Nocturnal Book Reviews

12.21.12 by Killian McRae

The smile that crossed over Dmitri’s face was one of pure amusement. “Now, doctor, what did you expect? Big burly, sweaty Russian, balding, big vodka gut and thick, sausage fingers? Someone who would shoot you as well as look at you? A hostile, hardened criminal?”
Almost shamefully, Shep confirmed that that was exactly what he had expected.
“Then, yes, I can see why you’re surprised,” Dmitri said with a chuckle. His smile only enhanced his youthful appearance, reminding Shep of the mismatch between his looks and his history. “Truth is, Dr. Smyth, I’m not even Russian.”

“Christopher, I understand you’re just doing your job. I’m really sorry about this,” she apologised, though her tone hardly seemed remorseful. “You do seem like a really nice guy.”
He was perplexed, and shivered when he felt Victoria’s fingertips bend around his wrist. “What the... ”
He looked down at the joining of their hands in confusion. It should have been impossible, but the pallor of his skin seemed to be getting more pale by the second. Was it shock? Was she squeezing so hard that she was actually forcing the blood from his hand?
Then the feeling of ice began to flow up his arms, slowly snaking its way towards his chest. Trying to reclaim his hand, he found it useless. She had him pinned, and he could not negotiate his release. Instead, he looked at her with a confused expression.
“Teleportation is a difficult thing, takes lots of energy, and I’m already cruising on fumes,” she said simply. “I’m so sorry that you have to die, but I’m just doing my job.”