late thirties and already adorned with several pieces of art. “And lose the shirt, sunshine, unless you think I can ink you through all that camo.”
The man laughed, unbuttoned his work shirt, and shrugged out of it. “Yes, ma’am.”
I’d felt like having a classics day, and to me nothing was better than a hoppin’ day at Inksomnia, with lots of good-natured customers and old rock blasting through the speakers. Heart’s “Barracuda” pulled me into that groove I loved being in when inking someone— especially someone who was not a tat virgin, like this guy.
“Nice boots,” he said, climbing onto the bench and lying facedown.
I glanced down at my thigh-high black boots that ended just where the hem of my black leather miniskirt began. I’d picked out a Blondie T-shirt, along with a pair of pink plaid suspenders to wear with the skirt—pretty kick-ass if you asked me. “Thanks,” I said, giving him a broad smile. “Ready?”
“I deploy tomorrow,” he replied, in a heavy smoker’s voice. “I’m always ready, honey.”
Rangers kicked ass. I gave him a smile and punched his arm. “Hurry home.”
I transferred the image I’d sketched and printed out from my computer onto his left flank—just about the only place left on his back. It was a wicked-cool skeleton soldier’s head, cigarette clenched between its teeth, wearing a World War II helmet with the words “Fuck Off” across the front of it. Gotta love it. Once the transfer dried, I lined up my ink pots, grasped the needle, and let the Widow’s hum mix with Heart’s lyrics, and together they pulled me into my work. I’d preferred to have stayed there, uninterrupted, in my “Barracuda” zone until the job was done. No such freaking luck. I’d just finished the helmet’s chin strap and was blotting blood when the interruption occurred.
I fed last night, Riley. I’ve never enjoyed it—not like my brother. But it’s necessary for me to live. I promise—I show mercy, and I feed only when I begin to grow weak, and I take only enough to sustain me. I do not butcher those I take from. I hope you believe me. It hurts to think you believe me a monster.
I froze, needle poised over skin, and felt my insides grow cold. Victorian’s voice was so . . . inside me, I could almost feel the tenor of his voice reverberating off my bones. Now he was sharing his kills with me? The thought made my blood chill. And, he wanted my sympathy? What kind of freak-vamp was he? Wide-ass awake and his voice was just as strong, just as real as if he were in the room, standing right beside me. I glanced around, just to make sure.
“What’s wrong?” Nyx said from her station.
Mentally, I could do nothing but shake it off. I damn sure couldn’t tell Nyx what had happened. I sighed, stretched my back, and cracked my neck. “Nothing. Just a little stiff.” I grinned at her. “I’m fine.”
Nyx eyed me for a second or two longer, shrugged, and went back to work. For once, I felt sort of glad that Eli wasn’t around. He would have zeroed right in on my thoughts and all hell would’ve broken loose for damn sure. Eli Dupré had a short fuse and would go off like a wild man, had he known Victorian Arcos was tormenting me in my thoughts. Good thing I was a big girl and could take care of myself.
For the rest of the day, the voices continued. All Victorian’s voice, of course, but just when I’d think he was finished, he’d whisper something else, something unsettling, terrifying, inside my head. It was getting harder and harder to mask it.
Nyx had just left, my last customer was out the door, and I was on my way up the steps to my apartment to wait for Eli when Victorian interrupted once more.
Does it bother you to know I think of you when I feed? I feel you must know the truth, for it’s thoughts of you, your body bare and slick with the sweat of our lovemaking, and my cock buried deep inside you, your legs wrapped around me, begging me for more, that
The man laughed, unbuttoned his work shirt, and shrugged out of it. “Yes, ma’am.”
I’d felt like having a classics day, and to me nothing was better than a hoppin’ day at Inksomnia, with lots of good-natured customers and old rock blasting through the speakers. Heart’s “Barracuda” pulled me into that groove I loved being in when inking someone— especially someone who was not a tat virgin, like this guy.
“Nice boots,” he said, climbing onto the bench and lying facedown.
I glanced down at my thigh-high black boots that ended just where the hem of my black leather miniskirt began. I’d picked out a Blondie T-shirt, along with a pair of pink plaid suspenders to wear with the skirt—pretty kick-ass if you asked me. “Thanks,” I said, giving him a broad smile. “Ready?”
“I deploy tomorrow,” he replied, in a heavy smoker’s voice. “I’m always ready, honey.”
Rangers kicked ass. I gave him a smile and punched his arm. “Hurry home.”
I transferred the image I’d sketched and printed out from my computer onto his left flank—just about the only place left on his back. It was a wicked-cool skeleton soldier’s head, cigarette clenched between its teeth, wearing a World War II helmet with the words “Fuck Off” across the front of it. Gotta love it. Once the transfer dried, I lined up my ink pots, grasped the needle, and let the Widow’s hum mix with Heart’s lyrics, and together they pulled me into my work. I’d preferred to have stayed there, uninterrupted, in my “Barracuda” zone until the job was done. No such freaking luck. I’d just finished the helmet’s chin strap and was blotting blood when the interruption occurred.
I fed last night, Riley. I’ve never enjoyed it—not like my brother. But it’s necessary for me to live. I promise—I show mercy, and I feed only when I begin to grow weak, and I take only enough to sustain me. I do not butcher those I take from. I hope you believe me. It hurts to think you believe me a monster.
I froze, needle poised over skin, and felt my insides grow cold. Victorian’s voice was so . . . inside me, I could almost feel the tenor of his voice reverberating off my bones. Now he was sharing his kills with me? The thought made my blood chill. And, he wanted my sympathy? What kind of freak-vamp was he? Wide-ass awake and his voice was just as strong, just as real as if he were in the room, standing right beside me. I glanced around, just to make sure.
“What’s wrong?” Nyx said from her station.
Mentally, I could do nothing but shake it off. I damn sure couldn’t tell Nyx what had happened. I sighed, stretched my back, and cracked my neck. “Nothing. Just a little stiff.” I grinned at her. “I’m fine.”
Nyx eyed me for a second or two longer, shrugged, and went back to work. For once, I felt sort of glad that Eli wasn’t around. He would have zeroed right in on my thoughts and all hell would’ve broken loose for damn sure. Eli Dupré had a short fuse and would go off like a wild man, had he known Victorian Arcos was tormenting me in my thoughts. Good thing I was a big girl and could take care of myself.
For the rest of the day, the voices continued. All Victorian’s voice, of course, but just when I’d think he was finished, he’d whisper something else, something unsettling, terrifying, inside my head. It was getting harder and harder to mask it.
Nyx had just left, my last customer was out the door, and I was on my way up the steps to my apartment to wait for Eli when Victorian interrupted once more.
Does it bother you to know I think of you when I feed? I feel you must know the truth, for it’s thoughts of you, your body bare and slick with the sweat of our lovemaking, and my cock buried deep inside you, your legs wrapped around me, begging me for more, that
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