Bad Bloods by Shannon A. Thompson

Author:Shannon A. Thompson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy science fiction blood death loss discrimination, heroine politics violence innocence, rebellion revolt rich vs poor full moon, stars snow rain horror psychic fate family future november, superhuman election rights new adult, teen love action adventure futuristic, young adult dystopian starcrossed love
Publisher: Clean Teen Publishing, Inc.

Blake’s coughing woke me up, but my grumbling stomach told me the time. I’d been out for hours—maybe even the entire day—and so had Blake. When I turned onto my side, his big blue eyes faced me like the lake we fished by, wet and motionless.

I raised my hand to his forehead and focused on keeping my thoughts calm as I felt his powers push against my mind. He was too weak to read me.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, worrying my whisper would be too loud for whatever headache he probably had.

He coughed again, bringing his teddy bear up to his burning cheeks. “I’m like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were sick, and then I got sick, and that means I’m like you.” He grinned only to erupt into coughing again.

It was a reminder that I was probably the reason he caught such a nasty cold.

“You don’t want to get sick, Blake.”

“Nope,” he agreed, snuggling into his teddy bear, but he didn’t close his eyes. He pressed his lips against his teddy’s forehead and whispered against it. I had to lean in to understand him when he repeated himself. “I can hear them.”

The thoughts. All the others kids.

“They had dads and moms too,” he said it like it was a fact instead of a question, and I wondered what memories and thoughts had bombarded him throughout the day and night. Blake had no control.

I pushed his blond hair away from his clammy forehead. “You do too.”

He shook his head, tears pushing out of his eyes. Even he knew well enough that his situation was different. He saw enough memories of others to know that.

“Then,” I took in a breath. “Think of me as your father.”

His blue eyes blinked, like little oceans, coming and going in waves. “And Mom?”

“Michele.”

He pressed his nose against his teddy bear again, his forehead wrinkling with every thought that went through his mind—even thoughts that probably weren’t his own.

“Their parents left because of their bad blood.” Another thought that wasn’t his own. Blake didn’t even understand that bad blood was a noun, not an adjective.

I stroked his back. “You can’t believe everything you see in their heads.”

“But it’s their thoughts—”

“And people think strange things all the time.” My voice shook. “That’s why the election is so important. It helps people think new, better things.”

Blake’s eyebrows stitched together. “Will my bad blood get better?”

“Of course.” I had to swallow my explanation. It would be lost on him. Bad bloods wouldn’t get better. We would remain the same. It was the world that had to get better.

“And I’ll have good blood? I won’t be sick?”

“Blake, you have good blood.”

But he fell asleep.

A shaky sigh escaped me. The little boy had come in a broken basket, with no clothes or toys or even a letter. How they found the house, I would never know and neither would Blake. He’d grow up and never know a thing. At least, I knew where I came from. At least, I knew what happened to my parents.

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