He pulled back, releasing her to stand on her own as he picked up the oil jar and dribbled a few drops into his palm, then knelt before her.
"Because, to open you to life," he murmured, then slid his oiled finger beneath the towel and between her legs. "I must oil the gates of your womb. Spread your legs, Kara."
She took a ragged breath and widened her stance, doing as he asked. Squeezing her eyes closed, she struggled to stand still as his fingers slid over that moist, sensitized flesh when all she wanted to do was buck and writhe until he buried himself deep inside her.
"Lyon…" she groaned.
"Stay in your skin, little Radiant."
"Stay where?"
"A shape-shifter saying. It means to calm down."
She groaned. "How?" She was out of control. She'd just come…twice…yet it hadn't been enough. Her body wanted him. Hips rocking, she pressed against his hand, unable to control the need raging through her. "I want you inside me, Lyon. All of you."
"I know. Sweet goddess, you're wet." His words were brittle with restraint. "But I can't take you. If I slake my desire on you now, the ritual won't work. I'll never know if I was the one."
"Lyon…" She was dying. Dying. "Lyon."
He shoved a finger inside her, then a second, and she moaned with relief. In and out, harder and faster, feeding her frenzy as she rode the waves of sensation. Never had she felt like this, so out of her head with desire she barely even remembered the word inhibitions, let alone knew what she'd done with hers.
She gripped his shoulders, feeling the towel slide down and away and not caring. When his mouth closed over her breast, she felt a hot spurt of triumph. Her hands moved to his head, his thick hair sliding between her fingers as she held him against her. She arched into his touch, rocking against his hand as his fingers dove into her, over and over, in a hard, desperate rhythm. Within moments, she was shattering yet again and knew she'd never felt anything so wonderful in her life.
Lyon pulled his fingers and mouth away and held her from him with shaking hands. His white-hot gaze scorched her naked body.
"Kara," he croaked. "Put the towel on. I'm hanging on to my control by a thread, and we're not done." He released her and reached for the oil as she struggled to wrap the towel around herself. In record time, Lyon rubbed the oil into her hands and feet, then strode to the closet with fast, urgent steps.
He returned with a simple, if elegant gown. The dress reminded Kara of a loose-fitting spaghetti-strap sundress, but longer. And silkier. A cocktail dress, she supposed, white with gold embroidery at the neck, and a spray of gold flowers running, diagonally from left breast to right hem.
"Drop your towel and lift your arms," he directed, keeping his gaze fixed on the far wall. She did, and he slipped the gown over her head and let it fall to a few inches below her knees in a soft cloud, caressing her skin with a sensuous softness.
Lyon turned away and stalked to the window. "Brush out your hair, and we'll go."
"What about shoes?"
"No shoes," he said, his voice hoarse, his hand gripping the window frame as if he meant to tear it off the wall.
She watched his rigid back a moment longer, then crossed to the bathroom where she'd left her hairbrush and pulled the rubber band out of her hair. As her hair tumbled around her shoulders, she caught her reflection and stared at herself in the mirror in bemused fascination. She barely recognized the woman she saw there. With her hair down, her cheeks and lips flushed, and the gown flowing over her slender curves, she almost looked like something out of a Greek play. As she moved toward the vanity for her brush, she caught the flash of light between her legs from the room behind her. Her gaze fell to her breasts, and her eyes widened. While one of her nipples was strategically hidden by a gold flower, the dusty bud of the other showed plainly against the sheer white of the gown.
The dress was indecently see-through!
Kara snatched up the brush and returned to the bedroom, where Lyon still gripped the window frame.
"I have to wear a bra with this. And I need a slip. And panties."
"No." The word was softly spoken, but laced with steel.
A dark suspicion had her catching her breath. "You told me there was no sex involved in this ritual."
"I told you the truth."
A harsh burst of strangled laughter escaped her throat. "Then why did you have to… turn me on? Why no underwear? Why the porn-queen dress?"
