Jag woke to the sun in his eyes. The tent flap was ajar. He bolted up, his lion instantly alert, his eyes sweeping the tent and their blanket bed. Riley was nowhere.

He flew to his feet, grabbing his pants before stumbling out of the tent. He scanned the camp, shoving his feet through his pant legs before pulling them over his hips. Where the hell was she?

“Your lady is with our shaman,” Ranat said, walking toward Jag’s panicked confusion. “All the women were roused early.” He clapped Jag on the shoulder. “I think you’re going to need a drink.”

“Why?” Jag asked, suspicious.

“Because, what’s done in the heat of the night sometimes cannot be undone in the cold light of day,” he replied.

“Ranat, it’s too early for riddles. Just spit it out.”

Before his friend could answer, the shaman walked toward the smoking bonfire, its embers still red from the night’s festivities. Alone, he lifted a ram’s horn from a cord around his neck and blew. The sound was like God calling, and the women and men who participated in the rite the night before stepped forward from those gathered.

Jag caught sight of Riley as she searched for him in the crowd. He lifted a hand, catching her eye and she waved him over. Walking bare-chested and barefoot through the sand, he fell in step with her as they joined the others.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Beats me. The old woman who gave me my costume and war paint last night woke me before daybreak. I didn’t have the heart to rouse you, so I left a note.”

He blinked, and she chuckled. “A note you obviously didn’t get.”

“No,” he replied. Jag took her in as they stood with the others. “You look beautiful, Ri. Most women hate bright morning light, but on you it looks good.”

She smiled. “Good morning to you, too.”

His eyes traveled the length of her sleeveless tunic and fitted drawstring pants. “This is a new look for you,” he said. “What happened to your gold dress?”

“It’s a new look all right. Complete with build in tattoo.” She lifted her hair, showing him the distinct markings between her shoulder blades. “This was the talk of the women’s tent this morning. Any ideas?” she asked, pinning her hair with the gold comb from her club outfit.

He didn’t have time to answer. Chanting, the shaman called the older married tribeswomen to join the group. Each carried a crown of flowers and a curved blade.

“Jag, please tell me we’re not about to be sacrificed,” Riley murmured under her breath.

He shook his head with a smirk. “Sand dwellers don’t sacrifice their own.”

Her eyes jerked to his. “But we’re not their own, remember?”

“You watch too many movies. It’s probably some formality closing the courting rite from last night.” He reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze.

The married women spread out, each stopping at a pair of courting couples. Their movements were almost a dance, the way they placed the flowers on the women’s heads.

The men were given the blades, and Jag turned his over in his hand, admiring the craftsmanship. “This is pretty cool,” he said, examining the grip. “I’m not sure what the patterns on the steel mean. They might be unity symbols.”

The shaman clapped his hands and then held the ram’s horn high. Riley looked at Jag. “What now?”

It didn’t take long for them to get an answer. The older woman who dressed and painted Riley the night before took her by the left hand. Turning her wrist over, she then gestured for Jag.

He looked at the others and what they were doing, his face stunned. “Ri, I don’t think you’re going to like this, but I don’t see how we can back out.”

“Why? What’s happening?” she asked, trying to crane her neck to see. Her eyes flew open and she tried yanking her hand from the old woman’s grip.

“Forget it, buster.” Riley glared at him. “You are not carving symbols into my left arm. It’s bad enough I have some weird inside out tattoo on my right one because of this.”

“You think I had any say in this ritual? I told you last night, I’d never seen it before. You were the one who went and got painted to join in the dance. I’m stuck here, Riley. It’s obvious this is some sort of solemn rite. I’m a Kasaval. My brother is the king. If I bow out, the offense to the nomad culture could be catastrophic.”

“So, this is my fault? One erotic dance and I’m branded?” She shook her head. “No, Jag.”

The older woman tugged on her arm, rattling off something that sounded very much like a nervous warning.

“Hey! Back off!” Riley yanked her hand back. “No...I don’t even know what this is for. No way!”

Jag caught Ranat’s eyes and the man jogged over.

“Your Highness?” he asked, concerned.

“Ranat, what’s happening here?” Jag gestured to the other couples, now done and celebrating. “Neither Riley nor I realized the gravity of this rite. We thought it was a bit of fun for couples as they looked for their clan’s blessing.”

The shaman eyed them from the bonfire. With a calm stride, the holy man walked over. He immediately leaned into Ranat, questioning the man. The two spoke quietly, and then with a nod he gestured for Ranat to explain.

“Our shaman said this is the final test of a woman’s devotion to her new husband. She wears his mark to show her unending affection and obedience.” Ranat drew the infinity sign in the air. “The symbol becomes part of her very skin, like her love for her mate.” He glanced at the raised tattoo on Riley’s back and lifted an eyebrow. “It seems you already wear the mark of the Kasaval xenos. A much more binding statement.”

Riley looked at Jag. “I still don’t understand.”

“I guess this is a binding ceremony,” he replied. “In the eyes of the nomads, once I spill your blood in this way, we’re married.” Exhaling, he ran a hand through his hair. “Ri…I’m sorry. I had no idea coming here tonight would end with something this intense.”

The shaman looked from Jag to Riley, and then leaned in to say something else to Ranat.

A slow grin spread on the man’s lips. “My friends, I was mistaken. It seems you are already married.”

Riley looked between the two. “When? How?”

“Last night.” Ranat nodded.

“Don’t look at me,” Jag said, surprised. “That dance was every bit a mating rite, so I suppose when you chose me it was a done deal.” He grinned. “Go figure. All that hot wiggle to trap a husband.”

She kicked sand at him. “This is so not funny, Jag.”

