The Reflective Dissent (Reflection Book 3) Read online

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  Directives of The Cause:

  First: Right the wrong

  Second: Bear no injustice

  Third: Change not what must be

  Fourth: Reflect only when unobserved

  Fifth: Protect the young

  Sixth: Take life only in defense of another

  Seventh: No death is without consequence

  Eighth: Defend those who cannot

  Ninth: Forsake not honor, for it is all that remains

  Tenth: Reconcile emotion for The Cause, not another

  Eleventh: Divulge not your identity

  Twelfth: Disturb not the continuum

  Thirteenth: Forsake not The Cause

  Sectors:

  Sector One – Nightloper/Bloodlings

  Sector Three - Earth

  Sector Seven - Blood Singers

  Sector Ten - Papilio

  Sector Thirteen - Spheres

  Unexplored sectors:

  Two

  Four through Six

  Eight

  Nine

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Dedication:

  Carina

  For all your dedication and wonderfulness.

  Music that inspired me during the writing of this novel:

  Sound of Silence

  by Disturbed

  Directives of The Cause

  Seventh: No death is without consequence

  Eighth: Defend those who cannot

  Ninth: Forsake not honor, for it is all that remains

  CHAPTER ONE

  Beth

  I am Reflective.

  Be that as it may, Beth Jasper is scared. She eschewed the protection of all who would give it. Now she is on Three, in the middle of a time-continuum breach with only herself to blame.

  Gunnar, her natural Bloodling father, is cooking within an enchanted patch of forest from the scorching he received from Three's single, strong sun.

  The corrupt Reflective, Lance Ryan, has somehow followed her tailwind to this place.

  This time.

  And Chuck, whom she and Merrick dispatched before, has sprung back to life because she dialed them back to a time before his demise.

  The abuser of Maddie stalks to their location as Ryan corners her.

  I am Reflective, Beth repeats.

  She does not retreat, though her heart beats its resistance.

  “Dickbag!” Jacky screams.

  Beth doesn't react, flinch, or move in any way. Chuck is striding toward them with real purpose, but that is the least of her problems.

  “Hello, mongrel,” Ryan calls softly, circling where she stands. His tall form is tense—ready. His golden good looks glow softly in the dim shadows, whereas Beth's dark looks must blend with the gloom of the deep pockets of darkness provided by the canopy of trees.

  “Beth,” Gunnar croaks, reaching for her, his liquid gaze following Ryan's progress as he draws nearer.

  “We're going,” Ryan says in his certain way, and he whips out a small reflective triangle.

  Facing away, of course. He can't have Beth reflecting in avoidance.

  Beth's breaths are hotly stacked as she searches anywhere for escsape—she can't let Ryan get his hands on her.

  A crash of brush sounds harsh in the near silence. Even the small creatures of the forest know when violence holds its breath for the unnatural birth of tragedy.

  Ryan's pale aqua eyes flick to Maddie, and he frowns.

  At that exact moment, her stepfather, Chuck, blunders into their circle. “What the fuck, Maddie?” Chuck bellows, his sloppy and vulgar speech hurting the sensitive Reflective hearing.

  Ryan flinches.

  Beth's blades are naked in her hands, and she backs away from the men, sparing a glance for Gunnar. She's relieved to see he is halfway to healed.

  Not near enough to help me. As before, Beth is utterly on her own. She loosens her wrists, ready to slash and hack.

  Chuck laughs. “Isn't this fucking perfect?” A loathsome belch bursts out of his thick lips, and he continues, apparently without noticing, absently scratching his thick side. “We've got that loser brother of Chase, and”—he raps his knuckles against his head—“you deliver this little slut into my arms. She ran off with you, huh?” Chuck looks at Jacky.

  “Dickbag,” Jacky repeats sullenly. But Beth sees his eyes are all for Ryan.

  Jacky must understand where the real danger lies.

  Beth adjusts her grip on her ceramic daggers.

  Ryan seems to notice the minute shift and grins. “I'm going to enjoy taking you apart, Jasper.” A vein stands out on his forehead as he inches closer.

