Steel Blood opens with a jolt of red and a countdown you can feel in your teeth. Dr. James Cancilleri, the mind who cracked time itself, realizes the men in his family line are dying six centuries back, which means his present is on a timer. It’s such a clean, grabby premise that I did the little reader-lean you do when a book suddenly puts a hand on your shoulder and says pay attention.
What I loved most is how personal the stakes stay even when the set pieces go big. Yes, there’s a high-tech lab with a name that sounds like a warning siren and yes, there are dangerous medieval corridors where steel answers questions no one should ask. But the engine here is simple and human: a son of a long-ago family trying not to vanish. It’s selfish and selfless at the same time, which is catnip for me. I kept thinking about that odd cocktail of motives while I turned pages I was supposed to be saving for tomorrow. Oops.
The book toggles between the cool hum of the lab and the mud-and-iron mess of the past, and the contrast works. In the present, you can feel the nervous shiver of colleagues watching for ripples in the timeline, the way you watch a storm radar that keeps blooming new colors. In the past, Koch leans into texture. Armor clanks. Prayer and superstition sit beside knife logic. There’s a female knight who arrives with the energy of a door kicked open, and I’m not exaggerating when I say she wakes the plot up in the best way. The whole thing has a “brace yourself, we’re going in” momentum that made me a little feral about my reading time.
Small confession: I didn’t always track the time-science on the first pass, and I didn’t care. Some of the tech talk gets dense in a way that made me slow down, like chewing a caramel that fights back, but the emotional clarity keeps carrying you. I also thought a few side characters felt like sketches standing beside Cancilleri’s full portrait. Did that bug me? A tiny bit. Did it matter when the book is this propulsive and surprisingly tender about legacy and choice? Not really.
There’s more bite than I expected. The opening scene is vivid and, fair warning, gory enough that I actually blinked and set the book down for a second. That edge keeps showing up: blades, blood, consequences. I’m squeamish and I still appreciated it because it never feels like shock for its own sake. It’s there to sharpen the theme that history is not polite. It maims. It refuses to step aside just because a scientist asks nicely.
My favorite through line is the panic that turns into focus. Cancilleri starts as a man staring into the throat of his own nonexistence, and the narrative keeps him there, trembling between duty and desire. Save the people who made you possible, or lose not only yourself but the good you’ve done. That is such a great moral knot. By the time the last reversals click, there’s this quiet satisfaction, like when a puzzle piece you swore was cut wrong finally slips into place. I might have grinned. Fine, I definitely grinned.
If you want hard sci-fi that spends fifty pages on schematics, this is more character-first than that. If you want a story that mixes time travel with medieval danger, lets a few scenes get messy and human, and leaves you a little breathless at the end, this absolutely delivers. I’m landing at a very happy four-and-a-half stars, rounding up in spirit because the ending stuck the landing and the heartbeat of it is still thumping in my chest. Worth your time. Worth your sleep. I’ll be thinking about that choice at the center for a while.