"That is the question."
As she watched him, the challenge slid from her features. "I'll cooperate if you promise to keep Jag as far from me as you can."
"Agreed. He'll be part of the rituals because he has to be. But if he comes near you again, I'll lock him in the prisons."
A flash of humor softened her features for only a moment before she dropped her hands at her sides and shook them as if preparing for a road race. "What do I need to do to get ready for this?"
He had to struggle not to laugh because he knew she was dead serious. She amused him and pleased him on new levels every time he was with her. Unfortunately, that did nothing to diminish the raging attraction he'd felt for her from the moment he saw her. An attraction that was going to test him to his limits in a few minutes.
The thought of what he had to do made him long for an ice-water bath.
"Kara… usually a woman is prepared for this first ritual, the Pairing, by another woman from her line… her family. But we don't know who your line is, and the only women in the house are Zaphene and Pink."
Kara's gaze snapped up, her eyes wide. "Pink? The bird?"
"Yes. The only ones who can prepare you for the ritual are one of them… or me."
"You." The word came out of her mouth like a shot. "Please."
"You don't know what you're asking. The preparation requires you to be fully undressed."
Her jaw dropped, then closed with a snap as her eyes narrowed. "Just what kind of ritual is this?"
"It's not a mating, if that's what you're thinking. The purpose is to determine the one…the only one… who can safely see you through your Ascension. Your biological match. There's magic in our world that humans can't reach and don't understand. Our rituals call forth that magic. You have to trust me. And we don't have much time."
"You want me to just… get naked?"
Yes. No. He wouldn't survive such an assault on his senses. "Put a towel around you."
"Lyon…"
He could see her uncertainty even as he could smell her blossoming arousal. The purpose of the preparation was to ready her body, cleansing and opening, so that when she entered the Feral Circle, her passion would rise to the surface of her skin. But the mere suggestion of baring her flesh to him had done the trick. What would happen when he touched her, as he must? Where he must?
Goddess give me the strength to carry this through.
"I have to rub drops of ritual oil into your body in seven key places."
"Where?"
"Get ready first. And put your hair up. I'll explain as we go."
When Kara retreated to the bathroom, Lyon pulled the ritual oil from the drawer where he knew Beatrice had stored it and removed the stopper. He took a whiff of the erotic substance and immediately wished he hadn't. There would be no slaking his own desire. No slaking hers. She must come to the ceremony with her passion ready to rise from her skin. Unfortunately, she was going to enter with her body more than ready. As would he. His body was already as hard as the hilt of a sword.
Moments later, Kara emerged, clinging to the thick royal blue towel wrapped around her with a charming self-consciousness. His gaze rose from her perfectly shaped legs over the slender curves hidden by the towel to the gentle swell of breasts and the sweep of her silken shoulders.
The breath caught in his throat as heat spiraled low inside him in a raw, pulsing ache. And he hadn't even touched her.
I can't do this. But when his gaze rose to her eyes he saw an odd combination of uncertainty and trust. It was the latter that did him in. She trusted him to do what must be done. The least he could do was trust himself.
He motioned her to stand by the bed. "We'll make this as quick as possible." Which wouldn't be nearly quick enough. He lifted the oil jar into his hand and poured a drop onto his palm. Rubbing it between his thumbs, he closed the distance between them.
Her sweet scent rose up through the floral scent of shampoo, wrapping itself around him, swamping his senses.
"The first is your temples. The opening of the mind." He slid his fingers into her hair, gripping her small head as his thumbs slid over her temples in a circular motion, rubbing the oil into her beautiful skin. She was so near, the warmth of her flesh ignited his own as she watched him with luminous eyes framed in gold lashes. His gaze slid lower to the light dusting of freckles on her pert nose and the lush curve of her lips parting with her quickening breath.
Her sighs slid over his skin, the need to taste her becoming almost a physical pain. He began to chant softly in the language of the ancients, a chant designed to call her passion. But her need rolled over him in a wave of heat that almost buckled his knees.
"Sweet goddess. No more chanting. Talk. Questions. Ask me questions." The oil was a must, but the passion was going to drown them both if he didn't change the direction of their thoughts.
How in the hell was he going to survive what was left to come?
Chapter Six
Questions?
How did he expect her to think of questions when she was standing in nothing but a towel, so close she could feel his breath in her hair? Kara's gaze caught on the small triangle of hair in the open vee of Lyon's shirt as his masculine scent sent a river of heat flowing between her legs.
He stepped back and poured a dab of oil into his palm, then dipped his fingers into the oil and traced the scar on her left breast.
"The opening of the heart," he murmured, pressing his fingers into the sensitive flesh and rubbing.
Her chest rose and fell against his fingers in a quickening movement as she pressed into his touch, wanting more. So much more. She looked up into his face and saw her thoughts mirrored perfectly in the passion-filled amber of his eyes.
"Ask me a question, little Radiant," Lyon begged, his voice pained.
Kara struggled for a thought besides the heat swirling through her veins. "I thought…" she breathed, triumphant over the lust that held her in thrall. "I thought you said there were only nine shape-shifters. Pink makes… ten, right?"
"Pink's not actually a shape-shifter so much as a half-animal. When a Feral dies, his animal flees to another within his line. The strongest. Usually it's an adult male. Occasionally a woman or a child, though children are rare in our society. Pink was an identical twin. In Pink's case, we believe the animal flew to her shortly after conception, just before the egg split. The animal became trapped between the two girls. They were both born half-human, half-flamingo. Pink's sister was killed in the belief doing so would free her half of the animal spirit, allowing the entire spirit to go to Pink. But it didn't work. Pink has been trapped within that half-animal body for nearly six hundred years."
