Chapter 5 #5
“By the Lady, you have a sharp wit, Mystique,” Reule chuckled. “Delano is Assassin, you must remember. It’s his duty to be suspicious of everyone and to seek out ulterior motives. I wouldn’t mind him.”
“Did I say I minded him?” she countered quickly. “It was an observation, not a complaint.”
“So it was,” Reule agreed, his hazel eyes aglow with his humor. Mystique felt a warm flush spreading over her face and arms as she realized his smile transformed his features from his usual seriousness to a striking vital male beauty that would make any woman glow with warmth.
“Would you please stop talking about me as if I weren’t sitting right here?” Delano demanded petulantly, a disgruntled expression on his face.
Delano got his wish as he became the brunt of merciless male humor for the remainder of the meal.
It reached a point where Mystique was wishing she’d kept her remarks to herself.
She felt sorry for the beleaguered Assassin by the time she laid aside her dessert spoon, but she did give him credit for taking it all so good-naturedly.
She worried that this would permanently spoil his opinion of her, though.
She had no desire to alienate any of Reule’s Pack.
Reule had given her back her hand some time ago, but he instantly felt the disturbance of her anxiety against his empathic senses, even though she tried hard to contain it.
It was strange, but he only just then realized how muted her sorrow had become.
She had, he noted, an incredible control over her emotional projection that he’d not really appreciated before.
He’d credited himself, he realized, with blocking out or having grown used to the stimulus she projected, when in fact, he now comprehended that it was Mystique who had managed to tamp her feelings down into submission.
He was still mulling over this anomalous discovery as Amando stood to help her from her chair, drawing it back for her.
As she rose, she stepped on the train of her dress, stumbling.
As fast as everyone’s reflexes were, even Amando could only grab her arm as she sat down hard in the chair he’d just vacated beside her.
She laughed, a burst of self-deprecation that bubbled around the men until they were all grinning at her.
She lifted her feet from the floor and rocked back slightly as she gave in to her mirth.
By the time she was forced to stop for breath, they were all chuckling.
“I’m afraid I’m not used to women’s finery such as this,” she admitted, tugging on her skirts and lifting her hands helplessly as she looked at her gloves.
Then she shrugged and pulled off the lace quickly, giving a sigh of relief as she exposed her injured fingers to the room.
Reule felt the humor flood out of his Pack, as if a drain had swiftly been thrown open.
They were all looking at her bruised and torn fingernails as she wriggled the fan off her wrist and laid the collection of feminine items on the table.
It wasn’t until she was done that she realized the subdued attention she was getting from the serious faces all around her.
She looked up, feeling surrounded by men, all of whom were looking at her hands.
Reule felt the sharp clutch of tension birthing itself in her chest, and he moved to rescue her from his Pack’s unintentional scrutiny.
Amando was closer, however. The Envoy reached for her hand gently.
“We usually retire to the library after our meal,” he said. “I’d be happy to lead the way.”
“Oh. Thank you,” she said, her breathless voice disturbing Reule deeply.
He didn’t like seeing her confidence shaken like that and, though they hadn’t meant to, his men were responsible.
Still, he could hardly blame them. They’d forgotten that three days ago she’d been little more than a filthy waif curled up in a terrified ball after clawing her way across the wilderness.
As she stood, Mystique reached to grasp the back of the chair to steady herself so she wouldn’t stumble again. He was watching her carefully, hovering just beyond Amando’s back, but he needn’t have bothered.
There was no missing the psychic whiplash that shot through each and every Packmate.
It was like an electrical conduction, jumping from one to the other until all were held in the shock of it.
The startling sensation was punctuated by the long, horrified gasp that was uttered by their female guest. Reule watched as she, then Amando, turned pale to the point of bloodlessness.
He was already forcing himself into action by the time they both started to fall.
“To hell!” Reule spat as he caught Amando behind the shoulders, watching helplessly as Mystique fell back. Luckily, the chair was right behind her and, by the time her bottom struck the cushion, Saber had come around to steady her in place with a firm hand.
It was a mistake.
