by Marie Hall
She was angry. It felt like boiling oil poured over his flesh, melting it off. He winced, hating to be the cause of her anger, but after years of dealing with mortals, seeing history unfold before his eyes, he knew things never really changed. War was inevitable. Not today, maybe not even fifty years from now, but soon.
After five minutes of silence, she sighed and glanced at him. Her churning anger slid away, replaced by a fluttering shame. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He grabbed her hand, thankful his had returned to normal the moment they’d left the body behind. Trying to always keep her from witnessing his transformations was getting exhausting. “Don’t be. You only wanted to help. Who could blame you for that?”
“Life in the big city, gotta love it.”
“Yeah,” he said in a monotone with a small shake of his head.
“Look.” She stopped and placed her hand against his chest, halting him. “I don’t want that to ruin our night. We’re almost there…and I just want to have a relaxing time. We can’t change what happened. So let’s move on. Deal?” She held out her hand.
Grudgingly he nodded and shook it. Her smile grew even wider, encompassing all of her face, crinkling her eyes and wrinkling her nose. The warmth radiating from her to him banished the last of his doubt and anger.
“Good.” She turned and walked on.
Minutes later, dim red lights of a flashing neon sign caught his eye. REQUIEM’S TATTOO. He frowned. “This?”
She bit her lip, nodding. “I’m so addicted, it’s not even funny.”
She had tattoos? He couldn’t help but scour her body for clues. He’d never suspected. She looked free of any markings. “Where?”
Her finger traced a winding line down her back and around her rib cage. “It’s not finished yet, but it’s pretty big. It’s my animal familiar.”
He was definitely curious.
“An ivory-billed woodpecker. Very, very rare and beautiful. It’s white and black, with this bright-red crest on top. I dunno”—she shrugged, her cheeks bright pink with excitement—“that poor bird. It’s almost extinct, but it keeps fighting, trying to hang on. That’s sorta become my mantra these days.” Her lips twisted into a self-conscious smile.
“Why a bird?”
“I’ve always had a bond with them. I love birds. You’re gonna think I’m really weird, but it’s almost as if I understand them.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and laughed. “I’m gonna run you off with all this weird talk. C’mon, let’s go inside.”
He was quiet, but thinking. Instantly one of the six houses of the fae kingdom came to mind. The house of feathers. Any fae belonging to that house had a special affinity to birds. Bird whisperers, they were called. He studied Eve.
It seemed the second he’d start to figure her out, she threw him for another curve. There were layers to the witch, intriguing glimpses into the real Eve, and the more he learned, the more he wanted to know.
He followed her into the tattoo parlor and as he walked through the door he felt a warm pulsation travel the length of his body. He stopped, frowning, and studied the building. A small blue glow covered the shop’s exterior, the light so dull it was out of the spectrum of human range. The magick was benign but powerful as it rippled and moved like a rolling wave over the place.
Eve glanced behind her shoulder and followed his gaze. “It’s a warding spell set up by me. Mingan was having trouble keeping the humans safe from the supers. Finally he decided he needed them not to come at all, and in exchange for my tat I set up the spell. A true blood can enter; if a human comes across the building, they’ll walk through the door and instantly forget the past hour of their life. They’ll turn around and walk away.”
To hear her speak of her work in such an offhanded manner made him respect her all the more. This was no simple spell. It had probably taken hours and years’ worth of knowledge to have set up something so sophisticated. He held the door open for her, following her inside.
“It’s impressive.”
She laughed. “Thanks for saying so.”
The entire shop was bathed in a soft red light, casting everything in a surreal quality. He frowned.
“Weres see better in red for some reason; they do their best work in this lighting,” she said, as if reading his mind.
A receptionist, head bent over a table, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he drew a design on a sheet of paper, finally noticed them. His brown eyes widened a fraction of an inch. He stood and ran a hand over his medium-length, orange-red hair.
