As for right now, her strength was…
Gone.
Reule had already gotten up and moved to the opposite side of Chayne, so he was on his knees braced behind Mystique with his hands hovering close in case she should need him. This time he opened himself to her in increments and very carefully tried to feel his way into the strange confusion of her thoughts. It was as though she’d put herself into a dream state, and to his frustration all he could see and feel of her was a bright red haze of interference.
“Reule!”
Reule jerked free of his search in order to attend the alert of his Prime Blade. He glanced at Rye and then followed his eyes down to Mystique. Reule watched for a moment of incomprehension as that sickly fluid began to drip onto the floor near his knee. Puzzled, he traced it back to the sleeve of her dress. To her elbow. To her forearm. She began to sway just as he realized the fluid was being generated by her body, not Chayne’s. In fact, right before his eyes, he saw two wounds spiral open in her flesh, spitting out more of the evil sickness until they were weeping freely. Understanding struck him like lightning, and he grabbed her seconds before she fell back.
All he could take in at that moment was the image of her saturated skirt. He cradled her limp body in a single arm and grabbed her skirts, jerking them back until he could see the horror of his suspicions realized on her shins. Two ugly sores almost as wide and as long as the bones themselves had appeared. These oozed as well, and Reule felt a moment of horror unlike anything he’d known since the moment he’d discovered the bodies of his beloved parents.
She’d been kneeling all this time, his mind cried out. She’d made that sound of pain, he’d heard it, and so she felt every single moment spent kneeling on the terrible wounds. She’d done it so she could move on and take even more pain into herself. Now she was like a lifeless doll in his arms, her breath rasping in and out heavily and her skin pale and clammy. Her beautifully dressed hair was a touch of perfection on a body now riddled with sickness.
Reule gathered her close, lending her his warmth just as he’d done when they’d first met. Why had he allowed this? Would she die now, having taken the poison of Chayne’s body into her own? Had he sat by and willingly allowed her to trade the value of her life away…because he’d valued the life of another above her?
“By the Lady, I pray not,” he whispered against her wan cheek.
“My Prime,” Amando said very quietly, reaching to lay a hand of support carefully on Reule’s shoulder. “Don’t despair. If she is a naturopath, she will heal very quickly. She needs only to rest. My grandmother was one of the last naturopaths in Sánge history. I grew up on stories about her ability. They heal, but their bodies and minds have a safety valve that shuts them down if they try to do too much. Naturopaths cannot hurt themselves healing. It would be a contradiction in nature’s intentions.”
“You call this not hurting?” Reule hissed, indicating her punctured arms and legs and the filth of poison they were shedding.
“It’s called mimicking, Reule,” Amando said carefully. “The healer’s body mimics the patient’s wounds to provide an exit point or points through which all the absorbed toxins are released. It’s a good thing. If it didn’t happen, the toxins would stay inside her and kill her.”
“Enough!” Reule surged to his feet, his small burden cradled in his arms. “I’m taking her to my bath. The rest of you can see to Chayne.”
“Shall I send Para to you?” Rye asked as Reule strode toward the exit. His Prime stopped and shot a glare over his shoulder.
“What in hell for?” he demanded.
“Oh…uh…nothing. My mistake,” Rye said quickly, holding up his palms submissively.
Reule grunted and stormed out of the door.
Chapter 7
His life seemed to be repeating itself a lot lately.
That was Reule’s main thought as he laid Mystique out on the bench beside his steaming bath. At least, he tried to make it his main thought. If he allowed himself to think for any amount of time on the harsh realities of the moment, he was afraid his temper might get the best of him. That would do him little good because there was nowhere to direct his anger. So, unless he wanted to storm about ranting and raving at the walls and an unconscious woman, he was best served to keep himself preoccupied.
Reule sighed heftily, running a hand through his hair before perching on the edge of the bench beside her, his hip in contact with hers through layers of soiled skirts. He reached to touch Mystique’s face, an impulse he was beginning to realize came upon him with great frequency. He couldn’t curb it, though. Her skin had healed to a softness that seemed to beckon his touch. He was lost to any semblance of control. He let his fingertips slide over the rise of her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin and the brush of her long lashes against his nails as he moved past them.
“I knew there was something,” he said to her closed eyes and deceptively peaceful expression. “I felt it in my soul that there was something more to you than what we were seeing on the surface.” Reule shook his head, his disbelief easily shed now that he had proof to the contrary. Telemetric and naturopathic. Two rare and powerful talents, and she bore them both.
Reule harshly shrugged off his awe. He had more important issues to deal with. He could marvel over these latest developments later. He reached for the ruined dress and began to work it off her limp body.
Mystique began to stir the moment her bare skin touched the water. He didn’t use soap to cleanse her this time, letting the water itself do all of the work. He couldn’t bear the idea of stinging her or harming her by doing the wrong thing. Not that he was certain he was doing the right thing.
