The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast shadows over the taut muscles of his arms.
He got new tattoos. I didn’t know how or when he had the time to. I was just seeing it now since he had taken off his shirt.
The ink coiled up his right arm in a language that didn’t want to be read. Strange, jagged characters like an old spell, wrapping around his muscle, a vow he had bled into permanence.
I stared, enthralled, watching the ink gleam under the light; a whisper of sin against skin.
For the past fifteen minutes, I had rehearsed exactly how I would handle this. I wouldn’t waver. I wouldn’t melt under his touch. I would stick to demanding answers, answers to why he put a tracker on me, and maybe I would get to walk away.
But as he moved across the room now, languid and predatory, that resolve cracked, splintered. I stared at him, unable to tear my gaze away. His hair was let loose, damp curls framing his face and brushing against ice-laced lashes.
I wished he wasn’t wearing Callan’s skin. I wished he didn’t have those beautiful eyes. I wouldn’t have been attracted to this monstrous version of him.
I swallowed hard, trying my very best, but my gaze kept betraying me. He moved across the room to the table where a pack of Marlboro and a bottle of whiskey sat, his waist dipping and flexing with every movement. So fucking distracting.
Callan wouldn’t smoke. He told me this himself. I thought that applied to Zaghan too, as I had never seen him with a cigarette. But he picked the cigarette from the pack with the ease of habit, placing it between his lips before striking a flame to the end.
“It’s late,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if I meant to push him away or pull him closer.
“Patience, little witch,” he murmured, voice husky, settling over me like a warm shroud.
From the edge of the bed, I gripped the sheet, willing my body and mind to obey my heart, to choose common sense, at least. But the way his voice rolled over me, the way it seeped into my skin, made it impossible not to think of things–wicked, corrupt things. Things he could do to me. Right here. Right now.
But I was supposed to be seething. Punch him the very moment I set my eyes on him. He shouldn’t have put a tracker on me. That was wrong, borderline creepy, and illegal.
But here I was, melting. And he hadn’t even touched me.
He finally joined me, the bed dipping under his weight. He folded one leg on the mattress, the other planted on the floor. He was close. Too close. His bare chest brushed my arm, and heat licked up my spine. Smoke and aftershave curled around my senses, blending with something faintly floral. His shampoo, maybe.
My nipples hardened beneath the silk top, and I didn’t know if it was the air conditioner or the simple, devastating presence of him.
“I have a lot planned for us,” he exhaled, smoke curling in the air. He pushed his hair back, fingers threading through thedamp curls. And I caught it again; tattoos. His fingers, each of the ten of them had a letter carved into the skin.
“You like ‘em?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice as he flexed his fingers in front of me.
Each finger on the left hand spelt LITTLE, the middle one had twoLLcarved on it, and the fingers on the right spelt WITCH.
What?
“I got them for you,” he said, wrapping his left hand around my throat, then leaned in until his lips brushed my ear. “So, I’ll never forget what my hands were made for.”
Say what now?
“These hands are yours now.” He flexed his fingers around my neck, cigarette still burning between his right fingers. “And whatever they touch from now on will learn of you. ”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I managed to say, rolling my eyes. He was so incredibly…ridiculous.
“It’s late, Zaghan,” I whispered again, but the words crumbled as his lips grazed the shell of my ear again, his breath hot and teasing.
“I know.”
Smoke spilled from his lips, wrapping around me, choking my thoughts. I coughed, twisting away.
“Can you not?” I glared at him. “Secondary smoking is just as bad too. I’d prefer a cancer-free lung.”
He released a breathy chuckle, but he didn’t put the cigarette away, didn’t even consider it.
“I couldn’t track your movement for hours,” he said, voice lower, edged with something unreadable. His fingers ghosted over my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear before his lips grazed my jaw. “Didn’t know where you were. If you were home.” There was a pause as he took in a sharp breath. “Or if you were with another man.”
