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“No problem.” Tate flashed me a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
Jogging up the rows of workstations, he left me and Aslan alone. Stepping to his side, I finally looked at the design.
My knees almost buckled me to the floor.
“Oh my God...” My hand shook as I reached out and traced the most stunning, most perfect, most poignant tattoo Aslan could have ever chosen. “W-Where did you find that?”
He sucked in a breath, still a little wary of my reaction. “I found it online, but I amended it to fit us. I’ve been teaching myself how to use that drawing app on the tablet. I wanted it to be perfect so...I’ve been tweaking it for a while.”
“You made this for me?” Tears pricked my eyes.
“Well, I can’t take all the credit. I merely made it personal for us,” he murmured, passing over the stencil so I could study it.
My heart pounded with every emotion. My skin prickled with how close he stood to me. My blood hummed with the everlasting connection between us.
The image consisted of a fully grown, thickly-maned male lion lying down with his tail wrapped around a girl kneeling and pressed into his side. The look on the lion’s face as the girl burrowed into his mane was achingly tender and utterly besotted. The girl had her eyes closed as if there was nowhere else she would rather be than right there, in his protection, surrounded by his crown of fur. His mane was full of flowers and feathers, swirls and stars, while the girl’s skin was etched with crashing waves and crescent moons. The detail was exquisite. The story between the girl and her lion blisteringly beautiful.
“I-I don’t know what to say.”
Aslan carefully tucked my hair behind my ear. His head bent and his height curled around me, just like the lion curled around his siren. “Say you like it—”
“Like it?” My head snapped up. “I love it. I’ve never seen anything more perfect. More...”
“Us?” He smiled.
My heart tumbled from my chest and fell entirely into his paws. It’d been trapped in his claws ever since the day I’d plucked him from the sea, but right there, in that tattoo parlour on an early Saturday night, I gave him everything that I was.
I didn’t want any piece of me if I couldn’t have him in return.
Take my days.
Take my nights.
Take my entire existence because it’s utterly worthless without you.
There were no words.
None.
Only touch.
Flinging myself into his arms, I balanced on my tiptoes and kissed him.
I kissed him with every inch of my soul and heart, and he kissed me back.
His arms wrapped tightly, entwining around my back like the vines and flowers in the lion’s mane. His growl of need echoed in every bone, and by the time Tate returned with a pretty girl with long black hair and a nose ring, I was breathless and obsessed and so deeply in love I felt like I could fly.
Fly to the moon that gave me this man.
Swim in all the seas to claim this man.
It was the best night of my life as Josephine, the second tattooist, wheeled her table and chest of drawers full of inks, needles, and sterile equipment toward Tate’s, and Aslan sat down.
“Where are you going to put it, hayatim?” Aslan murmured.
I looked down my body as I climbed onto Tate’s table. It could go anywhere. It was a work of art I would proudly display for the rest of my life, but I wanted to be able to see it every moment I was awake. I wanted to be able to stroke the lion’s mane whenever I thought of Aslan. I wanted to be able to stare at our love story every night before I went to sleep.
“Here.” I tapped the underside of my left forearm. “I want it here.”
“Say halfway between your elbow and your wrist?” Tate asked.
“Sounds good.”
“It will wrap around to the front of your arm too, just so you’re aware,” Tate said, cutting out the right size and wheeling himself toward me on a cling-film-wrapped stool. Placing the stencil on my arm, the size of the lion’s mane curled up and over, wrapping around me with its majestic protection.
It’s perfect.
“Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
I caught Tate’s green eyes. “I’m sure.”
“Alrighty then.”
Holding out my arm, I watched in fascination as Tate squirted me with a gel, placed the paper against my skin and imprinted a purple outline. “How’s your pain threshold?” he asked with a wink. “Do I need to teach you how to use your breath to control yourself?”
“She’s a master at breathwork.” Aslan grinned, holding out his left arm and pointing at the same spot as me. “I’m the one who probably needs the lesson.”
“I’ll go easy on you.” Josephine laughed, running a razor over Aslan’s arm to remove any stray hairs. Once his skin held the design like mine, and the tattooists had prepared their guns, I sank back against the table, locked eyes with my moon-given husband, and drifted on pop music and destiny as my virgin skin slowly transformed with the permanent reminder of who I belonged to.
