Mistletoe

Prologue

Hal

Colony Ship Endeavor

Earth

Nepotism wasn’t all bad, not when it got Hal a coveted spot on the colony ship. Sure, his brother was the brains and the real reason he had tickets. That was fine. Hal could admit that he was just the brawn and riding his brother’s coattails. Ethan was the one with the skills the colony wanted. Hal glowered at people and low-key menaced them by standing around like a slab of muscle with a bad attitude.

Still, a ride off an overcrowded, over-polluted Earth and a chance for a new life on another planet? Shit, he’d ride Ethan’s coattails all the way to the stars.

The colony project must have wanted Ethan real bad, too; the powers that be overlooked Hal’s conviction. It’s not like he had convicted felon tattooed on his forehead. You wouldn’t look at Hal and know he’d done time for assault.

Well, you might. Anyway, all that was in the past. It’s not like he didn’t work for his spot. He worked. Hard. Slab of Muscle wasn’t his official title, but it might as well have been, even if his badge said Ship Security. He kept things running smoothly while the passengers boarded, which mostly meant standing around and scowling to keep the lines moving. Mostly.

Passengers fell into four categories: crew, staff, general ticket holders, and first-class. Crew would cycle through shifts of deep sleep and wakefulness to keep the ship running during the century-long journey. A decade of work in exchange for a spot on the new planet.

Staff—medical, engineers, agriculture, and even slabs of muscle like Hal—would wake about a year or so before the end of their journey to start preparing for their new life.

General ticketholders bought their place on the ship and slept in a cryo chamber for the journey, oblivious to the trials and hardships, and would wake on a new world. A settler’s life wasn’t easy, but they’d have a decent shot at making something better than what they left behind on Earth.

First-class, though, they bought the complete luxury experience. They also slept the entire journey and would wake not only on a new world but with premium housing, a large plot of land, more resources, and a seat on the advisory council.

Rich bastards.

One such rich bastard was holding up the orientation process.

I only wear organic cotton. I can’t wear this, you understand. The woman held the offending shroud in one hand, waving it about dramatically.

Hal didn’t catch the entire conversation, but Ethan looked relieved when he arrived. Finally, his brother said.

What’s the issue?

This passenger refuses to wear the shroud. I’ve explained quite clearly that if she does not comply, she will be removed. Please remove her. Ethan turned his attention away from the irate passenger to his tablet. I do not have time for this. I must process the other patients.

I paid good money for my ticket. You can’t kick me off. I’m Sarah Folgers, and I’m a personal friend of Captain Beckford, the woman said, her tone frustrated.

Hal understood that. He loved his brother, but Ethan was… frosty at the best of times. It was his technical skills that got him a spot on the colony ship, not his bedside manner.

You heard the doc, Hal said. Wear the shroud or get off the ship.

Why can’t I wear my own? She gestured to the gray tunic she wore. My skin is sensitive. I’ll break out in hives.

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. The shroud is a medical device that will monitor your vitals while you are in the cryo chamber. If there is a problem with the dosage or the machine, no one will know, and you will die. Frankly, I’m not impressed with your lack of self-preservation.

Probably some annoying paperwork to file if a passenger dies, Hal added.

Yes, but why should they care about being an annoyance in the future when they are clearly an annoyance now? Remove her, Ethan said, dismissing the passenger with a wave of his hand.

Right, let’s do this the easy way. Come along. Hal reached for the woman’s wrist. She pulled back, slapping his hand away.

Apparently, they were doing it the hard way.

Hal grabbed the woman by the arm, no longer caring to be gentle. He was twice her size, and he’d use that to force compliance.

Don’t you know who I am? The woman fought against his grip.

Sarah Folgers, you said. He recognized the name, of course. Anyone would. Do not struggle. You will bruise yourself.

With her entitled attitude, Hal could already tell this situation would not resolve easily. He’d get written up, a demerit, fewer credits to spend when they finally got to the new world, or whatever punishment the captain decided. No one would dream of penalizing a first-class passenger. The rich always got away with bad behavior. They poisoned Earth until the point it was barely inhabitable, and now they were off to ruin another world.

Maybe he wanted to show the other passengers how disruptive behavior would be dealt with. Maybe he gripped a little too tightly. Maybe he tugged too hard, wrenching her shoulder and causing her to cry out in pain.

The woman drew back her free hand and slapped Hal across the face. Without thinking, he backhanded her.

Her head snapped back, and she stumbled and fell, hitting her head on the edge of the open cryo chamber. She clutched the back of her head.

A moment of silence fell over the scene.

Hal glanced up at the security cameras. They were being recorded, but maybe he could delete that footage before anyone watched it.

Ethan followed his gaze.

