Adam (39 page)

Besides the Jakals, in the center of the room was a chair, bolted to the floor and made of gleaming steel that had to feel as cold as it looked. The sight of it chilled Reule’s spine. However, it was nothing compared to what he felt when he saw the figure slumped forward in it as far as his bound wrists and feet would allow; the former manacled to the flat metal arms and the latter to the legs. Blood drained in a steady stream from his mouth and nose, both of which had been battered to a pulpy mess. Steel spikes had been driven through his forearms and calves, as if the manacles wouldn’t be enough to hold him. The Jakals were right. Manacles alone would never have held their prisoner. Although now, with the pool of blood growing in an ever-widening circle beneath that sterile metal chair, the prisoner within was not even strong enough to lift his head, never mind escape. The Jakals had been taking their pleasure torturing him, and they’d made a spectator sport of it.

This time the snarl that vibrated out of Reule was violent enough to reverberate against the walls of the room. His eyes turned from their normal hazel to a reflective green as he lowered into a crouch and bared his fangs. His Pack, including Darcio, who had caught up to them, imitated both the sound and the predatory motion in perfect synchronicity. Reule almost smiled when he heard a fifth growl join weakly with them from the chair in the center of the room.

Jakals on the defensive, however, were no easy targets. The Jakals’ slender forms were made for speed, their skin smooth to the point of slickness. They were impossible to grapple with. The wily creatures could twist and strike before you even saw them. Discordant hisses and taunting laughter radiated from their midst as venom dripped from their fangs. They were prepared to strike or spit the acidic compound at their attackers, and unlike Reule’s people’s paralytic, Jakal poison was fatal if the skin was punctured; and a more brutal death had yet to be invented.

Reule wasn’t overly concerned about that. What concerned him was that the Jakals were between his Packmates and the prisoner in the chair. If he hadn’t already been poisoned, the enemy might take the opportunity to do so before they could be stopped. Since there was no known cure, this was Reule’s primary worry. He could tell by the look in the eyes of the Jakal facing him that his enemy was well aware of it.

As a rule, Jakals were the most powerful empaths of all the known species of the wilderness; only Reule’s breed was strong enough to block them. However, as a man of significant ability, he had learned that with strong powers of the mind came strong sensitivities. That had been proven just that evening as he himself had been bombarded by a stranger’s overwhelming grief and been caught unawares by it. Surely these empaths before him had heard those cries of anguish too? He knew it was no Jakal feeling those emotions, for though they could sense every feeling any creature was capable of, they didn’t have the ability to generate such deep feeling themselves. They certainly didn’t understand its true value. It was a terrible irony, and it was what made them such vicious little monsters; monsters who found glee in glutting themselves on the intense emotions of others. Like the emotions generated by torture, rape, or any number of things Reule refused to imagine lest he give way to a rage that would blot his focus and potentially feed his avaricious enemies.

This information did allow Reule an advantage. He was the most powerful sensor of his kind, one without measure in the history of his people. He was willing to bet these lowly gypsy Jakals had never seen his type before and would never be expecting him. That would be his advantage, and that would save the Pack-mate who had fallen prey to these depraved beasts.

And to think, others considered
his
people the lowest of breeds.

Reule sent an emanation to his Packmates, steadying them and preparing them silently, including a reassurance to the barely conscious one in the center of the room. Then he slowly unfolded the layers of protection over his mind so he could release his concealed power.

This time he was better prepared for the anguish that struck him, but still it was bordering on all-consuming. It was just the kind of emotional inundation that a Jakal would take gluttonous pleasure in. He could easily amplify the already overwhelming feeling and overload his enemies with the rawness of it, but Reule dismissed the idea instantly. There was something far too personal and innocent about the stark grief. To feed it to the Jakals somehow felt as though it would be a betrayal. Reule didn’t understand his reluctance, but he didn’t have time to do any soul-searching.

