Drink of Me (10 page)

“Darc!” Rye protested loudly, sitting up straight in his affront.

Darcio sat up as well, letting go of his teasing as he gave Rye a soothing smile. “There are some mysteries about this girl, it’s true. And there is definitely something attaching our Prime to her that even he can’t seem to figure out.” Rye’s brows shot up at that. “However, it’s purely an emotional reaction. Reule is sensitive, despite his hard exterior, and we all know this.”

“Not that we’d bring it up to his face too often,” Rye joked.

“Not that we would. But even I have felt the sorrow and pain this female carries with her like a heavy cloak. Reule can’t abide suffering. And I assure you, this woman has suffered.”

“So you believe Reule is fixated on her out of compassion?”

“Fixated?” Darcio laughed. “He’s spent time with her twice since she got here, and you call this a fixation?”

Rye hesitated. It wasn’t like the heir to do that, so Darcio was extremely curious as he waited for him to gather his thoughts.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed he’s in heat for her,” he said at last, opting for his usual bluntness.

Darcio had more than noticed. He’d experienced it pretty much firsthand when he’d relived the petite woman’s body memory. The Shadow dismissed telling Rye about that, figuring it wasn’t his place to share any information Reule had privately requested him to seek out.

“Rye,” he said at last with a little sigh, “she’s an outlander, not a criminal. I thought you above all would be more tolerant of that. You usually follow Reule’s example in these things. If anyone has cause to be prejudiced against non-Sánge, it would be Reule. The persecution of this tribe could have scarred him in that way. Instead, it marked him the opposite. It made him despise intolerance and strive to set an example of acceptance. You’d best be careful around him if her outlander status is all that compels you to be suspicious of her. If you hadn’t noticed, Reule has taken a bit of a shine to her.”

“Oh, very funny,” Rye said, not sounding at all amused. “You’re telling me you aren’t at all worried that our Prime is forming an attachment to an outlander woman whom we know nothing about?”

“We know more than you think,” Darcio hinted cryptically, “and no, I’m not worried. Reule isn’t the sort to lose his head or his heart easily. And even if he did, Rye, I’m not entirely certain it would be any of our business.”

“Everything is Pack business,” Rye contradicted.

“Oh? Does that mean I can demand details about that pretty Janna you’ve been sniffing after all month?” Rye flushed a deep red at the mention of his rather serious flirtation with a young lady of the court. “After all, you are heir. If you’re seeking to attach yourself to a woman who might one day be our Prima, perhaps we ought to be more involved in this.”

“All right! Do you have to be such a cocky shit all the time?” Rye demanded. “You’re right, as usual, and Delano, Saber, and I are assholes. Satisfied?”

“Immensely.” Darcio chuckled. “But I’d never say you’re entirely wrong, Rye. We all have cause to keep our attention on our Prime. Love and duty demand that we do. I just want you to measure your reaction. I think we’re all on edge after this incident with the Jakals. We’re all worried for Chayne…” Darcio trailed off and frowned as they both looked up to the ceiling above and to the left, to the place where they could feel agony, waking nightmare memories and the knowledge of impending horror.

“I stopped asking the apothecary if there was any change,” Rye said gruffly. “Every report was worse than the last. Have you heard anything?”

“His fever is life-threatening. The infections are rampant. There are definite signs of putrefaction and nothing the physic can do about it.”

“So you’re saying it’s hopeless,” Rye snapped off. Darcio knew the anger wasn’t directed at him, so he took no offense.

“The apothecary wants to amputate.”

“His legs?” Rye was aghast.

“And his arms,” Darcio added quietly.

“Lord and Lady damn me,” Rye hissed. “Better to put a dagger in his heart! Better he hadn’t survived at all! What man could live like that?” Rye was so upset that he surged out of his seat and began to pace furiously back and forth before the fire. “Chayne would rather die.”

“So would we all,” Darcio agreed gravely. “Chayne will refuse. If he can’t, Reule will refuse on his behalf. The odds of his surviving so radical a surgery—”

“At the hands of that quack,” Rye interjected.