  Gunnar growls, and Ryan doesn't even bother to look at her father. The scent of Gunnar's singed flesh fills her nostrils, and she knows that he'll need much blood to restore himself.

  Chuck surveys his surroundings, his eyes falling to Beth. “And you.” His beady eyes narrow on her like a target, but she dare not take her eyes from Ryan. “You're back for a lesson in manners. I feel like I've won the lottery.” He shrugs, seems to notice his sheers for the first time, and lowers them beside his leg.

  Beth tracks for reflection, but the dull blades are smeared in wet grass.

  Chuck's beady eyes sweep Ryan then her Bloodling father on the ground.

  “What in the Sam Hill is this thing here?” He points the sheers at Gunnar.

  Leave my blooded father alone, Swine.

  “He is a One in need of elimination,” Ryan says in an offhand way, and she feels the whip of heat as he uses the dull and shadowed reflection of the sheers to jump within striking distance of Chuck.

  Beth misses the bare spot on the metal but uses Ryan's tailwind. His absolute discounting of her is the thing that wins her time. Othersʼ arrogance has saved her before.

  Ryan grips Chuck's neck with one hand. No small thing, as it is thick—like his head.

  Beth dips low and pounds her knuckles into Ryan's kidneys like exacting gunfire.

  Organ strikes don't hurt instantly.

  Ryan whirls, and Beth jumps back out of his extensive reach, her hands throbbing.

  “I'll kill you,” Ryan manages then drops to his knees, his mouth forming a silent O.

  Beth spins, kicking him in his exposed jaw. Something cracks, and Beth doesn't wait to figure out how fast he'll heal from the injuries she just gave him.

  She leaps backward. “Blood passage!” Beth shouts into the canopy of the trees, praying they know her on Three—as they did on Sector One.

  Her arms rise.

  The trees don't need a second invitation.

  “Maddie—Jacky,” Beth hisses, jerking her chin upward.

  “Beth Jasper of Papilio,” the trees thunder at her. Leaves spiral down from the deep timbre of their collective voices, and her eardrums pulse.

  The Threes raise their arms.

  “Fuck, that kills!” Jacky hollers.

  Maddie whimpers as the barbs of the great trees set deep in all their flesh.

  “Gunnar,” Beth whispers, dropping to her knees, lightheaded. Her fingers bite into the fine, slightly damp moss of the forest floor.

  Ryan approaches from behind as Beth is being bled. She can't avoid him, and as she attempts to, the barbs drag at her flesh.

  “You
bitch!” he shouts, and the breath from his words lifts the fine hairs at her nape, warming her neck.

  He latches onto her braid, winding it on his forearm. He'll pull her, and she'll have holes all over her body.

  Beth clenches her eyes shut as he begins to drag her backward.

  Then the trees bind him as well—at his throat, his arms.

  “No!” Ryan bellows at them. To Beth it sounds like an abbreviated gurgle.

  “Kind of a harpy, ain't he?” Chuck says to no one in particular.

  Chuck is still in the game.

  Ryan jerks Beth's head back, and she stifles a scream as the barbs lance her arms, and her scalp sings with painful tension.

  Chuck stands above her. “This is too perfect. First, I'm gonna do you, then I'm gonna do her.” He jerks his meaty jaw toward Maddie, and she mewls as excess blood runs down her arms in small rivulets. “Her mama didn't tell me where she was hiding, even with all the encouragement I offered.”

  Encouragement with fists, Beth guesses, her scalp on fire.

  Chuck looks at Ryan struggling against branches that don't yield. “Where's that gray peckerwood who was cooking?”

  Gunnar.

  “Father,” Beth croaks, beginning to lose consciousness. Too much blood has been spilled to feed the trees, and Ryan's hold is too tight for breath, for thought.

  “Right here, spawn of Three.” Gunnar stands tall, holding the sheers high. He slices them in a downward arc. The tips pierce the top of Chuck's worthless skull.

