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The scars were one thing, but to accept another mark, a mark in metal, meant so much more. They talked about it so casually, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness to it. It was intimate, almost somber.
It was like my name, carved into his chest. He could’ve healed it, he could have gone on like it was never even there. But he’d kept it by choice, not necessity. He’d wanted my name on him.
“Iamready,” I said. Zane’s eyebrows shot up, and Hana clapped her hands, leaping to her feet.
“Fuck yes! I’ll go find Vian.” She snatched Sadie’s hand, dragging her along downstairs.
Zane was frowning. “Don’t feel pressured,” he said. “You don’t have to do shit. I know Hana’s really fucking enthusiastic, but —”
“I don’t care if Hana’s excited,” I said. I traced my finger along his ear, along the rings and jewels pierced there. “This is about us.Fuck,it’s about...” I took a deep breath. I could only say this because Hana and Sadie weren’t around to hear it, and maybe the tiny sips of demonic liquor setting a fire in my chest helped too. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me. I don’t know why you make me feel...you make me feel safe. You make me feel like maybe everything isn’t shit.” God, I was bad at this. Putting fickle things like emotions into words was damn near impossible. “That’s not something I ever thought I’d have, Zane. I didn’t think I’d feel safe again. I didn’t think I’d ever have any kind of relationship —”
I cut myself off abruptly, regretting my word choice. But Zane turned my face back toward him, and said, “Don’t be ashamed of what you want to say. I’m not going anywhere.”
And that was the thing, wasn’t it? That was the spark that lit up my dark, dead, broken soul — he’d seen all its sharp edges and hadn’t left. He’d seen me as broken as I was andwantedme, regardless.
I’d always told myself I’d never rely on anyone else. I didn’t need approval, or love, or support. I was fine alone. Yet here I was, surrounded by demons and twisted debauchery, and for the first time in years, I’d found something like home.
I felt accepted. I’d spoken my truth and beenlistenedto.
Zane had listened first. He’d listened before anyone else had.
“I want your mark,” I said firmly. “I’m ready.”
I could tell he wanted to smile. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely sure.”
Finally, he let himself give me that sharp-toothed grin. “Let’s introduce you to Vian.”
42
Vian needed no introduction; I knew it had to be them the moment I saw them.
They were easy to spot in a crowd: nearly seven-foot, broad-shouldered, and dressed in intricately braided, fine links of silver chain. There were few places on their face that theyweren’tpierced, fine metals and jewels decorating every inch of pierceable skin. They were lounging upon the gaping maw of an old machine; the hunk of metal having been forcibly torn and pressed into a shape vaguely resembling a chair. They were surrounded by a dozen other demons, all adorned in similar garments of chains and carefully crafted metals, some of them restrained in cuffs that were as much works of art as their jewelry.
Vian smiled as we approached, sharp teeth shining with implanted jewels.
“My, my, has Zane brought a sweet little soul to mark?” they said, tapping white-painted claws upon the machine beneath them. They took a long look at me, their bright eyes scouring every inch of skin, lingering on my scars and the bloodstains on my shirt.
“Not very sweet, sorry,” I said. “Pretty sour, mostly.”
“You know I don’t go for the sweet ones, Vian,” Zane drawled, the pride obvious in his voice.
Vian stood, towering over us both. I automatically took a step back as I looked up at them, and they leaned down curiously to examine my face.
“Right then,sourlittle soul.” Vian chuckled. “Where are you getting your metal?”
“Tongue,” I said. I tried to keep my voice steady, but it still hitched at the end. I wanted this, there was no doubt in my mind. But the thought of a needle going through my tongue still made my stomach coil, like a snake trying to slither away into hiding.
“I think a simple piece will suffice,” Zane said. “Something black, for her dark little soul.”
“Mm, right, right.” Vian nodded and grabbed a small metal box that hung from one of the chains around their neck. They opened it, poking around inside for an acceptable bit of jewelry, glancing up at me every now and then as if gauging what would suit me. My eyes flickered over the demons behind them, and I noticed several of the bound ones had needles through their lips and their ears: fresh piercings. But they didn’t look as if they were in pain. They were breathing slowly and deeply, some of them with their eyes closed, limp as if they were in a trance.
“Do you make the jewelry yourself?” I said, trying to distract myself from my worsening nerves. A crowd was beginning to gather, other demons nudging closer, watching me curiously. Zane’s hand slipped around my waist, tracing lightly over my skin.
“I make every piece,” Vian said, with a little smile. “I find the materials, the jewels and the metals, and I form them myself. It’s a passion of mine.” They glanced back, their eyes softening with affection when they looked at the demons sitting behind them. “My beautiful creations are used to adorn even more beautiful beings. They solidify bonds. They bring pain...pleasure...catharsis.”
They turned their attention back to the box and held up a black metal barbell — long enough to fit comfortably through my tongue. “Onyx from the Black Sea, metal forged by dragon fire. What do you think?”