“Eve,” he said with a big smile and walked around the reception desk. “Damn, it’s good to see you again.”
“Noah,” she replied, walking into his quick embrace. He placed a kiss on either cheek.
“So what have you been up to? Mingan’s been getting cranky, wanting to finish up that tat of yours. He calls it his masterpiece.”
She laughed. “He would. No, I’ve been busy with work and…” She stole a glance at Cian’s face. “…other things. Noah”—she stepped away from him—“this is Cian. Cian, Noah.”
“Hey, man,” Noah said, extending his hand.
Cian clasped it, taking a moment to do a quick study of the man. He smelled garlic, peppers, and meat. Not the sick, sweet scent of raw meat, but cooked steak, and tons of it. The brown eyes were large. The pupils dilated into catlike slits. His grip was firm, the handshake done without hesitation. Noah was not frightened of Cian, merely curious. He was a confident weretiger most likely.
Matter of fact, the entire shop smelled of were. The odor was undeniable. It was the scent of fallen leaves, upturned earth, and animal pheromones. It lingered everywhere, invaded his senses, and told him much of the inhabitants. While many of them were new to the world of shapeshifting, a few were ancients and old enough to remember the Great Wars. Immediately Cian was on guard.
Yet Noah projected no feelings of hostility or guardedness, which tamed Cian’s natural instinct to protect his turf. Namely, Eve.
He clipped his head toward Noah.
“Now that you’re done taking my measure,” Noah said, never breaking eye contact, “let’s head back to Mingan. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you again, Eve.”
* * *
“Eve.” Mingan stood from his Indian-style sitting position on a brightly colored Turkish rug. “It’s about time, witch,” he grumbled.
She laughed. “Glad to see you missed me too, old wolf.”
“Bah.” He swatted his hand through the air, but there was a teasing sparkle in his liquid bronze eyes.
He looked so familiar, as did this room, this place, that she experienced a temporary pang. None of it had changed, from the Asian-inspired murals along the walls to the soothing scent of lilac incense. His eyes turned soft with remorse. Obviously she’d been transmitting again, not a surprise since she had such a flimsy hold on that power these days.
Bloody bane of my existence.
He gripped her shoulder and nodded, then turned around and walked to his workbench. He indicated the cot with a jerk of his thumb. “Lie down and take off your shirt. We’ll begin as soon as I’m ready.” The small swatch of a gray pelt tied into his salt-and-pepper braid flitted as he moved about, preparing his station.
He brought out a silver pan filled with blue and white baggies of sterile needles. He picked one out, set it down, and then proceeded to pour the ink colors he’d need into small, thimble-sized containers. Red, gold, black, and white. All this by heart. Yes, he’d remembered her tattoo very well.
Eve wrapped her arms around herself even as she sensed the soothing presence of Cian behind her. She closed her eyes and shivered. Goose bumps burned a fiery trail across her back seconds before his large hands gripped her arms. They stood so close together, the friction of their two bodies popped and cracked with currents of static.
He leaned in, his warm breath tickling her ear. “Are you okay?”
She took comfort where she could and leaned into
him slightly. His concern for her was thoughtful, banishing the insidious thoughts creeping in. “I’m fine. Just memories. Old memories.”
She turned. His blue eyes never swerved from her face, the intensity of his gaze made her feel like she was about to melt into one big puddle of tingling goo. By the goddess, she could get used to that look. It made her all twitchy and excited, made her feel alive again.
“I have to get undressed,” she whispered.
His face remained impassive, but his fingers jerked ever so slightly. A heaviness centered between her thighs, her nipples tightened, and her body flared to life. If she didn’t move away soon, she was liable to purr like an excited kitten. Hard as it was, she took a step back and out of his arms.
Her fingers were clumsy as she undid the buttons to her gray sweater. She pushed the sleeves down and let the garment flutter to the ground. His eyes were hot, hard, and heavy. Instantly her senses became extraheightened, aware of everything. From the abrasive texture of her blue jeans to the soft velvet of her top.
