Tessa instinctively moves farther back.
Laz smiles, steam rising from the expression, fiercely glad his Redemptive gives him room to move.
She is a practical female and his love for her swells, even at the most inopportune moment that could present itself.
Baring his teeth and shaking his head slowly, Laz says, “If you know my nature, leave now so you may live.”
“No,” the leader says quietly. “Your kind should not be here on our plane.”
Laz frowns, sensing garden-variety humans and nothing more. As evidenced by his incorrect use of Between.
From the middle of the group, a single human male walks forward, and Laz cringes.
As with some of the Blood Singers he’s encountered, it’s a true misery for Laz to be near one who possesses a great amount of angelic blood.
This creature in front of him does not have the thoughts necessary to allow Laz to ruin his brain.
For the first time in this realm, Laz feels true fear.
“That’s right, horned fucker, we got ourselves a real angel.”
As Laz is here without invitation, so is the one who stands before him.
“Lazarus,” the creature says, and Laz stiffens. His name is only known to the few he has met Between—and the legion of Hades, of course.
“I believe that your reputation precedes you. My contemporary found his end by your hand.”
The human scourge from upriver, Tom, Laz vaguely remembers.
“Why have you aligned with these humans?” Laz asks, partly to gain time, and partly to become informed.
He must protect Tessa and the hot dog.
Laz would also include his newfound sister in this.
“There are those from Below that have seen fit to enter Between to find you. I could have forgiven your temporary transgression here. But to remain, mate with a being from Between, then call more of the dark to your position cannot be tolerated.”
“That’s why this angel was sent from God to rectify shit,” Howie’s faithless cohort says at his elbow.
Laz ignores the flinch the name from Above elicits and backs up a pace.
“Let’s teach him a lesson.”
“Tessa,” Laz says.
“Yup.”
“Are we ready?”
“Yes.”
Laz fervently hopes that she has released his sister from the bonds that hold her.
Two demonic can be something to take in hand, even by a crazed angelic.
A burning palm slips into his, feeling like a perfect key inside a lock.
The angelic standing before him hisses its displeasure.
Laz attacks all who stand with minds open to the special assault of his ability to surface the evil within their own minds.
Those he fells do not rise again.
The angelic moves forward with grace and light, hurting Laz and moving to Tessa.
His hand outstretches, trying for her slightly rounded belly, and Laz bellows his rage as his sister inserts herself between the two.
She cries in agony as the angelic touches her instead of Tessa. The female’s tail, not built for battle but deadly nonetheless, swings around the angelic’s head, preparing to strike. The angelic’s skin moves to translucent, icy gold and pulsing silver, lighting the veins of his being on fire.
Laz covers his eyes from the sight.
His tail sails forward around his burning body, stabbing through the body of the angelic, lifting the being high.
Laz intuits many things.
He grows sick.
The angelic begins to die.
And the female he loves is vulnerable.
None of that matters, for once the tether of their beings are tied, they will remain thus.
Until one of them claims the life of the other.
Marley
In an obvious uproar, Jake barges into the tiny house where she stays, and she stands, moving back to a corner and well out of his way.
Howard stands, as well.
Jake jerks a thumb in the direction from where he just came.
“Alpha says to go bite the new bitch.”
Marley sucks in a breath, and his eyes move to hers just as she casts them to the floor.
“Tahlia needs healing,” Jake restates with quite a bit of sarcasm.
“Of course she does. What’s gotten into you?” Howard asks, his expressive face and eyes conveying how wrong he thinks Jake is acting.
Marley does, as well, but is too concerned with self-preservation to say.
“I’m not going to be the one. Gotta be a beta.”
Howard tenses. “I can’t help that Slash wants this. He is Alpha of our pack and demands what he will.”
“Yeah, fuck.”
Suddenly, shoes fill her vision, and Marley stills, even her breaths halting.
“Do not be afraid, Marley.”
She is so afraid. This male doesn’t like Tahlia, the most selfless royal Lanarre that Marley’s ever known.
His finger sets beneath her chin, and she allows her head to be raised.
Howard has gone, leaving her with Jake.
“Why do you hate Tahlia?”
He shakes his head. “How can you ask that when she was part of that shit pack you were in.”
“You didn’t see how we reconnected?” Marley quizzes, searching his face most thoroughly.
His hand drops. “Yeah, thought that was for show because you didn’t want an Alpha female to drop you the minute you got here.”
With a soft laugh, Marley says, “For an Alpha male, you need to use your nose more.” Her eyes meet his then fall away. “Did you scent my fear?”
“No.” He’s sullen.
