Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
I look at the beautiful sketch that signifies so much and the handsome man who drew it. “I’m sure,” he says.
“Alright, turn around and take off your hoodie.”
I slide my hoodie off and he lets out a low grumble that sounds like a growl. I catch him glancing at my breasts moving in my tank top and now it’s his turn to blush. I don’t really mind though. I kind of like that he’s looking.
He places the stencil on my skin and even though he’s wearing gloves, my body still erupts in tingles under his touch.
He gets to work, rubbing liquid on the stencil to transfer it onto my skin as my mind races. That growl… It sounded so… familiar.
When I was forced to visit my brothers, I’d often hear them making similar noises. Growls, roars, rumbles. It was their wolves…
“I’m going to start now,” he says, peeling the stencil off. The tattoo machine hums to life. I’m glad the tattoo is on my back shoulder and I don’t have to see it being done. I’m not terrified of needles, but they do make me a bit nervous. This is my first tattoo and it’s not exactly a tiny one, so I’m freaking out a little.
“I really don’t want to hurt you, Erica,” he says softly. “That’s the last thing I want.”
“It’s okay,” I say, holding my breath. “I’ll be fine.”
It stings, but it’s not too bad. I hold my breath for a while, but that only works for so long. I need some distraction as the pain wears on. I need this man’s sexy voice to distract me.
“Can I ask you something personal?” I ask as he works.
“You can ask me anything, Erica,” he says in that deep, alluring voice. “Don’t be shy.”
My cheeks start blushing, I don’t know why.
“Are you a shifter?”
The tattoo machine stops for a moment, but then starts back up.
“Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been around shifters before,” I say. “That growl kind of reminded me of the noises they used to make.”
He doesn’t say anything. He just keeps working.
“You don’t have to answer,” I say, feeling awkward and bad that I even brought something so personal up.
“No, I don’t mind,” he says. “I’m a grizzly bear shifter.”
“Wow,” I whisper. “I’ve never met a bear shifter before.”
I look at him over my shoulder, which is a big mistake. He looks so sexy all concentrated on my skin and it makes me want to stare at him for hours.
“What have you met?” he asks. “Let me guess, wolves?”
I nod. “Yeah. My two half-brothers were wolf shifters.”
The machine stops. I turn to look at him and his eyes darken slightly as he swallows hard. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, throat tightening. “They just… passed.”
I can see him stiffening. His jaw locks for a second, and something unreadable flickers across his face.
I get it. Everyone acts differently when it comes to death. Some people get really uncomfortable with the topic.
“Sorry to hear that,” he says as he turns his focus back on my tattoo. The machine start back up and so does the stinging pain.
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Thanks. I didn’t really know them very well, and from what I did know, they weren’t very...” I sigh, wondering how much I should divulge to a stranger. He’s a hot stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. “I thought a tattoo might help. Just something to remember them by, you know? They were troubled, but even troubled souls need to be remembered. And they were my brothers, so…”
He nods again, quiet. Just the humming of the machine as he works each line.
“What were their names?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
I’m almost ashamed to say their names in case he knew of them. I don’t want him thinking I was anything like my brothers.
“Knox and Mace Rourke,” I say, suddenly self-conscious.
The other two tattoo artists, Victoria and the big guy with the bright blue eyes, whip their heads around and stare at me, slack-jawed. It’s only for a second though. They quickly glance at Magnus and get back to work.
Maybe everyone around here knew my brothers…
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says with a low, gravelly voice. “I think a tattoo is a wonderful idea to honor your brothers.”
There’s something tight and tense in his voice, like he’s holding his breath while trying to act normal. His jaw is clenched, and his grip on the tattoo machine seems a little tighter than before. The strokes hurt more, the needles cutting into my skin.
And something in the air changed. I can feel it. The relaxed atmosphere is gone. Even the other two tattoo artists stopped joking around with their clients. It feels heavy in here.
Did I say something wrong?
Did they know my brothers?
I glance at Victoria again. She’s still working on her client, but I can tell she’s listening—her shoulders stiff, her jaw clenched. It’s like I threw a grenade into the middle of the room and everyone’s just pretending it didn’t go off.