Читать книгу Drink of Me - Jacquelyn Frank - Страница 7

She went so suddenly limp that Reule almost didn’t catch her. Luckily, his supreme reflexes didn’t fail him and he quickly gathered her up against his warmth. Her entire body was like ice. Who knew how long she had lain there, shivering in the moldering cold? She was slightly bigger and heavier than he’d expected, but still as light as could be. She wasn’t a girl child, but perhaps a youngling on the cusp of womanhood. She was small and fragile in his arms, but there was no mistaking the press of soft breasts against his chest and the rounded curve of her hip as he slid his hand over her to catch up her legs. She wore some sort of nightgown or thin shift, but it was soaked with moisture and reeked of mildew.

Even in this total darkness, she had known what he was.

Sánge.

He’d shown no fangs, no claws, and other than his dusky skin, there was little to identify him. The Sánge weren’t the only ones with dark skin in this world, or even this region. There were the Opia, though they tended more toward a beautiful ebony, if they were purebred, that hid them in the night. Or the Gemin, who tanned so richly in the sultry summers. Besides, she couldn’t possibly see his skin in this darkness, he reasoned. How had she known he was Sánge and not any other?

She had known. There was no mistaking it. She had said it clearly.

What she had said afterward was too disturbing for him to contemplate while so precariously positioned with a vulnerable female to protect. He would examine the remark at a later time, for he was almost certain he’d misunderstood her.

Sánge, bautor mo.

Reule stood up, lifting her high against his chest, contemplating how to get her out of the crate enclosure without sending their joint weight crashing to the third floor.

“Hand her to me, My Prime.”

Reule looked out of the darkness and met the steady gray of his Shadow’s eyes. He should have known Darcio wouldn’t leave him for long. He was aptly titled Prime Shadow, and he was as dependable as the rising sun and the rotating moons. He was lighter and leaner than Reule, making him the better choice for carrying the girl. The combination of her weight and Darcio’s would just about equal Reule’s.

Despite Darcio’s verbal protests of earlier, and his equally doubtful thoughts, Reule trusted him to take the very best care of the girl. Darcio was loyal to him in such ways. Reule didn’t think twice about handing her over the crate to him. He saw Darcio wrinkle his nose at the smell of her, then catch a chill from the dreadful cold of her body. If there was one thing Sánge despised almost as much as Jakals, it was the cold.

“You go first; I’ll follow at a distance to keep our weight distributed far enough apart,” Reule instructed him.

Neither man breathed easily until they were safely on the second floor, though no spot under that rotting roof could really be considered safe. Reule quickly unburdened Darcio of the girl.

“Quickly, fetch the others out of here. Make fast work of the remaining Jakals. I want none to live. Had they left us alone, I might have felt differently, but this lot will pay for what they did to Chayne. The Lord and Lady only know what they have done to this girl as well. Go. Now. Before this monstrosity falls down around our ears. We will meet at the horses.”

Darcio didn’t even acknowledge his orders; he merely turned to carry them out. As he exited the abandoned building, Reule decided he would have it burned to the ground once the snows fell and no spark could harm the dry fields of autumn. Although the house was located in the damplands, surrounded by bogs and marshes, a freak wind could carry sparks for miles until they reached the drier plains. But the house must burn. It was a danger to anyone who entered it, and he wouldn’t rest easy until he knew the useless structure was safely laid to waste.

The blue moon was turning, the pale gold already gone for the night. Dawn wasn’t too far off. He wanted to get the Pack home before the next nightfall, safe behind huge walls of cement and a portcullis of steel. Home. Home to Jeth, the Sánge city, and the provincial lands under his protection.

Chayne had been under his protection, too, one of his Pack, and he’d allowed him to be lost for two days. Reule would have to face the dire consequences of that when they returned to Jeth. He fervently prayed it wouldn’t end in Chayne’s death. Chayne was a valuable hunter. As Tracker, he was the best they had. The storehouses and bellies of Jeth Keep much required his skills. His mother and sister depended on him greatly as well, since both were widowed. They were now his to care for, including his sister’s children. Those young ones revered Chayne. He was Packmate. Prime Tracker. A well-earned honor that placed him at the right hand of their Packleader. Every Jeth child should have such a man to look up to as he or she grew.

Though he could see Chayne’s family fed and sheltered should the worst occur, Reule couldn’t provide the other attention they would need. He wasn’t certain he could give anyone that. What Sánge Prime could? With a burgeoning province to rule, lawmaking, settling disputes, and routing out Jakals, who had the time to think about managing a household, never mind actually do it?

Darkly suffocating thoughts surrounding that topic carried him as he bore the chill of the autumn night and carried his charge to safety. At least, relative safety. By the time he reached the horses, she was even colder than when he’d first found her. She didn’t shiver, though, either because she was unconscious or because she was already too weak. He didn’t know. He didn’t like not knowing.

The horses nickered restlessly at his approach, stomping their thick hooves to express their unhappiness at standing so long in the cold. He approached Fit, his large dappled gray gelding, releasing the girl’s legs and supporting her along the length of his body as he reached for his saddlebags. Before he got the chance, though, he felt the hard butt of an equine head dead center in his back. He staggered and recovered his balance by leaning against the animal. He remained after a moment’s thought in order to use Fit’s heat to help warm the girl. Meanwhile, he turned to glare at the big brown eyes blinking at him in a way that was almost haughty.

