Drink of Me

by Jacquelyn Frank

  “Gentlemen,” he said without looking away from her. “You heard the lady. Let’s get this over with. I have some…business…awaiting my attention.” To his pleasure, Mystique laughed at his taunt. She was a treasure, and he vowed never to let himself forget that.

  Delano waited until everyone was quiet and focused completely on Mystique before handing her the canister. Since she was unfamiliar with the terrain, Reule would read her thoughts and pick out landmarks and other notations that she resurrected. He moved to stand behind her, holding her around the waist.

  The canister wasn’t a personal item like Chayne’s chair, used with regularity so that a bond had been formed, but with focus she was still able to pinpoint the most recent owner of the object. Reule felt her jerk in his grasp, watched her hands tighten fiercely on the container, the already fatigued metal buckling under the pressure. She threw her head back and stared upward with blank, changing eyes. Their color turned a muddy sort of brownish black, and Reule’s mind was suddenly filled with what she was seeing. The moon. In a different position. The Jakals were outdoors. Or at least this one was. She drew down her head and looked around, and he saw the camp, cold and dark, large rocks, trees.

  “The forest,” he murmured.

  “Sánge,” she said in a guttural version of her own voice. “Stupid Sánge. Beasts. Feel so much, spewing emotions like offal, wasting it.” Reule cringed to hear her say those things. It was blasphemy to hear them on her lips because he knew she would never think or feel such poison. “Sánge murderers. We will hurt Sánge prince as he hurt us. He will pay.”

  Mystique jerked sharply and Reule held her close, following her eyes around the Jakal camp, counting sleeping forms, watching for a unique formation or tree.

  “I will enjoy the day I can pluck the skin off the Sánge prince,” the Jakal thought, unaware of how close he actually was at that moment to the Sánge prince. “He will come and we will trap him. Trap him here. Him and his Pack.”

  “By the Lord, they’re waiting for us,” Rye hissed.

  “Thirty, maybe more,” Reule murmured quietly. “Camped in the open forest. I don’t see how they expect to trap us.”

  He assumed the Jakal was a guard because he kept moving and looking around until finally, Reule saw a recognizable landmark. A cave. The Jakal went to enter it.

  “Winter safe place here,” Mystique rasped, “after Sánge king is dead. Food is plenty. Cave is warm.”

  “That’s no guard,” Delano murmured, “that’s a leader making plans.”

  “Sacks of supplies line the walls,” Reule said, his confusion evident. “This is different. I’ve never seen Jakals travel with so much weight before. The cave is lined almost…”

  And that was when Reule noted the red stamp on the sacking nearest the Jakal as he passed it. It was the merchant stamp of the City of Jeth.

  “By the Lord,” Rye whispered as he realized what it meant. “The grain convoy. Amando.”

  Reule reached around and jerked the can from Mystique’s hands, turning on his men furiously. “I want to know what the hell is going on here!” he roared. “This is the second time a member of my Pack has been threatened by these bastards! Defender! Blade!” He turned to Rye and Saber, his multicolored eyes snapping into the yellow glow of threat. “You sent outriders with Amando?”

  “Of course we did! It was a large shipment. We know full well the Pripans would rather take it than trade for it if it was not protected properly.”

  “I sent a good twenty guards with Amando to drive and manage the convoy,” Saber said stiffly. “With the merchants and their apprentices, that made a good fifty Sánge for four wagonloads.”

  “Five,” Rye corrected him softly.

  “So you’re telling me we lost a shipment that well guarded to a band of thirty Jakals? I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it,” Reule spat.

  Mystique said gently, “There is a trap, Reule. One that Jakal is so confident in, I can still feel it. There is something we don’t know.”

  “That isn’t the worst of it,” Darcio noted in a low voice that shook with repressed outrage. “The worst of it is there were no Sánge prisoners in that cave or the campsite.”