Her first soft moan was quickly followed by a second, and then her arm came up to snake around his neck. She found her familiar niche for her face against his neck and he settled onto the step with a sigh. Every time. Always, the moment she settled against him like that, he felt the same sense of…he couldn’t even put a name to it. All he knew was that it felt good. Damn good.
“Mystique,” he murmured against her forehead. He drew her closer, until her soft breasts snuggled against his chest and her back was covered by his palms.
“Reule,” she said, his name rolling out of her like a contented purr as she hugged him tightly.
“By the Lady, kébé, you test my sanity,” he swore softly, pressing a grateful kiss between her brows. He reached up for the arm around his neck and pulled it down so he could see her forearm. He let it drift through the water, washing away debris from her newest wounds.
Mystique winced with her entire body, sucking in a sharp little breath.
“Kébé, look at me,” he said firmly, encouraging her by tone of voice to obey. She did, her lashes fluttering upward instantly. Even her eyes were pale and lusterless, he recognized. “What can I do for you, sweetheart? Tell me how to help.”
She gazed up at him for a long minute, leaving him with nothing to do but count her breaths while she formulated her response.
“Will you kiss me?”
Reule blinked, positive he was hearing her wrong or he’d slipped off into a daydream for a moment. However, when she reflexively licked her delicate pink lips, wetting them in preparation or expectation, he knew he’d heard her perfectly well. He also knew he wanted to oblige her with every bit of his soul.
“Mystique, I meant to ease your pain,” he hedged even as his gaze fell on her mouth and fixed on the tiny curves and details of her gleaming lips. From the sharp little dip at the apex of her upper lip to the way they pouted out sweetly at his poorly concealed dodge.
It was a protective instinct that made him hesitate. He was afraid he wanted her too much for his own peace of mind. She was already starting to remember things. Whether by accident, instinct, or actual memory, it was clear her mind was recovering itself. She’d had a life before coming to his province. For all either of them knew, she was mated. Or…by the Lady, she could be a mother.
The very idea of h
er belonging to another man, of having some faceless, nameless male’s children, sent a haze of black outrage over his mind like the casting of a net over water. His entire being rebelled at the thought of her belonging to another. Why? Lord and Lady help him, he barely knew anything of her. Why was this happening to him? Why did he feel so strongly about this, as though his entire world would come crashing down around him if she was taken from his grasp?
Reule’s hand tightened reflexively against her, as if someone were already trying to pry her away from him.
“Reule, don’t make me beg you for this.”
The request froze his breath in his lungs. He stared down at her soft eyes as he tried to make himself breathe. “I’m not trying to make you beg,” he choked out after a moment. “I’d never demean you like that. I just don’t think—”
“You don’t wish to kiss me?”
“To hell! Kébé, that’s not the issue!”
“Is it because you’re Sánge?”
“Among other things, yes. That’s as good a reason as any,” he said sharply. He shifted his hold on her so he could dip her opposite arm in the hot waters of the bath. He used the activity as a reason to pull his eyes from hers. She was so bold, so straightforward. He never felt compelled to read her ’pathically when they were face-to-face. It was admirable. Something he took too much pleasure in.
“You seem to disapprove of your Sánge heritage,” she observed quietly.
“I don’t disapprove of my heritage,” he barked, his attention snapping back to her inquisitive eyes. “I’m very proud to be Sánge. I would never defile my parents’ memory by being ungrateful for the life and culture they birthed me into. I’m content with who I am and I’m extraordinarily proud of my tribe.”
Mystique shifted so she was sitting up on the seat of his thighs, her nose coming level with his as she looked deeply into him. So deep that he felt as though he were the one completely naked, rather than she. He felt the warm cascade of her breath against his mouth, flowing over his face and jaw. There was an intimacy to it that made him long to give in to her request. Lord knew he’d wanted her mouth beneath his almost from the very start.
“Then why?” she asked. “Why does being Sánge make a difference? Or why do you think it makes a difference?” she corrected herself after a moment.
“Because there is hardly a race on this world that doesn’t despise the Sánge, kébé. And you may very well belong to one of them.”
“I make my own choices,” she said, dismissing her unknown people with a shrug of one shoulder.
“You have no idea what your choices are,” he growled at her in reserved fury. “You don’t know who you are. What you are. Who are you wed to? Who are you mother to, kébé? Lord and Lady, Mystique, don’t you wonder who is missing you? It has to be somebody. A beautiful, powerful, and intriguing woman like you doesn’t go ignored, unnoticed, or unloved!”
“Well, you certainly are doing a fine job of it!” she bit back.
“Mystique,” he warned gruffly.
“Let me ask you something, My Prime,” she hissed, the sibilant spear of her words scouring his mouth as she nudged up to within a half inch of his lips. “When you picture my former life, the one you’re so adamant about preserving me for, what part of it do you find so worthy of my return? Would that be the people who allowed me to fall into danger in the first place? Would you entrust my safety to them again?” She lowered her lashes, casting a slumberous sensuality across her features as she slid her arms around his neck. “Perhaps I made love with a man who beat me and left me for dead? If he is my mate—”
“Enough!”
