Gunnar moves with the speed of their vampire ancestors, and his chest is an inch from Slade's in the blink of an eye. “I was in Bloodling prison because Dimitri convinced your father that I was a threat to all beings, not just the ones responsible for Lucinda's murder.”
His face seethes at mine. I see the insanity in his gaze. I also see rage, passion—and the barest bit of temperance.
“If I had been free, do you think your father would be dead? Do you think Dimitri could so easily have taken our females?”
Slade's mind reels. He had assumed all along that Gunnar was a danger to Bloodlings. All the while, Gunnar’s imprisonment was the machinations of a nightloper greedy for power, taking his biggest opposition out of the way.
“Dimitri is responsible for Daven's death?” Slade asks slowly. He must be sure; it puts everything in a different light.
Gunnar nods curtly. “Yes. Though the poison was not found in your father's system and he was nearly a thousand years old, it is true.”
“Once your father and I were out of his way, Dimitri moved on to the females.”
“Crippling our reproduction,” Slade states in terrible confirmation.
“Yes,” Gunnar hisses. “That—and only that—is the reason I jumped with you. I will be regarded as a loosed felon. My risk is no more than extra jail time. But for the chance to find my own flesh and blood? Or to find the man responsible for the mercy killing of Lucinda? It is well worth it. Who knows? Maybe we can find allies willing to overthrow Dimitri, put an end to the slaving and his rule.” His hand closes into a clumsy fist because his talons are too long. “Maybe we take back our females.”
I'm here to take your daughter to the very man who imprisoned our race.
Gunnar's hand claps Slade’s shoulder. “What troubles you?”
My deceit, Slade thinks but doesn't say.
“It is much to adjust to.”
Gunnar's eyes become hooded. “Perhaps you should have sought the answers yourself, instead of bloodshed and useless scheming to procure our females.”
Slade whirls on him, shaking off his hand. “There were not enough Bloodlings to fight for our females.”
Gunnar nods slowly. “But with me, we could get them back.”
“You're one Bloodling. One.” Slade bares his fangs.
He studies Slade. “This is not a numbers game, prince—but a battle of strategy. It will not be won with bloodlust, feuding and loss of life.” Gunnar taps his temple. “It will be won with intellect, every bit as fine of a weapon as the one you hold at your waist.”
Slade's hand reflexively moves to his weapons belt.
Gunnar nods and smiles. “I have you thinking in another direction.”
“Yes.” He has no idea.
Gunnar rubs his hands together, looking around him. “Well now, we've fed.” He looks at Slade. “Or rather, I've fed.”
He begins walking. “First order of business is to locate Commander Rachett and thank him.”
Slade follows hesitantly.
“Thank him for what?”
“For killing Lucinda.”
Slade halts, watching Gunnar's broad back as he continues toward the outline of buildings far in the distance. They'd been lucky to stumble across women picking berries at the edge of the forest. The majority of inhabitants were miles beyond them.
No doubt sensing Slade did not follow, Gunnar turns. “What?”
“I thought nightlopers—”
“They did,” Gunnar says in a flat voice. “But her people came to save her. Ultimately, Rachett did the hardest thing. The best thing. He killed her so she might be free of the agony.”
He walks back to where Slade stands. The fiery ball of the sun begins to sink behind him, backlighting Gunnar in scarlet. The stains of his feed look like cast patches of shadow over his face, hands, and neck.
“Lucinda was too injured to live. Even her extensive recuperative abilities couldn't make her whole. So Rachett ended her suffering.”
He turns away, sadness etched on every plane of his face. “I came when she was gone.”
“And you killed them.”
He whirls, his eyes blazing at Slade. A trick of the dying sun creates bloody pools there. “Not all.”
“Dimitri.” Slade states as fact.
“Precisely.”
Silence rules the two Bloodlings for another full minute, then Gunnar claps his hands together. “Let's go get her, shall we?”
“Who?” Slade asks, unable to hide his surprise.