  Mystique couldn’t deny the observation. She’d never once felt the Jakal think about Sánge prisoners. Then again, she hadn’t figured out the trap that was set for the Sánge either. When she had channeled Chayne, she’d known his deepest thoughts. Why hadn’t she learned of the trap or what had happened to the other Sánge? To Amando?

  “Don’t worry,” Rye said as he reached out to touch her arm in a comforting gesture, “Amando is tougher than he looks. Like Chayne, he’d be more valuable to them kept alive. It’s only been a day.”

  “Which means they’re close by,” Darcio noted.

  “And I think I know where,” Reule said. “That cave has to be deep to store that much grain. This was very well planned.”

  “We’re tired from fighting the fire,” Mystique said. “That was the purpose in setting it, I think. To wear out the Pack. They know how strong you are. They also know you’ll come after them yourselves. So they weaken you first, then lie in wait with a trick that they no doubt tested out on the convoy first. Yes. This is very well planned, Reule.”

  She reached back to touch him and he slid his arms tightly around her in a hug of comfort. She took it gratefully, closing her eyes as she used his warmth to shed the chill of being in the mind of their enemy.

  “You have to let me channel him again,” she said softly. “I can find out more…”

  “No. You’re exhausted, kébé.”

  “So are you all,” she countered, her tone gentle rather than confrontational.

  “There’s a time constraint,” Rye said abruptly, his eyes snapping up to Reule’s with understanding dawning over his handsome features. “That’s why they set the fire. They needed our attention and they needed it quickly. Why? What advantage grows weaker with time?”

  “Strength? Perhaps Amando’s?”

  “Right,” the Prime Blade mused as he looked at her in surprise. “If they’re using him as bait. They know Pack will sense one another. If he’s dying, they need to rush us.”

  “Listen, kébé, it’s time you went back to the city.”

  “No. You need me with you if Amando is injured. Or anyone else, for that matter. Don’t argue, just agree,” she pleaded as she turned in his grasp to face him. “You have no time or men to spare to go with me. Besides, you may need my telemetric abilities. There’s still an unseen snare.”

  “Send her back, Reule. She’ll just distract you,” Darcio thought to him.

  “Darcio’s right,” Delano agreed.

  “I think she could be useful,” Rye countered. “And she’s right. We have no time or resources to send her home. You’ll be worrying about her whether she’s there or not. Better to have her in sight.”

  “Kébé, keep near me. Ride close to Fit. We’d better go before it gets any later and any colder.”

  Reule was right. The Jakal camp wasn’t that far away. They had to traverse the rest of the flatlands, which, being even ground, went rather quickly. It was when they reached the leading edge of the forest that things got rough for the horses. There was a road at first, which then became a trail and eventually disappeared altogether. The second moon was up before Reule finally called a halt. Everyone dismounted, tying up the animals in the best shelter that could be managed in such rough country.

  “It’s still a good mile, but we can’t risk their hearing the horses. Sound travels in this forest in strange ways.”

  Reule pulled Mystique to his side, gripping her hand in his, his fingers lacing tightly with hers. She shivered when, with an eerie synchronization, all of the men withdrew weapons. There was a vibration among them, one that Mystique had never felt before. Their movements became increasingly quiet, even though the terrain grew denser with every step. Before long it was like walking with ghosts, men who were there, yet not. Their thoughts
and bodies were focused amongst themselves, communication passing in silence between them, until she was left with the eerie feeling of walking alone through the wilderness, in spite of the strong fingers wrapped securely around hers.

  That loneliness chilled her to her bones, nibbling at the edges of her memory until she shivered and forced herself up against Reule’s side. He sensed her disquiet and wrapped his arm around her waist, guiding her over rocks and fallen trees. It helped her feel once again a part of the group’s movements and she was able to keep herself calm.

