Radiant Origin

By Dawn Husted

Discover a forbidden love and unleash extraordinary powers in this sci-fi romance that redefines destiny.

Phyre Brown is just an ordinary teenager searching for love and adventure. But when a tragic accident reveals her true identity as an alien with extraordinary healing powers, Phyre's life takes a dramatic turn. Forced to leave home and live with her estranged grandparents, Phyre finds herself bound to an alien boy named Kreaxlae, a member of the rival Accipere colony.

But when she meets his charming and mysterious brother, Phyre begins to question everything she knows about her past and her future. With the fate of two alien colonies and their safety at stake, Phyre must make a choice that will change her life forever.

Will she choose love or duty, passion or power?

Find out in this thrilling sci-fi romance about the bonds that unite us, the powers that define us, and the choices that shape our destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yaupon Berry Press
• Release date: Aug 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9781732388154

Dawn Husted

Dawn Husted has a degree from Texas A&M University. In September 2018, she was nominated as a panelist for Teen BookFest by the Bay. When not writing, she’s either camping or dreaming about camping. She lives in central Texas with her husband, two kids, a feisty black cat, and an adorable golden retriever.  Her readers will find twists and turns around every corner! She loves to know what readers think of her books, so reach out at the connections below or write a review. How to connect with Dawn: www.dawnhusted.com www.AWordyWomansGuide.com Twitter: @TheDawnHusted Instagram: TheDawnHusted Facebook: DawnHusted

Book preview

Radiant Origin

Dawn Husted

Published by Yaupon Berry Press, 2023.

Copyright © 2023 by Dawn Husted

Internal design by Yaupon Berry Press

All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form by any means electronic or mechanical unless expressed in written permission of the author, except in brief quotes in an article by a reviewer.

This book is a work of fiction.

The names, places, and events herein are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or events or locales, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

To learn about the book visit

www.dawnhusted.com

If you have any questions or comments for the author:

[e-mail]

Follow Dawn on:

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram

TikTok

Radiant Origin—1st Electronic Edition

Published by Yaupon Berry Press

ISBN: 978-1-7323881-5-4

Also by Dawn Husted

Girl Gone Ghost

Touch of Darkness

Scythe of Darkness

Safe

For all those who are different

than the average human being.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 1

A group of dots on a white background Description automatically generated

Octavia smiled as I entered her bedroom. The aroma of Ralph Lauren perfume thickened the air. I could taste the spicy fruitiness on my tongue. How many squirts did you spray? 

Hmmm. Four? Ten? Her droopy eyelids flicked upward. It smells—she breathed—fabulous.

Says you. I waved the strong scent away from my nose.

Phyre Brown, Mom said, her eyes cutting to mine. Stop giving your sister a hard time.

The two cannula prongs in Octavia’s nostrils pumped oxygen into her lungs, and the charcoal-colored tank hummed next to her bed. She took another breath as her bed slowly rose to a reclining position, her knees knobby lumps beneath the floral quilt. Octavia had been on the verge of death ever since she was born. My parents had only gotten pregnant with me to save her life. I was what doctors called a savior sibling. My blood gave my sister strength. But over the past six months, my sister’s body had deteriorated. Octavia was losing her battle, and I guess her sense of smell was fading because she must’ve pumped the perfume ten times too many.

Mom took a rubber tourniquet band from the end table that also held what looked like an old milkshake with a layer of liquid at the bottom and a stack of letters from our neighbor Christopher.

Mom’s stony eyes focused on the task as she tied the rubber band around my upper arm, pinching my skin.

Ouch, I said.

She grasped Octavia’s limp arm as if it were a delicate flower stem. I rolled my eyes.

The transfusion was the only thing that gave my sister strength for a short while. I followed her fixed stare out the bedroom window. "Are you looking for him again?" I asked.

Raspy giggles escaped her purplish lips. I pumped my hand open and closed as Mom grabbed the syringe and sterilized my inner elbow with a cold alcohol swab. My vein bulged.

One day—Octavia took a shallow breath—I’m going to marry him. Christopher was the Romeo to a Juliet who’d already died and been revived twice this year—my sister.

