The Reflective Dissent, page 10
Slade's certain his expression is grim. “If it is a First Species clan, and they are as ancient as I've been told, then they will respect ancient ways. Females are scarce in this sector?”
Merrick gives a terse nod, a slight furrow forming between his eyes.
“So Beth would be valuable just because of her gender.” Slade grasps his chin. “I propose that I stake a claim. If I do that, I can fight—duel, whatever they refer to it as—win my right to have her as my female.”
Merrick's fair skin suffuses with red, and his mouth hangs slightly agape. “Is this your machination? To claim Beth under the guise of this current catastrophe?”
Slade snorts. “If I could only have been so clever, hopper. Let me see”—he taps his chin—“I first make sure Beth is shot with a type of Three exploding ammunition, then I let her sail off to the wrong sector, where she is summarily scooped up by a dangerous species who inhabit a sector where the males outnumber the females...” Slade raises his eyebrows.
“Fifteen to one,” Merrick supplies in clipped tones.
Slade tips his head back. “Ah—yes. Could I but sort all those occurrences with that exacting precision.”
“Shut up.” Merrick glares.
Slade smirks.
After another precious minute slides by, Merrick replies, “Fine.”
Slade nods. “In the event that we don't have any misunderstandings, I will claim Beth for the express purpose of her rescue.”
They stare at each other.
Merrick grits his teeth and gives another terse nod.
“I'll follow my nose.” Slade taps the bridge of his nose and winks at Merrick.
“What if they kill you?”
Slade walks to where Merrick stands. “They may or may not have hopper genetics. But we can't be sure, eh?”
Merrick looks down, scrubbing a palm over his face. “No.”
“Then get something that reflects—anything. And if whatever I attempt doesn't work, get her the hades out of here.”
Merrick's chin lifts, his eyes blazing. “Really?”
Slade twists his lips. “Yes. She is more than we know, Merrick. More important than you and me and our paltry existence. Beth Jasper is pure of heart.”
Suddenly Slade whips his head toward the woods, his nostrils flaring.
“What?” Merrick asks sharply.
“It's Beth.” Slade hears the panic in his own voice.
Merrick grips his shoulder.
“Her blood, hopper—I smell her blood.”
All color drains from Merrick's face. “Have they—?”
Slade shakes his head, yanking himself out of the Reflective's grip and striding toward the woods. Toward the scent of Beth's essence draining.
“I do not know. But I know this—it's more blood than she can live without.”
Merrick catches up, and Slade whirls. “Stay here. Let me do what I can. What we discussed.”
The hopper hisses better than a Bloodling. “This is killing me.”
Slade shakes his head and jogs to the forest's edge.
When he reaches the border of wheaten pastureland bleeding into the dense trees, he stops.
The site of Beth, ashen and with a cut throat, robs his breath.
His hope.
Slade forgets the things he told Merrick.
He charges in to save Beth.
*
Fuck this, Jeb thinks before racing after Slade.
If Beth is gravely hurt enough for the Bloodling to smell her blood—and the quantum? Whether Jeb lives or dies is of no consequence.
Slade sprints into the woods, and a symphony of whistles and chirping sounds race after him. Jeb follows.
It is night. The birds have roosted. He slaps branches aside and peers through the dim woods.
Jeb frowns, sighting a flash of metal with something's movement, and doesn't allow himself to think. He tracks, reflecting at the momentary illumination.
One second he is standing in the vast blond field at the forest's border, and the next instant he finds himself among a group of huge males of primate origin but somehow similar to the Bloodling they hold down.
Jeb has to admire Slade. It takes six of the males to contain him.
Their eyes lock for a suspended brutal moment of understanding as Slade gives silent communication to Jeb. Telepathic? No. But the look from the male is indisputable.
They come for Jeb with a grace born of the time spent in these deep and mature woods. Long arms and heavily muscled legs bunch and lengthen as they move toward him, and slowly spinning eyes in various shades sight him easily, the blanketing night not slowing their approach.
