Drink of Me

by Jacquelyn Frank

  Reule pulled her hand up to his lips for a firm kiss just before he burst out in deep, rich laughter. Mystique almost dropped the spice shaker as the warmth and pressure of his mouth went through the sheer lace of her gloves. She could even feel his hot breath penetrating to her skin as he laughed against the back of her hand. Like steam under pressure, that heat burst up the entire length of her arm and instantly spread across her chest until her breasts tingled with reactive sensation.

  “By the Lady, you have a sharp wit, Mystique,” Reule chuckled. “Delano is Assassin, you must remember. It’s his duty to be suspicious of everyone and to seek out ulterior motives. I wouldn’t mind him.”

  “Did I say I minded him?” she countered quickly. “It was an observation, not a complaint.”

  “So it was,” Reule agreed, his hazel eyes aglow with his humor. Mystique felt a warm flush spreading over her face and arms as she realized his smile transformed his features from his usual seriousness to a striking vital male beauty that would make any woman glow with warmth.

  “Would you please stop talking about me as if I weren’t sitting right here?” Delano demanded petulantly, a disgruntled expression on his face.

  Delano got his wish as he became the brunt of merciless male humor for the remainder of the meal. It reached a point where Mystique was wishing she’d kept her remarks to herself. She felt sorry for the beleaguered Assassin by the time she laid aside her dessert spoon, but she did give him credit for taking it all so good-naturedly. She worried that this would permanently spoil his opinion of her, though. She had no desire to alienate any of Reule’s Pack.

  Reule had given her back her hand some time ago, but he instantly felt the disturbance of her anxiety against his empathic senses, even though she tried hard to contain it. It was strange, but he only just then realized how muted her sorrow had become. She had, he noted, an incredible control over her emotional projection that he’d not really appreciated before. He’d credited himself, he realized, with blocking out or having grown used to the stimulus she projected, when in fact, he now comprehended that it was Mystique who had managed to tamp her feelings down into submission.

  He was still mulling over this anomalous discovery as Amando stood to help her from her chair, drawing it back for her. As she rose, she stepped on the train of her dress, stumbling. As fast as everyone’s reflexes were, even Amando could only grab her arm as she sat down hard in the chair he’d just vacated beside her. She laughed, a burst of self-deprecation that bubbled around the men until they were all grinning at her. She lifted her feet from the floor and rocked back slightly as she gave in to her mirth. By the time she was forced to stop for breath, they were all chuckling.

  “I’m afraid I’m not used to women’s finery such as this,” she admitted, tugging on her skirts and lifting her hands helplessly as she looked at her gloves. Then she shrugged and pulled off the lace quickly, giving a sigh of relief as she exposed her injured fingers to the room. Reule felt the humor flood out of his Pack, as if a drain had swiftly been thrown open. They were all looking at her bruised and torn fingernails as she wriggled the fan off her wrist and laid the collection of feminine items on the table.

  It wasn’t until she was done that she realized the subdued attention she was getting from the serious faces all around her. She looked up, feeling surrounded by men, all of whom were looking at her hands. Reule felt the sharp clutch of tension birthing itself in her chest, and he moved to rescue her from his Pack’s unintentional scrutiny. Amando was closer, however. The Envoy reached for her hand gently.

  “We usually retire to the library after our meal,” he said. “I’d be happy to lead the way.”

  “Oh. Thank you,” she said, her breathless voice disturbing Reule deeply. He didn’t like seeing her confidence shaken like that and, though they hadn’t meant to, his men were responsible. Still, he could hardly blame them. They’d forgotten that three days ago she’d been little more than a filthy waif curled up in a terrified ball after clawing her way across the wilderness.

  As she stood, Mystique reached to grasp the back of the chair to steady herself so she wouldn’t stumble again. He was watching her carefully, hovering just beyond Amando’s back, but he needn’t have bothered.

