Between Death (#6.5): Dark Dystopian Paranormal Romance

by Blodgett, Tamara Rose

  Jeb unconsciously leaned forward as the first recruit stepped forward and bumped fists with the well-known Ryan. Well-known for being a jack ass, Jeb thought.

  No one truly liked Ryan, yet he had garnered the respect of many through brute force and jumping prowess.

  Respect earned through fear instead of deeds is not truly respect.

  Ryan was ferocious in sparring and the martial arts. A keen jumper, he was rumored to be able to jump through reflections as small as a fist—but not while they were in motion.

  That was a rare skill.

  He had heard of only one Reflective who could jump as a drop of rain fell from the sky. Jeb shook his head in disbelief. Legend… yet, he wished he could have been there to witness such a thing.

  The men raised their fists from the greeting then placed them over the plain insignia of their sparring tunics.

  They stepped away from one another.

  A huge gong sounded, making Jeb's teeth thrum, and the two recruits burst into each other with a smack of flesh and bone.

  Jeb couldn't help but be riveted.

  Ryan's beauty as a fighter was an awesome thing to behold. He landed punch after punch—all organ strikes—into his opponent.

  The other man—Jude Calvin was Kennet's new partner, Jeb vaguely remembered—came in close and took away Ryan's considerable strike advantage.

  Calvin wrapped his substantial arms around Ryan's torso, swinging a man that weighed two hundred fifty pounds as if he weighed an ounce, and pile drove him into the mat.

  Spectators felt the impact as a reverberating punch.

  Ryan shot out his arm and smashed his flat palm into Calvin's nose. Ryan ignored the low boo from the crowd.

  Blood burst from the offense, shooting like a bright-red geyser as Ryan leapt off the mat, smearing the mess he'd made of his equal.

  Jeb's head swiveled toward a female voice rising above the crowd's noise.

  “Shoot, Calvin… shoot!”

  A small fist swung above her head for emphasis, and the crowd hissed their displeasure at Jasper's coaching from the sidelines.

  Calvin shot, taking Ryan's long legs out from underneath him as he sprang forward, his nose bleeding like a sieve.

  Commander Rachett stood in the corner of the ring in typical stoic silence, his body tense like a snake before it strikes, as Ryan’s body smacked the mat then took a hard bounce, making an echoing slap that silenced the crowd.

  Jeb heard the oohs and aahs of low-grade fear all around him.

  This time, Ryan rolled Calvin over and twisted his arm into an unnatural pretzel position. Shit, Jeb thought, he's got him in an arm bar. He’d picked up the classic move from a jump to Sector Three, Earth.

  A place he should not have visited yet, Jeb thought with unease. The class-seven world was for partnered jumps only.

  Calvin tapped out, hitting Ryan lightly on the leg behind his own.

  Beth Jasper told Jeb what would happen next. Like a cat losing its balance, she moved forward as Ryan snapped the arm he had locked behind Calvin. He roared in agony, holding his injured limb as Ryan's boot came high over his head to smash his face.

  Jeb stilled.

  Surely Rachett will disallow this?

  Beth moved behind Ryan, like a shimmer of water on a sheet of glass.. She executed a spinning kick that knocked the standing man on his ass. Beth bounced away in avoidance, her fists riding beside her jaw, fear swimming in her eyes.

  Calm in its economical movements, her body belied the windows to her soul.

  Rachett stepped away as medics pulled the moaning and shocked Calvin away.

  He would heal.

  But that’s not the fucking point, is it?

  Ryan lacked integrity—a critical component of the militia that comprised the Reflective.

  Ryan stood, his eyes nailing Beth. Her timely intervention had screwed the order.

  They circled each other cautiously.

  Jeb knew Jasper had no friends within the trainees circle. However, she'd moved almost compulsively to help Calvin.

  While every other recruit had observed another being cut down unfairly, Jasper had acted.

  And she would pay.

  Principle, this will not end well.

  Jeb’s guts churned. He wasn't easily affected by fights and blood, but as they said on Sector Three: this was wrong on a hundred different levels.

