I nestle closer and plant a kiss in her hair. She stirs and releases a contented moan, one that has my heart flipping. With her eyes still closed, she turns toward me, a smile on her lips. I run a hand over her arm, and a ripple of uncertainty moves through me. What if she opens her eyes, and I find regret in them? What if she takes one look at me, realizes where she is and who she’s with, and her energy contracts?
Dark halls flood my memory, reminding me of shadows spilling forth in my grief. I hadn’t realized how badly I’ve feared rejection until I told Ember the story of how my mother left and the sorrow that followed. The experience taught me how to make others laugh, how to turn their attention away from me, how to divert one’s pity. But it taught me other things too. Things I hadn’t realized weighed so heavy on my soul.
Ember flutters her eyes open and angles her face to mine.
I hold my breath and await whatever reaction she gives…
Her brow furrows for a moment as she searches my eyes. Then she brings a hand to my cheek and greets me with a firm kiss. My hand tightens on her waist and all my fears drain away. She pulls back slightly. “I thought you might not be real,” she whispers.
I chuckle. “I am real. As real as you are.” My gaze roves over her face, her hair, her bare skin, and I feel as if my heart might fall right out of my chest. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of looking at you now that I get to see your true form.”
A smile tugs her lips, one I’ve seen so many times now, but on a different face. Even though the glamour altered her appearance, I realize just how little it hid of her expressions. Her grin, her frown, her ponderous look…it’s all familiar to me. With an element of newness to it, of course. A newness I find more than pleasing.
She runs her hands over my chest, and her gaze falls to my torso. “Can I ask about your tattoos?”
“Aren’t you already asking?”
She glowers, making me bark a laugh. I know that look. It’s one of the first expressions I ever saw her glamoured face make. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”
“Yes, you know this. I’m funny and charming—”
“Oh, yes, I recall Prince Charming telling me all about his wit and humor.”
I shrug. “You didn’t believe me at the time. I had to make sure you knew.”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, I know now.”
“Don’t forget handsome. I’m certain I told you I’m handsome as well.”
A sly glint sparks in her eye. “Actually, one of the first things you told me was that you thought I wanted to have a tryst with you against an alley wall.”
Guilt sinks my stomach. I recall how cold and cruel I was when I met her. Never would I have guessed that the woman in that alley would become my beloved. I’m about to apologize again for my behavior, but the turn of her lips has me smirking instead. “Well, do you?”
She pretends to ponder. “I wouldn’t find it appalling.”
“Not appalling. I can certainly give you that.”
I kiss her jaw and roll on top of her, bracing myself on my forearms. She giggles but keeps her hand on my chest. “You never answered my question about your tattoos.”
“You only asked if you could ask about them.”
Another roll of her eyes, but her smile remains bright. “Why do you have them?”
I glance down at my torso, trying not to get distracted by the expanse of tantalizing flesh pressed beneath me. “My seelie form bore ink-like designs from the very first time I learned to shift. It took decades for me to realize it was considered uncommon. Other seelie fae were the ones who pointed it out, saying humans referred to such markings as tattoos. Mine aren’t placed by ink and needle, but they do change on occasion.”
She traces a fingertip over one of the intricate geometric patterns. “Do they hold meaning?”
“Nyxia suggests they represent my connection to the Twelfth Court, the spiritual realm of the All of All, for that is where our energy and form emerge from. As a psy vampire, energy and emotions take shape inside me, transforming into scent, taste, and color. This,” I gesture to my torso, “I think represents my energetic signature in physical form.”
“Franco, that’s beautiful.” She continues to trace the patterns, circling the phases of the moon over my ribs, the overlapping triangles at my sternum.
I worry my lip, wondering if I should say what’s on my mind. Will she think it’s strange? I clear my throat. “I think you’ll find yourself there.”
Her eyes meet mine. “What do you mean?”
I swallow hard. “There’s a new pattern emerging over my heart.”
She drags her hand over my pectoral and rests it over the beating flesh. Then, with the softest touch imaginable, she traces the circle that surrounds the new pattern. Once. Twice. Then she drags her finger over the two triangles held within the circle, each pointing upward and bisected with a horizontal line, both representing air. Flight. The sky.
