Born

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, withdrawing himself from beneath her skirts.

She shook her head once, her breaths ragged.

“Get out and tell no one of this.”

Lowering his eyes, he nodded and fled.

3

Allora watched Cormack go, fighting to reclaim control over her body. For a moment the phantom of his mouth caressed her sex again. Stubble scraping her inner thigh, his groan of ecstasy filling her ears as he pleasured her. His wet heat manipulating her own before cold air invaded, snapping her out of her stupor. Nothing felt as it ought, her heartbeat too fast, breaths shallow and her stomach filled with liquid fire. What have I done?

Wobbling on shaky legs, she retrieved her armor, righting her clothing as best she could without her maid. The hour had grown late and with any luck everyone would be busy feasting in the main hall so she could slip back to her room and wash away the evidence of this encounter.

He has to be drained. Bad enough that she’s let him take such liberties on her traitorous body, but she could not allow him to tell others of what had happened. Her reputation aside, if the Breds started offering sex in exchange for leniency, the Borns would lose control over their creations and no one would do the work they had precious little time to do.

Donning her helmet, she strode from the stable and headed toward the servant’s entrance to the tunnels the Born lived in this time of year, all the while compiling a list of reasons why Cormack had to die. It’s almost his time—his life will be over soon enough. A Bred who can’t work isn’t worth the sheets he sleeps in. The book sealed his fate.

The book.

Damn, she’d forgotten all about it, so lost in the new sensations cascading through her. Pivoting on her heel, she picked up her pace to a fast trot, needing to retrieve the cursed object before another Bred stumbled across it and shared in Cormack’s unfortunate fate.

Wind buffeted against her face as she struggled with the barn door. The shield must have failed again.

Shivering, Allora could not help but wonder how much longer they could survive on the surface.

Reports of glaciers forming had come in from a few of the northern colonies and even now, Breds dug tunnels beneath the surface, aiming for the earth’s beating heart, the only real source of natural heat left to them. And other dangers lurked below the liquid mantel. Could the planet sustain them? So many species were already dead or dying, the food chain crumbling from the bottom and working its way up.

Horses started as the door blew shut behind her, the wind shield flickering from lack of solar power.

The splintered wood had been thoroughly warped from the six months of nonstop sun that had just ended and was barely any sort of barricade for the violent winds sweeping down from the north to buffet the structure. Some of the larger settlements had dug subterranean stalls for their livestock but with only a few dozen Bred doing the heavy lifting, Allora knew her colony couldn’t spare the laborers for such a task until the barn would no longer suffice.

Bending down, she scooped up the book. It was not an official publication, which would immediately have to be catalogued by the Born librarian for historical purposes. No, the cover had not been emblazoned with a title and when she opened it, saw that the words were not computer generated but written in a spidery scrawl. She flipped to a random page.

December 7, 2017

I know you are reading this, Allora.

She blinked, fumbling the book, dropping the bag altogether . No way could I have read that right.

Sucking in a deep breath, she straightened the book and started again.

Yes, Task Mistress Allora, I’ve seen you and your discovery of my journal.

By the time you read this, my time will have ended. Your time is about to begin.

“’Tis madness,” though she whispered aloud, Allora couldn’t look away, enraptured by the words on the page.