Drink of Me

Chapter 1

Sorrow.

It beat at him like a relentless drum, throbbing through his mind and vibrating into his soul until he felt it burning in his body as though it were his own.

Stunned by the intensity of the intrusion, Reule actually hesitated several moments, distracting himself at the worst possible time.

He felt the purity of the devastating emotion shuddering through him.

Too pure, and too disturbing, Reule realized very quickly as he flung up well-practiced and powerful mental barricades, blotting out most of the wild despair that had strained his concentration.

Careless of him to let something like that intrude on such a crucial moment.

Lines of disconcertment etched themselves into his forehead and around his mouth.

The source of that unsettling intrusion was a mystery.

It tempted him. But that, he realized, might very well be the point. It could be intentional bait.

Reule dismissed the idea straightaway, confident he could tell the difference between deception and honesty.

Though he’d never felt such overwhelming sadness in his life, it had been brutally honest. Pushing it all away to focus back on his goal of the moment, he lifted his head and sought the scents of the others, marking their positions in silence as they kept their mental communication minimalized.

Their prey would sense their approach if they picked up on the power of their pursuers’ thoughts flying back and forth along the telepathic channels between them.

Reule marked the identifications and locations of the other males of the Pack.

Rye, to the north along the stone wall in the underbrush.

Darcio, to his rear by several yards, low against the trunk of a thick and ancient oak.

Delano, of course, on point ahead of them and moving slowly along the perimeter of the hostile territory they sought to enter.

Reule focused next on the house hidden deep in the darkness, concentrating until his vision altered to pierce the veil of the brick walls, picking up the greenish white blobs of movement that indicated life in one form or another.

It was easy to differentiate their target; seated centrally and surrounded by others like bees buzzing over their precious queen.

All of this activity took place on the second floor.

Reule turned his attention to Delano, watching the sleek speed the male used to breach the property line.

In concert, the rest of the Pack moved forward, their senses sharply attuned to the rhythm it would take to succeed at their task.

He could have closed his eyes and still known that Rye leapt the stone wall with ease and that Darcio kept every step timed to match perfectly with Reule’s as he advanced.

Each member of the Pack neared the structure with caution.

Reule crouched low on the balls of his feet, sharply alert, and he became as still and invisible as a shadow.

His stillness was timed perfectly. His target came through the near door, so close he nearly tripped over Reule.

When the unfortunate crossed in front of him, Reule struck with the speed of a cobra.

His fangs exploded into full, glorious length as he attacked, but he wouldn’t taste of this repugnant creature.

He could control the impulse, sparing himself the disgust of such an experience.

Instead, it was his extending claws that struck.

Reule grabbed his victim over his mouth, jerking his head back and puncturing his shoulder with needle-sharp nails right through his shirt, the cotton fabric offering no protection.

Reule’s muscles flexed as his prey struggled and fought, but they both knew it was a futile effort.

Once the paralytic tipping his nails broke the skin, it was only a matter of time.

Still, Reule held him to keep him quiet until the drug took effect, using his mental power to stifle his victim so he could raise no alarms. When the male finally became deadweight in his hold, he released him.

The body of his enemy dropped to the ground like a sack of rocks, thudding sickly as bone impacted earth.

Reule kicked him away in contempt. The toxin wouldn’t kill him, but if Reule didn’t like what he found when he entered the house, he’d be back to finish the job.

Reule straightened and eased toward the door.

He was vigilant for other stragglers as he sought telltale heat and motion.

They were all upstairs in that central room, and now Reule understood why.

He heard shouts of laughter and cajoling, cheering and jeering, and he suddenly realized why there were insufficient guards staged to protect the place.

He snarled low in loathing and the sound was echoed by his Shadow, Darcio.

The others didn’t respond, but they felt Reule’s rage and he felt their kindred emotion.

And that opened him up to the sorrow once more.

It slammed into him, stronger than before; a devastating sadness that stole his breath away and nearly stopped his heart.

Chills rushed up under his flesh until it crawled with agonizing emotional response.

Never in all his many years had he felt anything like it.

He’d shared thoughts and emotions with his Pack for all of his existence, and never had they, his family, been able to project such powerful emotion into him.

If he couldn’t feel such things from his family, who could force it upon him?

More, what caused such agony? He was the most powerful, the most sensitive when it came to sensing these things, but surely one of his caste had felt deep, abiding pain before!

What made this so incredibly intense to him?

How did it invade him so easily in spite of his skill and power to resist such things?

Reule tried to shake off the sensations even as he fell back unsteadily against a near wall.

Darcio leapt forward, instantly at his side when he sensed his distress.

Reule quickly fended off his friend’s concern, recovering and pushing the alien anguish hard away from himself so he could project confidence and strength to the Pack.

They were being distracted in dangerous territory, and he’d be responsible if any of them was injured because of it.

Reule silently realigned their attention with a powerful emanation and he felt them swiftly draw back into formation.

Only Darcio, who had seen him falter physically, hesitated.

Reule ignored his concern and reached for the door.

As they entered from three different portals, Reule felt Rye and Delano both engage hostiles, taking them out and discarding them so they could move rapidly to the stairs leading to the next floor.

Reule scanned the first floor to be sure they wouldn’t leave anyone at their backs and with a silent command sent Darcio after a stray.

Then he and the rest of the Pack moved upward.

As soon as they reached the second floor, Reule felt a ripple of awareness go through half of the crowd in the central room. Now they were close enough that emotions, projected or not, gave their presence away. Reule moved like lightning, as did the others, knowing that surprise was key.

Before the Jakals became fully aware of the danger approaching, half of them staggered back from paralyzing puncture wounds and debilitating hand-to-hand combat.

Reule moved so fast that he went through three victims before he met with his first resistance.

With about a half dozen Jakals on the floor, or slipping numbly toward it, the Pack faced the remaining enemy, which was now fully on guard.

It wouldn’t be so easy to incapacitate them.

Six Jakals were standing alert and in perfect fighting form.

Reule only took a moment to survey the room with quick, accurate eyes, and what he saw seared his brain with wrath.

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.