“Why that hopper you've got your heart set on, who is also my daughter.”
He knows. Gunnar knows I'm here to steal Beth for Dimitri.
“The tiny Reflective—I hear everything. There is no secret that is too buried for my ears.”
“What did you hear?” Slade asks quietly, fearing a dagger in his back the minute it's turned.
“That you lust after her, of course.”
He flips his fingers toward himself. “Moonlight is burning. Let us be on our way.” Gunnar continues on without waiting for Slade's response.
That is good.
Slade couldn't have said anything even if he wanted to.
CHAPTER NINE
Beth
“A word?” Jeb interrupts Beth as she converses with other Reflectives.
Their faces swivel to Jeb then her.
Heat rises to Beth’s face. So much has changed since they were here as reluctant partners. She's helpless to remove the new component to their relationship, and she’s ill-equipped to navigate the unfamiliar and treacherous waters of their new relationship.
Jeb doesn't seem to have that trouble.
His tone of voice says so much, and her shoulders stiffen in anticipation of his next words.
Beth's heart had lifted at the sight of The Cause Headquarters being put to rights. But now… now Jeb's back to the hard soldiering Reflective of before.
Not a trace of the tender Jeb remains.
Jeb takes her gently by the elbow, and Beth tries to ignore the burning eyeballs at her back.
“Rachett is nowhere to be found,” he announces quietly.
Beth nods, her spirit sinking at confirmation of terrible news, but it makes sense. Rachett was the logical Reflective to put out of commission if a takeover had been in the making.
It's what Beth would've done.
“Yes,” Beth answers, keeping pace with Jeb’s long strides away from the knot of Reflectives keeping tabs on their every move. “I've been made aware.”
“Did you also know that the female Reflectives have been jumped?”
Beth spins to face him, her heart lodged inside her throat as she grips his arm.
“What? No!” she says loudly.
Jeb forgets where they are—and all semblance of professionalism—as he cups her face.
“You are all who remains.”
Beth takes a shaky step away and slaps a palm into his chest. “Where are they, Jeb? Tell me!”
She's furious. “They had no right. The women don't have locators. Some have never jumped—not once. They're naked of protection.” Beth’s panic rises like bile. “We must go! Find them.” Beth's voice breaks. “This is worse than their forced abuse. This is… certain death,” she finishes bleakly.
Jeb grabs her hands. “I'm sorry, Beth.”
She lets him pull her to his chest. Beth knows she's being weak. His soul declaration gives her the power to exploit him. But Beth finally admits, if only to herself, that she needs his strength.
She draws from Jeb like an old-fashioned battery from Three. Beth takes a sucking inhale, calming herself.
He strokes her hair. “I did not want you to find out from someone else.”
She nods. “I'm sorry, Jeb. It was wrong of me to strike you.”
“I'll live.” His voice is dry.
Beth tips her head up, and his lips curl as his hand cups her chin.
His eyes flick over her shoulder and turn the flat gray they become when his moo
d darkens.
Beth slowly turns to face where his gaze lingers, and hostile eyes meet hers. She steps out of the circle of Jeb's arms.
“What's wrong?” Beth asks quietly, and he stays her with a hand.
“Think it through.”
Beth doesn’t want to think it through. But Jeb would've told her if he could.
She scans the sea of male Reflectives. Some faces meet hers with expressions of neutrality, but not all do.
Some expressions cause her to retreat a step. Beth does not embrace fear easily. It's not in her nature to do so.
But the numbers of hostile expressions aren't looking good.
It takes seconds for Beth to do as Jeb asked.
I'm the only female Reflective on Papilio.
And the number of males stands at greater than one hundred. The ratio blows, as Jacky would say.
“We don't like the way you behave with Reflective Jasper,” a Reflective from the very back of the growing crowd comments. And the Reflectives’ collective hostility transfers neatly to Jeb.
Beth takes another step backward and bumps into Jeb, whose hands fall on her shoulders.
