The Gift of Six


6 teenagers are swept up into a wild scheme to rid the world of dangerous criminals.
But these are no ordinary people . . .

Chapter 1

Damian Stefani

“Explain to me again why we're here?" I snapped, my voice tight with nerves. My arms were folded so tight across my chest my biceps bulged with strain, and my knuckles were white.

“You all were . . . Selected," the scientist purred, his square glasses reflecting my own face back at me, "as the most powerful teenagers in the surrounding 10,000 miles."

“Big whoop. Now what?" A girl with short dark hair and an athletes body stood on the wall next to me, in a similar position.

“Needles and test tubes?" I snickered.

“Needles?" Another girl, short with dull brown hair and a big nose whimpered. Her blue eyes filled with tears.

A girl with vibrant orange hair and a sweet body slipped an arm over her shoulder protectively.

“I doubt there’ll be needles,” she said softly. Her electric blue eyes locked onto mine, and I hit the sudden realization that I was the only boy in the room. I pushed off the wall.

“The ‘most powerful teenagers in 10,000 fricking miles’ and they’re all girls? You couldn’t find one more damn boy?” I was pacing back and forth now, and the room seemed to darken. The scientists looked around in fear except for one. A woman with curling brown hair and soft gray eyes. She stared directly at me, which was odd because most people turned away at my startlingly green eyes which seem out of place in my dark Italian looks.

“Hmph. I should think you of all people wouldn’t want another guy. Now you don’t have to fight of the attention of all these pretty girls.” Well that was a load of BS if I’ve ever heard one. All the girls weren’t ugly, but they seemed to be a few knives short of a drawer if you know what I mean.

“Well,” one scientist pushed his glasses up nervously. “I think we should all take time to get to know one another.”

“I’m Tyahn Evans,” said the short-haired girl who seemed to be the female version of me, “call me that and I kill you. I go by Crimson.”

“Ethie Storm.” This girl seemed the most mystical, with long silver hair tied back in a braid and blue eyes that had been green just a moment before.

“Imogen,” one girl said softly. She had wild blonde girls and big brown eyes.

“Amber Zara Johansen,” the one with orange hair chirped out, standing up. She seemed to be the oldest out of all of us.

“Lauren,” sniffled the girl on the floor who was crying. Amber sat back down with her in case she started crying again.

Everyone looked to me.

“Damian,” I said simply, leaning back against the wall and crossing my arms again. “Damian Stefani.”

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