What did it feel like to be in love? I sagged into the cushioned chair, propping my feet on the metal frame of her medical bed. I didn’t know how to act around boys; there wasn’t a big selection of them in our homeschool co-op group, and the only guy who was sort of cute was already dating a girl two years older.

I wiggled my toes as the needle jabbed my bulging vein, next to previous punctures scarring my fair skin. Finding Octavia’s vein was more difficult, and Mom bent closer, squinting at the bruised and marred area. You ready? she asked Octavia. On three. One-two-three. Mom carefully pricked Octavia with a tenderness she never showed me.

I untied the band from around my arm, and as my cherry red blood filled the clear tubing, life flowed from my arm into Octavia’s. Within minutes, the mauve left Octavia’s lips, and she pulled the cannula out of her nose. The transfusions didn’t have this quick-healing effect on her until two months ago, around my sixteenth birthday. Why? I wondered, but I didn’t dare question the miracle aloud.

V

Sneaking out at midnight is a bad idea. We’ll be lucky if Mom or Dad doesn’t notice before we get back, I said, pulling through the drive-thru of the only fast-food place open this time of night in College Station, Texas. 

What kind of sister would you be if you’re not going to use your new license for fun? Besides, she paused for a shallow breath, that bed is uncomfortable, and fresh air is good for my soul. She raised her bony finger at the stars twinkling out the windshield. That’s the Big Dipper.

I glanced up and yawned. No matter how many times Octavia pointed them out, I still couldn’t make out the Big Dipper from the Little Dipper. But Octavia had always been fixated on the stars.

The girl behind the window reached out with a bag and a cone topped with vanilla ice-cream swirls. We didn’t order that, I said.

She peered at Octavia and winced. It’s on the house. Hope you feel better.

I took it. She’s a little sick, not dead, I murmured to the girl and handed the food to Octavia.

Thank you, Octavia replied, totally using her illness to her advantage.

I shook my head and inched the car forward. Octavia waved a salty French fry in my face. Want one? She knew I wouldn’t eat it. My body needed to be as healthy as possible—for her sake. I could be her last hope if she needed another transplant of any kind.

I drove out of the empty lot to head back home.

No, she paused, swallowing, not yet. I’m tired of my bed and of home.

Well, I’m tired. Period. I was half asleep when you woke me for your stupid fries.

She gobbled another two fries and then licked her ice cream. You know, Phyre, I’m not going to be around much longer. I can feel it.

I stiffened. Glancing over, our eyes locked, and an overwhelming sense of sadness filled my chest. Don’t talk like that. It’s not true. A few weeks ago, she’d had a dream about her impending death … but I told her she was wrong. That it was only a dream. I guess she needed more convincing.

She looked away first and waved a finger at the far-off distance, past the overpass. The train tracks.

I couldn’t say no to the tracks. She knew it. I grumbled, For luck and then home. Okay?

She smiled. Deal.

A crack of thunder and lightning split across the dark sky, illuminating thick clouds that had moved in. The oncoming rain sweetened the air. A drop hit my arm and I rolled up the window.

Specks of water splattered the windshield, turning into giant teardrops within seconds. I bit my bottom lip and sat up straighter to view the road better. After heading across Wellborn Road, I took two rights and spotted the tracks in the distance.

The streetlamps glowed, shining on the heavy rain.

Ready? I asked, driving toward the tracks. The rain bounced off the pavement, dancing in the gleam of my headlights. A click sounded as Octavia took off her seatbelt.

I tapped the brakes. Put it back on, I said.

I will after. It’s uncomfortable on my stomach. She rubbed her barely-there belly.

Fine. I bit my lip.

Ready? She raised her hands. On three. One. Two. Three.

I squeezed the steering wheel with my right hand and lifted my left.

Faster, Octavia said, barely above a whisper. Live a little.

The car picked up speed. Not enough for my sister.

Come on, sis. Faster.

She stuck her tongue out, and we both placed a finger on the head of a screw in the corner of our visors.

For luck! her voice raised with a sudden burst of energy, like her life depended on it. Faster, Phyre. Faster.

The car sped closer to the tracks. The front wheels hit the first rail, and our backs jostled upward. The stoplights ahead switched from red to green, but I didn’t slow. Octavia raised her hands more, her ice cream only half eaten in one hand.

