Blood Reign (#4): Alpha Warriors of the Blood (The Blood Series) (20 page)

THE END

Book #5,
ANGELIC BLOOD
available for
Pre-Order

Julia Caldwell lies in the middle of a battlefield dying of wounds inflicted by the newest enemy of the Singers—the demonic. When Fae, Were and vampire collide in alliance against a common enemy other than one another, the demonic brings turmoil beyond what any of the supernaturals can imagine.

After the genocide of the Singers of Region One, they will be forced to move into hiding. Jacqueline has redeemed herself and carries a progeny of importance and strength that the new enemy wants at all costs. Who of the Fae can be trusted after Tharell's treachery—will the rogue Were damage or assist the remaining Region One Singers?

Can the greatest secret of their blood save the Singers from extinction and close the wound the demonic has made in a world run by humans, and ignorant of what lives among them? Or will fate decide evil deserves to rule instead of good.

Never miss another new release, giveaway, or exclusive excerpt.

Read on for an exciting preview of the Tamara Rose Blodgett release:
THE REFLECTIVE
, a dark dystopian fantasy....

Book One: The Reflection Series

Copyright © 2013-14 Tamara Rose Blodgett

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights are reserved.

THE CAUSE

First;
Right the Wrong

Second;
Bear no Injustice

Third;
Change Not, what must Be

Prologue

twenty years before

The midwife made her way along ancient cobblestoned streets, the crevices catching on her shoes, though Principle knew, they were as sensible as they came.

As was her occupation.

She'd arrive in the birthing ward at exactly eight a.m. for her twelve hour shift. Of course, it would not be twelve hours, it would be for however long the woman labored.

And if a Reflective was born.

Just the thought of the
potential
for that caused a nervous thrill to flutter deep within Florence, as it did each time she worked.

The Reflective newborn must be swaddled in special blankets. Non-reflective. A baby would not be lost on her shift... because it was a prodigy and jumped at a mirror or other reflective surface left uncovered.

Dear Principle
, she shuddered, thinking about what the punishment would be for
that
. As it was they couldn't use any surgical instruments that were not brushed stainless steel, and since the last unfortunate incident—had since moved to an all-ceramic surgical unit.

Florence swept up the massive steps, the rise of the treads so low the stairs felt more like a gentle slope than true steps.

The flakes of sparkling charcoal that clung to the deep thickness of the white granite reminded her that the sun still shone brightly, though their version of autumn would soon be here.

A shadow fell over Florence and she twisted to look at the sky, her foot on the top step, her hand on the solid brass door handle that opened to the birthing center.

A swarm of butterflies, so thick it blocked the cerulean of the sky, dropped false darkness all around her as they flew through the rectangular air ports that fed the ventilation system in warmer months.

They were a deliberate architectural feature that would allow entry for the only creature in their world that could identify a Reflective.

So many.

Florence stood in stunned wonder. She had witnessed butterflies come to mark the birth of a Reflective before, but never in such a great number.

Their importance was such that her world was named in their honor, Papilio, Sector Ten.

The path they made was a rainbow of iridescent color, which poured like water through the narrow vents that had been carved in the solid stone of the birthing center.

All who lived in their world were born in similar structures.

However, Florence was one of the few that worked at the birthing center that had the highest incidence of Reflective births. She had requested it, and after a five year waiting period- been assigned.

She snapped out of her reverie as the last of the mingling kaleidoscope of insects funneled through the deep recessive slits underneath the eaves of a copper roof, now aged a deep verdigris.

Florence tore the heavy door open.

She didn't notice it clank behind her as she ran the length of the corridor to the floor that houses laboring mothers.

*

Florence burst through the swinging doors as two people, a man and a woman stood over a cradle.

Florence skidded to a stop, confusion reigning supreme.

What is this?

This
... appeared to be the parents in front of a babe that was so new some of the vernix still coated the wee one, her arms swinging as she howled.

The nurses hung back, one ending her shift, one in training.

Oh, for the love of all that is good.
She
stalked over to the newborn.

Florence halted as the sight overtook them all.

Their breath.

Their thoughts.

Everything else melted away for those who witnessed the post-birth spectacle but the scene itself.

The butterflies descended, floating in a lazy spiral as the sunlight laid an opalescent wash over their multicolored wings.

The chubby arms of the baby girl swirled and pumped, slowing as they drew nearer, her echoing screams gradually grew quiet.

The insects lighted on the rails of the basinet in a portentous group, their wings moving in a steady sweep to maintain balance.

Their appearance froze the breath in the parents' throats.

The moment swelled and grew in the stillness of the nursery. Rows upon rows of cradles pressed up one against the other as the parents watched the butterflies flutter precariously on the polished sides of the newborn's bed. Only hers and no other.

Their appearance was beautiful... final.

Florence strained to hear the mother's voice.

“She is Reflective,” she said in a sorrowful tone.

Her mate squeezed her hand so tightly her knuckles bleed to white.

“Yes,” he replied, just as grave.

Their gaze met in perfect understanding. They knew what the future held for their daughter: a life as mercenary, hunter and hunted.

An honor and privilege amongst their people.

Florence closed her eyes in sympathy,
a female Reflective
.

Every parents dream... and nightmare.

*

five years later

Beth shot the marble across the stretch of earth, watching the glass orb tumble and spin as it met the others she shot in a smack of hardened glass. It swerved at the last moment, ricocheting off a shooter and came to stand where she'd intended.

She possessed none that were mercury-coated. All the other children her age could play with any marble they chose.

Beth Jasper was a solitary girl.