“Behave yourself,” he commanded the beast. Fit’s response was a snort and a shake of his head that rattled his tack and clearly told Reule what he could go do with himself. Strange as it was in light of the past hour, the humor touched him and he chuckled softly against the girl’s head of tangled hair as he patted the animal’s shoulder hard, just the way he liked it.

Reule ignored another snort of disgust and was able to liberate a blanket from the saddlebags. He wrapped up his bundle in yet another attempt to warm her, keeping her close to his body and gritting his teeth against the chill of her as he buried her face against his neck beneath his hair. She was so light that he was able to swing up into his saddle while holding her; a swift, powerful movement. The gelding didn’t even take so much as a step in protest and Reule patted his shoulder again. He balanced his charge over the saddle in front of him, bracing her in position between his thighs and leaning on one arm. He reined Fit with one hand, turning the horse experimentally, testing the security of her position.

“All right, my friend,” he said to the animal, “now I need you to take us home.”

Reule finished the request with just the smallest influential mental push. Fit nodded before shaking out his reins and harness, his way of acknowledging the command and his willingness to perform…this time.

When the others finally appeared, Chayne was grunting animalistic sounds of repressed torment even though his Packmates carried him as gently as they were able. They’d bandaged him as best they could, but Reule could see that Delano and Rye were already covered in blood. They’d have to travel fast for the sake of both victims, but it would make the trip agonizing for Chayne.

Reule turned hard eyes onto Rye, who jerked up his head when his Prime’s message reached him and him alone. Rye braced himself as Reule turned his attention onto Chayne. He was gentler this time as he invaded Chayne’s weakened defenses and whispered the soft suggestion of sleep into his mind. He reinforced it just as gently, and the wounded man was ninety percent there when Reule brutally slammed his will down over the other Sánge’s and forced obliterating unconsciousness on him. He knew Chayne would despise having his choices taken from him, especially after he had struggled so long and hard to withstand the Jakals’ torture. However, a mere sleep suggestion would never have lasted. Chayne would have been jarred awake at the first rough pass.

Having the others believe he’d succumbed to exhaustion would be more acceptable in Chayne’s eyes than the knowledge that he’d been mentally manipulated by a stronger male, even if that male was his Prime. Reule had chosen Rye as the only other to be aware of what he was about to do because as the second strongest male in the Sánge people, he was the only one guaranteed to be able to keep his thoughts protected from all the others, including Chayne.

They were under way shortly, soft discussions between riders and their horses filling the predawn darkness as the golden moon faded. It was Delano who rode tandem with Chayne. Delano had by far the most powerful horse as well as the physical strength it would demand of him.

Luckily, the house had been at the leading edge of the damplands, so they slogged through mud and mire for only a short time before hitting the harder-packed ground of the plains. They rode quickly for the distant mountains.

All of this land was Reule’s province—the inhospitable damplands, the fertile flatlands, and the dense and dangerous forests that stretched endlessly behind the riders’ backs. It was all a wilderness, hostile and hazardous, but it belonged to him. Him and his Sánge people. Possessive and protective of it as he was, Reule still turned an impartial eye on any who risked traveling the perilous country. So long as they didn’t harm the land or the Sánge, travelers could pass or even hunt in peace. But the Jakals had abused his hospitality. Reule made a note to himself to check with Saber, his Prime Defender, about the patrols in the outer province. Once the snow fell, there would be no need, but until then…he wouldn’t tolerate his people being endangered by two-legged enemies if they could be controlled by vigilance. There were enough natural dangers in these lands without adding invaders.

Dawn drifted past, as did early and mid-morning, and their pace across the flatlands remained quick and steady. Neither patient stirred during the entire passage. It was just before noon when they entered the Jeth Valley and saw the walled Sánge city of Jeth rising up from its snug position against the Hattera Mountains. The mountain range was infamously impassable, though not so much so to those who dwelt in this valley. Nevertheless, the mountains discouraged marauders and those who weren’t easily cowed by the reputation of the Sánge. Only the Jakals regularly thought themselves superior warriors to the Sánge, and only the Jakals had ever tried to threaten Jeth or its outlying farmlands.

The Pack had been passing farms for the past hour, small wood and brick houses settled warm and snug in the midst of the bare fields, prepared for the coming cold of winter. Stubble from the harvested crops stuck up around them. Steel silos and granaries had been bursting from the excellent harvests, and now the last of the fall shipments were headed out for trade in other lands. The city’s coffers would burst afterward. Other breeds might loathe associating with the Sánge, but they’d always gladly trade gold for the precious grain the Jeth Sánge risked their lives to cultivate. So long as their money was good, the Sánge couldn’t care less what outlanders thought of them. The prejudice was the same all over, and there would never be anything they could do about it.

Reule watched the walls of his small city grow in majestic height as they drew nearer, feeling the familiar explosion of pride and satisfaction at what they’d made of this wild land. It was a home. A grand and productive home with contented people he was able to keep safe. For the most part, he thought grimly as he glanced at Chayne.

