Chapter 9 #5
Reule was right. The Jakal camp wasn’t that far away.
They had to traverse the rest of the flatlands, which, being even ground, went rather quickly.
It was when they reached the leading edge of the forest that things got rough for the horses.
There was a road at first, which then became a trail and eventually disappeared altogether.
The second moon was up before Reule finally called a halt.
Everyone dismounted, tying up the animals in the best shelter that could be managed in such rough country.
“It’s still a good mile, but we can’t risk their hearing the horses. Sound travels in this forest in strange ways.”
Reule pulled Mystique to his side, gripping her hand in his, his fingers lacing tightly with hers.
She shivered when, with an eerie synchronization, all of the men withdrew weapons.
There was a vibration among them, one that Mystique had never felt before.
Their movements became increasingly quiet, even though the terrain grew denser with every step.
Before long it was like walking with ghosts, men who were there, yet not.
Their thoughts and bodies were focused amongst themselves, communication passing in silence between them, until she was left with the eerie feeling of walking alone through the wilderness, in spite of the strong fingers wrapped securely around hers.
That loneliness chilled her to her bones, nibbling at the edges of her memory until she shivered and forced herself up against Reule’s side.
He sensed her disquiet and wrapped his arm around her waist, guiding her over rocks and fallen trees.
It helped her feel once again a part of the group’s movements and she was able to keep herself calm.
Reule was fully focused on the Pack, determined not to have any more casualties among them.
He would see to it he made no mistakes. This shouldn’t even be happening.
Had he been too lax? Too tolerant of the contemptible Jakals?
There were Sánge who thought he ought to slaughter the gypsies without discrimination.
And he could do so if he wished it. These were Sánge lands, and he was the law.
He glanced at Mystique and in an instant he knew he could never slaughter any species so indiscriminately.
It had been done to the Sánge, and he knew what that sort of persecution felt like.
Whether or not they were deserving of it, if only one Jakal was different, like his Kébé was different, it would be unforgivable.
He recalled too easily how close he’d come to losing her. To never knowing her.
Anxiety built within him as they drew closer to the cave. He didn’t like her being there, but logically he couldn’t refute her usefulness. He’d use any resource he had if it would protect his Packmates and his city, just as he’d use his Pack and his city to protect her.
Reule drew them all to a stop without a word, his arm around Mystique’s waist bringing her to a halt.
He stepped against her, backing her up into the thick trunk of a nearby tree.
Mystique let out a sound of surprise as his huge body herded hers to where he wanted her, trapping her between muscle and bark until she was looking up at him with her hands grasping the sleeves of his shirt.
Her breath clouded on the cold night air, the temperature having slowly dropped as they’d traveled.
“Stay here, kébé. Don’t follow us. I’ll come get you when this is over.
I mean it,” he said when she opened her mouth to argue.
“Don’t make me tie you to this tree. I’d rather leave you able to defend yourself.
There are nasty things in these woods.” Reule flipped his dagger against his palm and handed it to her hilt first. There wasn’t a sound from any of the other men, but Mystique could feel the shock that rippled through them at the gesture.
Not really understanding the significance, she reached out and grasped the handle of the weapon. She automatically imitated the nimble flip Reule had used, reaching down and tucking the blade into her left boot. When she lifted her head, Reule was staring at her hard.
“You’re always surprising me,” he said softly as he reached to rub his thumb over her cheek. “I might regret the day I figure you out.”
He leaned in to kiss her, a firm, territorial gesture.
It left her dizzy, breathless, and tasting of char and Reule.
He tore himself away from her as if he had to do it quickly or he would never succeed.
He instructed a guard to stay with her, and then she watched them disappear into the dark underbrush in perfect silence.
“I might as well have stayed with the horses,” Mystique grumbled through her chattering teeth some time later. “At least they’re warm.”
And better conversationalists, she thought petulantly as the guard continued to ignore her.
He didn’t look happy to have been left behind either.
