goes dark and fuzzy around me. “We ask for permission before we implant!”
“I thought permission was for pleasuring!” the male bellows back. “Make up your mind!”
The world fades to black before I can hear the answer.
When I wake up, I blink, staring up at what looks like the ceiling of a tent.
Still on this horrible planet, then. Ugh. I rub my face, and then I notice that my eyes aren’t blurry. I…can see?
Holy shit, I can see. I sit upright, staring around me in wonder. Everything’s so freaking crisp. I can see each stitch in the leather tent above my head, right down to a scratch across the leather near the entrance of the tent. Outside, I can see snow drifting down and people moving around, talking in low voices. The scent of smoke from the fire lingers in the air, but I notice that while I’m cold, I’m not painfully so like I was before.
This is due to the…parasite? The khui? They mentioned something about it keeping its host healthy but it was hard for me to concentrate yesterday. I was too overwhelmed. I glance down at my arm, running my fingers over it. There’s no wound. Rubbing at my skin to make the dried blood flake off, I glance out the tent. I’m not sure I’m ready to join the others.
Socializing has never been my strong point.
If anything, I’m absolutely dreadful at it. I’ve always been painfully shy. It comes from a childhood of bad vision and ugly glasses and parents who loved me but seemed put out every time I needed something, because we were poor. I was the kid that desperately needed braces, expensive glasses, the kid that needed corrective surgery for my eyes far too young, and so many other things that cost money. To make things worse, my sister was vivacious and pretty and I was not.
I learned that it was easiest to fly under the radar rather than become a problem, so I did my best not to speak up, not to draw attention to myself, not to ask for anything.
That’s…going to be a problem if I’m stuck here. I lick my lips nervously. My stomach growls but I’m in no hurry to leave the tent’s safety. I need to think. What do I do? How do I get home?
Then I remember the horrible recording. Lucky you, you’re a clone.
I rub my temples. Those aren’t my memories, then. It wasn’t my sister. Wasn’t my parents. Wasn’t me with the buck teeth and the severe myopia since childhood. It’s difficult to wrap my brain around the concept of the memories in my head not being mine. Still no name in my head, though. Try as I might, I can’t come up with any name other than Vivian. Vivi. Viv.
Guess that’s me now.
Biting my lip, I pull on warm clothing and peer out of the tent. Others are moving around our encampment, everyone seemingly busy. I can actually make out faces today, which brings me intense relief. Whatever this madness is, at least I don’t have to go through it half-blind.
The scent of cooking food draws me out of the tent, my stomach growling. Now if I only have the courage to ask for food today. Yesterday I froze up. Couldn’t say anything at all because I didn’t want to be a bother. Today it’s going to be different, I vow to myself. Today I don’t have to be shy.
I glance down at my bare feet, my toes curling against the frosty yellowish grasses. This is the only area without a thick layer of snow, and I heard someone mention something about a ship burning away all the snow when they deposited us. Does that mean most of this world is snowy, then? A vague memory flashes through my mind, of sled dogs and mountains and laughing in the snow. Of someone shoving a snowball down the back of my coat and me squealing in horrified delight.
The memory is gone as quickly as it appeared, but I’m just grateful to have something in my head. Okay. Maybe I’m used to snow. Maybe whoever I was cloned from—don’t panic, Viv, don’t panic—was a winter-loving sort. I shift my weight on my cold feet and wrap my blanket tighter around my near-naked body. Other than the blanket, I don’t have warm clothing.