Click on image to enlarge.
eBook by Carrie Lynn Barker
eBook Category: Science Fiction/Romance
eBook Description: When being defiant isn't enough? Christiana Fletcher, a just out of her teens experiment sets off from her orphanage home in search of the father who doesn't know she exists. After finding him dying, she exposes herself as the experiment she is, using her abilities to cure him. Able to heal with her hands, Chris knows that she is the most wanted on the loose experiment, and this becomes reality when Chris and her father are chased by two men in a black car. After the subsequent accident nearly kills her, Chris wakes in a hospital alone; her father has disappeared. She is given a choice by her one and only visitor, a strange man who knows she is an experiment, but has no idea of her ultimate powers. This man, Philip, takes her to a place in the desert where others like her live, escaped and released experiments living in secret. There, she meets the love of her life, Jonas, a man with scaled skin and pointed teeth. Her life there is short lived, as a single mistake brings an end to everything she'd come to love. Chris sets out to avenge the people who lost their lives in the desert, the people she considered her family. Always the hunted, Chris become the hunter, seeking out the government bases that create people like her; and destroying them. Excerpt: "Don't be afraid," I said to him as I walked back to the bed, feeling more and more confident on my feet. I flipped out the blade with a deft flick of my wrist, something that required a loosening of a couple tiny screws on the blade casing and a few modifications of my own. Good thing I'm handy with tools. It clicked and locked into position and quickly, before I could change my mind, I slashed open my left wrist.Christian's voice rose to panic pitch and he leapt to his feet. "Holy crap! What are you doing?""It's okay," I said, trying to make my voice as reassuring as possible. My hand was held up, palm facing him, as if that would help matters. I doubt that I succeeded. What did succeed was what I did next. I kept my eyes on Christian's face as I used the powers given to me by some insane scientist pretending to be my uncle and sealed up the bleeding gash in my wrist. My skin knit new and perfect. The blood that was seeping out returned into my veins. A few droplets fell from my arm onto the carpeted floor and disappeared perfectly into the riotous pattern. I went to the bathroom sink, ran cold water over my wrist to clean it up, dried it off and returned to face Christian."That wasn't real," he said, his voice catching in his throat."Yes," I said, showing him my cleanly healed wrist. "It was. That's why you're standing here instead of lying in a casket."
eBook Publisher: Eternal Press/Damnation Books LLC/Eternal Press, Published: 2011, 2011
Fictionwise Release Date: May 2011
2 Reader Ratings:
Eighteen years after my birth, I walked into my father's hospital room with the intent to save his life. This one single act took away three years of mine. I whispered my name into his ear, hoping for recognition I did not get. I had no idea that one week later I would slip into the coma which consumed me for over three years. My father never knew of my existence until after I'd brought him back from the brink. He had no idea he had a daughter. In the depths of his mind, he remembered my mother and that was enough for me. My mother is dead, but what does it matter. His remembrance of her beautiful face was enough for me to know my father would love me. That's why I saved him. I would have saved him even if I knew then what happened seven days afterwards.
"You can find me at the motel down the road," I told him. "The one with the blue rose on the sign. Get the key for room 102 from the guy at the desk. I'll make sure he knows you'll be coming. Just tell him Christiana sent you. I'll explain everything."
His glazed dying eyes met mine at this moment. He didn't make the connection between my name and his own. Up until then it seemed to me he stared right through my body. When his eyes locked on mine, I saw they were the same emerald green color as my own. My breath faltered in my chest which caused a sound something like a sob to release from my throat. He didn't seem to notice the exactness of our eyes or the gasp from my lips. Instead, he only closed his eyes and took another laboured breath with his cancer-damaged lungs.
I do not claim to work miracles. I only know what I do is because of what was done to me, which will be explained. With my free hand resting on his shoulder, I put one of my hands over his and bent my head. As my eyelids slid closed, my mind went to work. In the recesses of my brain, I could see the blackness killing him. My mind is as reliable--actually more so, but I don't like to brag--as the best body scanners and the experts' interpretations of x-rays. Broken bones are as easy for me to see as any negative slide. I could see the cancer eating away his lungs.
The disease that would kill him less than two hours later had I not stepped in I took into myself. I felt the disease leave him, felt his lungs begin to work with ease again, as in the years before he started smoking. I cannot express the joy overwhelming me when I opened my eyes. My task now completed, I saw his eyes staring back at mine with a new light.
"Are you an angel?" he asked. His voice still sounded like a conditioned whisper.
I shook my head, seeing bright spots of light dancing on the edges of my vision. "I'm not an angel," I said, my own voice low. "Perhaps the farthest from it." I rose on unsteady legs. "Come to the motel." Those were my last words before I staggered out of the room.
I don't remember getting to the motel or checking into my room, getting into the bed, removing my shoes, or my jacket. If I locked the door I have no recollection of doing so. What I do recall is waking up to find a man dressed in blue jeans and a black T-shirt seated in a chair at the foot of the bed. He had his booted feet up on the bed. He leaned back so the front feet of the chair hovered inches off the ground. His hands were behind his head, his green eyes on the ceiling. His expression, what I could see of it, was one of serenity, and one of confusion.
I heard the front two legs of the wooden chair hit the floor with a clack as I sat up slowly in the bed. His feet came down next, and he sat on the edge of his seat, his hands suddenly clasped before him. I put a hand to my head, reeling from the effort of curing this man. This man did not know his connection to me. I could instantly pull that much from his mind. He did not know. I was too dizzy to discover more.
His first words to me were ones of concern. "Are you okay?"
I swallowed, feeling somewhat seasick while on dry land. "I'm not sure," I said quietly.
His next words were the words I first expected. "Who are you? What did you do to me?"
I managed a very small laugh. "My name is Christiana," I said.
Even my name, so close to his own, gave him no recognition as to who sat before him. "That doesn't answer my questions," he said.
I swallowed the nausea building in my stomach long enough to pull my legs up to my chest. I set my chin on my knees, drew a breath, and examined him briefly. "Christian," I said. "I believe you knew my mother."
The brow over his right eye rose only slightly. He wasn't picking up what little I was putting down. I knew I had to help.
"Her name was Marie," I began. "You met her at a bar called The Gull in San Diego the day before you shipped out. Almost nineteen years ago. She served cocktails. You sang her a song. 'Her name was Marie from the banks of the Lee.' You don't remember?"
Christian Fletcher shook his head.