Chapter One
Naskia

I smile at Seely as she flutters around the room, placing finishing touches on the birthing center and the baby's care table. Her cheeks are red with anticipation, have been since the delivery monitor started beeping four hours ago. Vessa Exie Welsben will arrive in exactly fifteen minutes, and with each vanishing moment, Seely's face grows more and more excited. It's hard not to smile, knowing we will bring a perfect child into a perfect world, into a place that does not know the evils of man.

"Almost time," she says, her fingers lingering on my stomach. "Are you nervous?"

I shake my head.

"Good. You won't even feel it."

I haven't felt an ounce of pain since the beginning of my pregnancy, and I don't expect to now. From what I've read on online articles, it is highly unusual to experience pain during childbirth. The only exceptions are women who forget to take their medicine, and I haven't missed my mark yet.

"It's time for another pill," says Seely when the timer falls to five minutes.

I pop the small green square into my mouth and swallow. Then I tip my head back and stare through the transparent ceiling. Our bedroom is directly overhead, and Vessa's nursery is in the room adjacent. Blue and green hues decorate the glass room, colors that Seely picked to resemble the outside world.

My eyes flutter shut as I imagine Vessa growing up in that blue and green room. I hope she's artistic like Seely, especially since she won't inherit her brown eyes or curly hair. Vessa will look only like me—well, like me and the Brute's supply of DNA. I wish there was a way to avoid Brute involvement at all, but Seely tells me that conception is impossible without them. So a portion of my child's appearance will come from an incarcerated Brute that will contribute brown hair, light eyes, and long limbs. As long as the Brute's fangs and behavioral aggression are not transmitted, I can deal with the rest.

"It's time," says Seely.

I open my eyes. Seely reads the directions aloud as she follows them. I try to listen, but her words begin to blur. I can't seem to process anything more than the fact my baby girl is finally being born.

"Almost there," says Seely, her voice cracking slightly. I don't look at her, but I know she's probably crying, always does.

A pealing wail splits through the air. The first cry of a newborn baby, of my newborn baby. A swelling sensation rings through my heart, and suddenly, I'm the one crying, fat tears rolling down my cheeks. I haven't even seen Vessa yet, but I love her more than I ever imagined possible. More than I love Seely, more than I love myself.

"Seely," I breathe, stretching out my arms. "Let me see her."

But Seely doesn't move. She stands with her back to me, facing Vessa's care table. Her arms are wrapped around our daughter, whose gurgled cries still echo in the narrow room. I push onto my elbows, surprised at the sudden weariness that overtakes me. I call to Seely again, but she ignores me.

She steps forward and lowers Vessa to the changing table. Except lower is not the right word for her abrupt movement. Drop. That's the word. A violent thrust onto the hard counter, something no mother would do.

An inhuman growl claws up my throat as I clamor sideways. My body protests the sudden movement, but I barely feel it. I can't feel anything but the boiling rage that seeps through my veins. Vessa's strangled cries grow louder and louder.

"Seely!" I scream, staggering toward her. "What are you doing?"

"Stay back, Naskia." Her voice is a stranger's, clipped and emotionless. "Get back in bed."
"Why? What's going on?"

Vessa's wails fill the small room.

"I said get back," shouts Seely, wheeling toward me. Her face twists into an unfamiliar expression. "Don't move. I have to make a call."

Seely whips from the room without another word, abandoning me with our crying newborn. In that momentary lapse, I stumble forward with one hand clutching my stomach and the other reaching for Vessa.

The first thing I notice is that she looks more like me than I expected. Dark green eyes, like fresh pine needles, and a tuft of soft brown hair. An amazed laugh bubbles from my lips as I stroke her cheek. She is perfect, beautiful in every sense of the word. My hand cups her face and then trails over her smooth chest. She wriggles slightly, and just like that, the feeling of absolute love and astonishment sucks out of my lungs, replaced by a scorching fear.

It feels like every organ in my body is failing. I am being burned from the inside out, a violent fire raging through my bones and destroying everything in its wake. I can't breathe, can't see, can't hear, can't think. Because it can't be. But it is. And my insides are dying, disintegrating into ash and leaving a hollow pit inside me. An empty nothingness that seems to grow by the second. A nothingness that leaves me cold and broken.

"I told you to stay back, Naskia."

I force my head to turn. Seely stands at the doorframe with her hand clutched around her Orator. She looks at me before tapping her fingers over the tablet's surface.

I stare blankly at her. The numbness still claims me, begging me not to acknowledge what I must. But then, my mind jolts as realize what she is doing. Who she is calling.

"Seely don't." My voice is weak, hesitant.

Her eyes jolt to mine, fingers hesitating.

"What?"

"Don't call them." This time I force my words louder, making them vibrate through the room. I realize my hand is still pressed to the baby's abdomen, but I don't move it. I am afraid that if I let go, Seely will hurt him.