  Beth's eyes shut, her scalp throbbing as she hears Chuck's mouth open and close. The thrashing of his body disturbs the underbrush as death throes consume him. Finally, his desperate struggles subside.

  Beth's lids lift.

  Gunnar, seven inches taller than Chuck, twists the closed blades sharply.

  Chuck's head moves with the momentum, his neck breaking with a wet snap. Gunnar kicks the abuser in his posterior, and he stumble-walks, his arms outstretched, then falls on his face to the forest floor.

  Beth cranes her neck at Gunnar then directs her attention to Ryan. His hold has loosened. He can't maintain it while he's struggling to inhale. Blood is infringing with his breathing. The barbs have sunk too deep.

  Where is the mirrored rectangle he had?

  A tree branch wraps Ryan's throat tighter, and he chokes, struggling to excise himself. His fingers slide out of her unwoven braid.

  Beth wants to rail at him. Tell him he deserves to die. She does none of it.

  “Enough!” she says into the silence of the woods. The barbs hurt as they tear out of her arms.

  She, Jacky, and Maddie fall forward, their fingertips stabbing the soft earth.

  Gunnar moves forward. All that remains of his suffering by sunlight is skin so red it appears sunburned.

  No lesions remain.

  Beth's exhale is shaky with relief.

  “I need blood,” he says in a matter-of-fact way.

  His eyes move to Ryan.

  “No,” Beth says automatically. She can't let a Bloodling feed on a Reflective. Even though Ryan's presence means her certain torture and death—even though Ryan corrupted their world—The Cause.

  She would be exactly as he is if she allowed that.

  Gunnar cups Beth's chin, and Ryan's fingers sink into her hair once more, the only abuse he can inflict.

  She grits her teeth against the agony.

  Gunnar spins, his hand whipping out in Ryan's direction. His palm connects with the Reflective's chin, snapping his head back against the trunk, stunning him.

  Still, his fingers remain latched onto her braid, and Gunnar peels his fingers away and gently lifts her.

  “I could have broken his fingers, and I will take blood from the deserving. My kindred blood has given her essence to those of the Tree for safe passage.” His shrug clearly says, It is settled.

  “Don't take Reflective Ryan's blood,” Beth manages through her pain.

  “Ah, my little hopper”—Beth's Bloodling father smooths from her eyes the hairs that have come loose from the braid—“he will pay in any way I wish.”

  “No,” Beth rasps, shaking her head. Her vision swims with pain, tears, and her body knitting the damage of the barbs.

  Gunnar sighs, laying her down on the cool moss at the base of the living trees. Their wide eyes follow him, their lashes blinking like great fronds of fern. “He does not deserve your protection. Look away, Beth. The Enchanted Forest came to your aid, incapacitated Ryan—for you. Let me take what is mine.”

  Principle help her, she does. Beth lets a Bloodling feed on a Reflective.

  She turns her head away, meeting Jacky's bright green eyes.

  “Fuck him, Jasper. It's a damn mercy.” Beth doesn't reply to Jacky. Instead, she squeezes her eyes shut.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  She listens to Gunnar feeding and Ryan's powerful struggle to fight both him and the tree's vice-like grip. Ryan eventually stops thrashing.

  Beth's breath stills, and an abiding and profound guilt begins to take hold. She knows her feelings aren't reasonable. That Ryan is evil.

  That he meant her death.

  But somehow, she's let The Cause down by allowing such a violation against him. How many directives did I break just now?

  Many.

  The insidious sounds of suckling and noisy slurping are the only music of the forest.

  When Jacky and Maddie come to where Beth lies, she keeps her eyes closed, and they reach for her at the same time, each putting a hand on her shoulders.

  Her emotions wrack through her body, shaking her like the leaves that fall with the murmurings of the magical treesʼ voices.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Slade

  As Slade seems to fall without landing, fire and ice extinguish the heat of his body. Chills and fine, needlelike pressure stab along his skin like many fine-toothed insects. Nausea rolls out like a carpet inside his body.

  When he lands, it is without finesse but brutal, in a clumsy, arcing thrust upon the sand beside the greatest lake of Sector One.