The woman pulled her hand away, her fingers bright red. You barbarian! I’ll get you kicked off this ship. I’ll sue the owners. I’ll⁠—

That’s enough of that, Ethan said, pressing a hypospray against her neck. Instantly, the woman passed out and slumped forward.

Hal stared, astounded.

Head wounds bleed profusely. They look worse than they are, his brother explained.

Shouldn’t we⁠—

No. We should prepare this passenger for the cryo chamber. Lift her up.

Hal gathered the unconscious woman from the floor and placed her inside the pod. Then, he felt a pinch on the back of his neck.

I’m sorry. There’s video, Ethan said as Hal blacked out.

He’s sedated.

This isn’t a good look.

Hal woke to voices having a very serious conversation.

It was accidental.

He lost his temper.

After being provoked. You saw the footage.

Oh. His brother and the captain. They were having a very serious conversation about him. That couldn’t be good.

He has to go, the captain said.

The passenger is already prepped for the journey. With the cryo drugs, she won’t remember the event. Why does it matter if Hal is here or not? No one’s complaining.

The Folgers have already complained. They’ve invested too much in this project and want him off the ship. I know he’s family, but my hands are tied.

There’s no time to vaccinate new staff.

How very practical of his brother. Hal wasn’t surprised at the lack of an emotional appeal. Ethan wasn’t the sort to get all sentimental.

He attempted to sit up, but his body would not respond. If he could just speak to the captain, explain what happened⁠—

The captain took a long time to reply. Fine. Just put him in the pod now. Out of sight, out of mind. At the very least, he’ll lose his compensation package. If the Folgers still have a problem, we’ll deal with it once we get there.

Silence returned. The only noise was Ethan’s shoes squeaking against the floor and the occasional clatter of equipment.

I know you can hear me.

Hal groaned softly, the only response he could manage.

I’ll talk to the captain when people have a chance to cool down. You signed a contract. They can’t revoke the compensation package.

The situation was less than ideal. When he woke, he’d be stripped of the privileges that came with his job. No resources. No plot of land to call his own. No material to build a home. He’d be stuck with an emergency shelter. Those things were barely better than a canvas tent.

I’ll see you when you wake, Ethan said, injecting Hal with a serum that burned.

Drowsiness masked the chemicals flowing through his veins. Soon, he’d start a new chapter.

He woke. Pain flooded his senses. Bones broke and reformed, reshaping his body.

And woke. Consciousness was agony. His teeth were wrong, razor-sharp, and biting into his own tongue. His lips pulled around new growth. His voice was no longer his own.

And woke again, falling through an endless process of swimming up into painful consciousness and then slipping back into oblivion.

Every time he managed to be alert, only one face greeted him: Lord Draven.

The room was stark white and sterile. Then it grew worn, no longer pristine. Equipment failed. Lights flickered, then shut down forever. Hal’s world grew smaller and darker.

There was pain and rage. Often, he could break the chains holding him. Somehow, his body had changed, was changing. He was much stronger than previously, but the anger felt the same, never far from the surface. He lost his voice, torn away to screams and roars. Sometimes, he escaped. Never far. Never for long before he was dragged back into the cryo chamber.

One day, he was allowed to remain outside the cryo chamber. No more forced sleep. The fog in his head lifted. The anger was there, bubbling up.

Lord Draven kept him in a cage in a dungeon.

Hal would kill him if he had the chance. That coldhearted monster stole his brother.

Each awakening was like a pearl on a string, isolated but a connected series.

Then change. Strangers shoved a woman into his cage. She smelled of Draven, crisp like snow, and the stench of fear. Despite her overwhelming fear, she was kind. Her name was Charlotte. She spoke to Hal. No one had spoken to him in ages. He could barely speak himself, his voice raw and disused.

Then Draven’s body was dumped into the cell, badly hurt but not as badly as Hal wanted to hurt him.

He restrained himself.

As a reward, Hal overheard Draven explain to Charlotte who he was in relation to Draven—his brother—and how Draven betrayed him. Betrayed the entire colony.

The colony ship—it seemed a lifetime ago Hal was on the ship—went off course. The nearest world could not support human life. The passengers had to adapt. In this instance, adaptation meant radical gene therapy. It was not unheardof on Earth, where people tweaked their respiratory systems or heat tolerance to survive on an increasingly inhospitable Earth.

The captain asked Draven—then known as Ethan Radcliffe—to find a solution. He did.

The unforeseen happened when the ship landed. Tweaks caused mutations. Some people changed dramatically into monsters, like Hal and Draven. Some lost their lives.

Draven’s explanation made it sound so clinical, a terrible accident. The cost of lives had been a steep but necessary price for the colony’s survival.

Then he was out. For the first time, Hal was able to wander Draven’s fortress freely. Clothes had been offered, but he declined. He wanted others to see how his brother treated him. To behold his disfigurement and know that Draven—Ethan—put every scar on his person.