  Jasper backed up, neatly outside of Ryan's long reach, which was easily twice her own. She appeared to be following her training, relying on a drumbeat that was part of every Reflective's internal clock.

  It wasn't enough, though. Ryan caught Jasper before she had a chance to block his assault. He nailed her gut in a sucker punch then landed a subsequent fist into her jaw.

  Beth was already moving evasively, thank Principle, or she would have been out and at his mercy.

  Ryan showed no mercy.

  Jasper fell in a spinning backward arc, landing with her palms splayed behind her to arrest her fall. Blood from her cut lip splattered the mat.

  Ryan stalked toward her, hatred leaking from his every pore. Their final match played out in a sick parody. Unforgiving eyes watched Jasper from every corner of the mat.

  Rachett's tense voice rumbled from a distance, “Get the fuck up, Jasper.”

  Jeb's felt his face tighten into a scowl, though Rachett had been just as tough when Jeb was a recruit.

  Jasper swung her head back and forth as though clearing it.

  Blood from the blow she'd taken fell like scarlet rain.

  Ryan smiled, his hands curling into abusive fists of presumed victory. He spoke quietly so only Jasper heard, though Jeb leaned forward to try to catch his words, as did everyone else.

  The roar of the crowd made it impossible.

  “This ends here, Jasper.”

  A cruel smile overtook his face. “The Reflective doesn't have room for mongrel females.”

  Jeb's eyes sharpened on her utter stillness.

  Her form began to waver, shimmering on top of the bloody mat.

  Jeb squinted at her, thinking maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him.

  The noise of the crowd was disorientating.

  Ryan flicked the switchblade as smoothly as he’d been trained to do. Training blades were all ceramic.

  Jasper wore the scars to attest to that, but reflective blades could still be had on the black market for the right price.

  Looks like Ryan paid.

  Jeb watched the shining metal, his innate ability instantly online around a reflection, and his talent hummed with want. His eyes met Kennet's, and all eyes went to Rachett, wondering what he would do to Ryan for producing an illegal weapon.

  The blade’s mirrored surface shimmered in the low lights that bathed the interior of the coliseum.

  Holy fuck.

  Jeb began to push through the people. The situation was going to get ugly.

  No, check that—gruesome.

  Ryan planned to murder Beth Jasper; maybe he always had.

  Jeb could let an inductee take licks, abuse, and unfairness. But one Reflective would not kill another on his watch.

  Why, for the love of the Principle, has Rachett not interfered?

  “Hey!” a man protested as Jeb pushed him aside.

  Then he saw Jeb's uniform and silently moved, as did everyone else in his path.

  The crowd parted like the Earth's fabled Red Sea parting; Reflectives had that effect.

  Jeb grabbed the ropes around the perimeter, hesitating as Rachett bellowed too late, “No blades!”

  His voice carried a note of high-keening fear.

  Jeb swung to face his Commander.

  He had never seen or heard fear from Rachett. When all inequalities of the fight had been dismissed—Ryan's size against Beth and her gender—he’d finally taken notice when an illegal weapon was produced.

  It was beyond bizarre. None of it made sense.

  Jeb saw the whites of Jasper's eyes. The inky tail of her br
aid was wet with her blood. Ryan’s blade swung so close to her face that its breeze lifted wisps of her hair. She crab walked backward in an awkward scuttle of escape.

  Ryan braced himself as his commander screamed for Ryan to stop, but he ignored the directive.

  Rachett stepped forward too late to stop his best inductee from gutting another recruit as a justified elimination tactic and grabbed Ryan's arm.

  But the knife was gone.

  It was already singing through the air in an expert trajectory aimed at Beth.

  The blade spun in the combustible silence of the coliseum as the crowd held a collective breath.

  Jeb strode toward Jasper, but she seemed unaware as her dark eyes tracked the knife.

  Jeb’s eye's hadn't lied. One moment, she was solid. The next, she became opaque.

  Then she was gone.

