Lyon stared out over the rough Potomac, the cool wind in his face doing nothing to ease the painful need surging through his body.
Goddess, but he wanted Kara.
He'd been a fool to think he could prep her. Even before the surge of power had burst over him, inflaming every nerve ending, leaving him hard and ready and wanting, he'd known it had been a mistake.
Watching her out here, away from the house and the constant fear that had been riding her, he'd gotten a taste of the woman she'd been before. Before her mother died, before he'd wrenched her from everything she'd known and thrust her into the immortal world of the Ferals.
And he'd become intrigued by her more than ever. Enchanted.
How was he ever going to get over her?
There was an elemental quality to her out here, a wildness, that called to his beast. And a sweetness and strength, despite everything, that drew the man. He would be perfectly content to sit out here for hours every day, watching her. The play of light along her fine bones, the emotions Hitting across her face.
He heard her approach and knew the moment she came to stand by him. For a long time she said nothing, simply stood at his side as if that was the very place she belonged. By sheer dint of will, he kept his hands to himself and didn't pull her closer. He didn't touch her at all. But that in no way meant he wasn't excruciatingly aware of her.
"When were you born exactly?" she asked finally. Her face was turned to the wind, the breeze tugging wisps of hair free from her ponytail to tease her cheek. A cheek he knew to be soft as silk.
"I was born somewhere around 1314. Maybe 1315. Dates were unimportant back then, and no one ever marked my birthday."
She turned to glance at him, her brows drawing together. "Even your mom didn't know?"
Lyon turned back to the river. "My mother was human. She died when I was born."
"I'm sorry. Who raised you?"
"Me."
"You had no one?"
"I had a father. A Therian. But I wouldn't go so far as to say he raised me. He'd been kicked out of the enclaves years before for excessive drinking. He was basically an immortal drunk. He'd have committed suicide a dozen times over if he hadn't been such a coward, and if it hadn't been so damned hard to do. He hated his life. Hated his wife for dying on him."
"And hated his son for killing her?"
He met her too-perceptive gaze, his gut clenching as a vivid memory rose from the distant reaches of his mind.
His dad dumping him, headfirst, into the rain barrel and holding him there until his lungs were full of water and exploding with pain. The summer solstice. The day his mother had died. It had happened every year on the summer solstice, until Lyon finally stopped going back.
He'd never told anyone. "Why would you say that?" he asked sharply.
Kara shrugged and turned back to the water. "One of my preschoolers, last year… It was his birthday. When we sang 'Happy Birthday' to him, he burst into tears. I took him aside and he told me he wasn't allowed to celebrate his birthday because it was the day he'd killed his mom. His dad had told him that. The next morning, he came to school with a black eye and bruises on his back and stomach. I reported it, and his father was arrested for child abuse."
She turned back to meet his gaze, warm sympathy in her eyes. "I'm sorry that was you, Lyon. Even if he never actually hit you, blaming a child for something that was so clearly not his fault is a terrible thing to do."
"Yeah, well, it was a long time ago." And not a memory he'd ever wanted to keep.
"When you say a long time ago, you're not kidding," Kara said softly. "Hawke did tell me no one knows who your father was. Have you ever seen him since you became a Feral?"
"No. I left him when I was ten or eleven. I'd gotten pretty good at avoiding the fists and boots of the other drunks on the street, and had been feeding myself and fending for myself for years. He beat me once too often. I left and never went back."
Kara's soft hand touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry."
Lyon shrugged. What he'd said was true. It was a very long time ago. The memories should have faded long ago.
"Where was this?" she asked.
"The slums of London."
"Were you always called Lyon?"
He gave a soft snort. "I grew up as a scrawny kid by the name of Arthur Bannister. A Feral isn't named until after his first shift, when he discovers which animal has chosen him."
Her sweet face turned to him, her eyes bright with curiosity. "That must have been amazing. To discover you could become a lion."
"It was… strange. And, yeah. Amazing. And one hell of a relief."
A smile trembled on her lips. "Why a relief?"
"Because, back in those days, the moment a new Feral arrived at Feral House, the others started calling him Mouse. It was a long-running joke, but of course, I didn't know that. They swore up and down that the Feral who'd recently died, the one I'd been marked to replace, had been a mouse." He shrugged. "I was sixteen. They had me totally convinced."
"But you turned into a lion."
"I did. It was the proudest day of my life." Her eyes shone as she gazed at him, making something tighten and ache deep in his chest. He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. "I'm not sure why I told you all this. I've never told anyone."
"I'm glad you did."
The urge to reach for her nearly overwhelmed him, and he shoved his hands into his back pockets. She was too close. Too tempting. Again, he considered calling one of the others to finish for him. They knew she was a flight risk, now. They'd never let her out of their sight.
But then he'd miss the look on her face the first time she turned radiant. Goddess,, but he was turning into a glutton for torture.
He turned away, putting what distance he could between them. "Let's try again, Kara."
Without a word, she returned to her place on the stone and sat. Could he possibly touch her again without giving in to the need riding him to pull her against him?
The answer to that was a resounding hell if I know.
"Why don't you try it yourself this time," he suggested, and sat a distance from her this time, leaning against the rock wall that formed the backdrop of the goddess stone.
Kara nodded, placed her hands on the stone, and closed her eyes. Lyon stretched his legs out in front of him, settling back as he watched her go through the steps on her own. Concentrating, pulling, over and over until finally she succeeded in pulling the small blue flame. But each time it flickered out. Again and again.
Finally, she held it.
Lyon tensed with excitement, leaning forward. "That's it, Kara." He watched as the flame sank into her hands, flowing out beneath her skin like a faint, iridescent glow that lit her from within wherever it touched.
Kara's gaze flew to his, and she gasped. "What's happening?"
Lyon grinned. "You did it."
Chills tingled along his skin as he watched the glow spread up her neck and illuminate her face in a beautiful wash of light and color.
Her jaw dropped: "I'm glowing."
"You're radiant," he murmured. Beautiful. The sight of her like this, the fire beneath her skin, the amazement sparkling in her eyes, was the most incredible he'd ever seen.
"Can I move? Will I lose it?"
"You can move. You won't lose it until you let it go."
With an uncertain half smile, she rose to her feet, her gaze on her hands. Slowly, she lifted her hands up to the sky, watching them. Laughter bubbled out of her throat, and she turned, her eyes glowing as she met his gaze.
"It feels… amazing. Powerful." She twirled around, her head tilted to the cloudy sky, and laughed. "I feel like I could fly. Like I could lift this rock with you on it and carry you both to the moon."
Her. joy and awe of her power made something warm and painful move in his chest. She was so alive, so achingly lovely. More than anything in the world, he wanted to grab her up and twirl her around. Without even realizing he'd done so, he'd risen to his feet, but he forced himself to stay where he was.
Kara stopped spinning, her face truly aglow. "Is this why I'm called the Radiant? Because I can light up like a campfire?"
Her description, her sheer delight, pulled a chuckle from him. A surprising burst of happiness. "Yes."
As he watched, she twirled again, spinning, coming to a halt directly in front of him. Eyes gleaming as brightly as her skin, she started to reach for him, then snatched her hand back.
"Can I hurt you?"
He smiled at her, totally under her spell. "No."
As soon as the word was out, the moment that single soft finger traced the line of his cheekbone, he recognized his mistake. Her power leaped at him, tumbling him into a sea of erotic fire.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
Had he groaned? "No." It didn't hurt. Not precisely.
She lifted her other hand and traced his opposite cheek, but her gaze fell to his mouth. His body tightened down low.