“—are nonexistent to begin with,” Darcio finished. “Better he die, intact, from the fever. The Pack can keep his pain to nearly nothing. Even so, it will be a long and terrible death, not the kind a Packmate deserves.”

“Why is he awake now?” Rye asked, swallowing convulsively as he glanced back up at the ceiling.

“Reule is with him. I don’t think even our Prime will be able to put him to sleep this time, though. The fever alters the mind so much, it’s impossible to soothe and guide it. I think he’s trying to talk Chayne into allowing drugs.”

“He won’t do it.”

“He will,” Darcio contradicted softly. Knowingly. “Even Chayne’s principles fade under this kind of torture.”

Reule’s thoughts were heavy with Chayne’s plight when he strode into the Pack dining hall a short time later. All but two chairs were filled with his subdued Packmates. Chayne’s period of consciousness had taken its toll on all of them, each having to experience a part of their Packmate’s agony even though they’d no doubt tried to block off their empathy with him. But to be Pack meant that there was always some connection when emotion and pain ran that high, just as it would be if they were actual blood brothers.

As Reule approached the table, he paused to lay a hand on the back of Chayne’s chair. The Pack fell silent and they all bent their heads in a prayer for their suffering friend. After a moment, Reule continued on to his own seat at the head of the long table.

“It doesn’t appear…”

Reule broke off when a sound near the entryway caught his attention. The Pack watched as he surged suddenly to his feet; then five sets of eyes tracked the path of his. The entire Pack stood when they saw Mystique standing in the doorway, the surge of movement and the sound of scraping chairs on marble flooring appearing to startle her slightly.

She deserved to be startled, Reule thought with a mental laugh of astonishment. Turnabout was only fair, because the sight of her was a shocking pleasure, for all that he’d been expecting it. She stole his very breath, his every thought, and he suspected his men were equally astounded.

Para had dressed her in silver.

Para was a blessed genius.

The gown was the height of the court’s most recent fashion. A simple design: an empire waist gathered beneath her breasts, a neckline that scooped just shy of being indecent, and elbow-length sleeves edged in a fall of lace to match the brief train sweeping over the marble floor. She wore wristlet gloves, probably more to hide the damage to her hands than for fashion, and a lady’s fan swung from her wrist.

But her hair…

Para had dressed the bloodred locks in a high twist, but had left a single thick coil to bleed down over her pale throat before springing to a stop against her corseted bosom. It revealed delicate ears and accented the frailty of her small neck. She wore a simple silver medallion around her neck, the chain thin and the charm itself no bigger than a thumbprint. Her silver crepe overdress and the cloth-of-silver gown beneath it glittered brilliantly around her body, offsetting her bold hair color as well as the sparkle of diamond drop eyes that were smiling at him.

Reule could smell the divine scent of her first thing, sweet and clean, smelling of vanilla flowers and that compelling fragrance that was purely hers. He felt his entire body react to it instantaneously. Every nerve awoke and drew to attention; every muscle pulled to tense readiness to anything she might need.

He stepped toward her, extending his hand palm up in welcome. She was smiling at him, but he felt her hesitation prickling along his skin as she let her prismatic eyes drift over the Packmates standing at respectful attention. Reule followed her gaze to his men and found them unabashedly gaping at her. She didn’t realize that their stares and speechless lapse in manners was to be taken as a divine compliment.

“My lady Mystique,” Reule said strongly as he stepped up to take her hand in his, gently drawing her into the room once her tiny palm had settled within his. “We are thrilled you could join us.”

He brought her to the table in just a few steps and she bumped her body into his as she sought the protective shelter of his build. Reule looked down into sparkling irises as her smile trembled on pretty pink lips.

“Pariedes said this was what Sánge women wear,” she whispered to him, touching her hand to her dress self-consciously as she peeked at the males staring at her once more. “I don’t think it’s what I’m used to wearing. Have I done something wrong?”

“No,
kébé
. You look beautiful. I believe my Pack is merely surprised to see how much you’ve changed since they last saw you,” Reule explained, raising his voice to a firmness designed to snap their attention to him. “Gentlemen,” he said, turning her toward them, “I introduce Mystique. Mystique, these are my Packmates. Amando, Prime Envoy,” he began, going around the table from left to right. “Saber, Prime Defender. Delano, Prime Assassin. Rye, Prime Blade. Darcio, Prime Shadow.”

