Tears rolled down my cheeks. “And you gave yourself a five-minute orgasm because of it!”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “It’s only happened that one time, and it’s not just my cum that does it. Myactualvenom does it, too.”
“All basilisk’s cum has aphrodisiac properties, but I’ve never heard of a basilisk’s venom or cum beingthatintense,” I chuckled.
“Zuko!” he groaned.
“Sorry, sorry,” I said, the laugh still ghosting on my lips as I shifted the grip on the needle.
It hummed in my hand faintly, a low, eager vibration that always set my teeth on edge. It was an enchanted fae needle, so it wanted blood almost as much as Raze and I did.
“Alright, talk to me. What do you want on your death sleeve?” I gestured for his arm.
He rested his forearm on his knee, grinning as he grabbed something out of his pocket and showed it to me. It was a fae numeral ball in his palm. It shimmered faintly, numbers crawling across its surface. “One to eight,” he said. “Fate picks the order.”
“Ah, so instead of dice, you want a fae numeral ball within your hourglass?”
“Nah. I don’t need an hourglass to count down since mine’s a death game instead of a torture game. Just the ball, but make it big on my bicep,” he told me, and I nodded.
“No problem.”
The ball clicked in his palm before glowing faintly, then he showed me the number one glowing on it. “Number one. Let’s do a fatal glass lung potion. It was fun to play with. It makes anyone’s breaths turn into fine glass shards. The victim inhales once and drowns on their own blood.” He grinned. “I’ll have that one right here—” He tapped the inside of his bicep.
“On it.” I tatted the fae numeral ball on his bicep first, feeling the buzz as the magic bit into his skin. It pushed the ink into his skin. I drew the glass lung potion below it.
I wasn’t as good as Dad was, but I wasn’t horrible. Besides, I kind of enjoyed it.
“What’s next?”
He rolled the ball again, and the number two popped up. “Spine darts,” he murmured fondly, pointing under the potion.“I remove a few vertebrae, stitch their back up, sharpen the bones into darts, and make them stand as I throw the darts at their joints. Their knees, shoulders, elbows, you know. It makes them dance until they finally collapse. Then, I throw the final dart in their brain, through their eye.”
“Right,” I muttered, pressing the enchanted needle to his skin again. It hissed softly as the magic set in. I glanced at him as I finished, arching a brow. “Dude, are you…good? You sound like one of my mentors.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked with a chuckle. “Who’s your mentors?”
“My dad, of course, but I mean Damien Clearwater. They’re the Supernatural Council’s best two torturers.” I tilted my head. “Damien’s more creative with death and torture, so that’s why you remind me of him with all of your games of death.”
“No shit? He’s a legend,” Raze muttered, eyes going wide. “I am so fucking inspired by his work.”
“Oh, I can tell,” I told him honestly.
We kept going, number after number—the hacky sack of teeth, the needle game, the enchanted deathball, the organ juggle, and the rib cage pop.
Seriously, his style reminded me so much of Damien’s.
Each time, Raze described the tattoos in a voice that was too calm for the kind of nightmare imagery he painted for me.
I just kept working, lines flowing from the needle as the hum of the magic synced with my pulse.
By the time I reached the “spine pull,” his grin was stretched into something I could only call peaceful.
I sat back, wiping the needle tip, and gave him a long look.
“Done,” I said. “Your sleeve looks fucking awesome. But also? You’re terrifying.”
He just smirked, staring at the black ink that still shimmered with magic. “That’s the entire point. Besides, why kill without a little flair?”
“Valid reason.” I shrugged, pulling my dick out.