Perverted Jakal bastards. Their need to gorge on emotion made the Sánge ripe targets because of their emotional complexity as telepaths and empaths themselves. Reule’s people were almost universally reviled in the world outside of Sánge-controlled lands, but at least most breeds tolerated or were too afraid to make threats against them. They were also reluctant to go without the crucial grains that fed them. The Sánge had proved themselves to be the only ones hardy enough to survive in the wildernesses where the most valuable crops grew best. The canyons of the Gemin and the rainforests of the Opia had their own resources, of course, but neither was conducive to growing grain.

The Sánge had dangers to contend with as well. Hard winters, the beasts of the dark and fertile woodlands, and those of the damplands that they hunted, which hunted them in return if they weren’t careful. There were poisonous molds, blights that threatened crops, and dozens of other risks.

There were the gypsy Jakals and nomadic Pripans as well. The Pripans stayed in the deserts mostly, but occasionally the tribal leaders staged raids on the nearby flatlands to steal grain or women. Pripan males weren’t as picky as those of other breeds and considered the quelling of a powerful and deadly Sánge woman to be a conquest that advertised their supremacy and sexual prowess. Grain Reule could forgive, but kidnapping wasn’t to be tolerated. Unfortunately, the Pripan tribes were large and numerous, and he had to be careful not to commit an act of aggression that would cause them to combine resources and go to war against him. So, often it was a matter of kidnapping their women back, like boys playing war games of stealth. Luckily, the Pripans had a sense of humor about being outsmarted, as long as Reule stuck firmly to only reclaiming what had been stolen in the first place. His success varied, so he found it best to protect his people from such dangers to begin with.

Their key protection, the monstrous walls rising up from the bedrock of the mountainsides on the north and south slopes, soared above them as they neared. The city sprawled behind the cement, a fair three miles of farms, homes, and merchants before it butted up against Jeth Keep, which in turn butted up against a mountain to the west. There was a northwest wall as well, and a gate, far smaller in width than the one they approached, that led into a treacherous pass with no obvious exits after the first few miles. It was the perfect getaway route in case of seige, and only Reule and his Packmates knew the secret of the escape.

“Hallo!”

The cry echoed over their heads from the guards atop the wall and in the central lookout positions about halfway up the sheer surface. Reule smiled when they set up a cheer for the hunters without even knowing if they’d been successful. Those with the sharpest eyes and minds were the first to fall quiet, however, as they noticed Chayne’s empty horse, two of the returning Pack riding in tandem, and an extra body amongst them. Not to mention a decided lack of game hanging from their saddles. It was to have been the final hunt before winter set in, meant to provide meat for the hard months to come. The horses ought to have been laden down with game. Instead, there was no sign of success and all the signs of trouble. Reule felt the buzz of thoughts extending from friends on the walls to those of the party, curious and questioning. Reule put a sharp end to the questions by quickly emanating a warning to silence the Pack. Gossip would abound, but he’d save fact sharing until he could address the province himself. He didn’t need rumors exacerbating fears in the city.

There was a hum as the electricity powering the steel portcullis gears was turned on, producing the energy needed to raise the heavy gate. The refined fuels used for the generators came from trade with the Pripans, even more reason not to incite wars with them. The precious convenience of electricity was highly coveted by the Sánge, especially in the winter when the idea of the cold was intolerable. It was the only characteristic of the wilderness that they found nearly impossible to bear. Fuel for electricity was worth every piece of gold or sack of grain they traded for it. Only the wealthiest in the city could afford fully electrified homes all through the days and nights of winter. Many had electric heat and light in a single room. Otherwise it was wood, peat, and coal fires that warmed them, especially in the farms outside the city walls, where there was no access to electricity as yet. It was one of Reule’s goals to provide the necessary generators as soon as he could.

He was strongly hoping that Amando, his Prime Envoy, would have great success in his trading this season. He would soon find out, as he expected Amando any day. The final transactions across their trading route must be completed before the first snows flew. Reule couldn’t rest until the autumn trades were complete and the winter coffers were full.

For the moment, there were other concerns drawing his attention. The riders broke into a canter once the gate was raised enough for them to pass. They thundered along the main thoroughfare of the city, calling ahead so that pedestrians scattered out of the street. Jeth Keep, stone and steel built to withstand a hostile world, loomed taller even than the city walls. A second portcullis guarded its bailey, but it was raised for the day’s business. Reule led the Pack in. Stablehands rushed out for the weary horses, and Reule saw Amando and Saber hurrying from the training yards to see what commotion had arisen.

The Pack dismounted, none of them bothering with explanations. They pushed their way into the castle, Reule shouting out as he entered.

“Drago! Pariedes!”

Reule’s manservant and the principal housekeeper appeared instantly.

“Pariedes, send a lass to fetch the apothecary. We’ll need medical supplies, blankets, fresh clothing for Chayne and for a petite girl, and hot food. Make certain some of it is soft. Drago?”

“At your service, My Prime,” the elder Sánge said quickly, hustling after Reule, who never once broke his step.

“Wait for the apothecary yourself. When he arrives, bring him to the baths and assist him with Chayne. I only want you and Rye in the bath with him besides the apothecary. You know how Chayne can be. The less exposure, the better.”

“Understandable and quite wise, My Prime,” Drago agreed gravely.

“See to it, Pariedes, that you attend me and the girl in the Prime’s bath yourself. No other.”

