Once Nyomi and I finished dressing, we were ready for the tradition.
Nyomi stood in the center of the room.
I went over and pulled out both of my guns from the belt. Silver. Custom-made. The metal gleamed in the low light, polished to a mirror finish. I'd chosen silver specifically because it showed everything.
Every scratch.
Every mark.
Every drop of my Tiger’s blood.
The two servants stepped forward and held their hands out. I placed one gun in each of their palms, and they held them steady between us.
Hiro held the knife, crossed to Nyomi, and gave it to her.
I looked at her. "Are you ready?"
She stared at the knife. “Yes.”
“Give me the knife and your hand."
She let out a long breath and then extended her hand toward me. Palm up. Her skin was smooth and warm, and I could see her pulse jumping at her wrist.
Hiro spoke, “Be careful with our Tiger.”
“I’m close to stabbing you with this knife.”
“You would never.” Hiro winked at me. “You love me too much.”
“Unfortunately.” I brought the blade to her fingertip. “Ready, Tora?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
The point pressed against her skin. I pushed further and watched the way the flesh dimpled under the pressure. Her breath hitched, and I looked up at her face. "It'll only hurt for a second."
She nodded.
I pricked her finger. The blade was sharp enough that it went in clean, and blood welled up immediately—bright red and absolutely beautiful.
Mmmm.
My cock jumped in my pants.
I'd always known I had a thing for blood. For violence. For the thin line between pain and pleasure. But seeing Nyomi's blood on her fingertip made this primal awareness rise up in my chest.
I wanted to lick the blood off her skin.
Wanted to taste her.
Wanted to mark my skin with it the way she was about to mark our guns.
I licked my lips.
Nyomi squeezed her finger, and more blood dripped out. A fat drop ran down the side of her hand, and I had to force myself to focus.
Hiro pointed. “Put a line of your blood on top of the gun.”
She stepped toward the first servant. "Do I say anything?"
