Stealing Kathryn
Page 29
“My sister, you prick!” she screamed, months of pain and fear suddenly overriding all of her cold control. Hot fury and unwanted agony burned in her throat and clenching fists. “You stole her! I want her back! You will give her back to me, or so help me I will kill you!”
Why wasn’t the drug working? Damn it, Justin had guaranteed it would! She’d watched him test it on a gorilla, the injection taking under sixty seconds to drop the beast completely.
“I doubt that is how this will end,” he said flatly. He seemed confident of that as he straightened and strolled directly for her across the room.
She fought. With everything she had and everything she knew, she beat him off of herself again and again. But every time she made a strike that should have taken him down, he would simply shake it off and keep coming at her. It was as if he didn’t feel any pain at all, except she knew that he did when he grunted or bellowed out from her critical hits. Fighting in heels lent advantages and disadvantages. Not the least of which was when she drove a stiletto deep into the back of his thigh, shedding first blood as she yanked free.
That was when everything changed.
She had pulled free with a spin, so by the time she came full around, her fists raised in a pose of defensive aggression, blood began to pour down the back of his leg as he stumbled to a knee briefly.
At least she thought it was blood.
It was pink.
Not a thin or light red, not red of any variety or shade, but a brilliant carnation pink bordering on fluorescence.
The sight made her do a double take, the shock of it taking a moment to sink in as she stood frozen at the ready. Julian stood up slowly and turned around, his malachite green eyes glittering with a dangerous resignation. Asia had never known true and utter fear before, she realized. She knew that because she was feeling it right then when she finally understood just why the drug had not and never would work on Julian Sawyer.
He wasn’t human.
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What in hell was wrong with him? He’d been sitting there, furious at the prospect that she’d been torn up inside by those miserable Jakal bastards, and here he was thinking about touching her himself! He might be Sánge, but contrary to popular outlander belief, he was no beast!
In the heat of his upset, Reule forgot that there was a huge difference between thinking and acting. For a telepath, it was the hardest and most important lesson to learn. A mind could concoct great fantasies; majestic schemes of both sinister evil and beauteous good. However, actually acting on those fantasies was quite another thing entirely. It was unfair to hold someone responsible for every stray thought. Reule neglected to forgive himself for basic inclinations of the mind.
Reule also forgot how hard his emotions could strike out at others when they emanated out of his control. He was harshly reminded of it when the woman in his arms awoke with a traumatized gasp and a forceful jerking of her body. It sent him off balance as he tried to hold her slippery body and keep her head above water simultaneously. Her bottom settled in his lap again, giving him some leverage as he verbally and mentally tried to calm her frantic flailing.
“Shh. Be easy, kébé. You’re safe,” he assured her, emanating a feeling of security to her, hoping to replace his hostile emotional disturbance of a minute ago. The rush of sorrow he’d come to associate with her assailed him once again, but he found it was fueled with fear as well this time. “Hush, kébé,” he soothed. “Hush, I will keep you safe.”
Then, all at once, she seemed to hear him. To comprehend. She went abruptly still, reached up and shoved the wet mass of hair off of her face so roughly that he heard strands tear and snap. Then she looked directly at him, allowing him to see her face for the very first time. For a long minute, where every muscle in his body seemed locked in a mystical paralysis, all Reule could do was stare at her.
It was her eyes that had the heaviest impact. They were so unreal, so brilliantly unusual, that he couldn’t quite grasp the concept for a moment. He doubted he’d ever see anything like them ever again in his lifetime, and that was quite a monumental concept considering how long-lived his breed tended to be.
How to begin to even describe them? he wondered.
They were colorless.
No. That was inaccurate. They were far too enthralling to be a null. They were as clear as crystal, yet white and silver all at once. They looked exactly like, and sparkled like, diamonds. Faceted, beautifully cut, clear and precious gemstones, with a platinum setting behind them to enhance every movement they caught in the light. She blinked thick, black, curved lashes over them, and that’s when he broke away from her eyes and saw the rest of her face. It was shaped in the delicate curves of a heart, soft bow lips chapped from thirst and neglect were tucked into a permanent but enticing little pout, and she had a slim nose that ended in the slightest uptilt. She had bruises across both cheeks, some old and yellowed, others fresher, but they did nothing to hide the sweet structure of her bones beneath skin that promised to be flawless when free of battering. Youthful, but clearly a woman; unbelievably pretty, but sorely misused; and diamond eyes that looked at him in bald confusion for several heartbeats.
Then, like electricity flooding a dark room, recognition of some kind lit up her features and she smiled so wide her delicate lips split and began to bleed a little. Wet hands lifted out of the water and framed his face and he started in surprise as her palms rubbed over his three-day beard and her fingers curled over his ears.
“Sánge,” she breathed, the single word full of excitement like he’d never heard before from anyone who knew he was Sánge. Not unless they were also Sánge. It stole his breath even as he tried to convince himself that it was a mistake, that she was just in some sort of shock.
“Yes, Sánge,” he agreed, pausing to clear the hoarse catch from his throat. “What, and more importantly, who are you, little kébé?”
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Copyright © 2010 by Jacquelyn Frank
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