The roar radiated from every inch of his body. Mystique could feel it building at first in a fine tremor, then exploding into a shudder of pent-up wrath that was released with the command. The psychic emanation of his fury struck her like a physical blow, making her gasp and jerk back in his hold. His hands tightened automatically to stop her from moving any farther away from him than he desired.
She’d pushed him purposely, setting off his strong sense of honor to get her way. It was selfish, she knew, but she needed him. She always needed him. How could he be so powerful a ’pathic force and yet be so ignorant of the craving within her that demanded him over and over?
Now, exhausted as she was, she had no control over the urges and the impulses that pleaded and cried for him. The ache of her need was so much more intense than the wounds on her arms and legs. So, when he’d asked if he could provide relief for her in some way, she’d answered him honestly. And relief was only the first rushing emotion she felt when he dragged her beneath his mouth at last.
His anger at the images she’d stirred within his mind had stolen any possibility of tenderness. The command of his lips said he knew he’d been played, and he wasn’t happy about it. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the press of his strength and heat against her lips, the push of his tongue past her teeth so he could steal her taste while leaving his behind. That wet touch of flavor set dynamite off in her body, wreaking havoc everywhere until she groaned her delight and her eyes teared with relief. Both of his hands came up to trap her head, his fingers fanning over her cheeks and his thumbs framing her jaw. When her tears came, they dribbled over his fingers.
The evidence of her intensity of emotion collapsed Reule’s anger in on itself. He softened his kiss as he ended it and withdrew from her mouth just far enough to look down into her eyes. She lifted her lashes as though she knew exactly what he wanted from her, letting him see the need in her soul. There wasn’t even a hint of doubt. It was as though she believed she had been born to be with him.
This time when Reule took up her mouth, there was nothing but raw desire between them. Everything was banished except the lust that sprang open within him the instant he permitted it, and the force of it was heady and rich. Her taste flooded his tongue, a sweetness without compare, a confection he devoured. His tongue dipped deeper and deeper, and he groaned as she first accepted his aggression and then, grasping thick fistfuls of his hair in her hands, she dragged his head to the side and returned a fever of her own. A fever that caught his body like a spark in the dry flatlands, a vortex of fire that roared furiously through him and consumed everything in its path.
Mystique broke away from his mouth and threw back her head, gasping for breath as she guided him to the length of her throat. He obliged her easily and without thought, his lips stroking skin that tasted of sweetness and spice. He felt the excited vibration of her breathing in her throat and became aware of the wild cadence of her pulse beneath his tongue. He reached up to cup the back of her head, tilting her favorably. His fingers disturbed her styled hair, releasing a cascade of bloodred curls. He felt them all around his face, neck, and hands, their perfume intoxicating as she shifted her body impatiently against him. Reule tongued the pulse at the base of her neck, near the elegant crest of her shoulder. She gasped and shuddered when his hand plunged beneath the water to possess the small of her back and drag her up tighter against him.
There was no controlling the sudden stretching appearance of his fangs. Just as there was no hope, nor any desire, of controlling the violent hardening of his sex. With this woman, the two reactions were instantly part of one another. Sex and savagery. The need to claim both body and blood. This wasn’t always a Sánge norm, despite what outsiders thought. Oh, the need for a lover’s blood was real enough, but that usually didn’t come into play until just before climax. What Mystique did to him was a breathtaking anomaly.
“You destroy my calm, shred my command of myself,” he accused her roughly, groaning from his own depths when her small hands slid from his hair and over the too-hot skin along his shoulders and arms. Did she know what she risked? Did she understand what would happen if this was pushed to the limit? Reule pressed his lips tightly together against her skin, hiding the sharp edges of his teeth before she could feel them. He closed his eyes as he tried to steady the tilting careen of his senses. “You make me
forget that you’re injured,” he rasped, hoping she didn’t notice the way a mouth full of fang altered his speech. He needed time. Time to explain, to help her understand and adjust. To learn if she truly understood what it was she was demanding. And there was truth in what he’d said. He wouldn’t allow her to tough out pain and injury for the sake of passion with him.
She had suffered too much already, and he wouldn’t be one who added to that pile of abuse.
“Kébé,” he whispered warmly against her skin as he kept his telltale teeth buried against her neck and hair, “take your hands away from me, sweetheart. Your touch drives me to distraction.”
She smiled. He could feel it even though he couldn’t see it. “You’re being noble again. You frustrate me, for all I admire your principles, My Prime,” she murmured in a sexy tease against his ear. But she let her hands fall away into the water without any argument.
Reule finally lifted his head when she let hers drop back and she allowed her body to bend back over his hand and into the water, where she let herself float on the surface, eyes closed and a very smug grin teasing her gorgeous lips. She was pleased with herself for breaking his resolve and getting her way, the little vixen. But he let her enjoy her simple victory. It was a battle he wouldn’t mind losing, provided…