Jeb's frantic eyes dance among the objects within easy reach, latching onto the thing that got him here.
All the primate males wear weapons belts and tunics.
His gaze trips over a dying Beth, and his guts cinch into a knot. Then he sees something swing freely from one of the males’ belts—a blade.
The waning moonlight pierces the forest intermittently, and a vagrant strand strikes the metal of one highly polished dagger.
His eyes meet those of the owner. The color of low sunlight flashes within his gaze. Raw, burning intelligence meets his stare, and Jeb tracks the weapon a split second later.
The male's hand begins to sweep over the metal, but Jeb has already jumped.
And Jeb lands at the feet of the male—flat on his back. Sloppy jumping, but the best he could do in the near dark with poor reflection.
Jeb rolls to his side and grabs onto Beth's ankle. Sliding his hand upward, he wraps her flesh and finds it cool to the touch.
His assessment begins immediately. Ends. Beth's lost too much blood to live—Jeb's thrown backward by a hard blow and inadvertently jerks Beth with him.
“No!” he roars at whoever struck him. “Let me save her, fool!”
The leader, who nearly broke his jaw, jerks him up by his dirty clothing, tearing the neckline away from the shoulder seaming as he does.
He shakes him hard enough to rattle teeth.
Jeb straightens his arm, flat palming the male's broad nose. Blood sprays.
Jeb torques his body, slamming his skull into the male's forehead.
Pain explodes in his own, and Jeb has a moment to realize the male's skull is built like a brick wall.
They fall, and Jeb—woozy, starved, and nearly crazed with fear for Beth—begins to crawl over to where she lies.
“Beth!” Jeb yells, and then he sees it—the wound to end them all.
Jeb sinks to his knees. Wanting to weep, sucking it back in a sick gulp of grief.
The delicate column of her neck is sliced almost through. She's lost so much blood that her skin is whiter than fresh snow, the veins showing through like finely constructed blue lace.
Jeb feels the presence of the First Species behind them.
“Do not hurt the female,” the one whose nose he smashed growls from behind Jeb.
Jeb cranes his head and looks behind him. The male's nose is a bloody ruin. “I have no intention of harming her. She is my soul mate.”
“She dies,” he hisses, throwing his palm toward her. “Obviously, she does not wish for whatever you offer.”
Jeb turns his attention back to Beth.
Her eyes are open, and she tries to move, reach out to him. “No—don't, Beth.”
“She did it to herself, traveler. I offered to heal her other injuries, and she jumped to me—by my own dagger's reflection—and used her own blade to commit this...horrible act.”
Jeb understands why, and it shreds his soul. He shuts his eyes, gripping her chilled hand. Then he remembers the male's words.
Jeb can't heal this; a jump can't heal this.
He faces the male, never letting go of Beth's hand. “What do you mean, heal her?”
The male's eyes slowly revolve in a disconcerting way. Jeb shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the strange sensation of gazing into those hypnotic orbs.
“We can heal most females. But we must act quickly.”
“How?” Jeb asks, though he's already passively accepted the fact that whatever they offer—if her life can be spared—it will be worth the outcome.
The leader's dominant brow ridge folds with his expression. “Blood,” he says, as though it should be obvious. “I offer blood to save her.”
“No!” Slade roars, fighting to swim from underneath the pile of males holding him down.
“Why?” Jeb yells, spinning to face the Bloodling. “If it would spare her life?”
A heartbeat of time thumps past. And the lightest touch lands on Jeb, as though a feather fell on his hand.
It's not. It's Beth's icy touch.
Her eyes are wide, frantic. She doesn't want what the male offers. Jeb can see it within her expression.
However, Beth's will to die is not stronger than Jeb's will to see her live.
Jeb stands, turning swiftly to face the leader. Hostile eyes crawl over him from every corner. “What does this entail?”
“Simple, traveler.”