“My Prime!”

Pariedes’s exclamation of shock finally drew him to a halt. The entire hall grew quiet as Reule turned to face the flushing housekeeper, who squared her shoulders in a familiar sign of stubbornness that made him sigh loudly.

“What is it, Para?”

“Surely you don’t intend to bring an insensate woman into your bath,” she whispered, even though whispering was ridiculous in a hall full of men with sharp hearing and sharper telepathic ability. “There is propriety to be considered.”

Reule’s burst of laughter heightened her blush, but she only stood straighter.

“Para, my fierce lioness, she’s but a cub. I’ve no interest in a child. Besides, you will be with me. I would also limit her exposure to just you and myself. She is not Sánge.”

“Not…?”

That seemed to paralyze Pariedes for a moment, though her mouth continued to try speaking for a good twenty seconds. Finally, she covered her womb with both hands, a longtime habit she had picked up, and inclined her head. Then she was off with a flounce of skirts and a stream of russet hair. The Pack entered the royal receiving room, the sound of boots on the gleaming marble floor thundering off the high ceiling. The marble had been mined from the surrounding mountains, a beautiful metallic red. The royal chamber had been paved with it, except for a border of golden stones that edged the entire room, and the dais where Reule sat in state.

They didn’t pause but headed straight out the rear of the room, where a large stairwell was situated. They all marched in resounding accord down into the bowels of the castle. They were well underground by the time they struck the basement’s ceramic tiled floors. The Hall of Baths was just around the corner. There were over a dozen doors, big and small, down the long hallway. These were the private baths. There was a set of double doors at the end that led to the communal baths. Opposite the public hall was a private entrance leading to the Prime’s Bath.

Here the Pack divided. Rye and Delano took Chayne into one of the larger private chambers. Darcio headed for the communal bath after only the briefest look at Reule to see whether he might change his mind about needing any assistance with the outlander girl. Reule turned to the Prime’s bath, kicking the door shut quickly in his wake. He was greeted by a wall of hot steam that he inhaled deeply. He smiled. The baths were naturally self-replenishing hot springs and the best way Reule could think of to warm a girl suffering from exposure. He walked over to a bench close to the edge of the gently bubbling water in the large pool.

He laid the girl out on the bench, intending to warm her with the steam first before introducing her to the water. He didn’t want to shock her systems. He figured he was going to be on his own for some time before the apothecary arrived, and Para would have her hands full for a little while before she could come to play well-meaning chaperone. Reule chuckled at the idea. Para was still a reasonably young woman, but she was ferociously protective of anyone she deemed in need of mothering, which tended to be just about everyone. She was perfect in her role of head housekeeper, guarding the undermaids from the roaming hands of the under-butlers and soldiers constantly roaming the halls. She ran the household impeccably and Reule had never had a complaint, except perhaps when she tried to mother him as well. He’d never been comfortable with a woman’s concern.

Reule shrugged off the distracting thoughts and concentrated on unwrapping the bundle in the blanket. He pulled back the wool horse blanket, and the stench of mildew struck him again with its pungent odor. The room was lighted by electricity, so Reule got his first real look at the young female. Her small body was curled up tight in a fetal position, and her tangled brown hair was plastered across her face just like her stained shift adhered to her body. Reule lowered himself onto his haunches so he could study the knots and webbing of the hair wrapped around her head and face. He sighed, realizing there wasn’t much he could do until after he had her in the water and they’d begun to wash away the dirt encrusted on her. He hoped they wouldn’t be forced to cut off her hair. There were Sánge superstitions about cutting a woman’s hair. Bad enough to be an outlander in Sánge territory with winter about to trap her inside the city for several cycles, but with the bad luck of shorn hair besides?

Not for the first time Reule wondered how long the girl had been confined in that attic. Had she been a prisoner? Had they thrown her away up there after they’d finished using her?

The thought ripped a furrow of rage in his gut, and his teeth locked tightly together as he fought back the rushing fury. Often, his most potent emotions would spill over, emanating without his intention to those surrounding him. Though normally no one could read his thoughts without his permission, his unique power of emanation took some effort to control. With emanation, Reule could make those around him know and feel his needs. Just as, without a single spoken word, the slamming of a door could leave a perfect impression of the departer’s displeasure, he could create the same effect with the flexing of his mind. The trick was preventing it when it wasn’t desired.

The Sánge leader reached out to touch the exposed skin of the girl’s hands and arms. She was still chilled, but nowhere near as cold as she had been. The blanket and vigorous ride had done their part, and now the heat of the steam seeped into her as well. Reule stood up and ran a hand through his dampened hair, the steam curling the black locks into the natural waves that he usually brushed out or braided back. He grasped his short, brown fleece-lined jacket and his tan hunter’s vest, shedding them both into a careless pile at his feet. His coffee-brown leather knee boots were the next to go, their perfect cobbling allowing him to slide them free without Drago’s usual assistance. He stripped off his beige linen shirt, the fabric already soaked with moisture from the steam and his sweat. He was three days out from his last bath and he was looking forward to shedding the grime of riding, stalking, and death.

Just then he heard the click of the door opening and shutting, and though it wasn’t far from where he stood, he couldn’t see who entered through the dense wall of white mist. But he could feel her well enough.