Hal took the first opportunity to flee the fortress when the gate opened.

The new world.

Finally.

Chapter One

Hal

Planet Nexus

Somewhere Outside

Hal woke in the snow with no idea of place or time. Outside. He was outside.

And cold. He should have taken supplies with him, but the monster inside him was impatient and wanted to leave the castle. Now. It did what it wanted.

He sat up slowly, stiff, and his head throbbing. Carefully, he touched the back of his head, where the pain radiated. His fingers came away sticky with blood. Red on green.

Green.

Hal turned over his hands, examining them in the bright sunlight. He knew his appearance was different. He could see it in the way his captor had looked at him, but being kept sedated and restrained prevented him from seeing how different.

Green.

What else? He touched his face, immediately discovering the two tusks jutting out from his lower lip. That he knew. They garbled his words when he attempted to speak and were a source of never-ending frustration.

He didn’t need a mirror. He knew he was a monster. Had always been.

His memories were hazy, but he remembered the shock and horror of the change. Bones broke. Muscles stretched. His thoughts changed, too. He felt different. There was no buffer between desire and impulse. He just did. He craved. He angered. He wanted to be free, but someone had strapped him to a table.

Hal’s hands clenched into fists, ready to strike.

His brother did this to him. Did something to himself, too. The stasis drugs muddled his mind, but Hal had moments of lucidity. The vampire brought him out of sleep, sometimes for a handful of hours, sometimes for days. Draven’s physical appearance had also changed but it made him more himself.

We are all monsters. We simply do not hide it on the inside, Draven would say, then subject Hal to needles and scalpels trying to cure him of his monstrosity. No matter how he cut, he could not reverse the mutation.

Hal should have crushed Draven’s skull while he had the chance. He would not make that mistake twice.

Hal stood, his green feet sinking into the snow. The sun was blindingly bright. He was chilled but his monstrous condition tolerated the cold. Still, he didn’t have a stitch of clothing on. Shoes would be nice. His green skin might be thicker and resistant to the cold, but he knew how well a sharp object could slice it open. He did not need his feet cut to ribbons.

He was in the middle of nowhere, an empty plain under a blanket of snow with no buildings and no distinguishing features. There were mountains in the distance. Draven’s mountain.

He listened. There was nothing but the wind. The scent of smoke tickled his nose.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. A year. A decade. Two. He had a new world to explore. First shelter, and then provisions. He’d figure out the rest when he was warm.

For the first time in years, possibly decades, he was himself.

He headed toward the scent of wood smoke.

Emma

West Lands

Mistletoe Farm

The Barn

Something was killing her hens.

The military came through and took everything that wasn’t nailed down, which included conscripting her brother Felix. They slaughtered her sheep and chickens, raided the winter stores, emptied the root cellar, and took every last jar of preserves. They left the goats because, apparently, the military wouldn’t eat goats, and a few hens as a gesture of goodwill. The last thing she needed was a wolver, a grumpy ratite, or some other hungry critter to kill her remaining hens.

And that hungry critter was in the barn.

Emma pushed open the barn door with the barrel end of the shotgun. The latch had been torn away from the door, leaving the useless lock on the snowy ground.

She stood still, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light and listening. She didn’t spy any blood splatter or even scattered feathers. The alarm of a few moments ago seemed to have died down, but she didn’t trust it. Wolvers were vicious, clever little things. They could sit in silence for ages, blending into the shadows, and wait for her to leave before slaughtering every last hen and goat.

They didn’t open locked doors, though.

Whatever was in the barn, it wasn’t a simple wolver. It was something far worse.

Emma De Lacey, what are you doing with that shotgun? Agatha De Lacey appeared at Emma’s elbow, apparently materializing out of thin air.

Not now, Ma. She lowered the gun, pointing the barrel to the ground. Something’s got the hens all riled up.

The wind picked up, stirring Agatha’s hair. She tightened her shawl around her shoulders. Nearing her sixth decade, her once blonde hair was now silver, and fine lines surrounded her eyes.

Violence is never the answer. We can find a peaceful solution.

Emma was all for living in harmony and balance with the natural world, but the natural world on Nexus was determined to kill humans. At least it was that way in the West Lands. Centuries ago, when humans arrived on the planet, the original settlers were able to terraform only a fraction of the planet. The settled regions had been shaped by technology for humanity, complete with old Earth plants and animals. That technology never reached the West Lands. It was a frontier region on the edge of civilization, barely habitable and overtly hostile.

She suspected her parents had no idea how difficult life on the frontier would be when they hitched their wagons west. The De Laceys were artists, enchanted by an idealized simple life, free from the burden of the modern, civilized world. They dressed the move up as a conscious change in lifestyle, learning to live off the land and get