Free The Marked Son (Keepers of Life) by Shea Berkley Page A

saw a little girl standing in the doorway of her house, crying as her mother fought off a millispit with a blast of steam she’d collected in her hands. The ball of hot air struck the slimy creature, stopping it for just a moment before it shuddered back to life.
    Kera spotted another millispit creeping forward, its serrated fingers clicking on the cobbles as it eyed the child. Darting over, Kera got between the girl and the creature. Grunts sounded, and before it could move closer, Kera swept the blade through its body, cutting it in two.
    “Go inside,” she ordered the little girl. “And don’t come out until it’s safe.”
    The girl nodded and then screamed, pointing to something over Kera’s shoulder. With a hard shove, Kera forced the girl inside, slammed the door shut and turned, dagger at the ready. Five millispits came at her. She cut down the first in mid-flight. The second flapped into the door and hung there, eyeing her. Its tail zipped toward her. Kera sliced off the stinger, then used the butt of the dagger to smash its head. A slap of goo hit her skin, and then a sharp pain pierced her collarbone. Another moist plop landed on the side of her neck followed by a pinch. Another jabbed her thigh.
    An involuntary groan rolled from Kera’s throat. The dagger slipped from her fingers, and she collapsed to her knees, her hands clawing at the millispits, jerking the nasty things off her body before she fell.
    The last thing she saw before she passed out was the tip of a millispit’s tail, its stinger still pulsing venom into her leg.
    Millispits kill always, Navar’s voice echoed in Kera’s head. Wait and see. They will see the end to our half-breed problem.

Change Happens

    Waking in a strange room makes me nervous, but then last night comes flooding back. Mom’s gone, and she didn’t even say good-bye.
    I should be mad as hell. Instead, I’m oddly confused.
    The actual words have already faded, but I remember Mom being sad, angry even, and the one thing I can’t forget is how afraid she sounded. Of me.
    At one point, she loved me. I’m almost sure of it, but it’s like remembering a movie I haven’t seen in a long time. There are images of warmth, but no real sense of reality.
    He’s changed too fast.
    What did that mean? I recoil from the question, unsure I even want to know.
    Someone knocks on my door.
    I groan and sink under the covers. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to do anything but close my eyes and recapture the painlessness of sleep.
    The door opens. Light footsteps cross the room. They stop by the bed.
    “Dylan?” Grandma calls in a gentle voice reserved for the mentally fragile. I should know. I’ve used that tone on Mom more times than I can count.
    The down-filled bed pulls me deeper, and I willingly escape into the cocoon of feathers and warmth.
    She doesn’t try and get me to come out. She places something on the bedside table and leaves, closing the door softly behind her.
    Cocooned in the bedding like I am, the heat, which is at first comforting, becomes stifling. Cool air finds me as I struggle free of the covers. With a hard push, I roll to a sitting position and slouch against the raw ache that won’t go away. A letter lies on the bedside table with Mom’s handwriting on it.
    I feel like I’m strangling on a mixture of hope and fear. My fingers shake as I reach for the envelope and rip it open. Mom’s sweeping handwriting unfolds across the page.

    Dylan,
    I can’t stay here, and I can’t take you with me. You know how guys are. One look at a kid and they freak. Maybe alone, I can find someone to love me. You’re going to think that’s lame, but I don’t care. You don’t need me anymore. You haven’t for a long time. I’m not going to feel bad about this, so don’t try following me and laying on the guilt. I’m over that. I was never a good mother, anyway.
    Addy

    I reread the letter over and over again. This is her way of letting me down easy?