“No,” he chuckled, giving her a sheepish look. “It’s not. But Ranat’s right. You wear my mark. My xenos claimed you last night, when we…well, you know.”

Riley glared at him. “You don’t need to elaborate for the masses. I remember.”

“Well, you’re the one that said you wanted to be with me forever,” Jag shot back. “Remember that?”

Her sharp gaze softened. “I do.”

“That mark means you’re my chosen mate. Ivy has the same mark…from Vander.”

Riley frowned, sparing a glance for her mark. “I’ve never seen this on Ivy’s back.”

“It doesn’t have to be on her back, but it’s definitely somewhere on her body. It depends on where Vander bit her.” He shrugged. “It’s a shifter thing.”

She lifted her chin. “Do you have one, too?”

“No. Only the chosen mates wear the mark. It’s an outward sign that you belong to me.”

Exhaling, she shook her head. “Belong?” Her voice raised an octave. “What is it with you people? Is it a leftover animal thing, like marking your territory? Or is it just proprietary?”

“Ri, don’t get caught up in semantics. It’s not an ownership thing. A claiming is not much different than two humans becoming husband and wife.”

“So I can divorce you then, is what you’re saying. I can go back to Earth and it won’t matter,” Riley countered.

Jag looked at her but didn’t reply.

“I didn’t think so,” she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “So we’re stuck together now, even if it doesn’t work out?”

Jag took her hand. “A man’s xenos knows when it finds its mate. Plus, Gerri Wilder is never wrong.”

“Gerri!” She went to jerk her hand free, but he held it. “Holy shit, Jag. Was this whole thing a setup?”

“No, of course not!” he shot back “You’re the one who suggested the oasis. But Gerri knows things, and she knew we were right for one another before we did.”

The others stood watching in awed silence. Even the shaman was amused. Except Riley didn’t find the humor. “This is too much. We need to get back to the palace. Hell, Jag. We’re supposed to be helping Ivy and Vander plan their wedding and coronation. What are they going to say when they find out we’re married?”

He looked at the ground and then at her. “That’s just it. We can’t say anything. Not to them. Not to anyone. Technically, it’s against royal protocol for me to formally take a mate before my brother. He’s king.”

“Formally?” she asked. “You call a bunch of drums in the middle of the night and an erotic dance formal? Come on, Jag. Even I think it’s kind of hokey and suspicious. What about this?” She looked at the blade in his hand. “Do we still need to brand me? And what about the mark on my back? It’s not like people aren’t going to notice.”

He shrugged. “Claiming you is one thing. Formally taking you as my mate is another. As for this,” he held up the blade. “That’s up to you, too. I’ll have to tell Vander, in case there’s fallout.”

“Then we have nothing to worry about, do we, because I don’t think any of these people will be at the palace anytime soon.”

He inhaled, lifting one shoulder. “Probably not, but even nomads have accountings, and technically, we’ll be listed among those married, even without the completed rite.” He paused. “Then again, there’ll be fallout no matter what.”

“You mean we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t?” She looked at him to clarify.

He nodded. “If you accept the ritual mark, then you’re not happy and it taints our relationship. If you don’t, then I have to let Vander know what happened so he can do damage control, plus he’ll know technically we married before him.”

“Even though it was in error.”

“Yes, even though.”

“Well, let’s not linger. That way less people will be inclined to question.”

Before she could turn, he grabbed and pulled her close. “Are you sorry I claimed you? After all, you were the one who suggested we come here…and I did ask.”

She looked at him. “I know. And the answer is no, I’m not sorry. I just need time to adjust.” She looked at him. “What are we going to do about all this?” She glanced around. “I mean, we’re together, right?”

“Right.” He kissed her nose.

Riley looked at the shaman still standing with Ranat. She and Jag had an audience for the entire argument, but at least the holy man’s face was soft, if not amused. She cleared her throat and stepped back from Jag, but he kept her hand tight.

The shaman stepped forward and covered their hands with his own. He said the same words he spoke as the others marked their marriages, and Riley’s eyes found Jag’s and locked. She hated the idea of this…it smacked too much of possession…but she loved Jag.

There it was. Bold and undecorated. Raw. She loved the man. The bad boy. The soft touch. All of him. And she was his. HE chose HER.

A small smirk curled the corner of her mouth and she shrugged. “What the hell. If you piss me off, I’ll just get a real tattoo to cover it once I get back to Earth.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, stunned.

She nodded. “I’m quiet and strong, Jag. But like you, I know what I want and it’s you.”

“Riley—” He pulled her in tightly, practically knocking the shaman out of the way and crushed his mouth to hers. “I love you, little mouse.”

Her heart squeezed. Claiming her was one thing. But loving her, too? Her breath caught, and tears pricked her eyes. “Damn it, Jag. I love you, too.” She sniffed, tears trickling. “Since you made me cry anyway, you might as well do the knife thing, now…but so help me my sharp mouse teeth will give you a brand you won’t forget if you get carried away.”

“You sure you don’t want to think about this?” he asked, gesturing with the blade.

She shook her head. “No. If I think too much, I’ll chicken out.” She paused. “So, with this…what do we do after Vander and Ivy do their formal thing?”

“We can have a big palace wedding, too. If you want.” Jag shrugged. “Or we can invite our nearest and dearest back here and dance all over again.”

She shoved him playfully. “Okay. At least that’ll give me time to think.”

“About what?” He grinned.

“If I’ll want to marry you all over again, or just make you miserable for the rest of your life.” She leaned in and kissed him quickly. “Now get busy with that blade. Our new bestie keeps nodding.” She glanced at the shaman and the man smiled.