  There was no missing the psychic whiplash that shot through each and every Packmate.

  It was like an electrical conduction, jumping from one to the other until all were held in the shock of it. The startling sensation was punctuated by the long, horrified gasp that was uttered by their female guest. Reule watched as she, then Amando, turned pale to the point of bloodlessness. He was already forcing himself into action by the time they both started to fall.

  “To hell!” Reule spat as he caught Amando behind the shoulders, watching helplessly as Mystique fell back. Luckily, the chair was right behind her and, by the time her bottom struck the cushion, Saber had come around to steady her in place with a firm hand.

  It was a mistake.

  The entire Pack jolted when Saber came into contact with her, this time nausea flooding through them all. Reule saw Saber’s mouth open in shock, speechless horror widening in his black eyes. Mystique’s hands were now both clutched around the back of the chair so tightly that her knuckles were white and her healing nails began to split open afresh. By now, Reule had thrown up every mental block he could manage and guarded himself from the connectivity of the Pack. Although, because of the nature of their connection, it couldn’t be done completely, he’d at least cut away the excess psychic information. He’d eased Amando to the floor and, stepping over him, he struck Saber’s arm, knocking his hand out of contact with the source of his agony. The minute he did that, the Pack released a collective breath, each man reaching to brace himself when his suddenly weak knees and body wouldn’t support him.

  Rye was the first to pull himself together, and he watched as Reule reached out for Mystique.

  “No! Don’t touch her!”

  Reule ignored the command, trusting his own power. He reached out and grasped her fey face between his large fingers, tilting her head back until she was looking blankly up at him. He felt emotion and pain crashing against his mental wards, but they held as he looked down into those glazed glass eyes.

  “Mystique? Kébé, sweetheart, talk to me,” he encouraged softly as the Pack regrouped around him. As each recovered himself, it added strength to Reule. He emanated warnings to them not to touch her or to interfere, so they concentrated instead on tending Saber and Amando and simply being there for him. He lowered himself slowly to a crouch, drawing her still glassy gaze along with him. “Tell me what’s wrong.” Then, after a moment’s thought, “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

  He would have used his power to probe her and find out for himself if it were only himself at risk, but it was apparent that the entire Pack would be threatened if he did that. True, they’d been taken totally by surprise and by now were very much on their guard, but he could hardly take the chance until he understood a little better what he was dealing with.

  “So much—” She gasped, cutting herself off, but she’d spoken, and that was a start. She was also focusing slightly on him.

  Just enough so he could see the agony in her eyes along with the welling of crystal tears. “So much what, kébé? Talk, baby, just talk,” he encouraged her, his voice churning out roughly as her pain twisted his insides into tight knots.

  “It’s endless,” she ground out between her teeth, closing her eyes as her entire body shuddered and sent tears spitting down her pale cheeks. “There will be nothing for me. How can you leave me like this? Will you even know? Reule…” Her eyes snapped open and Reule had to hold his breath to keep from cursing aloud, the way Darcio behind him was softly doing. Her eyes had changed color, becoming an even tan with the lightest speckling of black around the outside edges. Reule would have known those eyes anywhere, if they hadn’t presently been on a woman.

  “Chayne…”

  He and Darcio spoke in tandem, conf
irming to one another what it was they thought they were seeing. Her gaze pinpointed on Reule when he spoke Chayne’s name.

  “Reule, don’t make me cry for what I need,” she said, her low voice registering even lower.

  “Lord and Lady,” Rye whispered in horror as he and the others understood at last what they were seeing.

  “I won’t beg to be a man,” she rasped. “Don’t make me beg for my Packmates to do right by me.”

  “Stop her!” Delano cried out, his hurt ricocheting through them. “Lord damn me, Reule, stop her!”

  Reule swept his gaze away from Delano and fastened it on Mystique’s position in the chair. Blood oozed from her fingertips as she dug nonexistent nails into the ornate wood of…

  “It’s Chayne’s chair,” he whispered, the fact registering on him like a shout in his face.

