Agent 7. The Shadows: Part I

▪️◼️Chapter Sixteen◼️▪️

The long corded muscles of his back tighten as he looks over his shoulder at me. His gaze finds mine across the small room.

The dim lighting causes shadows to fall sharply across his cheekbones while the light dances in his pupils.

The malachite and gold colors of his eyes are so deep they have me feeling like I'm drowning—in a painful, suffocating sort of way. I can't handle looking into them for long.

Quickly, I drop my eyes back down to the complicated designs that seem to weave their way in and out of the hills and valleys of tight muscle and bronzed skin of his back.

He's just about to tug on a dress shirt but pauses mid-sleeve.

"I do." He answers before turning his body to face me fully, revealing a chest full of similar patterns.

Oh wow.

The designs are an eclectic mix of black and grey ink made from bold and delicate strokes. In the middle of his chest is a sword that's wrapped in Celtic knots made from the scales of a snake. Thorny roses and intricate patterns are woven in between symbols that may be Hebrew or Latin. I'm not sure, I'm not familiar with either but I can tell it's a language.

My feet shuffle closer on their own accord as he slips his arms into his shirt and shrugs it over his shoulders hiding the tattoos on his arms from view. "You have so many." I breathe out into the stillness. "They're so intricate."

His fingers hesitate on the bottom button. He glances up at me with a peculiar expression.

"Is there something you need from me, Alina? Or..." He drags his eyes from mine down the robe I'm wearing and back up again. "Are you just looking?"

I blush. His mouth flickers with amusement.

I have so many things plaguing my mind. So many questions I want to ask him but now that I'm standing here so close to him like this with his chest bare and the beautiful artwork on full display. I can't remember a single thing.

I'm too curious about his tattoos.

How had I not seen them before now? Not even a hint of ink?

The ones on his chest stop at the crest of his collarbones but sweep up his shoulders and wrap all the way down each arm to just above his wrists.

Woah.

"What do they mean? The designs?"

He continues to button his shirt without looking at me again. "That's none of your business." He grunts, shaking out each arm and pulling on the cuff of each sleeve, making sure the material is sitting perfectly. The motion causes the shirt to pull tightly across his broad chest revealing his muscular build yet his tattoos remain completely hidden from the world.

"So they do mean something then?" I ask, too curious to let it go.

He drops his arms to his sides before shooting me with a glare. He turns around and grabs a belt from its hanger.

I watch him as he gets fully dressed lacing the belt through its loops and tucking his dress shirt into his onyx slacks.

I frown at him.

"Do you always wear suits? Even to bed?" I ask confused. It's evening shouldn't he be dressing down into loungewear?

"We have plans." He informs me.

My heart stutters. My skin jolts with what feels like an electric shock hitting my nerves.

"What do you mean we have plans? We just got back."