Tomorrow everything changed.
I’d go to her.
I saw it in my head so clearly it hurt.
Me, at the edge of her bed. Hands up, palms open, like I was walking into enemy territory instead of toward my own wife.
Baby, look at me.
She’d try not to. I’d deserve that. I’d hold the line anyway.
I’d tell her everything I’d refused to say in that chamber. That I’d watched every second of the tattoo because I couldn’tstand not knowing how she was breathing. That I’d picked the artist for the way his hands didn’t shake. That I’d fought for a private corridor so no one saw her scared, because the world treated Crow fear like a blood sport.
I’d tell her the part I’d been swallowing for months.
That I loved her.
That I wasn’t marrying her for water rights or some old dynasty debt.
I’d say it in Crow first—tal ven arik—because she deserved the word in my mother tongue. Then I’d say it in plain English, over and over, until her heart believed me more than the memory of my hand hitting that table.
Daddy’s so sorry. Daddy loves you. Daddy’s going to spend the rest of my life proving those are the same sentence, not opposites.
My girl sat there with a Crow across her back and her teeth sunk in her own tongue so she didn’t make a sound. Pride punched through me so hard it blurred my eyes.
“Good girl. God, baby. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
I was the villain in her story. Fair enough. I’d earned the title. Tomorrow. I’d earn her forgiveness.
55
Madeline
My back throbbed from the needlework. The crest outline was complete. Every line inked. Every wing, every branch, every symbol carved into me.
Permanent.
By the time I reached my room, I didn’t want to know what it looked like. But standing in front of my mirror, I realized delaying wouldn’t change anything. I eased my top off carefully, and turned.
The crest sprawled across my back like a living shadow.
Black ink. Silver accents catching the light. Wings arched wide over my shoulder blades. Branches curling down my ribs. Dynasty markers woven through the center. And at the top, across my shoulders, an empty banner.
Waiting for his name.
I stared so long my eyes blurred. It didn’t look like art. It looked like possession.
I pulled my top back on and sat on the edge of my bed. The hard-bound Crow Codex sat on my nightstand. I picked it up, and opened to the ribbon marking where I’d left off.
The claiming rite. It was when Vince fucked me in front of his whole crow dynasty. It was so outrageous I reread it threetimes. Instead of it getting better, it got worse. A blade dedicated to cutting a wedding dress off.
The Lock-In section.
The more I read, the tighter my chest pulled.
Isolation.
Obedience rites.
