Page 9 of King’s Kismet

“You have to know someone who knows someone to know it’s here,” Novak remarked as the elevator doors slid open on the basement floor.

Palmer raised a brow. “So, be part of the cool kids’ club?”

“Something like that,” my vampire agreed as he flourished his hand. “There’s no front entrance. Someone has to show you how to get here.”

“Tattoos and torture?” I read with skepticism. “That’s what this place is called?”

“Yep,” Briggs replied, steering me toward the door. “Right up your alley, huh?”

“For her, yeah.” Palmer shook his head. “I’m not getting a tattoo in a basement parlor.”

A bell chimed as Novak pushed through the glass door. Buzzing assaulted my hearing, though the sound was oddly calming. I expected it to stink of incense and dried blood, but the scent that hit me was clean and sterile.

Black-framed images lined the rusty-red walls, filled with hand-drawn artwork depicting creatures and faces and places. Some were gray-scale, while others had splashes of color or were all brightly designed with no black lines.

“How goes it, guys?” The man at the counter greeted Novak and Briggs as if they were old friends.

“Not bad,” my wolf said dismissively. “We brought you two new customers.”

He smiled, a dimple appearing in his left cheek. “Of course you did. You guys have run out of space, unless we’re tattooing your faces.”

“They are not getting face tattoos,” I snapped, then tilted my head. “They look great on you, don’t get me wrong.”

“No offense taken,” he responded before shrugging. “They aren’t for everyone.”

“I still have space on my hands,” Briggs informed him, wiggling his fingers.

Novak glanced down at himself with a frown. “I have some blank space on my—”

“If you’re thinking about tattooing your dick,” the artist interrupted. “You should remember I charge a handling fee.”

I squinted at my vampire. Sometimes he said things that were just too much. Other times, his lack of a filter made me curious about what he was thinking, or made me cackle at his absurdity. I couldn’t decide which end of the spectrum another dick tattoo fell on.

“Awww, come on, Trouble,” Novak teased.

“I don’t know, man,” Briggs mumbled, tucking me under his arm. “She hasn’t killed anyone in a few days. So she’s probably going through withdrawals. You wanna test Barbie’s patience knowing we can’t hold her back?”

“Whatcha want, hun?” the artist asked me.

I grimaced. “They abducted me, and I’m just waiting for some helpful soul to call the cops and return me to my home.”

Palmer huffed, calling me out. “Now who’s being dramatic?”

“Let us pick something out for you,” Briggs suggested.

“Oh, yeah!” Novak agreed with too much fucking excitement. “What about an under boob piece?”

“Fuck off,” I told my mates, mage included.

My vampire continued, “What about our names on your ass?”

“Or little flaming paw prints for your beasts—Sorry. Your hellhounds.”

I shook my head at Palmer’s pettiness. How many times did I have to tell them to keep their shoes put up? Cronus saw a chew toy in the middle of the living room floor. Naturally, he was going to tear it up. The hounds didn’t care who the shoes belonged to. They definitely wouldn’t ask for permission.

“Again, fuck off.”

Novak elbowed my mage in the ribs, making him grunt.