  “She’s telemetric!” Darcio exclaimed, following his Prime’s thinking instantly.

  Reule was inclined to agree. It was the only explanation that made sense. Coming into contact with an object Chayne had touched so often must have set the ability off and Mystique, who had no idea who she was or what she was capable of, had been left wide open to the psychic influx of Chayne’s suffering. Telemetrics could make contact with the location and thoughts of another by touching the belongings of the target.

  Reule stood up straight and glanced at Rye. “I’m going to pry off her hands. You have to pull the chair away. Until we’re sure you can block her, try not to touch her. Not until she breaks the connection with Chayne. Ready?” Rye simply nodded and Reule reached out to work his fingers beneath her palms.

  “Reule, you know what to do,” she whispered in his ear. “Don’t leave me this way. Don’t let them butcher me. Don’t…”

  Reule overpowered her grasp and her hands came free with a pop. The minute her hands released, she crumpled against him and he scooped her up off the offending piece of furniture. She fell limply against his chest, reminding him of the first time he’d ever held her. She was conscious, though. She was mumbling something incoherently against his throat as he held her tightly and strode out to the common room with her. The Pack trailed after him, all recovered from the ordeal to one degree or another, only Amando needing Delano’s hand for support.

  “What—?”

  “Hush!” Reule commanded, cutting Delano off. “We can question what she said later. Right now, we tend to her.” Reule did, however, double-check on Chayne to see if he was conscious. Finding him deep in the latest induced sleep he himself had guided him to, Reule was content to concentrate on Mystique’s well-being.

  He hesitated on the threshold of the Pack’s common room, sweeping his eyes over the furniture and suddenly seeing a minefield for her.

  “Reule,” Darcio said quietly, “place her by the fire in my seat. She was sitting in Chayne’s chair a good minute or two before she placed her bare hands against it. I think if you keep her hands in her lap, she’ll be all right.”

  Reule nodded in agreement. He made his way to the fire and settled her down, kneeling between her feet as he took hold of her wrists in a single hand and held them against her skirt in her lap. Blood smeared over the pretty fabric, as well as beading against his palm, but he ignored all of that and reached to touch her too-pale cheek.

  “Kébé,” he beckoned, turning up her eyes to his, relieved to see them back to their usual diamond beauty.

  “What…” she said hoarsely, struggling to speak.

  “Mystique, look at me,” he urged her, trying to get her to focus.

  “What…” she tried again, swaying forward slightly into his hand.

  “She must have experienced everything Chayne has been feeling, as if she were Chayne himself,” Rye noted. “It must have been like a raw psychic dump. She is overloaded.”

  “I can see that,” Reule snapped. He was agitated enough without Rye pointing out the obvious. He should have suspected something like this could happen. He’d known something was off with her. The power of her sorrow, the way she seemed to intuit things so easily, and the control she used to guard her emotions were all reflexive abilities a ’pathic being developed.

  Losing his temper made Mystique cringe and she jerked on her hands, trying to free them, but he held her tight. She then leaned forward until she could touch her cheek to his, to his surprise snuggling up against him as best she could in the awkward leaning position. He aided her effort instinctively by drawing closer to her.

  “What,” she whispered against his ear, “happened?”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’ll be okay in a little while. You just need a minute to adjust.”

  “No!” She gasped the word against his skin, the flutter of her lashes stroking his cheek. “What happened to him?”

  Reule pulled back from her so he could see her face as understanding dawned on him. His chest tightened as he tried to decide what he should say to her. She’d been through enough of her own tortures; did she really need to relive those of another?

  “Please,” she begged him softly, her head turning until he felt the gentle press of soft lips against his palm, “please don’t try to protect me. I must know.”