“Come here, Para.”

Pariedes moved unerringly through the fog of moisture to find him. When she caught sight of him half naked and standing over the girl, he could feel her disapproval even without seeing the prim press of her lips.

“Now, now, Para,” he teased her, “I still have my breeches on. Isn’t that what covers all the important parts?” When Para blushed from neck to hairline, Reule threw back his head and laughed. The housekeeper recovered quickly enough to wave him back with a threatening swing of her hand.

“You’re a scoundrel, My Prime!” she accused after almost smacking him in the nose with that dangerously flailing hand.

“Aye, and you’re not the first woman to tell me so,” he countered as he watched her bend over the small girl.

“She’s badly neglected,” Para said, tsking in disgust. “Bloody bastard Jakals. The lot of them should burn to death staked in the desert sun.”

Reule folded his arms across the breadth of his chest and peered down at her. “Who said Jakals had anything to do with it?”

Her head snapped up and her dark eyes flashed with indignant pride. “I’ve eyes in my head and a brain as well, haven’t I?” She scoffed at him. “What else would keep you a day overdue and have you bringing home two victims as your only game? Really, My Prime!”

“My apologies, Pariedes,” he said with graciousness and a conceding bow. “You are right. What of my hunting trophy, Para? Do you think she’ll survive?”

“I cannot tell you that. She’s an outlander, Prime Reule. I know not what she is. She’s too fair to be Gemin or Opia, and while she’s got the build of a Jakal, she’s—”

“This girl is no Jakal,” Reule said sharply, the impulsive urge to defend her riding him hard. “I located her by sheer feeling alone,” he said more gently when Para looked at him with surprise. “No Jakal could ever feel the depth of pain and sorrow this girl was feeling when I found her. They only siphon it off others. The utter power of what she felt could have fed a troop of Jakals for a week. I’ve never—”

Reule broke off when he realized Para was staring at him with open curiosity. When he frowned darkly, she cleared her throat, quickly turning back to fuss over the young woman she now knelt near.

“Poor thing. We can hardly see you.” She tsked again and turned to Reule. “Your blade, My Prime?” She held out the flat of her palm expectantly.

Reule wasn’t in the habit of handing his dagger over to anyone, not even a Packmate. It was an unspoken tenet amongst warriors never to surrender one’s blade. Natural weaponry like nails and fangs worked well enough, but a knife, sword, or throwing star were essentials in battle and self-defense.

Reule reached for the dagger sheathed at his waist, the blue metal blade singing sweetly as it passed over the cusp of its scabbard. “With what may I assist you?” he asked with just enough formality to make her feel, without emanation, that his service was the only way she would see use of the knife.

“Cut away her garment. It’s disgusting and riddled with who knows what diseases and parasites. I’ll have it burned. Then we’ll bathe her and see if we can’t make something out of this nest of hair.”

Reule bent to his task and carefully pulled the edge of the fabric away from the girl’s throat. He could see her pulse beating in her neck and he hesitated.

Sánge, bautor mo.

The words suddenly echoed in his mind in a whisper-soft voice that seemed too innocent to know of such things. He suppressed a shudder of indefinable feeling and pressed the blade to the tattered gown. Slowly, carefully, he cut a good six inches down her breastbone before withdrawing the cutting edge. Then he sheathed the blade and grasped the fabric firmly in his fists. He yanked sharply and the weak linen shredded easily. For a moment, Reule thought the act strangely erotic. He’d never been the sort to tear off a lover’s clothes, and this child was certainly no lover, but something about the strength in his large hands destroying something so fragile to expose something even more fragile—it brought a wash of unexpected heat over his skin. He swallowed hard against the ridiculous sensation and pushed it away as he tore through more fabric and exposed a pale length of buttock and thigh.

The perfect whiteness of her skin was completely unblemished in the area revealed. Reule had never seen skin so white in all his life, and he’d been a great many places and seen a great many people. It had to be the only spot on her body that wasn’t dirty, and he found it oddly intriguing. The contrast to his own dark skin fascinated him.

Reule realized Para was watching him expectantly and he made quick work of the rest of the tear. Then he withdrew his knife again and cut away her sleeves. He was glad she didn’t move, because the blade was sharp and even an accidental brush would slice her. Another reason he’d never share his blade, especially with someone inexperienced. He tossed away the remnants of fabric and unbuckled his sheath and belt, laying the scabbard purposely near the edge of the bathing pool. When he was stripped down to nothing but his breeches, he scooped up the girl and walked with her into the pool, using the wide steps that led down into it. He didn’t immerse her all at once, though the hot water pooling around his hips made him want to dive under to soak in the heat.

He wasn’t the priority here.

He carefully began to introduce her tightly coiled body into the water. Para watched anxiously for the first minutes until she was satisfied he wasn’t going to foul up his responsibility to treat her gently. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her lord and master, it was just impossible for Para to believe anyone could care as much as she did. Reule easily forgave her that because she was right more often than not.

Reule worked his way back to the stairs, seating himself on the second-to-last step with his charge resting in his lap. Para took the opportunity to hurry from the room to do whatever it was she needed to do. He couldn’t remember what instructions he’d given her. He realized then that he hadn’t eaten or slept properly in three days. He was feeling that lack now that he was cocooned in the relaxing heat of the water. Even his patient was relaxing, her small body unfurling in increments. He held her as she unwound, the water rushing over her entire body held in the cradle of his lap and arms. Her head finally lolled back, her hair tumbling into the water as he allowed all but her face to soak.