With a mere glance he commanded Rye, who nodded and slid closer to one of the paralyzed Jakals. The enemy lay helpless but conscious, staring up as the hunter contemplated him with a wicked little smile that bared a fine set of fangs. Loosing an intimidating vocalization, Rye reached over to the sheath attached to his biceps on the right and withdrew the blade slowly. The blue metal gleam of the
rubkar
’s blade caught the overhead lighting and made it look even more menacing as Rye lowered himself into a crouch next to the helpless male.

There. That moment. That fear and terror in one of their own,
that
was what Reule caught hold of, magnified, and netted the sensitive enemy with. His fingers curled into fists, his chin dipped down as he focused ferociously on manipulating all of them at once. He couldn’t allow a single one the chance to further harm his kinsman.

“KANE” FROM
SUPERNATURAL

Agony.

Sweet and bitter all at once, it raced through his blood, stretching every muscle and stripping down his control to the very thinnest of threads. Swallowing down a groan lest the others hear him, he bent forward in his chair and braced his elbows on his denim-clad knees.

This was intolerable. It was a recipe for disaster and devastation. His rushing and pounding heart would not bear the strain of this pace for all the hours that stretched out before him.

Peace
, he whispered into his own mind,
find peace. Think on it a moment. Here you are, by her side, where you never thought to be again. You thought you would never be allowed within miles of her again, and yet now you can reach out and touch her ...

But he didn’t dare reach out to the unconscious form of the woman in the nearby bed. He was terrified that if he began to touch her he would not be able to force himself to stop. The fever in his blood was what made that fear boil so hot and so true. It was a caution he must heed. No matter what. No matter how tempting a figure she was to him.

It wasn’t her beauty or shapeliness that captivated him, or even the fiery brilliance of her coiled and curling hair. The former had been starved and drained away from her in terrible illness and the latter had been dulled as well by the same culprit. Still, whenever he looked at her, all he saw was the vibrant green-eyed beauty who had stood mere inches away from him, stood within his reach, a sensual, vital and beautiful creature without compare. He had touched her then. For an instant, a single charged moment that had struck down through him like a killing spear, and he had known the feel of refined pale skin and forbidden human warmth. She had scorched against his fingertips like ignited butane, burning so sweet and clear and clean.

That single touch had nearly written a warrant of death for her.

Kane swallowed in pain that had little to do with the fire of a full Samhain moon crackling in his blood. Oh, yes, the curse of moon madness had flared through him in agonizing ways before, a struggle of morals and conscience every Demon, male or female, young or old, had to wrestle through each time the moons of Samhain and Beltane came around full, but never before had he crossed boundaries and broken laws to reach out and touch a human woman.

This human woman.

“Corrine.”

Kane whispered her name on a raspy voice, trying out his newfound right to speak it ... just as he was shockingly now permitted to be at her side. The very idea of it was baffling. A week ago he’d stalked her and been duly set back from the forbidden line he had crossed. But now ... now a new truth was known. A new understanding. Maybe it had been madness that had fueled his hunt for her, maybe it had been a curse that had compelled him to break Demon law ... or maybe it had been fate and Destiny. Maybe he had not stalked random prey at all, but instead had been driven by a single, sharp truth.

She was meant to be his.

The truth of it was known now. A single touch of his hand had awakened a change within this human woman who wasn’t entirely human. Dormant Druid DNA, the perfect complement to his own Demon genetics, had woken inside her with a vengeance. The reaction was volatile and demanding, needing power and energy to complete the conversion.

Power she simply didn’t have living the simple ways of humanity. It was
his
power the change needed to feed off of. His and his alone. No other Demon would do. No other man would do. It was his abundant and complementary power she would need to fuel her existence from now until the day one or the other of them died.

And because he had been slapped back by the Enforcer, Kane had not been there to provide that desperately needed energy resource. The result had been the starvation of what had once been a vibrant and sensually stunning beauty, leaving behind a pale grey and fragile girl who now tottered on the precipice of life and death. If he stepped too far away from her for even a moment, he might just as well shove her over that cliff.