Especially guarding an outlander female he probably thought shouldn’t have come along in the first place.
She had an unreasonable urge to walk up to him and kick him in his shins.
It seemed like the sort of thing a woman would do.
Certainly tamer than her earlier urges to draw pretty pictures on his chest with her dagger.
Those didn’t seem very ladylike at all, so she’d worked very hard at pushing the impulses aside.
Para’s lectures on proper behavior had echoed in her head the whole time.
When the guard was suddenly thrown back off his feet, it was as if her venomous thoughts had struck him.
It took a moment for Mystique to realize it was a whiplash of psychic feedback that had hit him.
Then it was on her, prickling and screaming all around her, trapping her in invisible terror.
She threw her hands up over her head to protect herself, but the lashing mental screams whipped around her and through her again and again.
She fell to her knees in the brambles, the cold dampness soaking through her clothes.
Her head pounded with pain as she began to hear shouts and screams made by real voices that echoed through the forest. She whimpered softly as the thrash of psychic abuse snapped harder against her, and she tried to force up some kind of protection.
There must be some way to shield herself, if only she could grasp hold of it.
She was so overwhelmed that she couldn’t even tell who she was hearing in the melee of noise.
Did any of those masculine cries belong to Reule?
His Pack? Instinctively, she drew the blade Reule had given her, grasping the weapon in a sturdy grip.
Arming herself seemed to help. The feeling of guarding herself somehow countered the psychic dump of pain and death.
She sobbed, partly in relief and partly because an incredible feeling of sorrow overcame her.
She’d been so complacent lately that she’d almost forgotten the overwhelming sadness that stalked her everywhere. It was more intense than ever.
Able to stand now, Mystique made her way over to the guard still lying prone on the ground. She bent over him, blinking back the swell of tears in her eyes. All she wanted was Reule. Safe. His living warmth beside her.
“Are you well?” she asked the guard hoarsely, carefully touching his shoulder lest he grow hostile at the contact.
“Yes. Lord and Lady,” he gasped.
“We need to go to Reule.”
“No. My Prime would have my head if I took his … you …” he stammered and Mystique understood his dilemma. No true lady would behave as she had, saying things that made no secret of her lust for Reule. It hadn’t bothered her to be so free. Not until this man had come just shy of calling her a whore.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly as he sat up, his tone desperate now. “I meant no offense. Please, my lady, I’m just an uncouth guard and I …”
“It’s all right,” she assured him quietly. “What’s your name?”
“Sath.”
“Sath. Well, Sath, you’re only speaking the truth as you’ve seen it. I admire that in anyone. Now, please, can we go? I feel strongly that I’m needed.”
“Don’t ask me to go against the Prime’s orders, my lady. As fair as he is, he and all of the Pack would take a turn at me. If anything were to happen to you …”
“I see.” Mystique sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize.”
“Yes. I’m afraid there is.”
She wasn’t even sure how she knew she could do it, but she reached out quickly and slapped a hand over Sath’s forehead.
In an instant the map of his brain flared into her awareness with all its many tiny pathways and functions, just as Chayne’s bones and muscles had done when she’d healed him.
Except this time, she didn’t heal. She manipulated a natural, healthy function and Sath fell back into the moist rot of leaves on the forest floor, fast asleep.
He’d never had a chance.
Mystique tried to regroup, her head pounding with exhaustion and exertion.
Knife at the ready, she stood up to make her way toward the place where she heard the forest churning with activity.
She’d barely gone a step when the entire forest spun away from under her, pitching her forward until she landed flat on her face.
She fought for control as her stomach churned.
“Stay where you are.”
There was no mistaking the owner of that imperious command in her head.
She was so relieved to hear him that she didn’t even take exception to his high-handedness.
Instead, she just rolled over with a sigh and reminded herself that domineering and commanding behaviors were requirements for a ruler.
Besides, staying right where she was suddenly seemed like an excellent notion.