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 her 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.