“How I behave with Reflective Jasper doesn't concern you, Reflective Conan.”
Mutterings erupt from the crowd.
Beth's heart begins to speed. “Oh my Principle—what, Jeb?”
“Yes?” he asks quietly.
I'm afraid. “What does this mean?”
He squeezes her shoulders. “Nothing good.”
“What should I do?” Beth instantly scans for reflections. Many twinkle back at her. But in her home world, she'll simply be followed by any Reflectives who choose to pursue her.
Sweat breaks out on her forehead, and her mouth goes dry.
“Would you become that which we killed?” Jeb's voice rings out like a struck bell, and Beth flinches.
The whispering ceases, and Beth can't help the sick tension that creeps underneath her skin like insects invading her body.
Be strong.
Beth thinks of the Tenth: Reconcile emotion for The Cause, not another.
That includes herself. Beth straightens her spine. No being alive can jump better than she can.
This horrible circumstance will not end her—or define her.
Her chin kicks up a notch, and she stares the males down defiantly. She feels her Bloodling heritage sing in her veins, searing like liquid heat. Her stay in One awoke something primitive inside her, and Beth will use whatever advantage it's given her to survive.
“No, we would never hurt our females!” calls out another whom Beth doesn't know, and she allows a silent breath to ease out of her.
“Then I have no problem with saying what I must,” Jeb says as he inches in front of her protectively.
Beth's heart goes from a trot to a gallop. No, Jeb—don't tell them. But as she thinks it, she knows he will.
“I declare Beth Jasper my soul mate. She is my other half.” He raises his hand, bringing it into a tight fist, and lays it over his heart.
Beth hangs her head. This cannot end well.
“Impossible!” another male shouts.
“She is of mixed heritage,” Jeb recites calmly. However, Beth is attuned to Jeb now, and she hears the thread of tension in his words.
“She's a mongrel—I say we end her now!”
Beth cringes at the old insult, even as she gears up to jump.
“If any think to touch a hair on her head, they can seek their end, sooner rather than later—by my hand.”
“No, Jeb.” Beth grabs his arm. “Don't you dare die to defend me.” The warmth continues to flow, swarming her insides and radiating out to light up her fingertips and toes.
Beth sways with the sensation, feeling heavy and light simultaneously, as though she is laden debris and moving swiftly in a river whose waters run warm.
Jeb whirls, grabbing her shoulders. His eyes are deep pewter—flat and angry. “There's no choice, Beth. None. I'm bound to you, body and soul. The precepts of soul bonding is a great theory we've been taught. I'm here to tell you the bond is unfathomable in reality.”
Tears spring to Beth's eyes, and she fights gravity to keep them there. This great Reflective has been brought low by her existence.
I can save him from himself.
If she were not in Papilio, Jeb would have nothing to protect. Her eyes restlessly search out every reflective surface. Lightposts shimmer back at her; puddles, sunglasses, even windows taunt her with their potential.
A Reflective male moves forward, and his blade glints in the sun.
Heat builds within her.
“Beth—no!” Jeb must certainly sense her readiness to jump.
So do some of the Reflectives nearby. They move as a unit, running toward Jeb and Beth.
She flings her gaze around her, gauging both difficulty for others to follow her jump and proximity to her location.
Wide, frantic eyes land on her and Jeb.
“I'm sorry—it's for the best. Protect Maddie,” Beth tells him in a low voice.
Jeb's grip tightens.
“No, Beth,” he says, ignoring the siege of Reflectives storming toward them. “This isn't the way.”
A torch lights within Beth, igniting a pathway.
Jeb's eyes flick to above her shoulder and widen with shock… and something else.
Beth decides it's fear before a second hand grabs her free arm and a Bloodling male stares down into her face.
Time grinds to a surreal halt. Beth instantly knows who he is.
“Father?” she says, as both question and answer.
Eyes so like her own move to Jeb and dismiss him immediately. Then Beth sees him—a man who looks Papiliones, but isn't.
