“The what?”
The woman lifted her top, revealing an ornate design in the middle of her chest. “The Infala. The rune that binds us with our mates.”
“I don’t get it.”
“It is quite simple. The Infala lies dormant, waiting, until one day it meets its match, at which time it will begin to grow. To morph into something new. A whole new design shared only by the bonded pair.”
“A tattoo does all that?”
“A remarkably oversimplified description, I suppose, but yes.”
Margot was talking to an alien, and unlike before, she could understand her, proving without a doubt that this pigment-tech somehow did what the woman was saying. But making you stronger? And binding you to a mate? It all sounded so unlikely. Impossible. But then, aliens didn’t exist either until she found out quite unexpectedly that they most certainly did. Why should this be any different?
“Hey, what’s your name,” she asked, regaining her composure.
“Floxxia. And you?”
“Margot. It’s a really weird circumstance, but it’s nice to meet you, Floxxia.”
“I suppose it’s nice meeting you as well, Margot,” she replied, rearranging the pigments on the table, drawing out a tiny, ornate vial from the others and cracking its seal. “Well, shall we begin?”
Margot swallowed hard. “I’ve never gotten any tattoos, and I really don’t want any.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not an option, I’m afraid. Please, undress and we’ll start. I promise, I’ll make it as painless as possible.”
Margot took a deep breath and began slowly shedding her clothes. “We’re really doing this?”
“Oh, yes. It’s the law. And if they’ve decided to give you the runes rather than turning you over to the Dotharian overseer for the sector, be grateful. The Dotharians can be quite unforgiving. Now, lay down here and we’ll begin.”
The human did as she was told, lying flat, struggling to prepare herself mentally for what was about to happen. Suddenly, an odd thought intruded into her mind.
“Floxxia?”
“Yes?”
“What doesfraghazimean?” she asked, hearing herself say the alien word but knowing the woman was hearing something quite different.
“Clueless? What do you mean?”
“It means clueless?”
“Yes. As in, unknowing. Not dumb, exactly, but lacking insight or knowledge. Why?”
A laugh rippled through Margot’s body. “Oh, that sneaky son of a bitch.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. But tell me, how bad is this going to be? Be honest.”
Floxxia flashed a rather amused smile for a captive about to be sold back to those who wanted her dead. But imminent death was freeing in many ways, and with that fear now lifted from her shoulders, she could do whatever she wanted without care or worry. After all, how much worse could it get? And in this case, she had something quite special in mind.
“It won’t be bad,” she said, dipping her needle into the little vial. “It won’t be bad at all. Do you want to know why?”
“Why?”
“Because this pigment right here is very, very special. Very special, and extremely powerful. It’s hard to come by and costs a fortune. This sort of pigment is only used on elites. Leader-class individuals. Gromm must have gone to great lengths to acquire it, though I have no idea how he managed it.”
“Gromm. The guy with all the tattoos everywhere.”