"Don't be ridiculous," says Seely, her brown eyes growing darker. "If you're worried about it hurting you, it's too young to do any damage."

"I'm not afraid," I say, surprised by the veracity of my words. "We have no idea what they'll do to him."

"Him?" Seely's eyes narrow and her upper lip curls into a snarl. "Naskia. Don't be foolish. This thing is a natural killer. Terminating it or confining it are our only options."

"Those aren't options," I say, my voice hoarse as though I've been screaming.

"Naskia." Seely's voice is almost reprimanding, like I am a misbehaving child.

"Please." I fall onto my knees, whether from exhaustion or desperation, I'm not sure. My eyes blur with tears, but I manage to look from my baby to Seely, and in that moment, it seems the only dangerous one is my wife. "Don't hurt my baby."

"It's a Brute, Naskia!" screams Seely. She sucks a breath through her teeth, forcing her voice to lower. "If we don't call the police, this thing will eventually kill us. Is that what you want? Because that is exactly what will happen."

I want to tell Seely that she is wrong. That he is innocent and fragile. That he has my eyes, the ones she loves so much. That she will calm down, and that when she does, she will want to protect him as much as I do.

But instead, I only whisper, "I won't let him hurt anyone." My voice is cracked and soft and pathetic.

A cruel laugh slips from Seely's lips. "I don't know who you are right now. The Naskia I know wouldn't hesitate to destroy a Brute."

"Seely, look at him. He isn't like they said." She can't deny my words—she just can't.

"I am calling the police."

"No!" I scream, clutching at her ankles. "Please, I'll do anything. Please don't let them hurt him."

"Naskia, stop!" Seely is crying now, but her tears aren't those of desperation or sadness. They are angry, frustrated tears. Furious that I won't concede, like I always do. But I don't understand. How can she not love him like I do? How can she not be desperate to protect him, no matter the cost, as I am?

"Please," I say. "Please, Seely. He's my baby. Our baby."

"It is no child of mine," spits Seely, finally kicking out of my grasps. "I want nothing to do with that thing."

"You don't have to," I say. "Just please don't tell the police."

"Are you suggesting I leave?" she asks. "Are you picking it over me?"

"No. No, I'm not. We can all be a family."

"It's me or the Brute, Naskia. You can't have both."

"Don't," I say, shaking my head. "Don't make me choose."

Seely stares at me with cold, unrecognizable features. She means it. It's either her or my baby. But she doesn't understand.

"Him," I whisper.

"What?" Seely's eyes flash with hatred—no, betrayal.

"I'm sorry," I say, my voice barely audible. I can't look at her anymore. Instead, I drop my gaze to the floor. "You don't have to go."

"Yes I do. And I'm not coming back." Seely turns her head, looking around the house, as though trying to decide which furniture she's taking with her.

"Are you going to tell the police?" I ask. I am still sitting on my knees, but at some point, my hand worked its way back to the changing table and onto my baby's ankle. I hold onto him, like my simple touch will protect him from my dangerous world.

"Is that really all you care about?" asks Seely with another harsh laugh. "You don't even care that your marriage of three years just ended. You only care for your precious Brute."

"That's not true. I just..."

"Forget it." Seely glares at him. Then her eyes return to me, softening slightly as the hatred melts into disappointment. "I'm not going to call the police because I love you. I'll report a stillborn."

"Thank you," I whisper.

"I will call the police if it ever hurts anyone. I will."

"I know."

Seely stands there for a minute, but then leaves without another word. She slams the door on her way out, leaving a chilling silence on her way. I take my medications and then give my baby his. I clean him and wrap him in a thick blanket. Then, I lie down with him in my arms, rocking him and trying not to cry.

Seely won't call the police. Despite everything, she has always been good on her word, which means she also will never come back. The divorce notice will come and the house will be sold. My baby and I will move to a smaller home in a smaller territory, which will be better anyway. Because the world can never know of my baby's existence.

I run a hand through his thick hair and think back to everything I know about Brutes. He is nothing like the documentaries and history books described. I try to imagine him being responsible for everything bad in the world, but it's an unmanageable thought. Removing creatures such as him from the world could not possibly make it better. Perhaps that is why Lieth is the only country in the world to be without men. Perhaps that is why protests arise from the neighboring countries of Iberra and Quersilla. Never before have I questioned my country's laws, but it's hard not to with such an innocent anomaly resting in my arms.

As I watch my baby drift into a peaceful sleep, I wonder how he came into being. His existence should be impossible, yet he was born against all odds and born to me. I again stroke his hair. Vessa no longer feels like an appropriate name. In fact, the only one that feels fitting is the single Brute name I can remember: Treyton Naylr, last Brute to be captured by the Lieth government.