Nothing is simple in Jeb's experience, especially when someone does a favor.
He looks back at Beth and feels her life ebbing.
“Don't, Merrick.” Slade cuts Merrick with his eyes.
Jeb stands straighter and ignores Slade. “What must be done?”
The leader turns to the tight group of males. “Let the fanged one go. We will save this female.”
He turns back to Jeb. “My name is Ulric, and I am the leader of our clan.”
“I am Reflective Jeb Merrick.”
Ulric inclines his head then tilts it at the group of other males. “Cyrn.”
The largest male rises off one of Slade's limbs and strides silently to Ulric.
“Give the female blood.”
Cyrn's lip rises, baring his teeth, and Jeb almost asks why he looks so grim if females are so scarce, but then he replies, “As you wish, Ulric.”
He moves to Beth, and Jeb has to physically restrain himself from tearing into the male.
The logic is that if they'd wanted to kill Beth, they could have done so a thousand times before he and Slade arrived.
The male is a quarter meter taller than Jeb. Cyrn narrows his golden eyes on him with obvious disdain before walking past.
Jeb doesn't care about his regard, as long as Beth lives.
Kneeling beside Beth, Cyrn gently slides his hand underneath her slaughtered neck. Lifting his forearm to his mouth, he sweeps his lips across his own flesh.
A gash opens, and deep scarlet blood wells like black oil.
“Drink, female,” he instructs.
Beth's eyes are closed, her breathing labored.
“Stubborn woman,” he mutters.
Jeb clenches his teeth. “Beth is not stubborn, she's dying.”
Cyrn’s lips twist in obvious irritation. “She has no will to live, traveler. Only a will to leave this place.” His exhale is disgusted.
Cyrn sets her head down and pinches his wound tightly, churning more blood from the cut he made with his fangs.
Hovering his arm above her mouth, blood drops fall like jet-black gems.
Beth attempts to twist her face away.
With another impatient exhale, he grips her cheeks, mashing them together, and by default, her lips pucker open.
“Do not hurt her,” Jeb warns in a voice barely better than a growl.
“Loathsome traveler, I am not like your kind. We do not harm helpless females. Our females do not self-mutilate to escape their males,” Cyrn tosses over his shoulder, his lips flattening into an angry slash.
Jeb's face heats. He doubts very much that was Beth's intent. However, her actions make it possible for others to interpret them another way.
Cyrn massages the portion of her throat that's not cut, gently closing the wound as he does.
Beth sucks whistling breaths through her nose, her eyes panicked. Her arms fly up, trying to grab onto anything.
“She's drowning.” Jeb moves forward, and two males grab his arms.
“It is the process, traveler.”
“Reflective,” Jeb corrects and feels wet heat at the back of his eyelids at Beth's struggle to live.
Finally, Beth swallows.
Then again.
On the third swallow, she lifts a weak hand and wraps Cyrn's wrist, latching her mouth around what he offers. He easily draws her tight against his body.
“That's it, female. You are an ungrateful wretch, but take of my body—my essence—and be well.”
Jeb frowns as the male gives his blood with a sort of grim determination, though his words speak to how much he would rather not.
Beth's eyelids flutter shut, and her head tips back. Healthy color begins to bloom on her ashen cheeks.
Cyrn covers her wounded throat with his hand and hauls her against his body more tightly as he continues to feed her, though Beth looks as though she's eating while sleeping.
“Now you've done it, Merrick.”
Jeb's head whips to Slade's voice.
“Release me. It's over now.”
The males let Jeb go.
Slade's flat eyes meet his.
“It's better she would have died, hopper.”
Jeb's eyes narrow on Slade. He could never believe that. “Why?”
“Because now she is bound to him.” Slade jerks his head toward the large male still feeding Beth.
As Slade tried to bind her?
The bottom drops out of Jeb's stomach, and he turns slowly to Ulric. “Is this true?”
“We have healed the female. I never said the gesture would be without consequence.”
