The year is 2038.
Feoran has followed through on his promise to enslave humanity, and humanity is being crushed under his oppression. Anyone who rebels is sent to the Factory.
Until one woman, Psyche Tawton, decides to run.
And she will prove his undoing.
Psyche leads an everyday life—well, for someone alive in the era of the Clan’s long shadow. A single event involving her best friend and her friends’ vampire master puts her on a road to rebellion, causing a ripple that will change the course of history, and the lives of those she comes into contact with.
Then she meets Torolf.
A werewolf with a chequered past, Torolf is instantly intrigued when he lays eyes on the violet-eyed beauty, but the wolf within him cannot accept a human as his mate. But deciding whether they should give in to their desires is the least of their troubles, as Feoran sets them firmly in his sights and makes them the centrefold for his newest horrific campaign. Starting with her best friend sent over to the Factory.
With the help of Torolf, the other immortals, and the Human Rebellion, Psyche will be the catalyst for the most important change in human history since the Clan took over. But she will also be the catalyst for her own fate, unlocking a secret about herself that is so destructive…
…it may kill her.
Grey clouds, grey buildings, grey people.
Life was grey.
Or red.
Psyche shivered as she allowed that thought to settle in her brain, before chasing it away hurriedly. She did not want to think about the colour red.
Because red meant death. Red meant…blood. For them.
Rain drizzled down around them, an early spring shower. Not that it bothered Psyche whether it was early or not. There was no spring, no seasons anymore. Only an endless cycle of days. When the sun came out, when it rained, when it snowed…none of it mattered. There were no days off. No holidays. Nothing. They had eradicated it all.
The only noise was the occasional murmur from the Clan members watching over the queues of people in front of the food booths, and a subdued cough or two. No birds were singing merrily, but they apparently existed in the countryside. Psyche wouldn’t know, she had never been outside the city wall. As had no-one else she knew.
The line shuffled forwards. An older woman behind Psyche tutted under her breath as Psyche didn’t move forwards quickly enough to keep up with the rest of the line. As the woman took a step onward, she caught Psyche’s heel, sending her headlong into the concrete below. Psyche cried out as she tripped, flying towards the hard pavement.
She threw her arms out to stop herself falling, but they grazed into the gravelly street, sending scraping fire zipping along her arms. She turned to shout at the woman, then froze in horror.
One of them was watching her, no more than a foot away. A Scout. He smirked, his cold, red eyes boring into her skull. His highly-polished boot tapped impatiently next to her arm, as if he were waiting for her to say something. She lowered her gaze to his, staring down at the damp street instead.
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Patrícia Alexandra Rocheta de Almeida Alves
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Author review: Wonderful translation as ever, great communication from Patricia - I cannot fault her translations! 5 out of 5, but I'd put more stars if I could! |