The entire Pack jolted when Saber came into contact with her, this time nausea flooding through them all.
Reule saw Saber’s mouth open in shock, speechless horror widening in his black eyes.
Mystique’s hands were now both clutched around the back of the chair so tightly that her knuckles were white and her healing nails began to split open afresh.
By now, Reule had thrown up every mental block he could manage and guarded himself from the connectivity of the Pack.
Although, because of the nature of their connection, it couldn’t be done completely, he’d at least cut away the excess psychic information.
He’d eased Amando to the floor and, stepping over him, he struck Saber’s arm, knocking his hand out of contact with the source of his agony.
The minute he did that, the Pack released a collective breath, each man reaching to brace himself when his suddenly weak knees and body wouldn’t support him.
Rye was the first to pull himself together, and he watched as Reule reached out for Mystique.
“No! Don’t touch her!”
Reule ignored the command, trusting his own power.
He reached out and grasped her fey face between his large fingers, tilting her head back until she was looking blankly up at him.
He felt emotion and pain crashing against his mental wards, but they held as he looked down into those glazed glass eyes.
“Mystique? Kébé, sweetheart, talk to me,” he encouraged softly as the Pack regrouped around him.
As each recovered himself, it added strength to Reule.
He emanated warnings to them not to touch her or to interfere, so they concentrated instead on tending Saber and Amando and simply being there for him.
He lowered himself slowly to a crouch, drawing her still glassy gaze along with him.
“Tell me what’s wrong.” Then, after a moment’s thought, “Tell me what you’re feeling. ”
He would have used his power to probe her and find out for himself if it were only himself at risk, but it was apparent that the entire Pack would be threatened if he did that.
True, they’d been taken totally by surprise and by now were very much on their guard, but he could hardly take the chance until he understood a little better what he was dealing with.
“So much—” She gasped, cutting herself off, but she’d spoken, and that was a start. She was also focusing slightly on him.
Just enough so he could see the agony in her eyes along with the welling of crystal tears. “So much what, Kébé? Talk, baby, just talk,” he encouraged her, his voice churning out roughly as her pain twisted his insides into tight knots.
“It’s endless,” she ground out between her teeth, closing her eyes as her entire body shuddered and sent tears spitting down her pale cheeks.
“There will be nothing for me. How can you leave me like this? Will you even know? Reule …” Her eyes snapped open and Reule had to hold his breath to keep from cursing aloud, the way Darcio behind him was softly doing.
Her eyes had changed color, becoming an even tan with the lightest speckling of black around the outside edges.
Reule would have known those eyes anywhere, if they hadn’t presently been on a woman.
“Chayne …”
He and Darcio spoke in tandem, confirming to one another what it was they thought they were seeing. Her gaze pinpointed on Reule when he spoke Chayne’s name.
“Reule, don’t make me cry for what I need,” she said, her low voice registering even lower.
“Lord and Lady,” Rye whispered in horror as he and the others understood at last what they were seeing.
“I won’t beg to be a man,” she rasped. “Don’t make me beg for my Packmates to do right by me.”
“Stop her!” Delano cried out, his hurt ricocheting through them. “Lord damn me, Reule, stop her!”
Reule swept his gaze away from Delano and fastened it on Mystique’s position in the chair. Blood oozed from her fingertips as she dug nonexistent nails into the ornate wood of …
“It’s Chayne’s chair,” he whispered, the fact registering on him like a shout in his face.
“She’s telemetric!” Darcio exclaimed, following his Prime’s thinking instantly.
Reule was inclined to agree. It was the only explanation that made sense.
Coming into contact with an object Chayne had touched so often must have set the ability off and Mystique, who had no idea who she was or what she was capable of, had been left wide open to the psychic influx of Chayne’s suffering.
Telemetrics could make contact with the location and thoughts of another by touching the belongings of the target.
Reule stood up straight and glanced at Rye.
“I’m going to pry off her hands. You have to pull the chair away.
Until we’re sure you can block her, try not to touch her.
Not until she breaks the connection with Chayne.
Ready?” Rye simply nodded and Reule reached out to work his fingers beneath her palms.