Alpha Warriors of The Cause - Tamara Rose Blodgett Page 0,19
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 mood 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