So here he stayed, sitting in reach of her, staring at how she had been ravaged because of their ignorance of what she was. But
he
had known. Some instinct had called from his depths, demanding he take what was meant to be his. He had been so sure of it, so determined she was his even though it was against everything his brother had raised him to believe.

Kane had known she was meant to be his. He only wished it hadn’t taken such brutal damage to her to make that clear to everyone else. Almost as much as he wished to control the fire of need burning in his every last cell.

It was called the Imprinting, this thing between them. Though it was a very rare connection between two Demons, he was quite familiar with the lore of the symbiotic bond. Every Demon was. It was something every Demon longed for just as all young men and women longed for soul mates and true love.

Kane ran a hand back through damp, ebony hair, the already mussed curls licking around his passing fingers in clingy determination that matched the guilt riding deep and sore within him. The Imprinting was a sacred event, the ultimate connection between complementary souls. The couple involved began to exchange the essences of themselves from the very instant they touched. Between Demons it was the emotional and spiritual bond that threaded the two together, but with Kane and Corrine it was the physical one that had been crucial. He was supposed to provide for her and protect her, keep her safe, strong, and treasured. It was his right ... his duty. Destiny had gifted him with her, his mate, and he had ...

He had almost destroyed her. He had driven her almost to the point of death. Kane couldn’t stand the thought and it chilled him even as his stomach turned. The sensation of powerful guilt was bracing and welcome. It was the only thing that cooled the fiery call of Samhain in his blood.

Because nothing stood between an Imprinted pair on the night of Samhain. On this night, above all others, they would be driven into each others’ arms. The demand to mate would be imperative; there was no ignoring it.

But his mate lay unconscious and inaccessible. He could not touch her ... and he could not leave her side. Only his essential energy could revive her from this state of deathly limbo, and he must stay near for that to aid her. But with Hallowed moon madness screaming in his head, it was taking all of his significant discipline to keep from clasping her to himself, to keep from doing the unimaginable to a helpless, weakened girl.

Kane was literally in hell.

Jacob watched his brother tensely from the outer hallway, hanging as far back as he could so his telepathic sibling would remain unaware of his presence and, more importantly, his overriding concern. Newly Imprinted himself on Corrine’s blood sister Isabella, he could easily feel the struggle his brother was wrestling with. It was a credit to the fledgling’s mental control that he was sitting there so determinedly. As a Demon of the Earth, Jacob had no access to the thoughts or emotions of others; those were the skills of Mind Demons like Kane. However, he knew the scent of a warm-blooded creature infused with lustful need very well. The mystical force of the Samhain moon would eventually wrest control away from his brother ... just as it would wrest away his own control and force him to make haste to his Bella’s waiting arms.

“He will not make it,” he said softly to his companion.

“No,” the Demon King, Noah, agreed grimly as he glanced into the bedroom. “He is too young by far.”

“I am an Elder of great power and control and I do not think even I could keep away from Isabella tonight even if she were lying near death before me,” Jacob growled in sharp defense of his brother. It was a grim truth and it galled the Enforcer to admit it. It would horrify any respectable male to no end even to think of using his mate sexually when she was injured or ill, but inside every Demon lay a beast that could devolve into something uncontrollable on the rare occasion. Those occasions always seemed to center around the volatile emotional conditions of lust, rage, possessiveness, and protectiveness. And it was always worse on Samhain and Beltane.

“Sweet Destiny,” the King swore softly. “It infuriates me to think we have evolved so little that we would be compelled to something that amounts to rape in order to satisfy a biological urge!”

“Agreed. But this is an urge that ought to be mutual. It ought to be between immortals so powerful and dynamic that things like illness never become a part of the equation. This imperative does not take into consideration that a mate might not be fit for mating and it does not give us conscious control over ourselves in that instance.”