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Slade
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Slade slays Merrick with his eyes.
He strides around, touching Tiny Frog at every opportunity, and all Slade can think about is ways for him to die.
The Reflective is honorable. But honor does not negate blood ties.
And that is what Slade has for Beth Jasper.
Bloodlings mate for the strongest lines or position within their communities of the forests of One.
Kindred blood is such an ancient legend that's hardly ever realized. Before Gunnar, Slade can't think of an instance where he actually knew of another Bloodling who consummated such a union.
Now Slade wonders if the pairing must be between a female and male of mixed genetics. Beth is not fully Bloodling.
Madeline is not at all. Yet Gunnar says she is his Kindred Blood—as was Beth's mother.
Perhaps it is nature's design for the race remaining diverse and to keep interbreeding at a level that does not weaken but strengthens the Bloodlings.
Bloodling males do not share their mates.
Jeb Merrick will not share Beth.
What Slade wishes to know is when her timepiece is no more, who will she seek as mate?
Jeb?
Me.
Or someone else entirely, for there are many sectors.
Slade's hands clench into fists, and at just that moment, a stinging pain fires off at the base of his skull. Absently, he strokes his nape, thinking he's not been right since that last jump with Merrick.
“What about a healer for Jacky?” Beth asks from between him and Merrick.
Merrick gives her a tender glance that causes consumed blood to boil inside his gut.
Speaking of which. Slade turns behind him, briefly counting the inept Threes who guarded the door.
Their bodies stove up the open doorway like buried sardines.
A good sight, Slade muses.
He and Gunnar drank their fill in full view of the scientist and Ryan. It was a pleasure.
But now all that warm Three blood curdles as though Slade drank spoiled milk, whereas it should taste sweet—as all spoils of war do.
Slade's knowledge of his feelings for Beth—no, his instinctual compulsion to be with her—has made him testy.
His lips lift. What an understatement, as the Threes would say. And what a ruthlessly difficult language to understand. All the quadrants have different regional dialects, from what Beth says. And many of them constantly talk in strange vernacular and slang that they understand but that leaves Slade baffled. Especially the youngling.
Gunnar grunts ascent at Beth's comment, not in the least winded from carrying the youngling.
“A jump to Papilio will right Jacky.”
Jacky groans as he shifts within Gunnar's hold. “Don't want to go back to butterfly hell, thanks.”
Merrick turns with a grim set to his mouth, and Slade swings his palm up. “It appears as though everything you say incenses the boy.” Slade's eyebrows pointedly rise.
Merrick glares. “And you would have us coddle him.”
Slade shakes his head. “No. He is no one's responsibility. Let him remain here on Three.” Slade turns a wide grin Jacky's way, his fangs lengthening. “I am sure, at your age, there are”—Slade swings his palm around—“protocols in place which protect the young until they become of age.”
Jacky scowls.
Now we are getting somewhere.
Slade finds the boy to be exasperating yet bravely fashioned. In addition, the female that brings his blood to heal, loves him. Beth has not said so, but it's contained within the expression she wears when she gazes upon him.
Slade will manipulate his cooperation.
“No, Slade,” Beth begins as though on perfect cue.
Slade smiles.
“He can't be left to his own devices. They'll ask questions, and how do we know who will tend Jacky?”
Jacky rolls his eyes, but Slade is expert on evaluating subtle emotion. And where that might fail, there is his keen Bloodling sense of smell.
Jacky wishes to be liked and cared about. He has no parents. His only brother is dead. The girl his brother loved is now the Kindred Blood of Beth's rediscovered sire.
Where does Jacky belong in the scheme of things? Slade's intuition tells him that Jacky's bravado is a clever mask of wishing to belong somewhere but not wanting to admit the desire.
“We'll go into the lower Kent Quadrant and find a locator, jump our group back to Papilio. Jacky's injury should heal during the jump.” Merrick hikes his jaw as though the matter has already been decided.
“Wait a sec?” Maddie asks, stopping beside Gunnar. “Doesn't his break need to be set or something?”
The girl puts a strand of fine dark hair behind her ear and swings a palm up.
She is not beautiful by the narrow Reflective standards of light eyes and hair, but she is fetching in her own way. Slade has found beauty to be a multifaceted thing. Even more so since meeting Beth.
Gunnar's eyes are never off Maddie for very long.
“Whatever we're gonna do, let's do it. I feel like I'm going to hurl.”
Gunnar frowns.
Slade chuckles. “He's going to vomit is what he means.”
“Ah.” He tips his head back in understanding. “I would prefer it if you didn't expunge the contents of your stomach on me.”
A laugh bursts out of Maddie, and she slaps a hand over her mouth when Gunnar slides a curious glance her way.
Jacky jerks his chin back. “You sit around with a broken arm and see how good your gut feels, Big Fang.”
Slade vividly remembers the manacles buried at Gunnar's ankles from the jump they took together from their home world. Something he's certain Jacky would not survive without passing out.
Gunnar doesn't appear to know what to do with the youngling's words. Is he being insulting? he clearly wonders.
In the end, Slade determines it is Jacky being Jacky.
“Jacky.” Maddie turns to him, and for the first time, Slade notices how filthy they and their clothes are. There were more pressing matters to steal his attention before.