  Reule was fully focused on the Pack, determined not to have any more casualties among them. He would see to it he made no mistakes. This shouldn’t even be happening. Had he been too lax? Too tolerant of the contemptible Jakals? There were Sánge who thought he ought to slaughter the gypsies without discrimination. And he could do so if he wished it. These were Sánge lands, and he was the law.

  He glanced at Mystique and in an instant he knew he could never slaughter any species so indiscriminately. It had been done to the Sánge, and he knew what that sort of persecution felt like. Whether or not they were deserving of it, if only one Jakal was different, like his kébé was different, it would be unforgivable. He recalled too easily how close he’d come to losing her. To never knowing her.

  Anxiety built within him as they drew closer to the cave. He didn’t like her being there, but logically he couldn’t refute her usefulness. He’d use any resource he had if it would protect his Packmates and his city, just as he’d use his Pack and his city to protect her.

  Reule drew them all to a stop without a word, his arm around Mystique’s waist bringing her to a halt. He stepped against her, backing her up into the thick trunk of a nearby tree. Mystique let out a sound of surprise as his huge body herded hers to where he wanted her, trapping her between muscle and bark until she was looking up at him with her hands grasping the sleeves of his shirt. Her breath clouded on the cold night air, the temperature having slowly dropped as they’d traveled.

  “Stay here, kébé. Don’t follow us. I’ll come get you when this is over. I mean it,” he said when she opened her mouth to argue. “Don’t make me tie you to this tree. I’d rather leave you able to defend yourself. There are nasty things in these woods.” Reule flipped his dagger against his palm and handed it to her hilt first. There wasn’t a sound from any of the other men, but Mystique could feel the shock that rippled through them at the gesture.

  Not really understanding the significance, she reached out and grasped the handle of the weapon. She automatically imitated the nimble flip Reule had used, reaching down and tucking the blade into her left boot. When she lifted her head, Reule was staring at her hard.

  “You’re always surprising me,” he said softly as he reached to rub his thumb over her cheek. “I might regret the day I figure you out.”

  He leaned in to kiss her, a firm, territorial gesture. It left her dizzy, breathless, and tasting of char and Reule. He tore himself away from her as if he had to do it quickly or he would never succeed. He instructed a guard to stay with her, and then she watched them disappear into the dark underbrush in perfect silence.

  “I might as well have stayed with the horses,” Mystique grumbled through her chattering teeth some time later. “At least they’re warm.”

  And better conversationalists, she thought petulantly as the guard continued to ignore her. He didn’t look happy to have been left behind either. Especially guarding an outlander female he probably thought shouldn’t have come along in the first place. She had an unreasonable urge to walk up to him and kick him in his shins. It seemed like the sort of thing a woman would do. Certainly tamer than her earlier urges to draw pretty pictures on his chest with her dagger. Those didn’t seem very ladylike at all, so she’d worked very hard at pushing the impulses aside. Para’s lectures on proper behavior had echoed in her head the whole time.

  When the guard was suddenly thrown back off his feet, it was as if her venomous thoughts had struck him. It took a moment for Mystique to realize it was a whiplash of psychic feedback that had hit him. Then it was on her, prickling and screaming all around her, trapping her in invisible terror. She threw her hands up over her head to protect herself, but the lashing mental screams whipped around her and through her again and again. She fell to her knees in the brambles, the cold dampness soaking through her clothes. Her head pounded with pain as she began to hear shouts and screams made by real voices that echoed through the forest. She whimpered softly as the thrash of psychic abuse snapped harder against her, and she tried to force up some kind of protection. There must be some way to shield herself, if only she could grasp hold of it.

  She was so overwhelmed that she couldn’t even tell who she was hearing in the melee of noise. Did any of those masculine cries belong to Reule? His Pack? Instinctively, she drew the blade Reule had given her, grasping the weapon in a sturdy grip. Arming herself seemed to help. The feeling of guarding herself somehow countered the psychic dump of pain and death. She sobbed, partly in relief and partly because an incredible feeling of sorrow overcame her. She’d been so complacent lately that she’d almost forgotten the overwhelming sadness that stalked her everywhere. It was more intense than ever.

