Drink of Me. Jacquelyn Frank
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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.
Jakals on the defensive, however, were no easy targets. The Jakals’ slender forms were made for speed, their skin smooth to the point of slickness. They were impossible to grapple with. The wily creatures could twist and strike before you even saw them. Discordant hisses and taunting laughter radiated from their midst as venom dripped from their fangs. They were prepared to strike or spit the acidic compound at their attackers, and unlike Reule’s people’s paralytic, Jakal poison was fatal if the skin was punctured; and a more brutal death had yet to be invented.
Reule wasn’t overly concerned about that. What concerned him was that the Jakals were between his Packmates and the prisoner in the chair. If he hadn’t already been poisoned, the enemy might take the opportunity to do so before they could be stopped. Since there was no known cure, this was Reule’s primary worry. He could tell by the look in the eyes of the Jakal facing him that his enemy was well aware of it.
As a rule, Jakals were the most powerful empaths of all the known species of the wilderness; only Reule’s breed was strong enough to block them. However, as a man of significant ability, he had learned that with strong powers of the mind came strong sensitivities. That had been proven just that evening as he himself had been bombarded by a stranger’s overwhelming grief and been caught unawares by it. Surely these empaths before him had heard those cries of anguish too? He knew it was no Jakal feeling those emotions, for though they could sense every feeling any creature was capable of, they didn’t have the ability to generate such deep feeling themselves. They certainly didn’t understand its true value. It was a terrible irony, and it was what made them such vicious little monsters; monsters who found glee in glutting themselves on the intense emotions of others. Like the emotions generated by torture, rape, or any number of things Reule refused to imagine lest he give way to a rage that would blot his focus and potentially feed his avaricious enemies.
This information did allow Reule an advantage. He was the most powerful sensor of his kind, one without measure in the history of his people. He was willing to bet these lowly gypsy Jakals had never seen his type before and would never be expecting him. That would be his advantage, and that would save the Packmate who had fallen prey to these depraved beasts.
And to think, others considered his people the lowest of breeds.
Reule sent an emanation to his Packmates, steadying them and preparing them silently, including a reassurance to the barely conscious one in the center of the room. Then he slowly unfolded the layers of protection over his mind so he could release his concealed power.
This time he was better prepared for the anguish that struck him, but still it was bordering on all-consuming. It was just the kind of emotional inundation that a Jakal would take gluttonous pleasure in. He could easily amplify the already overwhelming feeling and overload his enemies with the rawness of it, but Reule dismissed the idea instantly. There was something far too personal and innocent about the stark grief. To feed it to the Jakals somehow felt as though it would be a betrayal. Reule didn’t understand his reluctance, but he didn’t have time to do any soul-searching.
With a mere glance he commanded Rye, who nodded and slid closer to one of the paralyzed Jakals. The enemy lay helpless but conscious, staring up as the hunter contemplated him with a wicked little smile that bared a fine set of fangs. Loosing an intimidating vocalization, Rye reached over to the sheath attached to his biceps on the right and withdrew the blade slowly. The blue metal gleam of the rubkar’s blade caught the overhead lighting and made it look even more menacing as Rye lowered himself into a crouch next to the helpless male.
There. That moment. That fear and terror in one of their own, that was what Reule caught hold of, magnified, and netted the sensitive enemy with. His fingers curled into fists, his chin dipped down as he focused ferociously on manipulating all of them at once. He couldn’t allow a single one the chance to further harm his kinsman.
The effect was more than he would have expected or even hoped for. The Jakals standing in the center of the room suddenly recoiled in horror and began to scream. They clapped bony fingers over their skulls as males and females alike wailed to a pitch high enough to shatter glass. Reule ignored it, pushing and pushing, refusing to let go lest they try to push back and incapacitate him with their sheer force of numbers. As he drilled into them their compatriot’s horror of impending death and his helplessness to do anything about it, he felt as though he were stronger than he had ever been before. He was an awesome force to contend with under any circumstances, and there was no mistaking the surge of vitalizing strength sliding into him now.
Reule kept the conduit open, from victim Jakal, to amplification within himself, and back to the small crowd of compatriot Jakals in the center