Obsession Untamed (Feral Warriors #2)(54)

And the voice of the man who kept telling Tighe to kill her. Great.

Tighe shook his head. “I won’t need it.”

The psychopath’s expression didn’t change. He turned that pale gaze to her, flicking it over her dispassionately as if deciding between a thigh and a breast.

She squeezed Tighe’s hand, desperate to control the shudder that threatened to tear her apart.

The psychopath turned away.

“Happy thoughts, D,” Tighe murmured.

“I was just thinking about dinner.”

“I can imagine what you were thinking, but you have nothing to fear. No one’s going to touch you but me.”

The men were all looking at her, most with a disinterest bordering on disdain. As if she wasn’t worth their time. Is that what they think of all humans?

The last man her gaze landed on nodded to her with something almost approaching friendliness. A man with a long, aristocratic face and sharply arched brows.

Her eyes narrowed, and she nudged Tighe. “Have I met him?”

“Hawke? He was the one who grabbed you at the Tidal Basin.”

And the same one who’d pulled her to safety both times Tighe went ballistic. Would he rescue her a third time if she needed it? Not likely. Not against this crew.

As her gaze peppered the room, she caught sight of a woman standing on the far side, against one wall, in a gown that appeared to be a pastel version of her own ceremonial nightgown. Is the woman just another course on the menu, or does she belong here?

As their gazes caught, the blonde gave her a small, sympathetic smile. Nice. A moment of rapport between one entrée and the other.

Tighe nudged her shoulder. “If those thoughts of yours are happy, I’d hate to taste your dark ones.”

Her gaze jerked to his. “You really can taste my emotions?”

His mouth pursed, and he nodded. “Really can.”

“Do I taste scared?”

“Not exactly. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re thinking about what you’d do if you could get ahold of those knives in my room. Am I close?”

She lifted her brows on a rueful look. “No, but I like your idea better.”

He nodded. “Always glad to help.”

“I’m sure.”

“Let’s get started, Kougar.” The man who spoke was one of the larger of the bunch, his hair down to his shoulders in thick dark blond waves. Everything from the tone of his voice to his body language proclaimed him the leader. Was this Lyon, then? The one on the phone who’d been so against saving her?

Tighe led her to a low pedestal in the middle of the floor. “Stand here.”

“Alone?” She stepped onto the round platform that was about the size of a coffee table and turned to him, noting they now stood eye to eye. “Isn’t it traditional for the bride and groom to stand together?”

“I’ll join you in a moment. Our rituals involve magic, of which I have to be a part.”

As she stood self-consciously, the men formed a loose, wide circle around her. She kept turning, hating the feel of any of these men at her back.

The psychopath—was this Kougar?—walked toward Tighe with a bowl that looked like…Shit. It was either the top of a human skull or a first-rate replica. She’d bet money it was no fake.

Tighe held out his hand for the bowl, then stood there as the freak with the pale eyes pulled out a knife and cut him! Deep. Right through the center of his palm.

Delaney gasped in outrage and leaped off the pedestal.

Tighe shook his head sharply, frowning at her. “Go back, D. This is supposed to happen.”

She glared at Kougar, then slowly turned and climbed back onto the platform. What would she have done if Tighe hadn’t stopped her? Would she really have gone after a hulk of a man with a six-inch blade in his hand?

Yeah. She would have. If she’d thought Tighe was being attacked, she would have. She nearly had.

As if she were trying to protect her mate.

Shit.

Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides as she watched Tighe squeeze his injured hand into a fist, letting the blood run into the bowl. When Tighe lowered his hand, Kougar turned to the man beside Tighe, her aristocratic savior, and cut his palm just as he had Tighe’s.

One by one, the men added their blood to the bowl in a ritual as barbaric as anything she’d ever seen. With the firelight flickering over the dark walls, the half-naked bodies and dripping blood, she could almost believe every step down to this place had taken her another thousand years into the past.

Chills rippled over her skin.

At last, Kougar handed the bowl to Lyon, cut his own palm, and added his blood to the mix. When he was done, he retrieved the bowl.

Tighe walked toward her, then stepped onto the pedestal in front of her. His expression was tight. Borderline angry.

Had she offended him by trying to come to his rescue? Undoubtedly. And in front of all his buddies. Big mistake.

“Sorry,” she said softly. “Gut reaction.”

He didn’t say anything, just held his hands out to her. She started to lay her hands in his when she remembered he’d been cut. But as she looked at his palm, her eyes went wide. His flesh was blood-smeared, but whole.

Her gaze snapped to his.

“Fast healers,” he murmured. “Take my hands, D.”