He turned slowly, his hot gaze skimming the dress and every one of her curves, setting her on fire all over again. But when his gaze finally met hers, his mouth twitched in what might have passed for a very strained smile.
"That porn-queen dress has been worn by our Radiants for nearly a thousand years."
A thousand… ? Kara's eyes widened.
"My intent wasn't to turn you on, as you put it, but merely to ready your body for the passion that will rise naturally during the ceremony. Passion opens the body and mind in ways nothing else can. It's the way nature finds… the one who will help you ascend."
"Passion." Why did she get the feeling he wasn't telling her everything. "But not sex?"
"No."
She met his amber gaze, searching for the truth. "You promise?"
He met her gaze, then crossed to her and took the hairbrush from her unsteady fingers. Turning her, he began to pull the brush gently through her hair.
"There is no sex involved in the ceremony, Kara. Nothing for you to fear. We would never hurt you." His deep voice soothed her senses, easing her disquiet with every word, with every stroke of the brush. "You're our Radiant. The conduit to our power. You hold our very lives in your hands."
Tossing the brush onto the bed, he turned her around to face him, then stepped back, as if afraid to touch her. His gaze slid over her slowly, his eyes hot, admiring, heating her all over again. He took a deep, unsteady breath and motioned toward the door. "Let's go."
They descended one flight of stairs and crossed through the empty and silent house. As they started down a second, much longer flight to what she assumed was the basement, the dread she'd felt earlier returned, tightening like a band around her chest until she could hardly breathe. And she began to wonder what her real role was destined to be in this strange world.
What exactly did it mean to be the Radiant and lifeblood of the Feral Warriors?
In this dress, with her hair down and her feet bare, she was beginning to feel more like a blood sacrifice.
* * *Chapter Seven
Lyon lifted Kara onto the foot-high pedestal in the center of the sacred circle, his hands shaking with need for her as they splayed at her narrow waist. It was all he could do not to bury his face in her neck and drink in the sweet scent of her skin. It was all he could do not to lift the hem of her dress and sheathe himself deep in her heat.
He'd done too much as it was. Kissing her. Fondling her. Hell, he'd done everything but make love to her. Never had he struggled so hard for control and lost it so badly. The lack of radiance was definitely getting to him, too.
"What's going to happen?" Kara's voice quavered as her gaze slid around the smoky, dark-paneled room. The flames of the six sacred fires cast shadows over her face. "It's spooky down here." Her gaze caught his, whispers of fear in her eyes. "What's going to happen, Lyon?"
A fierce protectiveness rose inside him, a need to fight back her fears as he'd been doing since he found her. But her fate was in the hands of the goddess, now.
"It's just ritual, Kara. You have nothing to fear. All you have to do is stand here as we call on the Earth's wisdom to pair you with the one who will aid your Ascension to your power."
"All I do is stand here?"
Lyon hesitated, deciding he'd put off the explanation as long as he could. At least the part she needed for now.
"One by one the men will approach you… kiss you… until the one is found."
Her blue eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in disbelief. "You're making that up."
"No."
"I'm not kissing all of them," she hissed.
"It's the only way." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the last two warriors, Vhyper and Paenther, enter the room. The slap of forearm to forearm echoed through the ritual room as his men greeted one another, along with a few low, ribald comments. One man would indeed be well bedded tonight.
"It's time," Kougar said. The fires that ringed the circle were lit and flaming. The men all there.
Lyon pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the ground outside the circle, as did the others, standing in nothing but his pants. The Pairing required flesh. Against flesh.
He took his place in the circle. Each man was bare to the waist except for the silver armband that curved around his right biceps, an armband with the silver head and jeweled eyes of his beast. Lyon gazed at Kara standing before them, proud and wary. More beautiful than any Radiant before her. The goddess personified. A rumble started deep in his chest, vibrating through him as his animal fought to stake his claim.
Mine.
He clamped down on the beast within. She wasn't his, and he didn't want her to be. The last thing he needed was the time-consuming responsibility of a mate. But, heaven help him, she filled his senses. Never could he remember feeling this insanely attracted to a woman. Attracted, jealous, possessive.
