Drink of Me (11 page)

And a little to her right.

Mystique flushed when she found herself colliding with Reule’s direct hazel eyes. There was something in the way he looked at her that set more than just her skin on fire. His eyes were full of hunger. Far too much hunger for a man nearing the end of his meal. She tried to steady her abruptly quickened breathing, but her heart was pounding so hard that she needed the added oxygen to keep from passing out in the snug corset. Mystique was a little outgunned at a table full of telepaths and empaths. She was afraid everyone knew what she was feeling and what she was thinking. Mostly, she couldn’t care less. One of the plusses of living the life of a blank slate was that she had no obligation to perform for anyone’s pleasure. As a guest in a foreign place, she supposed she ought to use care not to alienate those who sheltered her, but she’d already made a champion of the strongest voice in this Sánge keep.

However, these men were important to Reule because of their political positions alone. Only there was something else. They were closer than that to him. These were friends.

No. These were brothers, she realized. It was as though the same blood flowed in the veins of every man there. There was a harmony between them that buzzed just beyond her normal perceptions. A connection beyond position and duty. It was so powerful that she felt rather breathless all over again. This time when she looked at Reule, it was with the knowledge that he was the sort of man who had earned the complete loyalty and devotion of these other potent males. It was a heady realization and, without even thinking of curbing the impulse, Mystique reached out to cover his hand with her own, her small fingers slipping against his palm.

She saw his pupils expand suddenly with the contact, felt the kinetic energy of his surprise and delighted in the smile touching gently at the corners of his lips.

Reule looked down at the small hand covering his own and let his bemusement come out in a smile. No one outside of the Pack would ever think to touch him, but she did it all the time. He had to remind himself that it was because she didn’t know the finer points of Sánge etiquette, but he couldn’t help thinking that it wouldn’t matter to her anyway. There was something about her that said she did what she wanted without much concern what others thought.

Reule closed his fingers around hers in a gentle squeeze and felt her delight over the gesture. In fact, the entire table felt it, which was how intense an emotion it was. Reule felt the Pack react with startled silence for several beats before Amando, sitting to her left in Chayne’s chair, leaned forward to grab another breadcake from the diminished pile.

“This trip will only be for two weeks because we’re just going to Harth Outpost in the Pripan Desert, the last on our circuit before winter,” he said to Mystique as if they’d been in mid-conversation about it. “Unfortunately, the Pripans haven’t a clue about decent cooking. I sorely miss breadcakes when I’m traveling.”

“Cook always packs his saddlebags full of the stuff and sets out a huge plate whenever she knows he will be at table.” Rye snorted out a laugh. “He has her charmed, you know. Most of these”—he gestured to the food—“are
his
favorites.”

“If he weren’t charming, he wouldn’t do me much good as an ambassador, now would he?” Reule said dryly.

“That’s all well and good, but you will begin complaining yourself when he comes home for winter and we get served nothing but breadcakes for dinner each night.”

“I sense a great amount of jealousy at this table,” Amando rejoined, leaning back with an unconcerned air as he popped bits of breadcake into his mouth. “Mmm. Mmm.”

Mystique spoke up. “Since this meal is a send-off in your honor, I think it only natural your favorites be served.” Reule watched her lean closer to Amando, and a hasty, unruly instinct made him tighten his hold on her hand, reminding her that he was there. As if he were being…

Territorial.

Damn. Reule knew well enough what trouble territorial impulses amongst the Pack could be. Amongst Sánge males in general it was bad enough, but in the Pack it was a disaster waiting to occur. Reule forced himself to relax his grip and made very certain he made no emanations to Amando or any of the others. He did so by keeping his attention fully on Mystique, easily allowing himself to become lost in the delicate prettiness of her features and the sinful beckoning of her figure. He watched the movement of pale pink lips as she spoke, the flash of white, even teeth as she laughed at something Rye said. She bent her head to Amando as he murmured a confidence into her ear and Reule’s vision was filled with the ivory line of her bared throat, his keen eyes automatically picking out her pulse as it fluttered quickly beneath her skin.

In that instant Reule’s entire body lit up like a bonfire, the rush of heat sinking to the base of his spine and flooding low in his groin until he was hard and aching with want. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so overwhelmed with arousal before that he would react without control in a public venue. Oh, he’d reacted in public before, but it’d been something he’d allowed himself or used purposely in flirtation with a woman. But never had it controlled him. He went to draw his hand away from Mystique, not wanting to alert her to his untoward desires, but she held him with strength that prevented a subtle removal. In that delaying moment, he remembered she wasn’t ’pathic in any way, and it allowed him to relax his effort to withdraw. As long as he kept control and didn’t emanate, she might remain ignorant of his boorish baseness.

“What does that mean?” he heard her ask, drawing him out of his fixation with his reactions to her.

“When we say ’pathic, it refers to any of the ’pathic powers. All Sánge are ’pathic. All Sánge are, to some degree, both empathic and telepathic. Some of the more powerful Sánge have a third ’pathic ability as well,” Darcio explained. “Each member of the Pack has a third ’pathic power, for instance.”

“I see. How do you filter through all of that information?” she asked. “How is it you keep from going mad? Forgive me, but this place is filled with people who are filled with thoughts and emotions…”

“There are two kinds of ’pathic abilities,” Reule answered her. “Autopathic and interpathic. Empathy is autopathic. That means that for all of us, it’s always switched on. The only control we have over it is to build walls within our own minds against the information it’s trying to feed us. Not all empaths can do this. Jakals, for example, cannot block out the emotion they sense.”

“Not that they would even want to,” Delano said, his contempt coming out in a grunt of displeasure.

“We believe the Sánge can create walls because of our telepathic ability. Now, telepathic ability for us is interpathic. That means that, for the most part, we have to work at being able to use the ability. We don’t automatically know everyone’s thoughts. We have to consciously scan for them.”

“Unless—” Darcio prompted needlessly.

“Unless,” Reule agreed, “someone is intentionally projecting their thoughts or the thought is being ‘screamed.’ Meaning, being experienced so loudly within the mind that it can’t be ignored by any telepath in a certain radius or with a personal connection to the projector. Also, telepathy is usually limited by proximity, though for some it is only possible with eye-to-eye contact. There are many gradations of ’pathic power amongst the Sánge.”

“I understand,” she said thoughtfully. “Thank you for that explanation. However, it’s good to know one doesn’t need to be ’pathic in any way to know how furious Delano is with you all at the moment for telling me such details.”

She didn’t even look at Delano as she said this. She simply reached for the spice shaker on the table and began to pepper her meat lightly, as if Delano’s reaction didn’t bother her in the least. And to Reule’s delight, it
didn’t
bother her in the least. He could easily feel her amusement at Delano’s suspicious nature, and the shock the Assassin was now experiencing that she had not only noticed, but had boldly brought it out into the open. Reule had to admit, it was a pretty audacious thing to do considering the company she was keeping.

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.