She watched as he rubbed the salve into his skin, the muscles beneath rippling with their constrained power. He was lean, but not from malnutrition. This man was a peak athlete, living a life of activity, and his lithe, muscular body showed it. Margot couldn’t help but notice the length pressed up against his trousers at this angle, though she did her best not to stare outright. Still, she’d seen him nude, and the memory was burned bright into her mind.
Her attention shifted back to the wound. Or, more accurately, the distinct lack of a wound. All he had was clean, pink scar tissue, well on its way to being fully healed.
She leaned closer, staring. “I’m confused. How is it you’ve already got scars? I mean, that was from less than a day ago.”
“I healveryfast.”
“A trait of your people?”
His grin faltered. “No. My runes. Or, more accurately, my pigment.”
“Oh, that actually makes sense. Mine’s doing kind of the same thing.”
“I sincerely doubt it.”
“No, really. Look.”
She extended her arm, affording him a good look at her exposed arm and the runes and delicate lines connecting them. The skin really was looking good. Not perfect, but close to it, and that was not what was supposed to happen with fresh tattoos from what she’d heard.
“See? These are only a few days old. I mean, sure, they’re not some big animal’s claw marks. But still, this isn’t normal for humans.”
“Hmm.” He reached out but stopped himself. “May I?”
“Of course. But thanks for asking.”
He nodded, then gently touched her skin, gooseflesh erupting all up her arms at the contact. He stroked the rune and connecting line, feeling the flow of power, and Margot could have sworn she felt her pigment react to the pressure. It was averyunusual feeling. And distracting. Not in a bad way necessarily. Just different.
“You possess some incredibly strong pigment. How did you come by this?”
“Yeah, about that. The Skrizzit there was kinda pissed at Gromm.”
“That does not explain your pigment.”
“Well, he’d apparently acquired some really rare stuff, and as she was the one who knew how to apply it, she had it in her possession for his next set of runes.”
“Next set?”
“He’s like an addict, constantly adding more from what she said. But anyway, she hates him. I meanhateshim. So she madea choice. She didn’t want him to have that ink, so she used it on me.”
Braxxos actually laughed at that. “You received the pigment of royalty because of a grudge? Oh, that is marvelous! And I must say, I am pleased it is you who bears it rather than him. From what you’ve said of him, the man is unworthy to say the least.”
“You can say that again.”
“Did you not hear?—”
“Figure of speech. Never mind.”
“Your world, your quirks, they are so unusual. I would very much like to hear more of your home.”
“There’s really not much to say. At least, not compared to all of this. I mean, you live on an alien world full of all sorts of races, all of them marked with some kind of magical ink.”
“It is not magic. It is merely the power of the galaxy, collected and condensed within the living pigment.”
“Sounds kind of like magic to me.”
“That which we do not yet fully understand often does. But I can assure you, magic it is not. And as for your world. While it may seem normal or even boring to you, it is a place I have never conceived of. Please, tell me of it. I would see your world through the lens of your eyes.”
“Really?”
