Raphael stood at my side. I slid my free hand into his on instinct.
The copper didn’t just hurt like an ogre; it hurt like an ogre with an overlarge club and desire to use it. I squeezed down on Raphael, hard.
He hissed. Bartleby immediately pulled the tattoo pen away.
“Sorry.” I went to pull my hand away, but Raphael clasped my fingers.
“Don’t worry about it. No need to stop on my account,” he told Bartleby.
The fae worked quickly all the same. Within five minutes, the design was half-finished. Which was good, because however much being in copper shackles hurt, cutting myself open on it was a thousand times worse.
Which was bothering Raphael, I realized through the pain. He’d told me his instinct as my sire was to prevent anything from harming me. It was as strong as the bond that kept me close to him.
He was fighting all his instincts, and hadn’t uttered a word of protest so I could do this.
I squeezed Raphael’s hand harder. Cursed copper had well earned its name. I distracted myself by working out the mechanism of the pen, the strange wheel at its end and the way the ink slid down the track next to the blade. And reminding myself that as much as this hurt—I would survive. I wouldchooseto survive it, like Raphael had said. Things didn’t just happen to me now.
Nearly done, Bartleby blew out an annoyed breath. “Sorry, ink is stuck. Almost done.” He lifted it and shook it, tapping the wheel with his palm when that didn’t work.
“Can I see?” I asked.
He handed it over, and I examined it even while my fingers stung. As I’d suspected, the mechanism wasn’t adapted to fit well with the copper. “It wouldn’t do that if you tweaked it here and here.” I pointed to the two notches that didn’t quite match the position. “Some oil mixed in would better lubricate it, so it doesn’t clash against this.” I could’ve made a better one, but I held back the offer. We’d be leaving soon enough, anyway.
He furrowed his brow, as if adjusting it in his mind. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize that. I’ve been using this damn thing for fifty years. Consider your appointment paid for.”
I smiled at Bartleby, and Raphael’s grip in my hand tensed. By the time I looked at him a fraction of a second later, his grip was loose again.
“Finished,” Bartleby declared, letting me marvel at the symbol etched on my skin. “And wow, you’re already healing.”
“Thanks, Bartleby. It’s lovely.” I ignored his other comment. I was healing quicker now that I’d taken Raphael’s blood several times in a row. “Enjoy the rest of the festival. We’ll be on our way.”
“Wait,” Raphael cut in. “I’ll have one too.”
I frowned. “Really? I didn’t think you’d want any tattoos since you don’t have any.”
He arched a brow. “Look that closely?”
I flushed. I had seen… most of Raphael. “Centuries without, and you decide you want one on a whim?” Maybe he was the one not thinking clearly.
“What can I say? You’re a bad influence, little viper,” he smirked.
He tugged his shirt off like it was nothing, twisting to point to a spot right by his shoulder blade. “A feather. Here.”
For Bartleby, males randomly disrobing was no cause for concern. He just sketched a feather and showed it to Raphael forapproval. Me, I was gawking, I realized. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen Raphael shirtless, but with his attention on the fae, I had a moment to study the brutal lines of his body.
“You’ll hold my hand?” he asked.
He didn’t need it. He didn’t even flinch as the fae set the copper pen against his skin.
But I held his hand anyway.
“Why a feather?” It was a rather delicate shape, not that it would truly do anything to soften him. I studied the pattern, the way it emerged over his muscles. It must have some significance if he was finally getting it after all these centuries. Unlike me, he’d had opportunities before. He’d have them again after I left him.
But he wanted to do it here. With me.
“It’s a dove feather,” he said, tone low and just for me.
My free hand curled at my side with the desire to touch the tattoo.Dove. That had been the first name he’d given me.
