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It would give her closure.
And then, when I got her out of danger, all that cortisol would rush out of her system, leaving her enraptured and begging to fuck.
It worked every time.
“This guy’s your boss?” I asked, my voice hushed.
She nodded, the candlelight etching sinister shapes across her face.
“What do you do?” I continued, ignoring the whispers emanating from the towering bookshelves surrounding us.
“I’m a tattoo artist,” she replied, her words almost drowned out by the creaking of the old floorboards as she shifted in her ornate, high-backed chair.
My gaze fell to the artwork adorning her arms, and I wondered just how covered she was under her clothes. I suppressed a shiver, acutely aware of the temperature drop near the strange symbols etched into the floor around us. My cock stiffened at the thought of peeling her shirt off, and I had to shake my head, unsure why such an innocuous thought would get me so excited.
I’d probably fucked millions of people from every realm, and even some beasts from Hell, so the mere idea of this woman’s tits should not have affected me. Starting to worry she really was a seraphim plant, I closed my eyes and counted to three, resolving to get myself under control, at least until I knew what was up with this chick. Maybe shehad me under some kind of spell. If I found out that was it, she’d pay for that. The vision of how she’d pay was something like her chained to my bed, though, rather than gutted and sent back to Hell.
She smirked and threw out a sassy, “What? You don’t like tattoos?” Her voice echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the book-lined walls.
I shook my head, digging my fingers into my thigh to give myself something sensory to ground with. The musty scent of old paper and melted wax filled my nostrils as I breathed it in. Grunting to choke back the monster inside, I focused on gaining control of myself.She’d never trust that Maverick.“I love them. Your work?”
She shook her head, the movement causing the candles to tremble. “No, I can’t tattoo myself. A colleague did it.”
I licked my lips, peering up at her and hovering at her lips before catching myself and making eye contact. The broken crystal ball on the table seemed to swirl, as if reacting to the tension between us. “So your boss. He’s the manager?”
“He owns the shop,” she replied, her fingers absently tracing one of the strange symbols etched into the table’s surface.
“And what, he doesn’t pay overtime?” I asked, still ignoring the persistent whispers around us.
She scoffed, the sound sharp in the oppressive silence of the room. “Fuck you. I told you, he’s evil. Dangerous. And he drinks that shit up.”
“And you can’t get another job?” I pressed, leaning closer to the edge of the circular symbols on the floor.
“He owns me,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper.
“How so?”
“I agreed to a deal. We did a binding ritual. I can’t get out of it.” As she spoke, the candles sputtered more intensely.
“Now, why’d you go and do a thing like that?” I asked, my eyes drawn to the dusty, stained wine glass in the reading nook.
“I was seventeen years old, starving, and homeless,” she replied, her words hanging heavy in the air.
I grunted as an ache pierced my gut out of nowhere. My gaze roved the room, looking for more signs of hexes or spells. The leather-bound tomes seemed to watch us silently from their shelves, their faded gold lettering glinting in the low light. Nothing obvious, but the room felt alive, as if it were holding its breath, waiting.
I was becoming more and more suspicious of her.
Glaring across at her, I searched for any signs of glee or guilt. The candlelight spasmed, causing apparitions to dance across her face, making it difficult to read her expression. She looked tortured and was shaking subtly, her trembling hand causing ripples in the surface of the crystal ball between us. “What did you do?”
“I took part in the ritual...” she began, her voice barely audible over the creaking of the old floorboards as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
“I mean to me. Just now,” I clarified, my words sharp and clipped. I had to control myself.
Her eyes popped open wide, and she leaned back like she was ready to flee, the high-backed chair groaning under the sudden movement. “What? Nothing. What are you talking about?”
She seemed genuine, but I’d only just met her. Maybe she was a good actress, and that’s why the Seraphim Guard had chosen her for the job. I’d file it away as evidence, and over time, we’d see if it built up or not. The strange symbols etched into the floor seemed to pulse faintly as I contemplated this, adding to my unease.
Confident I could find any patterns, I shook my head and waved my hand, disturbing the musty air. “Nothing, never mind. Probably all the adrenaline.”