The pupils of his eyes dilated, highlighting the already-vibrant iris into an even more intense shade of sparkling blue. In that moment he looked surreal and otherworldly, and she decided she liked it very much. What had she been missing all this time? She’d never made a conscious choice to stick with humans. But that’s all she’d ever dated.
Then again, she’d never met someone like Cian before.
Mingan continued to shuffle around, but his sounds were like white noise in the background. There was this odd sensation filling her, like it was just her and the vamp. Nothing else. There was something so erotic about this scene that it made her feel a little light-headed and daring.
Biting her lower lip, she inched her top up and over her head. Slowly. Deliberately. Her fingers grazed bare skin as she dropped the shirt to the ground. There was nothing normal about the excitement flowing through her veins. The knowledge that she was a woman and he was a man. It was primal. Elemental. Natural.
Clothing for her was not a necessity. She’d never been shy when it came to nudity. She’d partially disrobed in front of Mingan many times, never feeling a hint of arousal, but with Cian standing so close, his eyes so riveted, she felt wanton and heady.
In her mind she questioned why she’d brought a perfect stranger with her to the tattoo shop where she was required to go topless. Shouldn’t this feel so wrong?
The beat of her heart fluttered against her chest. It sure didn’t feel wrong. Far as Cian was concerned, being with him felt natural. Like sex. The more you did it, the more you wanted to do it.
And why was she thinking about sex when she’d already decided they would only be friends? But then, there were all sorts of friends, weren’t there? Friends to drink tequila with, friends to watch old sappy movies with, and friends with benefits.
With a slow curling of her lips, she reached her hands behind her back and undid the clasp of her bra, allowing the straps to slide down both shoulders.
The amulet lying between her breasts tingled with the rush of power flowing through her veins. It whipped around her, through her. He had to be feeling her need.
His face was unreadable, the rise and fall of his chest steady, and yet she felt the crackle of his desire snap around her like live wire.
The cool air grazing her skin was sweet torture. She was hot and cold, fire and ice, all at once. Her nipples beaded up, tightening into tiny, painful buds.
Her lips twitched when he finally dropped his gaze from her face to her breasts. Yep. He was a man after all.
She couldn’t resist glancing down at the very visible bulge in his pants. A sense of female empowerment filled her. Nobody else but her had made him rise to half-mast, unless, of course, he had a thing for ancient-looking male shifters. Then again, she was pretty sure it was her and not Mingan that’d given him that delicious-looking hard-on. A warm glow flowed through her.
Eve covered her breasts with one arm and expertly slipped her bra off with the other.
Bolts of desire whipped through her veins as his gaze pierced her body, traveling a languorous trail. Starting at her breasts, then shifting to her navel, and finally to the tip of a bird feather beginning at the edge of her ribs.
He took a step forward and her lashes fluttered. Hot liquid crashed between her thighs, soaking the crotch of her barely there thong.
“You know I hate to break up a striptease. And while I’ll admit that was pretty hot, I’m not getting any younger. Sit your butt down. Let’s get this thing over with,” Mingan grumbled.
So okay, maybe she’d gone a little too far. But who could blame her? The vamp was so freaking hot. ’Nuff said.
“Man, I tell you what, Min, I feel the love today.”
A rumbling chuckle fell from his lips. “Hey. I’m on my best behavior for you.”
“Well, heaven help the customer you actually don’t like.”
Cian cleared his throat and shifted around. With a snort in his direction, she walked over to the leather cot and lay down on her belly, stretching her arms over her head.
Cian wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of lust. She was so wet she couldn’t stand it. Thankfully a woman wasn’t so obvious in her desire. One of the many blessings that let her know the female form was superior.
Of course, if you asked men…well, everyone knew what men thought. Gotta love ’em.
She huffed a strand of hair out of her face, seriously rethinking this lust thing; maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to give into temptation after all. Two consenting adults giving into their bodily needs, nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.