Slade's tunic is full of the blood he's drunk—and the blood of his kills. The essence of others has dried in the fine cracks of his leather tunic and now stains the garment with fissures of rust. Yet his stomach still churns.
Gunnar appears much the same, and though Beth and Maddie used the cleanser at Beth's domicile before the pursuit of the Reflectives, the hair of both females has come undone from the ornate braids Beth fashioned for them.
Bloodlings can eat food, but blood is far more easily digested. Slade and Gunnar are full. However, Slade can sense Beth's hunger though she's said nothing. Hunger is always secondary to freedom, Slade thinks. However, the basic need reasserts itself now that liberty has been assured.
“I like what Merrick proposes, but the females need food.”
Merrick bares his teeth at Slade. “I would feed Beth if she asked.”
Beth pulls a face of pure irritation, and Slade keeps his glee at bay by a thread. He enjoys usurping Merrick's attempts at romance. He's such a clod in that regard that it's a form of free entertainment.
Slade lifts a casual shoulder, turning a direct stare at Merrick. “I sense her hunger, as I sense yours. I am Bloodling. We are acutely aware of our own physical needs and those who are around us.” Slade curls a fist in front of his mouth, stifling a cough.
“True,” Gunnar says, his eyes roaming the three of them.
“I'm hungry,” Maddie admits.
“I feel like shit, but I bet if my broken arm was fixed, I could eat a horse.”
The Reflectives, Gunnar and Slade, turn to Jacky, frowning.
“He means he's normally starved,” Maddie explains.
They all continue to stare.
“Jacky wouldn't actually eat a horse.”
Jacky gives a tight smile. “I don't know—depends. I mean they use them for glue and whatnot.”
“How is this relevant?” Merrick asks.
“How indeed?” Slade remarks then turns to Merrick. “If you find a locator, does that mean you'll go straight to Papilio?”
“It's better to have a Sector Ten sphere, of course, but with this many jumps between Beth and me, we can easily locate our home of origin.”
Right. “But can you jump Gunnar and me back to One?”
Gunnar puts his hand lightly on Slade's shoulder, shifting Jacky easily to do it. “I have never needed a locator.”
Slade frowns. He's not sure he could have managed that comment himself without sounding smug.
“Listen to me, Bloodling,” Merrick begins.
“No,” Gunnar replies easily. “I am not under Reflective purview. My Kindred Blood is here, and I will be taking her and Slade then returning to One. You and Beth can return to Papilio.” Slade raises his black eyebrows. “If you can manage to protect her, otherwise, she might be smart to come with our party. I won't insult her with offering my protection. Though it's painful not to.” The ghost of a smile hovers on the Bloodling’s lips, and Beth smiles.
Merrick's eyes bulge. “Reflective Jasper is my soul mate and partner. She is not traveling to the lawlessness of Sector One.”
Beth turns, placing her hand on Merrick's arm.
Slade seethes at the gesture.
“Jeb.”
His eyes soften.
“We need to get Rachett.”
His gaze goes hard at the mention of their leader. “Not without Calvin—Kennet.”
“Kennet remains on One,” she explains. “You know this. With me, you, and Kennet, we should have more than enough Reflectives to reacquire Rachett and restore order.”
“Ryan will jump. That hopper couldn't keep still and smart if he had a blade against his throat,” Slade comments dryly.
“Your directive to not end that hopper utterly lacks of any form of self-preservation.” Gunnar's exhale is rough.
“Yeah, all their glamorous directives get in the way of getting shit done.” Jacky grimaces. “Let's do something. I'm in a lot of pain, guys.”
“He'll heal regardless of where we jump, Jeb.” Beth's eyes search his face. “Be reasonable. At this point, order is tenuous in Papilio. It's more critical we grab Rachett then jump home than to jump home without our leader.”
“He could be dead,” Merrick admits quietly, glancing at Slade for a heartbeat.
“Yes, but I couldn't stand knowing he lived and we didn't try for him.”
“I can act as a focus and jump us all.” Gunnar meets Merrick's scowl dead-on.
“Jeb, he's my father.”
Merrick’s face gets that stubborn look that Slade recognizes only too well. “He's Bloodling.”
Gunnar's brows drop above his eyes, shadowing an already black gaze. “Are you implying I would jump my blooded daughter into peril? Really, hopper?”
Merrick pegs his hands on his hips. “No, I am not. But I can't foresee every inevitability. And that, as her soul mate, scares the shit out of me.”
“Go, Merrick,” Jacky says listlessly.
“Please.” Beth is trying to reason with an unreasonable Merrick.
Good fortune, Tiny Frog. He's an insufferable male, as all Reflectives are. Full of himself and his own perceived self-importance.
“All right,” Merrick says, lightly touching her chin. “For you.”
“For me, buttmunch. I'm injured.” Jacky shoots a sullen glare Merrick's way.
The corners of Merrick's lips lift. “Maybe you factor into my decision a small amount.”
Slade knows Gunnar could have forced the jump. He also knows why he did not.
Slade looks to Beth.
Tiny Frog stares right back, her dark gaze defiant. His feelings swell, tightening his chest, and he realizes Beth is his weakness. And Achillesʼ heel.
That worries Slade. Immensely.