"Six hundred?" The true realization of what it meant to be immortal nearly lifted her out of the sensuous haze. "I saw Pink in the dining room. I'm afraid I reacted badly to the sight of her. I need to apologize."
Lyon lifted his hand from her breast and stepped back as if he needed to regroup, giving her air to breathe even as the oil's scent slid through her in a wash of erotic warmth.
"Pink understands," Lyon assured her. "She's used to reactions such as yours." He made a circular movement with his finger. "Turn around."
"Where now?"
"Your spine. The source of your strength."
Kara caught her breath. "My spine is covered."
"Leave it that way for the moment."
She turned, and he settled his thumb gently against the base of her skull and started a slow, downward motion between her shoulder blades as far as the top of the towel, then back up again. Twice. Three times.
"Drop the towel, Kara." His voice sounded strangled. "Hold perfectly still. And ask questions."
She heard him kneel behind her. The thought of baring her naked rear to him turned her breathing shallow and erratic, and sent a rush of liquid heat to moisten her thighs. Mortifying her.
"Lyon…"
"Quickly, Kara. I don't know how much more of this I can take."
With a scrunch of her face, she pulled the towel away and held it in front of her, clutching it tight to her breasts.
She felt his thumb between her shoulder blades as it began a slow decent down the curve of her back. An involuntary shiver had her arching her back, sending her bare rear brushing against his arm. With a jerk, she straightened, even as she felt that thumb slide lower. And lower, to the very base of her spine where it nestled between her nether cheeks.
The groan that escaped her throat was half embarrassment that she was letting this virtual stranger touch her like this, and half pure erotic feeling.
"Questions, Kara." Lyon's voice was husky with raw desire. At least she wasn't the only one affected.
"You're kidding." All she could do was feel his thumb rubbing, dipping into that crevice, wishing it would go lower. Down, around. Inside.
"Kara."
"Right. What were we talking about?"
"Pink. Shape-shifters."
Her breath came in fast, shallow pulls as if she'd been running up the stairs. Her thoughts whirled with carnal images of where she longed to feel his fingers next. But he wanted questions. About shape-shifters.
She struggled to reconnect her brain. "How… you said… you hunt Daemons in your animal form. Don't people notice lions and cougars and tigers roaming the D.G. suburbs at night?"
With a mixture of relief and hot regret, she felt his thumb lift from her spine. She tensed, waiting for the next place, hoping….
She felt his thumb at the back of one knee and let out a sigh of disappointment.
"We have… talents." His warm breath wafted over her lower back. "What you would call magic. When I hunt in my animal, I can alter my size and shape to fit the landscape,".
"What do you mean?"
He gave a snort that was half amusement. "I prowl D.C. as a tomcat."
"You're kidding."
His hand shifted to the back of her other knee. "It took me years to perfect the ability, but it works. Some of the others do the same. Wulfe can't change his form, so he stays out of the city to hunt."
He released her knees and rose. "Put the towel around you again." His words were sharp, almost harsh, but she knew he was struggling as much as she was. She had no illusions that she was pretty enough to drive a man mad with lust when she was clothed. But a man with his hands on any naked woman was going to want her. That was just the way men were. And this one, shape-shifter or not, was all male.
Lyon strode to the window and stood there staring out, every line of his gorgeous body as taut as a cat ready to spring.
Kara wrapped the towel tight around her as she had before. "What's next?"
Lyon didn't turn around. "The palms of your hands. The soles of your feet. And… are you covered?"
"Yes."
He turned and met her gaze. Even across the room she could see the need in the harsh lines of his face. She wanted him. Never had she felt such desire for a man. His touch aroused her more than she'd ever thought possible and his tongue….
Just the thought of his tongue sent a flurry of small spasms rippling through her womb.
Lyon started toward her, moving with a sleek grace that almost made it seem possible he could become the great cat in truth. The raw desire that filled his amber eyes made her breath catch and sent heat flushing her body.
She was trembling, she realized, as he closed the distance between them. She wanted him. How could she take any more of this? How could he?
To her surprise, he didn't stop in front of her as she'd expected, but fully closed the distance between them. Her heart leaped, her senses spinning as he pulled her against him, dug his hands into her hair, and claimed her mouth.
The moment his lips touched hers, desire exploded, sending her world tilting on its axis. She grabbed him to steady herself, holding on to him as he held her, as his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was as intense and barely controlled as the passion that flared between them. His mouth opened over hers, his tongue swept inside, strong and fierce, as if laying claim. She welcomed him, sliding her tongue against his, the gloriously masculine taste of him transporting her out of herself and into a lush, erotic jungle. Lyon groaned and pulled her tighter against him, tilting his head as if he sought to climb inside her, his desperation sending her into a tailspin of lust.
Slowly, his mouth gentled, coaxing instead of dominating, tasting instead of devouring. His tongue slid over hers in a sinuous dance, every stroke sending a lick of fire to her sensitive core until the throbbing between her legs became almost unbearable. Every stroke tightening, twisting, until she writhed against him, small whimpers escaping from her throat.
Dear heaven.
His tongue stroked hers once, twice more before the pressure deep inside her crested and broke, the orgasm ripping through her in furious, glorious spasms. He pushed the hand at her back lower, grabbing her rear and pressing her hips tight against the thick ridge in his pants. And still he kissed her. Still his tongue rode hers, sending her scattered passion into a whirlwind of a spiral, shattering her a second time.
Lyon pulled his mouth away with a last sensuous slide of his tongue against hers, then kissed the tip of her nose and held her tight against him as the spasms Slowly subsided, and her legs finally remembered how to stand.
"I shouldn't have done that," he murmured against her hair.
"Oh, I think it was a grand idea."
Lyon chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath her cheek. "It was necessary."
"Yes." She blinked. "Why?"
