Voracity, Prologue

“You should marry her,” Dasha said, cruising the car to a stop. She hummed in time with the radio, which was cracked up to drown out the muffled cries from the trunk.

I turned it down—the crooning voice of a sorrowful man—to give myself room to think. Being heard was less of an issue for Dasha. In some respects.

“You saying it won't make it happen any faster. Or at all.”

Laughing, Dasha swung open the door and hurried out. It was late enough that no one would be around, but farmers were up before the birds, and her uncle was no different. “Take advantage of it while you can. Nikita's birth certificate hasn't changed since she left the USSR, right?”

I took my time in joining her. Nikita was a special case. She left before the USSR fell and changed her name and identity shortly before. I knew very little of her childhood, aside from the betrayal of puberty and the existence of a twin.

“I don't give a fuck about marriage. And I sure as hell don't want to be seen as ‘man and wife' in the eye of the state.”