The moment we entered the intersection, a horn blared. I saw the oncoming truck and its blinding headlights too late. It slammed into the passenger side.

My hands yanked from the wheel.

The force of the impact tossed my head left into the window, smashing it.

The car tumbled left over left. My body jerked wildly against the seatbelt. I gripped my chest in agony. The stoplights twirled as the metal hood screeched against the pavement. There was nothing I could do, not even yell for Octavia. The high-pitched, shriek of metal on concrete faded as my car slowed to a stop, upside down.

Then I blacked out.

Chapter 2

She’s dead because of me! My heart threatened to rip from my chest. I would’ve traded my life for hers, given the chance.

Dad held me up, wrapping his arms around me as I bawled on his shoulder. I’m sorry, Phyre, he said, stroking my hair, red strands catching between his fingers. His voice caught. I’m sorry.

But how? I didn’t have a scratch on me, so how could Octavia be dead? Even the surgical scars I’d had for years were gone … which was weird.

She wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.

I remembered. She’d removed her seatbelt.

With one arm around my shoulders, Dad led me from my hospital room to the waiting area. I was physically fine after last night’s car accident and being discharged, unlike my older sister. How was that possible?

In the waiting room, Mom uncrossed her legs. Dark sunglasses hid her eyes. Even with her shades on, I could tell she wasn’t looking at me by the angle of her head. Would it be too much to ask for her to love me as much as she loved my sister? Octavia was always her favorite. She must hate me.

Mom stood up. John, she acknowledged Dad, but not me. He dropped his arms from my shoulders. I squeezed my hands into fists, my nails digging into my sweaty palms.

During the short drive home, nobody uttered a word. Beside me, Octavia’s seat was empty. It all felt so surreal, like one big nightmare, and I needed to wake up. I clutched the ache in my chest as my memories flashed back to the crash. Rain hitting the pavement. The oncoming truck and its blinding headlights. Glass shattering.

I forced myself to turn around and stare out the window at the one-story brick homes.

When we pulled into our driveway, a Honda Pilot was parked to our left. Whose car is that? I asked.

Dad turned off the ignition. Your grandparents are here.

Sweat soaked the collar of my shirt. Grandparents? Mom’s parents lived up north. Meme and Papa? I wiped the tears off my face with the back of my hand.

He shook his head. Your other grandparents. My parents. His voice lacked enthusiasm.

My eyes widened. I’d never met them. Supposedly, they didn’t live far from here, but they had never visited, not even when Octavia’s illness worsened over the years. Mom didn’t talk about them either. They’d had a falling out when Mom went through genetic testing to have me. My dad’s parents hadn’t exactly liked the idea and let their final thoughts be heard when I was born, or so I was told.

I swallowed. Why are they here?

For you, Mom spoke for the first time. Her raspy voice stung my ears.

Huh?

Dad placed a hand on her lap and turned around to face me. I know this is unexpected, but we’re sending you to stay with your grandparents for a few weeks.

My heart began to race. Hyperventilating, I flung the car door open to breathe better. What, why? I panted, feeling nauseous. We … we just lost Octavia, and now you’re sending me away? But I just got home! I paused, a sour taste coating my mouth. What about her funeral? Please don’t punish me this way!

We’re not punishing you, and we’re not having a burial. She’s being cremated, Dad said.

What? I shouted.

Dad glanced over at Mom before stepping out of the car and walked around the door to me. He whispered, Your mom isn’t doing so well. She’ll require extra attention, so it’s better if you stay with your grandparents for a while.

She’s not doing well? What about me! So, Octavia’s dead, and now I’m of no use? My eyes met his.

You know that’s not true, he said, his voice steadier than mine.

A while? How long’s a while? I paused. And why aren’t we having a funeral?

He stepped away and rubbed the back of his neck. It’s custom for our family not to have funerals.

What? I didn’t have any aunts, uncles, or cousins, so there had never been any funeral customs to speak of … until now. But you’d think he would’ve mentioned this sooner. She’d been sick for a long time, even though that’s not what ended up … killing her. I always assumed I’d get to say goodbye to my sister at her graveside. But that would never happen. I’d never get to speak to her again. Thick sobs knotted my throat.

