Drink of Me
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In a world where emotion can be a deadly weapon, one slight, battered runaway holds the key to a dark and twisted enigma. . . Drink of me, she whispers, her silver eyes trusting, pleading. What female dares speak such words to one of the Sánge? His people are scorned by every race for their fierce sensuality, their fearful rituals. And as Prime, Reule is the most telepathically gifted of them all. But nothing has prepared him for the intensity of emotion radiating from the outlander rescued by his Pack. Terrified, tormented, but beautiful beyond measure, Mystique shatters his legendary control. As she reaches for him in the steamy heat of the healing baths, he knows this blind need can have but one end. . . In blood, in knowledge, in ecstasy. Praise for the Novels of Jacquelyn Frank «A lush narrative sure to please readers who have longed for new gothic and darkly romantic tales.» – Booklist on Gideon "Frank's NIGHTWALKER series depicts an engrossing alternate world, drawn in prose that is lush and lyrical." –Linda Howard
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She 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.
.....
Reule ignored him and squatted down to better see her through the darkness. He reached for her hand as he bent forward. Her pain had become like a repetitive tune singing through him, no longer reaching extreme highs or lows. It wasn’t that it weakened, only that he was adapting to the force of it.
Reule had no idea what he would find, but he certainly didn’t expect to feel a second hand spearing into his hair from the darkness to grip him with surprising strength and drag him down until his face was pressed against a baby-soft cheek that should have been warm, but was instead icy cold. A pair of lips, both rough and supple at once, rubbed over his ear as finally something warm, her breath, washed over him. The contrast gave him an involuntary chill, aided by the hoarseness of her voice when she whispered to him.
.....