He nodded with airs and graces, smiling indulgently as the woman merged back with her tribesman.
My skin prickled, a sixth sense saying I was watched.
Squinting past the brightness and sting of the fire, I searched for the owner’s gaze.
Buzzard.
Daniel lurked on the outskirts of the fire, his eyes not on the half-naked women but on me. His lips parted, gaze undressing me, raping me from afar. In his hand rested a crudely made cup, no doubt holding liquor.
One song turned into a mecca of soulful salvation. A young girl broke away from the dancing women, moving forward with a small bowl and a blade.
I sucked in a breath as she looked at Cut and pointed at me with the knife.
A knife?
Why the hell does she have a knife?
Cut nodded, tugging my leash. I tried to fight it, but it was no use. Effortlessly, he forced me to present my tied hands.
My lungs seized as the girl bowed at my feet, placing the bowl on the dirt. Unfurling my palms, she kissed each finger, murmuring a chant that sent spiders scurrying down my spine.
I tried to tug away, but Cut held me firm.
“Wait—”
The girl flashed her blade.
I gritted my teeth. “No—”
Before I could stop her, she sliced the flesh of my palm and held thebleeding cut over the bowl.
Ow!
Pain instantly lashed over the wound, stinging and raw. Blood welled, dripping thickly into the girl’s collection.
“Why did you do that?” My voice bordered on rage and curiosity. My hand begged to curl over the wound and protect it.
The girl didn’t reply; she merely waited until a small crimson puddle rested in the bowl before letting me go.
The music turned to a fever, the men pounding their drums, the women kicking their heels. The little girl returned with her bloody prize, dancing and howling at the moon as voices rose in an ancient euphony.
My entire body was on fire.
My blood flowing fast.
My skin flushing bright.
My fear twisted into intoxication.
I wanted to join them. To becomewild.
My wound was forgotten. My predicament and future peril ignored.
The moment the girl took my blood, I’d become more than just an outcast in this foreign land, I’d becomeoneof them.
Cut sucked in a breath, something odd and not entirely unwelcome throbbing between us. He tore his gaze from mine as the girl finished her pirouette and with a squeal the bowl landed in the fire, shattering against hot coals, hissing with burning blood. A potent smell laced the air as the dance turned crazed, choreographed by gravity-defying shamans.
To be somewhere where life wasn’t about TV or work-stress or mundane normalness—to see people having fun and partying—intoxicated me better than any experience.