At last, her arms fell away from their protective cross over her chest. Finally, he could see her entire body. He started to skim assessing eyes over her for damage done to her by the Jakals, but they soon widened in surprise. Small she might be, small she definitely was, but while she was smooth-skinned, as the young ought to be, there was nothing childlike or even adolescent about the curves of her unfurled body. Reule blinked, trying to reconcile the woman he now held with the girl he’d thought he’d been holding until just moments ago.

Hair still obscured her face in a net of webbed strands. The heated water had soaked away much of the dirt soiling her skin. Reule brushed his fingers against her to assist the process, hoping to determine the extent of the abuse she had suffered. It quickly became clear that his mild efforts weren’t enough, and he reached for a cloth that was soaking in a bowl of soap solution at the edge of the bath. It was a man’s scent, the one he preferred because it reminded him of the mountain valley in which he lived: crisp, clean, and natural. It would do for his purposes. The solution was viscous and clung to the cloth even when submerged in water, so he was soon able to produce lathering swipes against her arms and shoulders. He was rewarded with clean skin…

And livid bruises. Ugly discolorations hiding under the dirt and grime. As he worked over her neck and throat and upper chest, cuts, scrapes, and abrasions joined the list of injuries. An awful idea began to form in his head and he sat her up so her chest was flush with his, her face tucked against his neck as her head nestled on his shoulder, while he dipped the cleaning cloth in fresh solution. He balanced her now-heated body against himself to free both hands, sliding away her straggling mop of hair to expose her back to the approaching cloth. Her skin was nearly black with grime, but it was soon clean as he coasted over her shoulders, down her ribs, and along the path of her spine.

Reule’s gaze was steady and watchful as soap and soil fizzed away in the current of the water and left a clear picture of the damage to her back. His fist tightened reflexively in her wet hair. More bruises, more cuts, but there were also wide swaths of abrasions at her shoulder points and the prominence of every vertebra. Burns, as though she’d been dragged over a surface…or repetitively scoured against one.

By the Lord, he thought fiercely as he squeezed his eyes shut and touched his forehead to her collarbone in gentle sympathy. Had she been gang-raped by those monsters? It had to have been unimaginably violent to have left such awful damage behind. If that was the truth of it, then the bastards had died pitifully easy. Reule’s fury boiled his blood and he swore softly as he tried to vent it with deep, controlled breaths. ’Twas no use letting it rip him up; what was done was done. They were dead and she was alive and safe now. That was all that mattered.

Reule lowered her away from his body to continue the chore of assessing as he gently cleansed her, forcing himself to clear the persistent red haze of emotion that dwelled in his vision. He once again found himself faced with the curves of a fully fledged woman. Of most prominent note, and next in his path, were her sweetly rounded breasts. He ran a cloth-covered hand over the swell of her right breast, feeling the partial peak of her nipple rippling under his passing fingers. Partial altered to full rigidity by the time he was done, the reaction so quick that he found himself needing to clear tightness from his throat. Confusion soon followed when he realized unblemished, perfectly pale skin, as well as those taut pink buds, was becoming visible through the water. If she had been sexually abused, her breasts would have suffered badly from mauling and manhandling, wouldn’t they? What male bent on degradation and sexual gratification wouldn’t take advantage of the opportunity to molest such lush, enticing breasts?

Reule was slowly circling soap around the buoyant globe on the opposite side, his eyes fixing on the way the pink of her areola gathered up into a tight ring. It sent the tip of the attractive nipple pointing outward in tempting invitation. He felt her flesh brushing against his bare chest, luxuriant and slippery with soap. The resulting quickening of his body ought to have been predicted, but it took him by complete surprise. All he knew, as a man of honor and conscience, was that he shouldn’t be feeling the discomforting rush of blood to his groin for an unconscious and defenseless woman. Last he checked, he wasn’t into such callous perversions.

His gaze and hand sought more neutral territory, traveling on to the gaunt curves of her ribs, which hinted at the duration of her neglect. In his lap, her hips and bottom were well rounded and soft, proving her not too far gone to starvation. Though her legs were slim and long for her build, they were a little too thin at the knees and calves. Her ankles were pronounced even through the water, just like the wrists at the ends of her skinny forearms.

Reule rubbed away dirt on her gently hollowed belly, finding more bruises, these already healing. Then, very carefully, he washed over her pale thighs. Her hips were a mess of cuts and contusions. Had she been pinned down? Her flesh was scoured over both hips, but there was hardly even a bruise on the top sides of her thighs. Her knees were only a little dusky with damage. Yet he could see angry red and mottled blue in livid circles coiling around her ankles to nearly a third of the way up her calves.

Bound by her feet, but not her wrists? Reule was more perplexed than ever. His eyes drifted to the triangle of protective curls at the juncture of her thighs, the indeterminable color dark while wet. He found himself swallowing hard against a swell of struggling emotions. Rage. Worry. Empathy. Fear.