“Then what did you scent? Joy, relief—should have been akin to those feelings. Because Tahlia was my only defender. She was trained like a male by aloof parents that pawned off her upbringing to her guardians—who she has told me were murdered in her presence, before she changed to her dove form to escape a crazed Were.”
“Shit,” Jake says, his hands going to his hips. “I sorta messed that up.”
“Sounds as though you put Tahlia in the same category as the other Lanarre without knowing her true nature.”
“She still hasn’t told us who hurt her and why. Or why she was found and transported by a human. A Lanarre princess. And then there’s the matter of Drek.”
“What of it?” Marley asks, finally dredging enough courage to address his gaze. “Why can you not extend trust sufficient enough to wait until such time as she can divulge it all.” Her eyes do not drop from his. “Could it be she is so weakened and injured, she can’t handle one more recounting?”
Ruddy color creeps to fill Jake’s nape. “I guess I was unfair.”
“Very,” Marley agrees, crossing her arms.
A surreptitious sound reaches their ears, and Jake spins, spreading his arms in front of Marley.
The vampire moves into the doorway, and Marley’s stomach falls. Her eyes take him in.
As big as any Lanarre warrior, he’s as pale as polished alabaster.
His pewter eyes meet hers, and Marley stills, the very breath leaving her body.
High cheekbones sculpt a face both inhuman and beautifully fashioned. Ebony hair is shorn and close to his scalp.
Lips that are painted like the deepest red rubies opens in a hiss, eyes on the Were who guards her.
Oh my Moon, she has time to think before the creature attacks Jake.
THE END
Blood book #10 coming April 2020!
♥ Want to read mega boxed sets by this author? Click the links below – FREE on KU for a limited time ♥
Mega DRUID, 1-12
Mega Alpha Claim – 15 books in 1!
Mega SAVAGE, 1-7
Mega REFLECTION, 1-4
Mega DEATH, 1-9
Mega Road Kill MC, 1-8
Mega TOKEN, 1-10
♥ Want to read more books by this author? Click the links below – FREE on KU for a limi
ted time ♥
Death, 1-3
Savage, 1-3
The Reflective
Vampire Alpha Claim 1-6
Shifter Alpha Claim 1-6
Road Kill MC 1-3:
The Token, 1-3
A Terrible Love (NYT bestseller)
Druid, 1-6
Siren 1-3
Club Alpha
Brolach
Smoldering Wet
(erotic content, 18+)
A Hard Lesson
(erotic content, 18+)
*Please read on for a sample from another, TRB work....
THE CAUSE
First: Right the Wrong
Second: Bear No Injustice
Third: Change Not What Must Be
Prologue
twenty years before
T he midwife made her way along ancient cobblestoned streets, her shoes catching in the crevices though Principle knew, her shoes were as sensible as they come.
As was her occupation.
She would arrive in the birthing ward at exactly eight a.m. for her twelve-hour shift. Of course, it would not be twelve hours—it would be for however long the woman labored.
And if a Reflective were born ....
Just the thought of the potential for that caused a nervous thrill to flutter deep within Florence, as it did each time she worked.
The Reflective newborns must be swaddled in special non-reflective blankets. A baby would not be lost on her shift because it was a prodigy who jumped at a mirror or other reflective surface left uncovered.
Dear Principle. She shuddered, thinking about what the punishment would be for that. As it was, midwives couldn't use any surgical instruments that were not brushed stainless steel, and since the last unfortunate incident, the midwives had since moved to an all-ceramic surgical unit.
Florence swept up the massive steps. The rise of the treads was so low the stairs felt more like a gentle slope than true steps.
The sparkling flakes of charcoal that clung to the thick white granite reminded her that the sun still shone brightly, though their version of autumn would soon be here.
A shadow fell over Florence, and she twisted to look at the sky, her foot on the top step, her hand on the solid brass door handle that opened to the birthing center.
A swarm of butterflies, so thick it blocked the cerulean of the sky, dropped false night all around her as they flew through the rectangular vents that fed the ventilation system in warmer months.
The ports were a deliberate architectural feature that allowed entry to the only creature in their world that could identify a Reflective
So many.
Florence stood in stunned wonder. She had witnessed butterflies come to mark the birth of a Reflective, but never in such a great number.
Their importance was such that her world was named in their honor: Papilio, Sector Ten.
Their path created a rainbow of iridescent color, which poured like water through the narrow vents that had been carved in the solid stone of the birthing center.
All who lived in their world were born in similar structures.
However, Florence was one of few birthing center workers who had seen the highest incidence of Reflective births. She had requested placement to this one. After a five-year waiting period, she’d been assigned to the most prestigious.
She snapped out of her reverie as the last of the mingling kaleidoscope of insects funneled through the slits underneath the eaves of a copper roof, now aged a deep verdigris.