  Jeb had seen many jumps, but never a female's—and never into something so small. The crowd watched as a glittering rope of iridescent white, like a pearl with a rainbow wash, slammed into the blade.

  Jasper's body disappeared then reappeared in the thin reflective ribbon of the jump as it collided with the metal, as she’d meant to.

  When the knife landed in the mat, its tip sank deep into the soft surface with a twang.

  The silence was deafening.

  Beth Jasper had vanished. Only her blood remained as grim testimony to her presence moments before.

  Rachett fisted Ryan's tunic, jerking him close.

  “You dumb fuck,” he began with the quiet menace he was known for. “All you had to accomplish was keeping weapons out of it. You could have pummeled her into the mat in a fair spar.”

  His eyes pegged Ryan's in blatant disgust.

  “Now”—his flat eyes locked with Ryan's—“she's jumped. She won because you couldn't contain your shit.”

  Jeb's eyes connected with Kennet, who was across the ring from where he stood, and the other man was just as stunned. Jeb glanced at the blade embedded in the mat and shook his head in disbelief.

  “There's no way!” one of the Reflective recruits said quietly. “That's a six-inch surface. She's a half-breed… nobody can jump that.” He scoffed.

  But somebody had. Beth Jasper, female, half-breed… had just shown her hand.

  It looked like aces high.

  The crowd began to disperse, their eyes roving for the missing Reflective female who had just made history.

  There would be no jeering in her future, only jealousy.

  Rachett reiterated what they'd always known, though a few had chosen to ignore.

  “The Principle chooses who it will. There is no logic. That's why when we have an opponent. We do not underestimate their skills. Let this be a lesson to all who fight,” Rachett expounded, spinning in a slow, deliberate circle, his eyes falling on the inductee recruits, the Reflectives, and the lesser audience who remained.

  “Be ready,” he finished, landing a final, leaden glance on Ryan before he stalked out of the coliseum. Guards moved up beside Ryan. His infraction would land him on Sector One, for certain. No Reflective wished to jump there.

  This was an epic clusterfuck if there has ever been one.

  Jeb groaned.

  As the recruits filtered out, Ryan's defiant gaze challenged all who dared look his way as he was cuffed with non-reflective cuffs. One of the guards jerked the blade out of the mat, giving Ryan narrow eyes.

  Jeb's gaze squared off with Ryan until he dropped his gaze and the guards escorted him out.

  Jeb stared after Ryan’s back. He ran a frustrated hand through his cropped hair.

  He knew what this disturbing mess meant for him. Jeb would be tasked with locating Jasper. His primary task was retrieval. He was meant to be reassigned momentarily.

  However, it seemed that it would take longer than a moment.

  The crowd thinned, and Jeb stared at the drying blood on the mat, the comments of those around him the same.

  Awe mixed with fear was a bad combination. It could be a recipe for many things. When Beth returned, what reception would she find waiting?

  He knew the people would forget Ryan’s transgressions against her. All they would remember was her jump.

  He would never forget it.

  Jeb lifted his head at a small noise. Daphne, a beautiful Reflective, came toward him, her hips swaying so he would notice. And he did.

  But even as her lush body moved toward him like water finding a crack in a stone, his mind was on another female, the newest member of The Cause: Beth Jasper, a jumper without compare—and his new partner.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Beth rolled out of her self-imposed tunnel of fire and ice without finesse or regard to safety.

  Her reaction wasn't too different from that of brave soldiers cornered at the edge of a cliff. As the enemy closes in, do they stay and get slaughtered? Or do they jump, hoping to live and fight another day?

  Beth had jumped.

  She'd leapt at a spinning blade that made her nauseated to track. She’d known what the landing would be.

  However, she'd been at the theoretical cliff as Ryan’s knife beared down, not a soul to stand in her defense.

  Beth exited the tunnel like an infant during a birth gone wrong.

  She hurtled out of the sucking chasm that quantified the pathway that only Reflectives could travel and tried to loosen her body, remembering Rachett's words:

  “Behave like a drunk imbecile when you land—every piece of you loosen,” he'd said, and Beth remembered the truth in his pale eyes. “Remember, the Principle guards drunks and small children.”

