Authors: Sylvia Ryan
After some recovery time, he took a knee, still carrying her full weight, until her feet found floor. He looked a lot like Prince Charming, on his knee in front of her.
He frowned as he inspected the dirty mincemeat of her feet. The smock she wore with her name and number patch. His Adam’s apple bobbed as the realization his decision to make her go back into New Atlanta had been an awful mistake. Their gazes met. Held. She smiled her reassurance, because at that moment, her throat was stuffed with words that wouldn’t come.
He scooped her up and walked through one of the huge glass doors that led to the deck overlooking the ocean. “I’m sorry, peanut,” he whispered into her hair. “So sorry.”
He carried her over the long, planked bridge trimmed with tall grass on each side. The thundering growl of the ocean became louder as they continued along the walkway.
When he set her down, the soles of her feet met wet, shifting sand. He took a knee again directly in front of her, and he placed her hands on his shoulders, shifting her as if she weighed no more than a rag doll.
Carefully, he lifted her foot and gently stroked it in the advancing and retreating surf. When he was satisfied, he repeated the cleaning with her other foot.
“Does it sting?”
“No. I think they’re already healing. I’m okay.” She would have been more convincing if her voice hadn’t trembled.
Rock remained perfectly still while his emotions exploded around them.
“Our baby—”
“Is fine.”
He stood, letting the soles of her feet land in the shallow surf.
One-by-one, he unfastened the plain white buttons of her institutional dress and then pushed it off her shoulders until it fell to the sand.
The process was silent. She didn’t know why he didn’t talk, but she knew why she couldn’t. No words could measure up to the significance of the moment.
Seconds later, his jeans joined her dress on the sand.
She sensed his anxiety. He knew she had terrible things to tell him.
“Tell me.” The spike of emotion that rushed at her with those two words nearly broke her.
“I just want to leave New Atlanta behind us.”
He stilled, looking at her, reading her for several seconds before he nodded.
He took her hand, and they walked side by side into the pitch-black void of the ocean.
It was over.
As the moving surf splashed the front of her, it washed away the fears and everything else that had come with Being Emerald, replacing it with cool relief and everlasting love.
Sylvia is a wife, mother, and professional, living in Midwest Suburbia, USA. She reads voraciously and loves to lose herself and fall head over heels for the alpha males in her favorite novels.
When she gets the chance to shed the prim and proper persona of average wife and mother, her secret identity, Sylvia Ryan, emerges. This alter ego strives to write original ideas in extraordinary settings for her readers to remember long after the book has been read. Her dream is to transform her racy thoughts and naughty nature into tangible works of erotic fantasy for others’ secret identities to enjoy.
Turn the page for a special excerpt of Sylvia Ryan’s
Both danger and sex are inescapable in the Amber Zone.
Jaci Harmon was born a Sapphire, but after she’s summoned to receive her final designation, the testing reveals she carries a gene slated for eradication. Within a day, she’s sterilized and dumped in the Amber Zone, where the damaged are corralled away from the rest of New Atlanta. Scared and alone, Jaci would rather die than face her future as an Amber.
Born in the Amber Zone, Xander Dimos is a product of a lifetime spent under the oppression of the Repopulation Laws. Decades of suffering have taught the Ambers to make the zone a place where touch, sex, and unconditional acceptance ease the pain of their fate. Jaci has a lot to learn about her new home, and it’s Xander’s responsibility to guide her through the differences and the dangers safely.
With the simmering undercurrents of sexual chemistry growing between them, and in the midst of discovering the Gov’s true motives, Jaci and Xander must overcome his secret and accept their love as undeniable…even if the time allotted to share it is short.
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Year 2075
The tightness in Jaci’s chest nearly suffocated her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm the nervous flutter in her stomach. She rubbed her damp palms on her jeans while her gaze darted around, taking in the barren walls of the cubicle. The pervasive pall of the Designation Center was bleak, right down to the ugly green tint of the fluorescent lighting.