Damn, but this ceremony couldn't happen quickly enough. When she was paired, he'd be free of this obsession once and for all. He had to believe that.
But the wildness inside him tossed its head in denial. He wanted Kara. Not just in his bed, but by his side. Sharing her thoughts and doubts, gifting him with a smile, and in time, maybe even laughter.
Mine. His beast's claim raged through him, demanding he attack every man in the room and protect what was his. But he was not a beast tonight. He was a man. And the ritual would reveal the truth he would live with.
Kara turned, the firelight catching in the hair that brushed her shoulders, turning it to spun gold. The diaphanous gown whispered over her skin, revealing hints of the woman beneath. Passion rode her skin, ripe and seductive, making Lyon sweat.
Goddess help him, he wanted her. As did every other man in the room. He could see the hunger in their eyes.
Kara's gaze found his, clung to him as if he were her lifeline. Even from where he stood, a good ten feet away, he could see the pulse pounding thickly in her throat. She was afraid. It was all he could do not to goto her.
Kougar, the oldest of the Ferals and the ceremonial head of the circle, pulled out his switchblade, flicked it open, and slit a vein in his wrist. Tighe, standing beside him, handed him the ceremonial bowl that had once been the top of the skull of an ancient and long-dead shape-shifter. Kougar let his blood seep into the bowl, then passed the bowl to Tighe, who did the same. One by one, the warriors added their blood to the bowl until it was Lyon's turn. As the chief, he was last. He slit his own wrist, ignoring the searing pain. Moments later, when blood no longer flowed from the quickly healing cut, he handed the bowl back to Kougar.
Intoning the ancient chant, Kougar moved into the circle. Kara watched the warrior with wide-eyed wariness as he dipped his fingers into the blood and dripped it onto the ground as he circled her slowly three times. Finally, he returned to the main fire, where he poured the remaining blood. The fire spit and rose, turning as blue as the fingertips of the man who would ultimately be chosen tonight.
Kara's gaze flew to Lyon. The gazes of every man in the room turned to him as well. He was Chief of the Feral Warriors and it was his place to go first… or turn the honor over to another.
Mine, his beast raged. Lyon clamped down hard on the wildness of his animal, but he was nearly out of control.
"Paenther," he called, his voice tight with the effort. He would not touch her until he was certain he could kiss her and back away.
"Roar?" Paenther questioned. "Are you sure?"
"It's my right to choose the order," Lyon snapped. "Go." He clenched his fists at his sides as the beast within him railed at the betrayal, and his body shook with the need to have her.
As Paenther strode forward, Kara's gaze locked on Lyon and he could see plainly that his beast wasn't the only one who felt betrayed.
Paenther stopped in front of her in his black leather pants, his black hair loose about his shoulders. Tentatively, Kara turned to face him, her shoulders tight, her arms trembling at her sides. The warrior reached for her and she reared back.
Only Paenther's quick hands on her forearms kept her from falling. "Easy, Radiant. I won't hurt you."
"I don't like this," she murmured, her pleading gaze flying back to Lyon.
His chest tightened, yet he steeled himself against her silent plea.
"This is the way it is done," Paenther said, his voice low and tight.
Jealousy curled deep in Lyon's gut as Paenther covered the soft flesh of Kara's shoulders with his hands and pulled her against his chest, skin to skin, slowly leaning forward to kiss her.
Rage tore through him, his beast ripping to get tree. Mine!
Paenther pulled back and stepped away from her, holding up his hands. Hands that held no blue flame within their tips.
Lyon was shaking. He couldn't do this. He couldn't stand here, watching, as the others kissed her, wondering if she was somehow meant for him.
"Me next?" Tighe asked.
"No," Lyon growled. He wanted this over with. Either she was his, or she wasn't, and he wasn't waiting any longer to find out. If she wasn't, he'd at least get a last kiss. And if she was? No one was touching her ever again. Ever. Again.