  There'd been good-natured laughs all around—but not at this moment.

  Beth knew she would land without forethought.

  I'll heal.

  Her body naturally tensed for landing, and she knew to resist that instinct.

  Pain lanced her as she was purged from the end of the pathway. And Beth fell. Hard.

  The crushing impact stole her breath.

  She lay on a pebbly surface of rough stone, watching cumulus clouds form deep ripples in the blue sky as her lungs begged for oxygen.

  The temperature was sultry. Her fingertips burned against the surface of the stone.

  Her chest opened to the insufferable heat and Beth took great whooping gulps of oven-like air.

  “Mommy, mommy,” a youngling called out.

  Oh no, Beth thought, experimentally moving her toes, witnesses.

  A loud roaring filled Beth's ears, and she tried to move to find its source, but she could not force her body to cooperate.

  Two forms blocked the fluffy white clouds, their shadows cooling her. The little one had long blonde hair, too much brown to be truly light. In one hand, she fisted a bear, and the thumb of her other hand was in her mouth.

  “Why is the lady in the middle of the road?”

  Good question. Beth tried to move and moaned through a hiss of pain. Back's broken. Her situation was almost as bad as Ryan trying to have her meet the Maker.

  A woman, too young to be the child’s mother, leaned forward. “Are you okay?”

  No, I've fractured some vertebrae, and I'm on the wrong damn planet, but otherwise, things are just great. Beth did a mental eye roll and began to review their diction.

  All sector language had been hammered into her from the time she was five cycles.

  English, twenty-first century, Sector Three—Earth.

  “Yeah,” Beth croaked in English through her teeth.

  The planet was a Hades of a lot different than its simulations. Beth hadn't jumped, except for brief explorations, and had never encountered other beings other than when she'd traveled when she was five.

  That had not gone well.

  The little girl cocked her head and gave Beth a strange look.

  Better work on my accent.

  The woman moved out of her line of vision and the roaring gnashing gears became unbearable.

  What in the inferno is that?

  Beth scre
amed in pain when she tried to move herself, vulnerable and laid out Principle knew where.

  “Shhh.” The little girl touched her arm with sticky hands. “Mimi be right back.”

  Boots crunched closer, and Beth tensed.

  She could do nothing, but it was difficult to not act the warrior even as injured as she was.

  A male of considerable size moved in front of her and Beth assessed him. Six feet, two hundred pounds. He moved with a languid peace, and she knew instantly that he could handle himself in a moderate engagement.

  All Reflectives assessed. It was part of who they were.

  Beth was pleased by the knowledge that he would not last in match with her, though he had her by nine inches and ninety pounds.

  He stooped; his light brown eyes were kind.

  “Well, little lady, looks like someone's dumped ya here.”

  He spit a stream of brown liquid to the side.

  Clever male. Beth's lips curled.

  Then he touched her, and she shouted, “Do not!”

  She panted, her hands gripping his shoulders. “Move me,” she finished.

  He smiled.

  “You're not staying in the road, girl.” His eyebrows shot up to a fine bristle of dark-blond hair circling his head like a golden down. Beth tried to shift and cried out through her clenched lips.

  “No, no… girl. Hold your horses.”

  Beth searched around for animals. Seeing none, she turned back to him.

  “Literal little thing, ain't ya?”

  Another brown stream followed the first, and Beth wrinkled her nose. Vile.

  “Jeremy… we can't just leave her here.”

  With her eyes, Beth followed the woman named Mimi.

  Beth scanned her vitals. A light film of sweat dewed her forehead, and she wrung slick hands over and over in a nervous roll of reaction with a swamped pulse as if she had a bird trapped at the hollow of her throat.

  Beth's eyes went to the small one, and she gave her a tired smile. The male—Jer-e-may…? Jeremy—had slipped his hands underneath Beth's back.

  His eyes widened.

  “She's full of blood, Mimi…”