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"I don't know." I thought of telling him that a stranger had put the make on me, but then thought better of it. Grieve would go looking for someone to blame and find an innocent man. "Maybe it had something to do with the energy there."
"Perhaps," Grieve said, placing his hand flat against the wolf's head. "Tell me about when you got this tattoo. There are so many things I can't remember since Myst came to power."
Had the turning affected his ability to remember? It didn't seem possible and yet--Grieve was so like and yet unlike himself that I wondered. Swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat, I said, "When I was fifteen, I dreamed of a wolf tracking me through the city streets. He was protecting me, watching over me. I didn't realize it was your spirit form. At the time, Krystal was hanging out with a tattoo artist named Dane, who was in love with her. He was one of the few boyfriends she had who was relatively sane. He paid for our room and board for about three months."
"Did he ever try anything with you?" Grieve asked gruffly.
I shook my head. "Dane was one of the few who didn't. He was a good guy. One night, we were hanging out, getting stoned. Krystal was out hooking for a few extra bucks. Dane was staring at me and when I asked why, he said he could see a wolf sitting next to me--a beautiful silver wolf with green eyes that came to life as he described it."
"It was me," Grieve whispered softly, drawing his hand across his eyes. "I remember. I did what I could in astral form to watch over you."
"I know that now, but at the time, Dane's vision just sounded so beautiful and I got to thinking about the protector in my dream. I asked him if he'd ink the wolf onto me and he agreed. I know it sounds stupid, letting somebody stoned tattoo you, but I knew--absolutely knew--that he wouldn't fuck up, and that I had to have this tattoo. And he'd done the rest of my tats over the previous few months, so I knew he was good at his job. We spent the night getting high on Acapulco gold and he worked on the wolf's head and the roses and skulls for five hours."
I closed my eyes, remembering. Around eight, he'd put in a Gary Numan CD--Outland--and played it on a loop, over and over. The only sounds through the hours that passed were those of the Electronica Wizard of Oz, the hum of the tattoo gun, and our quiet pull on the joints that he'd lined up on the table.
I'd watched as the vision from my dreams came to life in brilliant color, first the wolf with his emerald eyes glowing, then the trail of roses and violet skulls that swept across my midsection, from thigh to side. It had hurt, but the pot helped me transcend the pain and lose myself in the experience.
Then, a little after one in the morning, Dane stood back and whispered, "My God, look at yourself. You're beautiful."
And I'd looked down, and found the wolf that had followed me in dream after dream come to life on my skin. And I knew that he would always be with me, would always be watching over me.
"The next morning, Krystal threw Dane out and smacked me across the face. She was convinced I'd fucked him. I finally got her to believe that he'd just tattooed me, but it was too late. That night, Dane was at work in his shop and some motherfucker came in with a gun and blew his brains out, took all his cash, and vanished into the night. Nobody ever caught him. The cops didn't look very hard. Like so many of the people we met on the road, Dane was outside of the mainstream and the police considered him expendable. Just another tattoo artist biker dude."
I fell silent, thinking of the tall blond man who'd painstakingly inked my body. I had fantasies that he would take us in, marry Krystal, give us a settled life. His death sent me into a deep depression, but Krystal had just blown it off, angry that her meal ticket had disappeared.
After that night, I'd guarded the wolf from public view, not wanting to share him with others. He felt like he was alive and sometimes I could hear him growling at me, warning me, calling me. Eventually, I figured out it was Grieve--whether his spirit or memory, I didn't know. The men I'd slept with over the years hadn't liked the tattoo much, but I didn't give a damn. The wolf was part of me and I loved it like a good friend.
"And so here we are. You and I. Together again." Grieve gently traced his fingers over the tattoo and I felt like I was diving off a cliff into a midnight pool, dark and sparkling, so deep that I would never touch bottom. I let out a choked gasp. Please, no more. I couldn't handle much more.
Aching to calm the raging hunger within, I slowly lowered my hand to rest on top of his.
"Cicely . . ." His voice was breaking.
"Don't stop. I need you more than I can bear," I said, closing my eyes against the approaching storm. Indigo Court or not, I had to feel him touch me, enter me, make me whole. "I can't tell you what happened, but I can't stand this tension any longer."
Grieve moved in, his hand slowly trailing across my stomach to rest on my hip. He tipped my chin up and my eyes fluttered open. Those luminous stars studding their sea of onyx held me firm.
"Are you sure? Are you sure this is what you want?" He looked almost sad, but I could smell his arousal on the breeze, intoxicating and wild. He smelled nothing like Lannan had. Vampiric or not, Grieve was alive, and he was wild and passionate. Regardless of what anybody else thought, I knew he didn't want to hurt me, he wanted to love me.
"Yes, please." My words were muffled as he gathered me in his arms and pressed his lips against mine. I closed my eyes, sinking into the kiss. His lips were warm and vibrant, demanding and yet giving. He ran one hand up my cheek to brush my slick, wet hair back away from my face.
"No other man will ever touch you again--not if I can be there to stop him," he whispered, pressing his forehead against mine. He began to kiss me--his lips fluttering over my eyes, my cheeks, my lips, down to my neck. I could feel his teeth against my skin, but he hesitated and drew back.
"Not yet," he murmured, almost more to himself than to me. And then his mouth trailed kisses down my chest, teased my breasts as he slowly tugged on one nipple with his teeth, cautious not to pierce through the skin.
I was so wired all I could think was, Please, please fuck me. But Grieve wasn't about to move that fast.
He walked me backward to the bed, and in a blur, his clothes were on the floor. He was lean and strong, his olive skin moist and glimmering. His hair hung over his shoulders like spun silver. And he wants me.
As I gazed down his body, taking in his nakedness, I suddenly noticed something--something I'd never seen because I'd never seen Grieve in the light without clothes before. Even the first time, when I was seventeen, I hadn't noticed the mark in the dusk of the summer's evening.
On his upper right thigh, he had a tattoo of my face, of me as an adult, not as a child. A circle of silver roses and purple skulls surrounded my face. The same roses and skulls scattered through the vine near my wolf tattoo.
"That's me! How long have you had that?" I asked, breathless, reaching out to touch my face inked onto his skin.
"You aren't the only one linked in this relationship," he said, gazing down at my finger as he smiled. "Since long before you were born. I didn't let you see it last time. You had to make decisions on your own, without me influencing you. I told you, Cicely, I've been waiting for you. And someday I'll tell you more, when you are able to remember."
My wolf whimpered, a pleading cry, and I pressed against him.
