Akira arched an eyebrow. “What else are we supposed to do? Curl up and die? And I’ll have you know, my life wasn’t sorry. A tad mundane? Yes, but not sorry.”
Miryam pulled her hand from Raphael’s and gave it an affectionate pat, then said, “There will be no dying of any kind. We’re going to turn our sorry, or mundane lives into something better.” She gave Morgan and Akira a playful smirk. “I think everything happens for a reason. Obviously, there’s something unique about the three of us. I’m not going to turn my back on the possibility of something great.” Her eyes met Raphael’s briefly before looking back at the other two females. “Now that we know we’ve got people on our side, I say we go for it. Get the tattoos, jump in with both feet, and as Nico said, don’t do anything halfway.”
“What about your family?” Akira asked Miryam. “Are you willing to let them go for this life?”
“You can see them again,” Raphael added quickly. “We will just need to come up with a story as to why you went missing. And they can’t know about our world.” He paused as if considering something then asked, “How long have you three been in captivity?”
“Roughly six months,” Akira answered.
“Feels like six years,” Morgan added dryly. “Not because we were mistreated. We weren’t. But it was boring as hell.”
“She’s not wrong,” Miryam agreed.
Akira nodded as she made a sound of agreement. To Nico, she said, “It does make a difference that we will be able to get in touch with our families.”
“Good,” Nico said, feeling some of the tightness in his chest loosen. He hadn’t realized how wound up he’d been, waiting on Akira’s feelings about the situation. “But give us time to make that happen. If we contact them now, they’re going to want to see you right away and know all the things, and we need to have stories straight and situations taken care of. Can you all be patient with us?” He looked at each of them. The three girls nodded and more of the tightness loosened.
Nico began to pace again as the room grew quiet. He was restless, and not just because he wanted to nail Wolfgang to a wall and throw axes at him. He had to focus on the task at hand and all the things that could go wrong, but what he wanted to focus on was Akira. Everything about her was distracting. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He needed to keep his head in the game and worry about his heart later.
As time passed, Akira and Morgan both moved to the couch where Miryam sat. Their whispered voices were background noise as Nico stood by the window, arms crossed, gaze darting between the doorway to the front area of the building andthe bright-lit city beyond. The air was thick with anticipation—something electric, wild, and almost sacred.
Raphael hovered near the kitchen, pretending to scroll through his phone, but Nico saw the way his eyes kept darting to the girls, especially Miryam. The demon’s jaw was set, his body tense, as if bracing for a blow.
A heavy knock rattled the back door.
Nico moved first, letting his magic prickle under his skin, just in case. He cracked the door and peered out, then exhaled in relief. “Verion. Took you long enough.”
The tattoo artist swept in, all long limbs and sharp angles, a living canvas of ink and attitude. His eyes were the color of spilled ink, ancient and a little too knowing. His jet black hair was shaved on the sides while the top was worn slicked back. With a jawline that could no doubt take a punch and cheek bones a female would kill for, Verion was a good looking male by Nico’s estimation. The arachnid shifter was intense and a little unhinged, but Nico admired that about him. Verion carried his kit like a priest with a reliquary and walked with purpose towards the table near the kitchen.
Verion gave a sharp nod to Nico, then to Raphael, before turning to the girls. “Who’s first?”
Morgan’s hand shot up, but she immediately tried to play it cool, lowering it halfway and giving a sheepish grin. “I mean . . . might as well get it over with, right?”
Verion grunted, motioning her to sit at a chair beside the small table. He began to arrange his tools, the scent of antiseptic filling the space. Morgan glanced at Nico, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.
He softened his voice. “You can back out.”
Morgan shook her head but then looked at Verion. “You do know what you’re doing, right?”
Verion snorted as he worked with practiced hands, grabbing a sheet of paper and pulling over another chair. His dark eyes met hers and he narrowed them on her. “I’ve been inking people long before electricity was even a thing. I assure you, I know what I’m doing.” He stared at her, pen in hand and pad resting on his lap.
Morgan stared back, her eyes a little wide.
After a full minute of silence–Nico was actually impressed that she waited that long–Morgan slowly said, “Am I supposed to give you some ideas?”
Verion continued to stare at her, and then his pencil began to move over the paper. Every now and then he would glance down at his progress, but then he’d look back at Morgan. Nobody spoke, as if that would somehow break his concentration. Finally, after a good twenty minutes, his hand stopped and Verion stared down at whatever he’d drawn. His brow drew into a deep “v.”
“Interesting,” he muttered. Then set it aside, face down, and put on gloves. “Last chance,” he told Morgan.
“Don’t I get to see it?” She glanced at the upside down paper.
Verion smiled, a little wicked gleam in his eyes. “I think it’s more interesting if the animi are surprised. Like how humans do those gender reveal things.”
Morgan didn’t look convinced but also didn’t appear to want to argue with the arachnid shifter.
When he was ready, Verion picked up his tattoo gun, and the motor began buzzing as he winked at her. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter Seven
