Drink of Me by Jacquelyn Frank

By Jacquelyn Frank

In an international the place emotion could be a lethal weapon, one mild, battered runaway holds the main to a dismal and twisted enigma. . .

Drink of me, she whispers, her silver eyes trusting, pleading. What girl dares converse such phrases to 1 of the Sánge? His individuals are scorned by means of each race for his or her fierce sensuality, their worried rituals. And as leading, Reule is the main telepathically talented of all of them.

But not anything has ready him for the depth of emotion radiating from the outlander rescued through his Pack. Terrified, tormented, yet attractive past degree, Mystique shatters his mythical keep an eye on. As she reaches for him within the steamy warmth of the therapeutic baths, he is aware this blind want could have yet one finish. . .

In blood, in wisdom, in ecstasy.

Praise for the Novels of Jacquelyn Frank

"A lush narrative bound to please readers who've longed for brand spanking new gothic and darkly romantic tales." --Booklist on Gideon

"Frank's NIGHTWALKER sequence depicts an engrossing trade global, drawn in prose that's lush and lyrical." --Linda Howard

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Example text

The horses nickered restlessly at his approach, stomping their thick hooves to express their unhappiness at standing so long in the cold. He approached Fit, his large dappled gray gelding, releasing the girl’s legs and supporting her along the length of his body as he reached for his saddlebags. Before he got the chance, though, he felt the hard butt of an equine head dead center in his back. He staggered and recovered his balance by leaning against the animal. He remained after a moment’s thought in order to use Fit’s heat to help warm the girl.

Sánge, bautor mo. The words suddenly echoed in his mind in a whisper-soft voice that seemed too innocent to know of such things. He suppressed a shudder of indefinable feeling and pressed the blade to the tattered gown. Slowly, carefully, he cut a good six inches down her breastbone before withdrawing the cutting edge. Then he sheathed the blade and grasped the fabric firmly in his fists. He yanked sharply and the weak linen shredded easily. For a moment, Reule thought the act strangely erotic.

You’re lucky these stairs even held,” Darcio muttered as Reule entered the room one careful sidestep after another. His Packmate was right. The hole in the floor came to within a mere foot of the door and stairwell. And of course his target was all the way on the opposite side. Even though it was all one large room, he still couldn’t see her. There was a crowd of crates blocking his view of her, though he could still sense her dim heat. “I’d really like to know how she got over there,” Reule said in honest curiosity.

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