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 jump,” 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