Each inclined his head in turn as he was introduced, some murmuring her new name in greeting. Mystique looked at each carefully as she was introduced, trying to guess at what some of the titles they bore implied, attempting to match each one’s duty with his stature and demeanor. In the end, it was the empty chair that drew her full attention.

“One of your friends is missing?” she asked Reule curiously, even as Amando shifted away from the chair he’d been seated in, in order to take the empty chair she spoke of just to his left. It left a place for her at Reule’s left hand.

“Yes. Chayne is ill,” Reule explained.

Mystique might still be new to this Sánge world, but she knew a ripple of emotional reaction when she felt one. It whipped strongly through every last man at the table. This led her to believe that Reule’s simplistic explanation didn’t quite reveal the truth of the matter. It wasn’t her business, though, and she could tell a discussion would be painfully unwelcome. She wisely kept quiet as she was seated.

“We trust that you’re feeling much better,” Rye said as the men got comfortable once again. “You certainly look well.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I feel very much better. And I’m starving!”

The remark earned her warm masculine chuckles and she clasped her nervous hands together in her lap. How was it, she wondered, that she could so easily face Reule and his imposing ways, but suddenly she felt overwhelmed and out of balance around these other men? It didn’t feel like a natural state for her. Somehow, she suspected that facing up to men had never been difficult for her. It must be something else putting her on edge.

As the servants entered the room with large trays piled high with hot food, Mystique took the opportunity to peek at Reule from beneath her lashes. The instant surge of excitement that rushed over her gave her goose bumps. She shivered deliciously. He was freshly bathed and dressed for dinner. She could smell it on him, that wonderful soap he used, the dampness still in his hair, and the crisp, clean scent of his clothes. Sitting just at his elbow, she was close enough to feel the heat his big body generated. He was by far the best-looking man at a table full of beautiful male specimens.

He sent her entire body into a fury of sensual activity. Her pulse soared, her temperature spiked, and her breath grew scarce. She wondered what he was thinking. Was he thinking about her? Was he angry with her for her earlier flirtations? Did he think she looked pretty? She hoped so. She liked the dress well enough; Para had gone through a lot of effort to see she had clothes that fit her properly, but she’d already decided that she hated this corset more than she hated not knowing her real name. Why on earth did Sánge women wear such ridiculous things? Para said it was to keep one’s figure in shape, but when she had tried to point out that starvation had robbed her of any figure, Para had ignored her and stuffed her into the silly contraption anyway.

However, as Mystique watched Reule’s eyes drift her way quite a few times while they were being served, she quickly realized that the rigidity of her posture and the resulting thrust of her breasts was actually far more flattering than she’d realized. She sat up even straighter, giggling inside when the movement instantly attracted Reule’s attention. Maybe, she relented, there was something to be said for corsets after all!

Feeling much better and far more confident all of a sudden, Mystique turned on a brilliant smile and began to chat with the others at the table. It only took her the span of a single soup course to figure out who was suspicious of her and who wasn’t. Saber and Delano were reserved but polite, and they never looked away from her once. Both sets of eyes studied her as though she were a puzzle to be figured out. Darcio and Amando were congenial and open, and bandied brilliant humor about with ease. They took great pleasure in making her laugh until she was little more than a fit of giggles during the appetizer. Rye, she realized, was on the fence. He wasn’t sure what he thought of her, but at least he was giving her the benefit of the doubt through dinner so they could have pleasant conversation.

There was only one man’s opinion that truly mattered to her, in any event, she thought as she pushed at her food with a fork and spent a few more minutes sneaking peeks at him. She sighed, trying to tell herself that she really ought to be worrying about other things. She ought to worry about who she was and where she was from and what had happened to her.

But she wasn’t.

No. What she felt, and she felt it soul deep, was that she was right where she was supposed to be. Right where she
needed
to be. So long as that didn’t change, she was content. Besides, forcing herself wouldn’t be likely to help her remember anyway. So she focused in the present.