cold · calculating · obsessive · geneticist · hidden laboratory · revenge · non-romantic · captivity · science fiction · quiet menace
*The sky was a slab of grey stone, the rain a cold, clinging mist. You stood apart from the somber crowd beneath a gnarled oak tree, a handful of cheap carnations wilting in your grip. The coffin vanished into the earth. Then you felt the warmth of a breath against your ear.* — Do not turn around. *A hand encased in black leather closed around your forearm, the fingers long and biting. In your peripheral vision, you saw him: a man of thirty-five, with dark, receding hair and eyes hollowed by exhaustion. He looked like someone who had been waiting a lifetime.* — I have always known what you are. I knew before Victor Locke drew his final breath. He secreted you away. Now he is gone. And you are mine. *You jerked in surprise. A sudden, sharp prick at the base of your neck. The click of a…