She would know Slade anywhere.
“What…” Beth starts to ask, beginning to jerk her arm away, and then she's jumping.
The one reflective surface she dismissed as too difficult even for her skill level is what her newfound father uses: the fountain spray in the court pavilion before the TCH steps.
A tall bronze sculpture rises from a deep pool of water. The figure of a Reflective male takes center stage, fingertips reaching for the elusive butterfly just out of reach as his hand holds a bowl of water meant to entice the butterfly. Water sprouts from his parted lips, dumping into the bowl, then spraying into the large pool at his feet.
Heat caresses her skin, then she slams into the microscopic spray with a finesse she's never felt.
Her scream echoes in the pathway her biological father creates.
But her terror doesn't move him—Beth fears nothing will.
CHAPTER TEN
Slade
Slade forgot how beautiful Beth Jasper really is. Certainly, the old Three saying “absence makes the heart grow fonder” could apply, but Slade thinks it might just be good old-fashioned lust he’s feeling.
Or worse, he might actually care for the hopper.
Gunnar throws them out of the waterfall and directly into the ruins of one of the Papilio quadrants.
Beth lands smoothly, as if her guts have no qualms about the flight they just took.
On the other hand, Slade does all he can to keep his breakfast in his belly. He belches softly behind his fist and smells vomit.
“Rough landing?” Gunnar asks with a bone-rattling clap on Slade's back. He hisses from the abrupt contact, forgets he doesn't have fangs, and punches Gunnar straight in the face.
The older Bloodling staggers backward and grins. He coldcocks Slade right in his roiling guts, knocking him hard on his rump.
Slade grunts, holding his stomach, and slits his eyes at Beth, hating how the jump has compromised him.
She's crouched, dark eyes flashing. “Slade?” she asks in a low voice.
He nods, feels a second wash of vertigo, and stops all movement.
“Why do you look Reflective?” Her eyes remain on Gunnar, who turns his full attention to her.
“Clever of you to extradite yourself during the j
ump,” he comments blandly.
Beth rolls her shoulders, straightening. “It's rudimentary training for Reflectives. A good Reflective can move during a jump.”
“Disguise,” Slade croaks, finally answering her question.
Beth tilts her head, assessing Slade. “Not a very good one.”
Slade snorts, getting to his hands and knees. He pushes off to a standing position and manages not to sway.
“Good enough.” He groans and swallows quickly to ward off spilling the contents of his stomach.
He hates the show of weakness, especially since Beth and Gunnar are completely unaffected.
Chuckling, Gunnar cocks an eyebrow. “You have your mother's heart.” He takes a step toward Beth, and a naked ceramic blade is suddenly in her overhanded grip. She waves it back and forth. “Stay as you are, Bloodling.”
Gunnar spreads his palms inoffensively away from his body. “This is not the reunion I would have anticipated.” A smile ghosts his lips.
Beth dismisses her father’s attempt at humor. “I didn't know until three seconds ago that you existed.”
Gunnar's lips turn up in a sideways smile of contemplation. “Ah yes, I see. Immaculate conception.”
“Hmm, a comedian. Wonderful.” Beth tosses a look Slade's way. However, he can't respond; he's busy holding up a tree trunk.
“Slade, is he—why are you here?”
For you. “Reconnaissance.”
Beth splits her gaze between Slade and Gunnar. “Bullshit.”
It's only a moment's diversion, and Gunnar is suddenly there in front of her.
What did he reflect with—or is he just that fast?
She moves into his charge, bringing the hilt of the ceramic blade underneath his chin with jaw-dropping hardness.
Gunnar drops, and as he falls, he grabs her wrist, yanking her down on top of him.
Beth releases the blade and slaps his face. His flesh rings in the deadness of their surroundings.
She leaps into a somersault and rolls away from him then springs to a stand.
He's instantly in front of her, fangs bared. “I mean you no harm!” he roars into her face.
Slade's lips curl. Gunnar looks as though he means a great deal of harm.
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