Florence tore open the heavy door.
She didn't hear it clank behind her as she ran the length of the corridor to the floor that housed laboring mothers.
Florence burst through the swinging doors as a man and a woman stood over a cradle.
Confused, Florence skidded to a stop.
What is this?
This... appeared to be the parents in front of a babe so new that some of the vernix still coated the wee one, her arms swinging as she howled.
Two nurses, one at the end of her shift and one in training, hung back.
Oh, for the love of all that is good. She stalked over to the newborn.
Florence halted as the sight overtook them all.
Their breath.
Their thoughts.
Everything but the scene itself melted away for those who witnessed the post-birth spectacle.
The butterflies descended, floating in a lazy spiral as the opalescent sunlight washed over their multicolored wings.
The chubby arms of the baby girl swirled and pumped, slowing as the butterflies drew nearer, and her echoing screams gradually grew quiet.
The insects lighted on the rails of the basinet in a portentous group, their wings moving in a steady sweep to maintain balance.
Their appearance froze the parents’ breath in their throats.
The moment swelled and grew in the stillness of the nursery, where rows upon rows of cradles pressed against the other. The parents watched the butterflies flutter precariously on the polished sides of the newborn's bed, landing only on hers and no other.
Their appearance was beautiful… final.
Florence strained to hear the mother's voice.
“She is Reflective,” she said in a sorrowful tone.
Her mate squeezed her hand so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“Yes,” he replied, just as gravely.
Their gaze met in perfect understanding of what the future held for their daughter: a life as mercenary, hunter and hunted.
This was an honor and privilege among their people.
Florence closed her eyes in sympathy. A female Reflective—every parents dream… and nightmare.
five years later
Beth shot the plain glass marble across the stretch of earth, watching the glass orb tumble and spin as it met the others she’d shot in a smack of hardened glass. It swerved at the last moment, ricocheting off a shooter, and came to stand where she'd intended.
All the other children her age could play with any marble they chose, but she possessed no mercury-coated marbles.
Beth Jasper was a solitary girl.
But not one who lacked intelligence. Beth had felt the sadness from Papa and Mama and knew she would soon leave for the building that had a big shining silver papilio above the entrance.
Mama and Papa had taken her there the previous week to meet with a man who had a nose like the water birds that gathered near her family's pond.
His nose made it very difficult for her not to giggle. Beth sometimes had a problem with laughing when she shouldn’t.
Beth had observed and stood watch over her new surroundings, remembering what her adoptive parents had told her.
Beth, you must let us do the talking. Under no circumstances should you volunteer to train for a combative role. There are alternative roles for female Reflectives.
Beth crinkled her face at the memory. She understood all of what they wanted of her, and she would not shuffle papers and sit behind a desk, looking like the dolls she had given up playing with.
All Reflectives were far more mature than their human counterparts from the other twelve sectors.
Beth spoke like a teen, though she was five cycles. She puzzled through things that confounded adults.
She was faster, stronger, and brighter.
Beth was female.
When Commander Rachett of the Reflective Militia, who operated under The Cause leaned forward and delved deep, he tried to pierce young Beth's very soul. She met him halfway.
Her small body leaned boldly toward his, unafraid.
In their people's ancient language of Latin, he posed the question: What role will you fill within The Cause, young Beth?
Beth narrowed her eyes, and Rachett's eyebrows raised slowly.
He had studied her, no doubt because she was a half-breed, and female besides. She had met his stare with an unwavering gaze.
“A combative role, of course,” Beth said in her childlike voice, though the m
eaning was very adult, because she understood and communicated like one.
“No! Beth…” her mama said.
Beth swung her legs back and forth underneath the chair. Her eyes drifted to the candy dish poised at the edge of the desk before returning to the commander's.
Beth's stare matched Rachett's.
Rachett had to know what she was: a warrior. The attribute was either present, or it wasn’t.
Her papa stood.
“We can't have her fight. She is female… and not big for her gender.” Her father's face pleaded with Rachett to see reason.
Commander Rachett wasn't known as a reasonable man.
Rachett steepled his fingers underneath his chin, looking at Beth’s adoptive parents. Good people, common folk who were loyal to The Cause, believers in the Principle.
Rachett's gaze shifted to Beth. He scrutinized her face: eyes like crushed brown velvet; hair like a raven's wing; and skin like polished marble, pale but not pasty.
She is too beautiful to fight, he must have thought with regret.
Beth saw that future remorse on his face.
Then he looked at her hands, long-fingered and limber.
His eyes shifted back to hers.
“Beth?” he asked softly.
“Yes, Commander Rachett?” Her small fingers held something.
He frowned, obviously distracted from his planned comment.
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