  For a moment, Reule’s pulse roared in his ears in deafening crashes. Once again, it was as though she had read his thoughts, and now he could no longer dismiss the possibility she might be capable of it. He wasn’t omnipotent. It stood to reason that somewhere in their world, there was someone more powerful than he. Was that someone sitting across from him right now?

  It didn’t matter at that particular moment. He couldn’t make himself draw up caution against her. Not when she had been so clear a conduit for the pleas of an old and valued friend, and not when he was looking deep into her eyes while her kiss still burned into his palm.

  “Jakals tortured him,” he told her quickly. “His name is Chayne, and they took their pleasure in his pain.”

  “They fed from him,” she breathed. “They fed from his fear that they would learn of you. He worried you were vulnerable as he’d been because…” She hesitated as she searched herself for the part Chayne had left stamped within her. “You insisted on hunting without Shadow.”

  “To hell,” Darcio swore softly, knowing exactly what she was speaking of, even if she didn’t precisely understand.

  “They invaded his body,” she whispered, “four times. Twisting and shattering and…” She began to gasp for breath as the memory overwhelmed her, spilling tears from her eyes.

  “Enough, kébé, please…We know.”

  “No! I was…I was there. I…felt it. I felt it all. I was there.” Reule felt her beginning to shake violently within the clasp of his hand.

  “I thought telemetrics could only sense the present status of the person associated with the object?” Delano said, sounding highly agitated as he began to pace behind Reule’s back. “She’s talking as if she was there when it was all happening!”

  “She was.”

  Reule’s head snapped around to confront Darcio, his hazel eyes narrowing on his Shadow. “What?”

  “She was. She was there. Right upstairs. Maybe she isn’t talking about the telemetric episode, Reule. Maybe she’s remembering the house. She was there. Upstairs. While it was happening.”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I was. I felt it. I felt the sharpness and the shattering. The twisting and the pleading. He wouldn’t give up. Not ever would he give up.”

  “She was in contact with the house itself. Her hands on the floor. She didn’t need to be in the room to know everything Chayne was feeling and suffering. It was like having a front-row seat for someone of her power. Lord damn me, no wonder she was out of her mind when we found her.” It also could explain how she knows so much about the Sánge, Reule mused. She had probably absorbed it from Chayne, or even the Jakals. Even her feelings toward him. She might have absorbed Chayne’s sense of loyalty and devotion to him and not even realized she was responding to it.

  “Take me!” Mystique unexpectedly tried t
o surge to her feet, the abruptness of the movement nearly sending Reule onto his backside. Instead he stood up with her and absorbed the thrust of her small body as she tried to push her way out of his keeping. “Take me to him! Reule! I beg you to take me.”

  “To Chayne?”

  “No. Absolutely not!” Delano barked. “Reule, I forbid it!”

  The directive was met with absolute silence and stillness, even Mystique freezing in place as the Assassin’s words made their impact. Rye was the first to move, and the step was well timed to intercept Reule, who swung around to face Delano with a snarl and a flash of fangs that made Mystique gasp and throw her hand up to her astonished mouth.

  “My Prime!” Rye had thrown himself into the path of fury, but when Delano growled with a gleam of fangs as well, he found himself in the dead center of a challenge. “Wait! Both of you! My Prime, remember that Chayne is Delano’s natural brother. He has a right to his emotions getting away from him. I don’t think he meant to challenge you.” He turned to Delano while keeping a hand against Reule’s chest, even though the power of the muscles bunching beneath his palm told him his efforts only succeeded for as long as Reule allowed them to. “Delano, you know even you will never survive a Prime challenge, just as we all know that you didn’t mean to issue it. Brother or no, as a Packmate, Chayne is Reule’s responsibility until he has breathed his last. We all made that choice the day we took our oaths. You have no right to make demands on his behalf, but you know Reule will always listen to your wishes.”

  “Will he? Will he listen to my words when he has been bewitched by this…this…”

  “Think carefully about what you say, Assassin,” came the threatening hiss from behind Rye.