It was because of the fear and his inability to bear the keenness of it that he turned to a safer emotion. Or so he thought. Curiosity. They were the lightest dusting of little curls he’d ever seen on a woman. Without thinking, he reached to touch the pale inside of one thigh, fingertips sliding against wet, silk-soft skin. Reule didn’t even realize he’d dropped the cloth. Those sparse curls, were they as soft as they looked, or more coarse like a Sánge woman’s? Did the friction of mating make her more sensitive? Would it be easier for his fingers to slide between her folds in order to seek out the moisture of—

Reule shocked himself with his own thoughts and he jerked his hand out of the water as if he’d been burned. He was stunned to realize he was breathing hard and that his cock was ferociously rigid with arousal. Reule was mortified. What in hell is wrong with me? He’d been sitting there, furious at the prospect that she’d been torn up inside by those miserable Jakal bastards, and here he was thinking about touching her himself! He might be Sánge, but contrary to popular outlander belief, he was no beast!

In the heat of his upset, Reule forgot that there was a huge difference between thinking and acting. For a telepath, it was the hardest and most important lesson to learn. A mind could concoct great fantasies, majestic schemes of both sinister evil and beauteous good. However, actually acting on those fantasies was another thing entirely. It was unfair to hold someone responsible for every stray thought. Reule neglected to forgive himself for basic inclinations of the mind.

Reule also forgot how hard his emotions could strike out at others when they emanated out of his control. He was harshly reminded of it when the woman in his arms awoke with a traumatized gasp and a forceful jerking of her body. It sent him off balance as he tried to hold her slippery body and keep her head above water simultaneously. Her bottom settled in his lap again, giving him some leverage as he verbally and mentally tried to calm her frantic flailing.

“Shh. Be easy, kébé. You’re safe,” he assured her, emanating a feeling of security to her, hoping to replace his hostile emotional disturbance of a minute ago. The rush of sorrow he’d come to associate with her assailed him once again, but he found it was fueled with fear as well this time. “Hush, kébé,” he soothed. “Hush, I will keep you safe.”

Then, all at once, she seemed to hear him. To comprehend. She went abruptly still, reached up, and shoved the wet mass of hair off her face so roughly that he heard strands tear and snap. Then she looked directly at him, allowing him to see her face for the very first time. For a long minute, during which every muscle in his body seemed locked in a mystical paralysis, all Reule could do was stare at her.

It was her eyes that had the greatest impact. They were so unreal, so brilliantly unusual, that he couldn’t quite take them in for a moment. He doubted he’d ever see anything like them ever again in his lifetime, and that was quite a monumental concept considering how long-lived his breed tended to be.

How to begin to even describe them? he wondered.

They were colorless.

No. That was inaccurate. They were far too enthralling to be a null. They were clear as crystal, yet white and silver all at once. They looked exactly like, and sparkled like, diamonds. Faceted, beautifully cut, clear and precious gemstones, with a platinum setting behind them to enhance every movement they caught in the light. She blinked thick, black, curved lashes over them, and that’s when he broke away from her eyes and saw the rest of her face. It was shaped in the delicate curves of a heart; soft bow lips chapped from thirst and neglect were tucked into a permanent but enticing little pout, and she had a slim nose that ended in the slightest uptilt. She had bruises across both cheeks, some old and yellowed, others fresher, but they did nothing to hide the sweet structure of her bones, and her skin promised to be flawless when free of battering. She was youthful, but clearly a woman; unbelievably pretty, but sorely misused. Those diamond eyes looked at him in utter confusion for several heartbeats.

Then, like electricity flooding a dark room, recognition of some kind lit up her features and she smiled so wide her delicate lips split and began to bleed a little. Wet hands lifted out of the water and framed his face and he started in surprise as her palms rubbed over his three-day beard and her fingers curled over his ears.

“Sánge,” she breathed, the single word full of excitement such as he’d never heard before from anyone who knew he was Sánge. Not unless they were also Sánge. It stole his breath even as he tried to convince himself it was a mistake, that she was just in some sort of shock.

“Yes, Sánge,” he agreed, pausing to clear the hoarseness from his throat. “What, and more importantly, who are you, little kébé?” he asked as gently as he could, afraid a rough male as big as he was could be frightening for her in spite of her strangely enthusiastic greeting. After all, there was no telling who had done what to her. To suddenly wake naked in the arms of a stranger…

She didn’t answer his query. She only studied his face with an expression of utter fascination. She reached up to map his visage with her fingers in slow, gentle strokes that sent electric pulses straight to his spine. Reule wouldn’t allow himself another opportunity to disrespect her, so he reached to cover one of her hands with his own, gripping it lightly. He had to steady her with his other arm, so that left her with a hand free, which she promptly threaded deeply into his thick hair. He could’ve grabbed hold and locked both her wrists in a single hand, but he feared upsetting her with such a maneuver. She didn’t know he wouldn’t hurt her, although her behavior indicated otherwise at the moment. He was incredibly curious. The sorrowfulness that had drawn him to her was subdued as she smiled.

She shifted in his lap, sitting up straighter and closer until he felt both of her pointed nipples rubbing through the hair on his chest. The explosion of awareness and sexual heat was like being doused in gasoline and lit with a flame. He sucked in a hard breath as his hand slid unintentionally down the line of her back. She leaned so close that her nose nudged up against his. She touched him with quick, delighted strokes of her fingers all over his face, hair, neck, and throat; she behaved like a child after opening a splendid gift. Her eyes devoured and examined him as though he were a prized confection she coveted for her tongue.

