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“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.”
