Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Good afternoon to you too.” I attempt a breezy tone, but it comes out brittle. My hand lingers over the display case, pretending fascination with the iron bracelets, earrings, and pendants. Anything to disguise the thudding in my chest. “Relax, I’m not here to pester you.”
He slaps his palms together and straightens. “You’re not a pest, Emery.”
My heart stumbles. “Not quite a compliment but I’ll take it.” I force a tight smile.
The corners of his mouth twitch.
“So…” I step away from the jewelry and closer to him. “Ink anything interesting today?”
His lips tilt up. So close to an actual smile. “Yeah, actually. I did a piece with a crow preening in front of a mirror. You would’ve liked it.”
He remembered I like crows.
My heart thumps faster.
Of course he remembered. You yap about them every chance you get.
“Sorry I missed it,” I say.
He approaches with cautious steps, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I grabbed a few pictures. In case you wanted to see it.”
He was thinking of me while he was working?
“Oh…oh really?” My brain short-circuits. “How’d you know I’d be back?”
The hint of a smile slides off his face. “Figured you’d have more questions before you leave the Hollow.”
Leave? “I’m here for the rest of the week. Or longer…if I need to.”
His shoulders relax but the wrinkle between his eyes deepens.
“Can I see it?” I gesture to the phone in his hands.
He nods once and closes the distance between us until we’re standing so near, our arms brush. He tilts the screen my way, the large phone seeming small in his hands as he swipes his thumb over the screen. The image appears—a crow, wings half-spread, beak tilted toward an ornate mirror. Every feather etched in meticulous black ink, shading so detailed it looks soft enough to ruffle with a finger. The mirror’s surface is empty, though, not a reflection but a hollow oval. It’s both eerie and beautiful.
“Wow,” I breathe out. “That’s incredible. You’re really talented.”
He flicks through a few more pictures but my gaze strays to his tattoos. The intricate black lines seem to tell their own story.
Then they shift.
The tattoos? Or just from the movement of his arm?
I squint harder.
There it is again. A faint ripple. No. It can’t be. It’s just ink on his skin. It’s not actually moving.
I catch it again, at the edge of his wrist. Another shift. A coil of black, like something rippling beneath the surface of a river. The ink moves faster, the lines seeming to pulse in time with my heartbeat.
I blink harder.
You’re losing it, Emery.
Declan clicks his screen off and stuffs his phone in his pocket. I should step back. Put some space between us. But my body seems to have forgotten how to move.
My gaze lands on the intricate vines and leaves winding up his arm. Still pulsing.
“Your tattoos,” I blurt before I can stop myself.
He pulls away. “What about them.”
“Are they…moving?” Oh my God, did I really just ask him that? I sound like a lunatic.
My question hangs between us as I wait for him to laugh and ask if I hit my head today while I was investigating.
“They seem to shift,” I say, unsure how to explain what I keep seeing. “Like ripples under your skin?”
His entire body goes rigid. “Drop it, Emery.”
That’s not a denial. “What is it? Some special kind of ink?”
“Nothing.”
Sure, and the pendant around my neck doesn’t practically jump for joy whenever Declan’s close. Even now, it twists and slides over my skin, inching toward Declan, tugging the chain gently against the back of my neck.
I curl my fingers around the pendant. “Why does it keep doing this when you’re near?” I ask.
He closes his eyes and inhales a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
The lines of ink shift faster now. Like they’re alive and pleased I’m watching. Or calling for my attention. Hypnotized by the movement, I reach out, foolishly and recklessly, but I can’t seem to stop myself. My fingertips graze the edge of the ink winding over the warm, delicate skin at his wrist. His pulse point—strong and steady. The black lines writhe and pulse against my fingers.
“Emery—”
A clang of metal echoes around us, cutting off Declan’s warning. Cold air rushes through the shop. The key pendant sears hot against my chest.
Pain detonates around my wrist. I jerk back with a gasp as a thin green line etches itself into my skin, glowing like molten glass.
“What the…what the hell is that?” I yelp and stagger away from Declan.
He curses and catches my hand in both of his, tugging me closer. His touch is rough and frantic, but somehow careful, like he’s afraid to break me. His eyes darken, panic seeping into his expression.
“Goddammit, Emery,” he growls. “Why’d you touch me there?” His thumb hovers over the mark. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath ragged. “He must be close.”