Because right now, for the first time, I’m not the broken girl from a ruined house.
I’m Remi. I’m Shadow’s old lady.
Ragnor steps closer, shaking Shadow’s hand. “Congratulations,” he says, “About time.”
Then he turns to me, hesitating before pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek. “It’s good to see you, Rem. I’m pleased for you.” I smile, shy and unsteady. I didn’t need Ragnor’s approval, but having it feels lighter.
“Cheers, brother,” Shadow cuts in, slapping him on the shoulder. “Means a lot.”
The music is still thumping when Axel shouts something about shots. The room explodes with noise again, laughter, and the sound of glass hitting tables.
Shadow’s hand hasn’t left the small of my back since the moment he kissed me. He’s calm again. I can feel it in his touch, in the way he breathes. All the tension’s left him.
“Come on,” he murmurs, his mouth close to my ear. “There’s one more thing we need to do.”
My stomach flips. “Another announcement?”
He shakes his head. “No. Something that’s just for us.”
He takes my hand, guiding me through the crowd and into one of the back rooms. It’s quieter here, the noise fading into a distant hum. The smell of ink and antiseptic hits me before I even see the chair.
The tattoo chair.
Ink’s leaning against the counter, like he’s been waiting for us. “I’ll get the machine ready,” he says.
I freeze. “Wait . . . what are we doing?”
Shadow faces me fully now. His eyes are softer than I’ve ever seen them. “Every old lady has her man’s mark,” he says quietly. “It’s not about ownership. It’s about protection. Aboutbelonging. You don’t have to, but . . .” He trails off, shrugging one shoulder. “I’d like you to.”
My throat tightens. “You want your name on me?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Yeah, and I want yours on me too.”
I blink. “Mine?”
He nods. “If I’m yours, you’re mine. We match.”
I glance at Ink, who’s already setting out equipment and gloves, the hum of the machine starting up softly in the background. “Where?” I ask, my voice small but steady.
Shadow steps closer, his fingers brushing my hip. “Here,” he murmurs, tracing the spot low on my side, “so it’s just for us.”
The air between us changes, charged and heavy.
He pulls back just enough for me to nod, then looks to Ink. “Do mine first.”
He shrugs off his kutte and pulls his shirt over his head. There’s already ink there, along with scars, symbols, stories of violence and brotherhood, but the space just above his heart is blank.Waiting.
Ink grins. “What do you want?”
“Remi,” he says simply.
The sound of my name in his voice makes my knees weak.
Ink gets to work. The needle buzzes to life, the scent of antiseptic thick in the air. Shadow doesn’t flinch once, just sits there, watching me as the letters are carved into his skin permanently.
When he finishes, Shadow glances down at it, red, raw, new, then looks up and meets my eyes. “Your turn.”
My pulse stumbles. “Okay,” I whisper.
