Changing You ✦ The Sequel

Chapter 6 {R}

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I watched Corbyn grit his teeth, hands clenching into such tight fists that it seemed his skin would burst open. He pressed his eyes shut and squeezed his jaw together to prevent a loud curse from slipping out.

My uncle seemed unbothered by his reaction, and continued working the gas burner down Corbyn's bicep, the flame melting the ink of the freshly placed tattoo far into his skin.

The smell of burning flesh made my stomach clench together. It reminded me of the way they brand cows or horses so they can identify the animal's original ownership.

"Jesus," I heard Zach breathe out, wiping a hand over his face as he watched the scene play out in front of him for a third time; Jonah and Jack having gone through it first.

We had all known what we were signing up for when we agreed to get the tattoo, knowing it would have to be burned into our skin if we didn't want it to fade away due to our healing abilities. But that didn't make it any prettier to watch, or easier to endure.

"There you go, all done," my uncle stepped back. As he put the burner down, my eyes lingered on his tattooed arms.

The countless lines and colours that ran up and down from his hands to his shoulders left barely an inch of skin un-inked, and I wondered how many times my uncle had gone through this himself.

Uncle Aaron was my mother's younger brother; born a werewolf as well. That hadn't stopped him from getting the tattoos he wanted, though. It had even encouraged him of  pursuing his dream to become a professional tattoo artist. Lucky for us, as he was the only person around who knew what he was doing.

Corbyn hissed as Lexa tied the bandage around his arm, the fabric screeching over the open wound. "That was no joke," he commented as he wiped the sweat drops off his forehead.

"It's really not," Aaron agreed, unlocking the chains from Corbyn's wrists so he could get up. He had explained they were for precaution: saying it was likely for us to lose control due to the pain and lash out at him for hurting us. It had almost cost him an eye back in the days.

"You're up next, Riles." At those words, my throat went drier than sandpaper and I couldn't swallow anymore.

Soaking in a deep breath, I took Corbyn's place on the wooden chair. My stomach was pressed against the backrest and my back was facing my uncle.

"On your shoulder blade, right?" He asked, and I heard him prepare his stuff behind me. I nodded stiffly.

"Then I'm gonna have to ask you to put your hair up and take off your shirt."

All the guys were suddenly very interested in the floor, as all five of them turned their gazes down. Chuckling nervously, I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled the fabric over my head. Then I took the rubber band from my wrist and I put my hair up into a bun.

I felt my breath hitch in my throat as Aaron approached me with the two metal handcuffs. He heard it and he shot me a reassuring smile.

"They're just a precaution," he reminded me, and I nodded quietly.

As he locked them around my wrists, I shivered. And not just because the metal was cold.

The cuffs were attached to the wall of our basement by an iron chain. I had spent hundreds of full moons trying to break out of them, but they never budged. Right now they made sure I couldn't reach back towards my uncle.