  Slade rises from his hands and knees as nightlopers converge around him and Merrick. His guts beg to evacuate, and his bowels push for release.

  Vertigo seizes Slade, and he shakes it off with difficulty. The hopper's method of travel is beyond destabilizing. It's sickening.

  He forces his eyes to sweep the nightlopers. Their many half forms of taloned hands and large bodies with heavy muscles are too many to overcome, even with his skill in battle. Even coupled with Merrick's tenacious Reflective skills, they are outnumbered fifteen to two.

  Slade casts a lustful gaze over his shoulder at the sparkling grayish-blue water of the great lake of One, knowing Merrick can command a jump from a single reflection off a wave. Of course, thinking that makes him all the more acutely aware of Beth's absence.

  “Bad odds, Bloodling.” Jeb Merrick states the obvious, his pale gray eyes set on their mutual enemy.

  Slade tilts his head, regarding the arrogant Reflective, his bruises already fading. “Brainless comment.”

  Slade holds his churning stomach, and Merrick grunts, the corner of his mouth twitching.

  “Race you to the lake, and there, we can make our way to Beth.”

  The nightlopers grumble, and their eerie chirps, clicks, and whistles are a symphony of anticipation. They smell blood.

  His and the Reflective's.

  Slade wonders if Merrick will whisk himself away, leaving Slade to deal with the nightlopers. He sweeps the enemy again. Hyenas are part of the group, gnashing their teeth together, making music with their mouths.

  “Yes,” Slade answers in a flat hiss, his fangs punching from his gums.

  Nightlopers yip and snap, moving in, their teeth grinding, their predatory eyes piercing the male’s countenance for weaknesses. The Weres of the group, Lycan in ancestry, growl at the hyenas.

  The hyenas are fully formed and the most merciless of the nightloper menagerie. No half forms for tha
t part of the scouting group.

  Slade notes the enchanted trees will offer no protection, as he and the Reflective have jumped beyond their purview.

  “On my mark.” Merrick's quiet tone threads through the air in a whisper.

  Slade tenses in readiness, anxious about the potential of being left by the Reflective he doesn't trust. Dead if he stays. Better that he places his trust than not at all.

  The hyenas work well as a pack, beginning to circle the lone prey.

  I will not be that prey.

  Slade inhales deeply, taking in the subtle arid air that heats his lungs, drying his sinuses. He subtly shifts his weight as he catches the scent of those who came shortly before him and Merrick.

  Gunnar and Maddie—Jacky.

  Beth.

  His eyes drift to the forest once more, where bodies of nightlopers fill the soil with their blood. It is enough gore for him to know that blood passage was gifted to them. To Beth.

  Merrick uses an ascending whistle to signal Slade.

  Slade spins, exploiting the sandy shores like a springing board, and leaps toward the lake.

  Excited yelps follow, then Merrick and Slade are hurtling themselves toward shore.

  “Love that sucker is finally toast.” Jacky grins, admiring Chuck's nearly severed head with a glee typically reserved for an anticipated reward, not the loss of human life.

  Beth rounds on him, her fists clenched. No death is perfect. None is preferred. And the seventh directive comes to her with a swift consciousness:

  No death is without consequence.

  Beth wonders what theirs shall be.

  “Whoa!” Jacky stumbles backward, taking in her scowl. “Settle.” His wordless gaze scans her features. “Beth—didn't we hate this guy? Correct me if I'm wrong.” He whips his long bangs out of his face and spreads his dirty fingers over the borrowed Reflective uniform that is way too big for his now-adolescent frame. “He beat Maddie's mom, hurt her—was gonna hurt Mad. His death is worth.” Jacky's exaggerated exhale disturbs the bangs hanging in his eyes. He folds his arms.

  Weakness sweeps Beth, and she sways. Blood loss. Her eyes find Ryan, unconscious and bleached of color at the base of a gnarled trunk. Beth looks upward and finds the eyes of many enchanted trees at half-mast. They’re satiated by her blood—by Jacky's and Maddie's.