You won’t stay long, only until your Mom’s better. Maybe a month. He crossed his arms. But before you go, we need to tell you something.

Maybe a month? Tell me what? What else could he possibly need to say? A month? Despair weighed me down. When am I leaving?

Today. We’ve already packed your things.

That was fast, I flung back.

He winced. You’ll ride with them to their house. It’s about an hour's drive.

My skin tingled. I didn’t want to ride with them. They were strangers. I’m leaving today? I reiterated. But why?

If I didn’t think it was for the best, I wouldn’t have considered it. But your grandparents offered, and as I mentioned, we have something else to tell you—

I don’t even know them!

You’ll be okay, and you’ll get to know them.

I don’t want to get to know the people who wished I hadn’t been born.

Dad rolled his neck and took a deep breath. Phyre, it’s more complicated than that. But they never wished you hadn’t been born.

Oh, really? Because that’s not what Mom said! I replied as she opened her door to step out, finally.

Dad glanced up at the hot sun and then down at me. Shall we go in? He motioned toward the garage with an outstretched hand and stooped posture.

I inched forward. He opened the door to the kitchen, but I hesitated before stepping inside. The longer I could put off going in, the longer I could avoid leaving. Avoid everything.

Come on, he said, gesturing with his forehead for me to follow.

I swallowed and stepped past him. Mom followed.

Inside the kitchen, two older adults with salt and pepper gray hair sat on the other side of the counter. The woman wore fuchsia-rimmed glasses, her hair cut short. She had round eyes like Octavia’s, but the man looked like an older version of Dad except with a dimpled chin. They stood up from their seats in unison.

I grabbed a cup from the russet cabinet above the dishwasher, filled it with water—slowly—and drank it—slowly. Blinking rapidly, I didn’t want to focus on either of my grandparents. My heart felt like a weight in my chest, and with every thump, the pressure pounded in the back of my skull.

Placing the cup on the granite countertop, I thrummed my fingers next to it.

Phyre— the old lady began. Her voice was bold, but with an undertone of softness.

Hold that thought, I blurted before darting out of the kitchen and into Octavia’s room.

I slammed her door closed and fell onto the thin, medical mattress. The floral quilt smelled of her—medicine and Ralph Lauren. Her blankets were disheveled, as if she’d gotten up suddenly.

I rolled over and squeezed her pillow, pressing my face into it. I breathed in her scent. Why did you have to die, and I live? You were always meant to live.

A tiny plastic bag, the size of my hand, sat on her nightstand. I didn’t recognize it. I turned on her lamp and reached for the bag.

Southside Hospital was written on a piece of white tape on the front with Octavia’s mood ring zipped inside. She’d worn it every day. How did it make it out of the crash unscathed? I removed the ring and placed it on my middle finger, the same finger she had worn it on. The liquid crystals turned black. The color was all wrong; it wasn’t Octavia’s color: sapphire blue. I wanted to rip the ring off and throw it across the room. I balled my hand into a fist, squeezing the edges of the ring between my knuckles, not allowing myself to take it off and letting the pain increase.

I rolled over onto my back. Neon yellow stars sprinkled her ceiling—a replica of different constellations. Octavia had always wanted to go camping; my sister had begged Mom until she relented. It had been autumn, and I was seven years old. I closed my eyes, trying to remember the one-and-only camping trip. It was hard to recall the memories from nearly a decade ago.

All I remembered was Octavia getting lightheaded before falling and breaking her wrist against a rock. Whenever Octavia had asked to go again, Mom insisted, It’s too dangerous. Eventually, my sister stopped asking—and Dad brought the stars to her instead. I didn’t mind their decision about camping, because I didn’t like the outdoors in that way. I was the yin to my sister’s yang with most things like that.

I opened my eyes. Her room glittered with models of galaxies and a collage of all her paintings and sketches. Her Echo Dot on the shelf waited for Octavia’s command.

I lay in the oppressive silence, trying to listen for her voice beyond the grave. She had warned me she was going to die, but I never thought it would’ve been because of a stupid car accident. I didn’t even get to say goodbye,