  Able to stand now, Mystique made her way over to the guard still lying prone on the ground. She bent over him, blinking back the swell of tears in her eyes. All she wanted was Reule. Safe. His living warmth beside her.

  “Are you well?” she asked the guard hoarsely, carefully touching his shoulder lest he grow hostile at the contact.

  “Yes. Lord and Lady,” he gasped.

  “We need to go to Reule.”

  “No. My Prime would have my head if I took his…you…” he stammered and Mystique understood his dilemma. No true lady would behave as she had, saying things that made no secret of her lust for Reule. It hadn’t bothered her to be so free. Not until this man had come just shy of calling her a whore.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly as he sat up, his tone desperate now. “I meant no offense. Please, my lady, I’m just an uncouth guard and I…”

  “It’s all right,” she assured him quietly. “What’s your name?”

  “Sath.”

  “Sath. Well, Sath, you’re only speaking the truth as you’ve seen it. I admire that in anyone. Now, please, can we go? I feel strongly that I’m needed.”

  “Don’t ask me to go against the Prime’s orders, my lady. As fair as he is, he and all of the Pack would take a turn at me. If anything were to happen to you…”

  “I see.” Mystique sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “There’s no need to apologize.”

  “Yes. I’m afraid there is.”

  She wasn’t even sure how she knew she could do it, but she reached out quickly and slapped a hand over Sath’s forehead. In an instant the map of his brain flared into her awareness with all its many tiny pathways and functions, just as Chayne’s bones and muscles had done when she’d healed him. Except this time, she didn’t heal. She manipulated a natural, healthy function and Sath fell back into the moist rot of leaves on the forest floor, fast asleep.

  He’d never had a chance.

  Mystique tried to regroup, her head pounding with exhaustion and exertion. Knife at the ready, she stood up to make her way toward the place where she heard the forest churning with activity. She’d barely gone a step when the entire forest spun away from under her, pitching her forward until she landed flat on her face. She fought for control as her stomach churned.

  “Stay where you are.”

  There was no mistaking the owner of that imperious command in her head. She was so relieved to hear him that she didn’t even take exception to his high-handedness. Instead, she just rolled over with a sigh and reminded herself that domineering and commanding behaviors were requirements for a ruler. Besides, staying right where she was suddenly seemed like an excellent notion.

  It was only minutes before she felt him standing over her. He knelt down as she opened her
untrustworthy eyes. “What happened?” he asked gently, reaching to gather her to him. She grasped his arms to steady herself but was shocked to feel warmth and wetness beneath her fingers.

  She forced herself to focus on the dark fluid soaking his shirt. “You’re hurt!” she exclaimed as the anatomy of the injury instantly flared into her psychic awareness. He’d been stabbed in his left biceps and clawed across the right.

  “No. Don’t,” he said firmly when he sensed her power. He drew her up into his arms and stood easily. She blinked away the diagnostic images of his injured body when he refused her help. “Save your strength for those who need it more.”

  “Amando,” she whispered, knowing by the tension of his body and the lines around his mouth that it was bad.

  “Amando is dead. It’s Rye. He took the brunt of the trap.”

  “What was it?”

  “Electricity. Rye was right. There was a time constraint. They were running out of the fuel they were using to power an electrical trap around the camp.”

  The screams of agony she had felt and heard. Reule and his men walking into that painful death trap. “Amando is dead?” She felt fresh tears and sorrow burn across her soul.

  Reule set her on her feet, but held her up against his body. “There’s nothing you can do, kébé.”

  “What does that mean?” Her gaze snapped up to his at the oddly worded reply.

  “He was bitten by a Jakal.” Delano spoke up from behind her, making her twist in Reule’s proprietary hold. “Jakal venom is fatal.”

  Reule growled threateningly at Delano, and she knew the Pack had been warned against involving her.