Free Awakening Rielle by Crystal Cierlak Page B

kindling in a fire. The Immortal could set the whole of the city ablaze with just one shelf of books.
    "Wait here, please," the man instructed before turning and walking away without so much as a formal stop. He moved quickly for an old man. If it weren't for his outwardly appearance Rielle would wonder if he, too, was somehow immortal. Who would want to be immortal at that age?
    The room was far too silent. Even the books seemed to be listening, waiting for something to happen. Rielle shrugged her shoulders until her backpack fell off as it had a thousand times before. It was her constant companion, the sole receptacle of her every earthly possession, and the one tie she had to life before liberation. The sack itself was old but sturdy, well made and though ratty in appearance had held up well over the years. It had once belonged to someone in her family - her mother or grandmother, maybe. It was too long ago to recall. There was a certain comfort in knowing everything she owned was portable, able to be picked up and carried in an instant when required.
    She turned for a moment to examine the room, wondering to herself how many pages there were contained within the large but finite space, and when she turned back again she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of a man holding her backpack.
    "Bovine leather," he stated, fingers pressing into the thick fabric of her bag with curiosity. Rielle's inner alarms immediately went off. Where had he come from and why hadn't she heard him approaching? She'd long ago trained herself to listen carefully to the sounds around her; always aware that at any moment someone could be behind her ready to steal, fight, or otherwise subdue her. "A very rare item these days."
    When he looked up at her the first thing she noticed was his eyes. Deep pools of brown topped with low, thick brows. His nose was prominent but on the thin side, coming to a slight point at the tip. His full lips were pursed conspiratorially at her examination of him. He was young. Maybe. It was difficult to tell, really, and Rielle already had difficulty ascertaining age based on appearance alone. Most faces she saw on a daily basis were lined with experience of one kind or another, sometimes gaunt with hunger or bloated with disease. He looked like what she imagined normal to be.
    "Not as rare as you might think," she lied, hoping he didn't really know any better. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest and only getting worse with each passing moment that her every possession was in his hands instead of hers. Even so she didn't want to alert him to that truth. These days anyone would steal so little as a breadcrumb from you if they thought you placed any value in it. What a man who lived in that giant home would want with her insignificant backpack was beyond her, but she was cautious nonetheless.
    "You smell nervous."
    "I-" she did a double take. "I'm sorry, did you say I smell nervous?"
    "When humans experience anxiety their brains release a chemical called norepinephrine." He leaned in closer and inhaled deeply, in through his nose before exhaling through parted lips as though she were emanating the most intoxicating scent. Rielle instinctively straightened her back and shoulders, her head following suit until she'd created a reasonable distance between herself and the stranger.
    "Dried hydroponic fruit is more than likely what you're smelling," she said, referencing the breakfast that was still half uneaten in her backpack. "I would like to have my bag back. Please."
    His eye contact unbroken, he held the bag out for her but quickly retracted when she reached for it.
    "Why do you call him 'the immortal'?"
    How had he heard that? Rielle's attention climbed from the leather sack to his face, noting his inscrutable gaze. He gave nothing of his inner thoughts away, but she had the general impression he was studying her like one might scrutinize unfamiliar surroundings.
    "What else would you call someone who