The small room filled with the sound of a low, continuous buzz, and she found relief in the pain of the needle piercing her skin.
* * *
Cian felt like a volcano ready to explode. His cock was full, thick, and unspent. When Eve had dropped the bra and he’d caught a peek of coral-colored nipples, he’d nearly lost it.
She’d been a vision with the black hair cascading down her slender frame, her golden eyes wide and luminous, and her pale, perfect skin glistening in the faint red light.
He clenched his hands by his sides. Visiting her had been his worst idea yet. Tattoos had no right to look so beautiful. He was marked, not by ink, but by race. All fae bore a marking telling which house they belonged to. For some it was a feather, for others, a crescent moon. For him it was a skull. Huge, and covering his entire back. Death. The mark of the pariah.
He loathed his mark and considered it a sign of servitude. But Eve seemed to delight in hers. A soft smile graced her lips. He rubbed his chest and turned his back to her, needing a distraction, something to take his mind off the woman lying facedown with the paleness of her back exposed.
The walls were covered with white laminated sheets of colored and black-and-white designs. But these weren’t the classic, run-of-the-mill variety. They had flair and a signature style. He walked closer and peered down.
There was a boldness to them. Sharp color contrasts and shading. Mingan was an accomplished artist. His illustrations were precise, linear, and clean. Chinese dragons, their bodies twisted in on themselves, their red-and-gold markings bright against the black of their scales. Koi fish. Tigers prowling through woods and ripping from out the page with regal snarls on their orange-striped faces and their pointed incisors gleaming.
“Noah posed for that one.” Mingan’s gravel pitched voice cut through Cian’s study.
He turned. “You captured the essence of the animal. It’s very good.”
The tattooist never looked up as he ran the needle gun over Eve’s pink flesh repeatedly, wiping up the excess ink with the tip of his gloved finger. “I’ve had practice.”
Eve turned her face toward Cian. The flow of her energy—a wash of relaxation—wound through him.
“Never seen you ’round these parts before. Cian, was it?”
He nodded, took a seat on a brown swivel chair sitting next to the cot, and focused on the lines bei
ng applied to Eve’s back.
“I’m a native. Just never been to Requiem.”
Mingan looked up and licked his teeth, doing exactly to him as he’d done to Noah moments ago. Taking his measure as a man, as a monster.
His nostrils flared, no doubt tasting his scent. Trying to figure out what Cian was. And he knew by the gleam in the old man’s eyes that he wasn’t fooled into thinking Cian was a vampire.
This was an ancient. It was in his face. He bore the knowledge of history past. The tanned leather of his flesh crinkled with age. There was wisdom written upon his brow.
“That so,” he said with a bored tone and returned to working on Eve. Cian knew the truth of who he really was hadn’t been revealed. There’d been a question burning in those bronze eyes, but Mingan had kept the curiosity to himself. His lazy, tranquil posture indicated he thought Cian no threat for the moment.
But there was also a barrier erected. To an outsider, the old man’s hunched shoulders and bent head might be taken as a sign of concentration only on the task at hand. When in truth it couldn’t be more opposite. Tension, like thick dredges of sludge, filtered through the narrow room, making it feel smaller. More cramped, confined. If Mingan could growl right now, he would. He didn’t trust Cian.
Fine. He hadn’t come to make friends.
“Do you have a tattoo, Cian?” Eve asked. Her eyes were wide and acutely aware of the strain in the room.
He shifted on his seat, clearing his throat. The question caught him off guard. He answered honestly. “One.”
“You’ll have to show me someday.”
He gave a noncommittal shrug.
She closed her eyes and turned her head, giving him free rein to inspect her closer.
The flesh Mingan was inking had long, tight whorls. Scars from her accident, no doubt. And yet the skin was smooth. He wanted to know, but wouldn’t ask. She’d never told him about the accident and to reveal he knew that would also expose him. Not a good idea.
