The Scion Saga Book One
By Calix Leigh-Reign
Genre: Young Adult, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Romance
For those craving an untapped Sci-Fi niche - Opaque delivers in this gripping page-turner involving mutated Limbal rings, biokenretic anomalies, mental dysfunction, perplexing Russian ancestry & romance.
Cālix takes us on an adventure that begins when 16 year old misanthropic Adam unknowingly reaches biokenretic puberty, and his supernatural abilities awaken to save him from his murderous intentions. His every thought revolves around the extinction of the human race until mysterious Afro-Russian Carly Wit stumbles into his English class one morning. Adam notices something otherworldly about her immediately but denies the bio-synch taking place inside of him. As he resists their blossoming love, he battles with unnatural thoughts of his mother.
Discovering his origin isn't what he'd thought, he becomes determined to peel back the layers of his lineage and unmasks a multitude of mind-bending secrets along the way.
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The sound of my bedroom window slamming closed startles me. Bolting upright against the headboard, I scan for any movement inside of the eerily silent darkness. Seeing none, I walk over and slide the pane vertically upward. I’m not sure if I had anything to do with the closure. Probably not.
A foreign degree of heat rapidly spreads throughout my limbs, traveling into my chest. I cough. My breath is like steam rising from a teapot just before it begins to boil — but somehow it doesn’t burn me. Groaning, I completely undress and stand naked in front of the window. Bathing in the crisp air, and hoping to cool myself.
It’s too hot for covers so I sprawl out naked on the bed, with my manhood facing the ceiling and my hands underneath the back of my head. Wanting her. Deserving her. Growing angrier by the second. My unembellished room is dark. Lit only by the supermoon. My cell phone illuminates with a text notification. I angrily glance out of the corner of my left eye, but I don’t bother turning my head. It doesn’t matter who it is because I know who it isn’t.
My thoughts begin their inevitable descent. I recognize that my Creator has set me apart. It just seems nonsensical to set one apart only to watch their forceful and painful conformity.
My eyes itch so I close them and converse with my immortal. My every extremity tingles as if I’m being electrocuted, and there’s a very noticeable rumbling inside of my thorax that grows until my breathing catches. The wind howls, as if in response to my anatomical anomalies. The spirit attempts to dissuade my thoughts with partial, believable hope that my torturous suffocation is self-inflicted and completely voluntary. A debate ensues and my immortal departs.
I open my eyes as the itching subsides. My vision is distorted and my eyeballs are warm. I blink rapidly to abate the calefaction until my sight normalizes. The wind fights with the trees and they fight back. The wind — always the victor. I desperately wish the psithurism would drown out the torturous sounds wafting with invasion from their bedroom. The soft moans escaping her throat. What an actress. Their mattress squeaking. Offbeat. Quite naturally. Lame ass animal. He can’t even do that right.
I should be inside of her. I will be soon. But for now, sleep will save lives and ensure a perfect plan. I close my eyes in torturous anger, and the metallic scented sludge regathers to block my sinuses, before dripping down my face — onto my cheeks.