Jeb instantly attacks him.
When they beat him into unconsciousness, it's almost a relief.
Thinking about what he let happen to Beth is the alternative. And not one he can stand.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Beth
Angry eyes languidly revolve inside a strong face.
He is not handsome, but Beth finds the features he possesses interesting. Taken separately, they aren't special.
Together, they arrest her.
Which, in turn, makes her wary and suspicious.
High cheekbones abut eyes that are deeply set and wickedly sunlit, though Beth senses it's night in the sector of spheres.
Shivering, she hikes the scratchy blanket up to her neck and winces.
That's right, I committed suicide.
Beth shelves what she's done for later recollection. Right now, she's in a confined room with a large male of an alien species.
She continues to study his form. A large brow ridge shadows his warm eyes. A strong Roman nose anchors a face with lips almost too full to belong to a male. His square jaw saves him from appearing too feminine. In addition, a light coating of dark hair covers his body.
“You stare, female?” His derisive tone shocks Beth from her observation.
“Yes,” she answers, hiking her chin, prickling at his tone. “You are the only being in the room. There isn't much to look at.”
“How true,” he says, as though being in the same four-meter space as her is a horrible circumstance.
Vague memories crowd her mind. Things he said to her as he fed her blood.
Beth's face flames, and she touches her stomach. Slade had fed me. “Thank you,” she says with obligatory stiffness.
His face turns to her in profile, and the barest bit of moonlight hits the part she can see perfectly, causing his expression to appear cut in half.
“Do not thank me”—he gives a disdainful chuckle—“thank Ulric.” His disconcerting stare meets her eyes. “He commanded me to feed you—heal you.”
Beth frowns. “I did what I must.”
Sector Thirteen is barbaric. Beth made a severe choice based on what she knew. Beth did not know this species roamed Sector Thirteen. That they were capable of showing mercy.
He whirls, hissing, and Beth doesn't flinch. Neither his size nor his nearness intimidates her. She is unafraid of death.
“You do not know what you are, life bearer. That you could take your own life and rob—” He turns his back to her, clearly disgusted with his perception of her actions, his long-fingered hands fisting. “No matter. It is worthless to discuss subjects of value with the valueless.”
Beth's offended despite herself. “You do not know me. I couldn't heal what had happened to me. And—I thanked you. Don't worry. You won't have to deal with me for much longer.”
He turns to face her once more, narrowing his eyes at her. “You go nowhere. You have healing to do.”
Beth lifts a shoulder. “I understand what still needs to mend. Another jump in less than a day will right the remainder.”
The corner of his full lips turns up. “You were paralyzed from a weapon used against you as well as the wound you carelessly gave yourself.”
Beth tosses off the covers and stands. Every bit of her aches, but she can feel. She wiggles her toes.
This creature gave her that. Beth should be grateful. She is.
She's also mad as a hornet.
Beth strides to him, hiding the wince of pain.
He watches her come, unmoving.
She pokes him in the chest, and his eyes widen. “Listen, whatever your name may be, I was deliberate in wounding myself and not a bit”—she jabs her finger against his chest again, and he captures it—“careless,” she ends on a hiss.
They stare at each other. “I might hate you, traveler, but I am not immune to your femaleness.”
Beth blinks. Hates me?
Femaleness?
He abruptly releases her hand, dropping it as though her touch burns him.
“You don't know anything about me,” Beth seethes.
His lips twist, his eyes darkening to deep gold, and he lifts his chin. “I know enough. As soon as Ulric says you are sufficiently healed to travel to wherever you came from, I will be happy to assist your departure.”
She crosses her arms, and they glare at each other. “Where are my friends?”
He folds his arms, mirroring her, and Beth can't help but notice the breadth of his chest, the corded muscles of his legs and arms. She's accustomed to large men, warriors. All Reflective males are much larger than the typical men of other sectors. But this male's sheer size should intimidate, especially considering how weak she finds herself.