She wondered how many people sat where she sat right now with their hearts beating in their throats and breaths coming quick and shallow. How many lives had been irreversibly changed right here? Goose bumps rose on her arms as the acute apprehension building within her exploded. The information contained in the large white envelope she held would impact every moment of the rest of her life. Once the designation was given, there was no turning back. The results would be her color until the day she died.
Hands shaking, Jaci opened the flap and pulled the top sheet of paper free from the envelope.
Dear Jaci Harmon,
As the result of score assessments in all three major areas of testing you have been given the designation of Amber…
Her breath caught in her throat as her vision narrowed to the underlined word.
…If after reviewing all accompanying paperwork, you have any questions regarding your designation, please com the contact listed on the back of this form.
You have been given the job designation of Painter. Your reporting date and supervisor name are enclosed.
You are assigned to Amber Housing Zone Building 17, Apartment 404.
Due to your genetic profile indicating the presence of an Automatic Disqualifier, you are to report to the Amber Sterilization Center for mandatory sterilization tomorrow, June 1, 2075.
Jaci let the page fall to the table in front of her. “Oh my God,” she whispered numbly. Her face heated, and her ears filled with high-pitched ringing. She pulled the rest of the packet from the envelope and leafed through the pages. When she got to the IQ section, she studied the scores for all of the individual testing segments. They were all good. She had an IQ score high enough to be a Sapphire. A slight sense of pride washed over her. At least she was smart enough. But, that didn’t really matter now, did it?
Jaci clumsily rifled through each remaining page, trying to find the reason why she’d been designated an Amber. Then, toward the back of the stack, she found her genetic profile and zeroed in on the highlighted section.
…An Automatic Disqualifier was found in genome CD247 indicating a genetic predisposition for scleroderma and probable perpetuation of the disease through offspring…
Scleroderma. She’d never heard of it but clearly, it was one of the chronic conditions the Gov was trying to exterminate. Information regarding the disease was highlighted but she didn’t read it. She put the papers down and leaned back in her chair. All of the studying or talent in the world wouldn’t have made a difference. There were some genes deemed undesirable in any person, and she had one of them.
Jaci sat stunned, her gaze unfocused, unblinking.
Like an animal helplessly looking up at its demise, she experienced a frozen panic. She was road kill, unable to make sense of the unexpected ruin that just hit her. She’d been leveled by the Repopulation Laws. There was no recovering from this.
Disoriented, she followed a woman to a different cubicle to get her tattoo.
“Would you like a design or a plain band?” A young man asked as he looked at her paperwork and picked the amber-colored ink bottle from it’s place in the neatly ordered row of class colors.
“Band,” Jaci said vacantly.
He paused and met her eyes, opening his mouth as if he was going to say something. Then, his gaze flicked over to the surveillance camera mounted on the ceiling and abruptly closed it, busying himself again with his work.
As he tattooed the one-inch yellow-orange band around her wrist, Jaci screamed inside. She lost her bearings as the room around her caved in on itself, receded to a pinpoint far, far away. Anger and panic rose within her as she sat rooted in a state of catatonic frenzy. Only the vibrating sting of the tattoo needle marking her wrist tethered her to the reality of her surroundings.
“Can I have your left palm please?”
Jaci looked at the man. Had he been talking to her? “What?”
“I have to give you your code,” he said softly. “Everyone in the Amber Zone has one.” He gave Jaci a glimpse of the code on his palm, and then her eyes traveled to his wrist. He was an Amber. She hadn’t even noticed.
Jaci gave the man her hand. She didn’t ask what the code was for. She didn’t watch as the sting of the needle pricked the sensitive skin of her palm. She didn’t care.
When the tattoos were completed, she was ushered to the waiting transport bus that would take her and her duffel bag to their new home.
The border that separated the Sapphire Zone from the Amber Zone was heavily guarded. Only Ambers with the correct clearance, ones that worked outside the Amber Zone, could pass into Sapphire.
Being raised as a Sapphire, one class up from Amber, Jaci never had any contact with Ambers before. She’d been educated early that there was no color mixing. Ambers were inferior human beings, weak, stupid, and riddled with disease.
Now, she was one of them.
