Running With Devils

Twenty-Four

He had been right. The pain was only temporary and it made me almost enjoy the experience.

"Almost finished, darling," he hummed softly. "How are you feeling?"

I gave a quiet laugh. "Nervous."

"Don't be," he said, dabbing again. "It looks beautiful. It suits you perfectly."

My cheeks burned at his words. "Really?"

"That's the thing about art, Coralynn. It demands brutal honesty. I wouldn't lie about this," he said, dragging the needle across my skin in quick flicks. He must've been working on the detailing.

"Is that why you love it," I asked curiously. "Art, I mean."

His drawing faltered for a moment. So did his breath.

"I enjoy art," he corrected finally. "I don't think my kind are able to love anything besides bloodshed and violence."

I frowned. "You talk about art so passionately," I said slowly.

"I'll admit it is a pastime," he sighed, observing my shoulder carefully. "But I wasn't made for this."

I didn't know why my chest clenched. But even as he spoke, I could hear the slightest bit of longing there.

"I would disagree," I swallowed. "I loved the painting you showed me. I was just too stubborn to admit that I thought it was beautiful."

He stayed quiet. Nothing but the buzzing of the tattoo gun filled the space for what seemed like a good thirty minutes.

He set down the gun wiping one last time before sitting back on his stool.

"There," he breathed. "Now you can look."

He helped me from the chair and guided me to a full length mirror.

I had always been told that I looked like my mother, but as I stood in that mirror, I could finally see it.

Even if the skin was still irritated, the design was perfection. The lines were smooth and crisp. Each lunar phase was perfectly shaded. And he had added a circle of lavender flowers connecting them all together. In the center of the circle was a delicate butterfly.

Tears welled in my eyes as a shaky smile started to grow on my face.

"It's... so beautiful," I said, barely able to say the words without sobbing.

He came behind me, brushing my hair over the opposite shoulder.

His eyes were gentle as they wandered my skin. "I'm glad you like it," he said, tracing his fingers just over his line work. I winced at the stinging burn that ran down my arm. "What did that feel like?"

His other hand placed itself on my waist, gliding it towards my navel. His body was now pressed against my back.

Oh, fuck. We had been here before. It was deja vu all over again. But this time, I wasn't afraid of what he would do to me.

"Like fire," I swallowed nervously.

His tongue played with his lip piercing as if wanting to taste the same burning pain that I felt.

"Would you set me on fire too if I asked you to," he asked against my skin, trailing his finger up the center of my body and between my breasts until his hands played with the idea of wrapping themselves around my throat.

"I—"

"If I begged it of you," he breathed, his fingers traced the column of my throat ever so lightly. "If I begged you, would you make me feel."