The imagery made him groan as sweat rolled down the back of his neck and his snug pants became brutally uncomfortable. Not to mention the fact that she was sitting right on him and couldn’t possibly be ignorant of the state of his body. Any minute she would see him for the pervert he’d never known he was, and the touching fingers and eager smile would disappear forever. The idea of it had a devastating effect on his emotional calm.

“Shh…” This time it was she soothing him, her soft voice and fingertips stroking against his face. “Your mind struggles so, Sánge. Where is your peace?”

Reule jerked back in shock. He looked at her with hard, mistrustful eyes and even had to fight the urge to shove her off his lap. Perhaps he was disturbed and a little off guard, but she’d spoken as if she were intimate with his mind. No one crossed his mental boundaries without his permission.

Just as abruptly, Reule tried to rein in his temper. There was no way she could accomplish it. Perhaps…yes, perhaps he’d unwittingly emanated his emotional upheaval. It wouldn’t be the first time and unfortunately wouldn’t be the last. Still, the way she’d worded the phrase…it was something a telepath or empath might say. Reule reached out and gripped both her shoulders, giving her a little shake as he stared hard into her peculiar eyes.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“No one who will harm you,” she responded, wincing.

A sharp cut of remorse and self-disgust lanced through him, and he abruptly released her from his abusive hands. With a startled cry, she tumbled back over his knees and fell into the water. Reule grabbed past her flailing legs and had his hands around her waist in an instant, dragging her above water and back against his chest. She gasped and sputtered, her hands clutching his shoulders. Her thighs, now on either side of him, clenched his sides in a death grip. She shook in fright, her nails biting into his skin as water streamed down her disgruntled expression, which lay beneath straggles of thick hair once again. He apologetically pushed aside the tangled mess.

“Are you all right? I’m so very sorry,” he apologized.

Apparently, she forgave him. Reule drew that conclusion when she wrapped both her arms in a strangling hug around his neck and plastered her chest against his. There was desperation in the hold, though, and Reule cursed himself. She didn’t need him adding to her fear.

“Easy now. I won’t let it happen again,” he promised her softly, wincing when he felt the thundering of her small heart against his own. “I take it you don’t know how to swim?” he asked.

She snorted against his neck, a scoffing laugh that made him smile against her hair. The situation was so surreal, it didn’t even surprise him when she giggled.

“Listen,” he said softly near her ear. “You need to bathe, eat, and rest. I’ll save my questions for later, fair enough?”

“Yes,” she whispered against his pulse.

“But then you’ll satisfy my curiosity?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

“Good. Are you injured? Were you…? Did they…? Do you need an apothecary?”

She lifted her head, sniffling from the water that had rushed up her nose when she’d been dunked. “No,” she said. “I only need you.”

He was so startled by the remark that his hand tensed against her bare back. It was as though everything that came out of her mouth was dragged from a dusty old place in his brain where he’d thrown away all the things he’d never expected to hear someone not of his people say to him. Questions surged through his mind, but he’d promised to save his grilling for later, and he’d adhere to that promise. However, how did one transition away from a remark like that?

“My Prime!”

Reule closed his eyes and sighed, remembering to be careful what he asked for in the future. He looked up at Pariedes with his best innocent smile. “Yes, Para?”

“Release that child this instant!” she commanded imperiously, pointing at the female as if he wouldn’t know which one she meant. The “child” reacted by tightening her hold on his neck to the point of throttling him.

“I would, Para, only she doesn’t seem intent on releasing me.” The “she” in question vigorously shook her head to confirm that fact. Knowing Para’s sense of propriety would have cast him as the villain, he could have kissed the outlander right on her bruised little cheek for it.

“Prime Reule, this is terribly improper,” Para fussed, twisting her hands together.

Before Reule could respond, he felt the woman in his lap react, jerking back and even releasing him slightly as she sought his eyes. He felt her fingers blending into his hair as her expression turned into pleasured wonder. She smiled and he swiftly realized he’d never seen a woman look so ethereal before. She hardly seemed real, with that expression on her face and the ever-present undercurrent of sadness still washing against him in a placid tide.

“Reule,” she said softly, her voice musical. Reule looked into those crystal eyes and felt his chest constricting in response. “Reule,” she said again, her hand coming to stroke his face from forehead, to cheek, to jaw, and then to the tip of his chin. Her touch was tender and almost…treasuring. Reule’s heartbeat doubled in cadence, hurting in the closed confines of a chest tightened with unnamed emotion.

She was like a bolt of lightning, searing him head to toe before he even knew what had hit him. Now he was left dazed, his mind blank to anything that didn’t involve the two of them, the hot soothing water, or the warmth of their clasped bodies. It wasn’t exactly sexual, as his earlier reactions to her had been, but it wasn’t exactly not, either. He realized then that she’d neglected to give him her name, just as he’d forgotten to give his.

“What’s your name?” he asked softly, reaching up to sweep back an errant strip of hair with his thumb.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

The diamonds gleamed with increasing brilliance as her eyes filled with tears.