But not one who lacked intelligence. Beth had felt the sadness from papa and mama and knew she would soon leave for the building that had a big
papilio
above the entrance in shining silver.

Mama and papa had taken her there last week to meet with a man who had a nose like the water birds that gathered by her family's pond.

It made it very difficult not to giggle. Beth sometimes had a problem with laughing when she ought not to.

Beth had been an observer and stood watch over her new surroundings, remembering what her adoptive parents had told her.

Beth, you must let us do the talking. Under no circumstances should you volunteer to train for a combative role. There are alternative roles for female Reflectives.

Beth crinkled her face at the memory, she understood all of what they wanted of her and she would not shuffle papers and look like the dolls that she had given up playing—to sit behind a desk.

All Reflectives were far advanced in all areas of maturation in comparison to their other humanoid counterparts from the sectors, thirteen in all.

Beth was no exception. She spoke like a teen, though she was five cycle. She puzzled through things that confounded adults.

She was faster, stronger... brighter.

Beth was female.

When Commander Rachett of the beakish nose leaned forward and delved deep, trying to pierce young Beth's very soul, she met him halfway.

Her small body leaned toward his. Unafraid—bold.

In their people's ancient language of Latin, he posed the question:
What role will you fill within The Cause, young Beth?

Beth's eyes narrowed and Rachett's brows raised slowly.

He had studied her, no doubt noting her half-breed status, for she was not of pure descent and female beside. She had met his stare with an unwavering gaze.

“A combative role, of course,” Beth said in her childlike voice, though the meaning was very adult. Understood and communicated like one.

“No! Beth...” she heard her mama say. Beth swung her legs back and forth underneath the chair, her eyes drifting to the candy dish poised at the edge of the desk then returning to the commander's.

Beth's stare never dropped from that of Ratchett's.

Rachett had to know what she was: a warrior. It was an attribute that was either present, or not.

Her papa stood.

“We can't have her fight. She is female... and not big for her gender.” Her father's face pleaded with Rachett to see reason.

Commander Rachett wasn't known to be a reasonable man.

Rachett steepled his fingers underneath his chin, looking to her adoptive parents. Good people, common folk—loyal to The Cause, believers in the Principle.

Rachett's gaze had shifted to Beth. He scrutinized her face. Eyes like crushed brown velvet, hair like a raven's wing, skin like polished marble, pale but not pasty.

She is too beautiful to fight,
he'd thought with regret.

Beth had seen that future remorse on his face.

Then he looked at her hands. Long-fingered and limber.

His eyes shifted to hers.

“Beth,” he asked softly.

“Yes, Commander Rachett?” her small fingers held something in them.

He frowned, obviously distracted from his original comment.

“What do you have in your hand?”

She opened her palm and a large reflective marble stood in the middle of her tiny hand.

A shooter. Hard-laced mercury.

Rachett sucked in his breath.

“That's a locator.”

Her parents looked at each other. “Where did you get that Beth?” Her father asked carefully.

Beth's eyes touched on the worry that each face held, she felt her face scrunch.

“They hand them out at the front entrance...” Rachett said thoughtfully before she could answer.

Beth nodded carefully. The nice lady had given it to her so she could have something to entertain herself.

“Do you know what those are for?” he asked her.

She nodded again.

Beth knew. She liked the feeling of the smooth glossy surface. Her fingers worked over the cylindrical perfection delicately, with reverence.

“It is for those Reflectives that need to find their sector,” Rachett explained neutrally.

He smiled down at her.

Beth knew he understood she wasn't a regular five year old.

She watched his smile fade as he took in her gender. Beth was weary of being thought as lesser because she was a girl.

Beth noticed Rachett's hesitation. She'd heard the whispers of the bullying that was so commonplace within the ranks of the Reflectives.

Though of course, by now everyone had heard the story of the swarm that had descended at her day of birth.

Papiliones
do not lie.

Rachett shook his head, decision made. It was safer. Safer for everyone.

Beth narrowed her eyes on the vision of his soft thoughts.

Rachett stood, as did Beth and the parents not of her blood.

“I'm sorry. Beth will be placed in... inter-dimensional communication training. An excellent program and critical calling for the female Reflective,” Rachett stated, lacing his hands together, effectively closing the meeting.

“Thank Principle,” Beth's mother murmured, shooting a look at Beth that let her know she had been naughty for
not
remaining silent about her crazy intentions as instructed.

Heat began in Beth's chest. She recognized it immediately: anger.

It began at the core of her body and swam out like molten lava, lashing through her circulatory system in defiance of being contained.

Beth did not want to be a weak female.

She was not.

Then Beth did what all children do—she threw a tantrum.

Beth threw the marble at Commander Rachett of the Reflective Militia operated under The Cause.

“No!” she shouted in a clear, bell-like ring that stung the ears and raised the hair on the back of his neck.

Beth's body reacted to her emotions, and the spinning ball of glass coated by the forbidden mercury.

It spun and Beth tracked it automatically, as naturally as taking her next breath. It was part and parcel to being Reflective.

The heat inside her body coalesced, bursting painfully—beautifully , and she gasped as it moved for her, slamming into the ball midair.

Her small body morphed into the narrow strip of shimmering ribbon that all Reflectives become when they jump.

Beth allowed all of it happen in an instinctual slide of circumstance and raw emotion. Her new form lashed like a shining whip, absorbing into the shell of the spinning glass as it sailed in the air for its two seconds of flight

Coolness washed the heat away and she spun with the ball... and went somewhere else, in a falling stream of fire bathed by ice.

Rachett stood stunned as the ball that Beth Jasper had used for transport shattered at his feet.

The three of them stood... stunned, their bearings—gone.