The transport driver had a serious case of diarrhea of the mouth and either didn’t notice or didn’t care that Jaci was barely there. She watched the beauty of the Sapphire Zone disappear behind her while he droned on cheerfully with need-to-know Amber Zone facts.
As they approached the ugly high-rise buildings of Circle City, the driver’s annoying buzz of words continued to permeate the protective barrier she tried to erect around herself.
“…twenty story high rise that looks exactly like buildings one through twenty-eight. The buildings themselves were built specifically for housing single Ambers. They form a huge circle enclosing an entire city within the ring. You won’t need transportation. Everything you’re going to need is within Circle City. When you get married, you’ll be transferred to a town house or condo in the Amber Zone, but outside of Circle City.”
The transport pulled up to building seventeen. Jaci exited, escaping the talkative driver, and walked in. She wove her way through the crowded lobby to the elevator and then rode it up to the fourth floor. The door opened to a congested hallway. She walked through small huddles of people, like a rat in a maze, confused and not quite sure where she was going. Then she stopped short, and for a second, stared at the door of her new home. She tried the knob. It was locked. She stood for a moment longer, having trouble keeping it together while trying to remain invisible amidst the crowd of people. She fought an explosion of tears and frustration as she stared at the metal 404 directly in front of her. Then she sighted the scanner on the left side of the door. She placed her hand on it. The scanner registered the new tattooed code on her palm, and a small
click
sounded as the lock mechanism released.
Jaci exhaled the breath she’d been holding, and stepped in. She surveyed her new home, a studio apartment with a small galley kitchen and a bathroom. The entire space was about the size of the family room at her parents’ house. Being a single Amber meant she would be stuffed in and vacuum packed so she took up as little space as possible.
Jaci closed the door behind her and stood frozen just inside the doorway, taking the room in. White, it was all stark white, impersonal, sterile. One large bed centered on the wall of the living space monopolized the room. There were night tables on each side. Clothes, pictures and other personal items were strewn over the area closest to the large window at the far end of the room.
A huff of air escaped her as realization dawned in Jaci’s mind. She would not be in this small space alone. Another person already lived there. But there was only one bed. It didn’t make sense. She glanced to the side nearest to where she stood, to what she assumed was her side of the room. She was closest to the exit and the door entering the bathroom was on the other side of her night table.
A small flat screen hung on the wall opposite the bed, and two chairs were tucked into a small round dining table near the counter that delineated the kitchen from the living space. The kitchen was small and narrow, taking up the back wall of the apartment by the entrance. It contained all the basics, a tiny fridge, a sink, and a two-burner stove.
When she got enough strength and courage together, she needed to call her mother with a list of things to send from her bedroom. She wouldn’t call now. She couldn’t face it. If she heard her mother’s voice, she would break down. She was barely keeping it together as it was.
All her parents would be told was that she’d been designated an Amber. They would have to endure her swift, brutal removal just like she would. That’s how it had always been done when someone’s designation changed, a clean break away from everything and everyone they’d known in their lives.
Two visits a year. That’s all she would be allowed to have to her parents’ zone. Over the years, Jaci knew of some Sapphire kids who’d subsequently been designated Ambers. It wasn’t unusual for them to stop visiting after a while. Maybe their families made them feel inferior, or maybe they realized they didn’t belong anymore. It didn’t matter that there was nothing she could have done better to change her designation. Bottom line was that she didn’t make the cut, and she would merely be a satellite member of her family from now on.
A compad sat on the counter to her left. Glancing down at the large envelope she held, she lifted the flap and pulled the papers free. She searched scleroderma, bracing herself for the results, fully knowing that since it was an Automatic Disqualifier the information she found would be bad. She scanned the list of sites brought up by the search and touched the screen to get to the site she chose. Focusing on the article, she let her eyes skip quickly over the information. Scleroderma. An autoimmune disorder meaning that the body attacks itself. Genetically linked. No cure. Thirty-four percent death rate within ten years of first symptoms. Significant and intensive long-term care for those afflicted. Tissues of the body hardened and froze, essentially trapping the person inside his or her own skin.