Stolen Ink (Ink Born Book 1) Read online

  He leaned over the bar, his long fingers brushed over my lips begging me to pull him closer to steal a kiss. “Sorry, I’m dating a delightfully talented tiger shifter.”

  I leaned back.

  “When you come to your senses, you know where I am,” I said with a grin.

  He laughed and poured me a smooth human beer, hoppy and just sweet enough to be balanced and drinkable. With that, he moved on and set about preparing for the rest of the night. I was left with the Nordic ceremonial mage for the rest of the night. Where Faru was slender and sensual, the Nord was broad and harsh. He didn’t so much as consider smiling. I’d have to get my fun elsewhere.

  10

  I was drinking slowly. There was no point in getting legless if I wanted to take someone home. That, and I was drinking alone. It was quite depressing getting drunk alone. The tattoo magic students had moved to the table not far behind me. I couldn’t help but smile as they discussed what a hardass Mr. Tine was. He’d hated me in college. Good grades weren’t something I concerned myself with. Why did I need to know the history of ink magic?

  One of them with a reedy voice cut over the laughter and said, “Have you heard about the tattoo thefts?”

  I tensed and turned my head a little to better hear what they said. My blood had run cold. Could that have been what the ink magic was bugging me about? The alchemists chose that moment to pick a fight with a collection of mages. Shouts covered the reply one of the students gave. ‘Died horribly’ caught my attention.

  I took a long drink of my beer. Our tattoos were a part of us. To steal a tattoo was to steal a part of someone’s very essence, their soul. I allowed Kyra out of her tattoo, suddenly feeling the need for physical contact with her. Kyra chose to jump up onto the bar next to me. She sniffed my beer and turned her nose up. I rubbed behind her ears and over her cheeks. The cat infuriated me, but I’d be lost without her. A small blueish-white orb appeared out of nowhere and began whizzing around Kyra’s head. She tilted her head and batted at it with her paw. The orb began chittering and hissing before it puffed up in size.

  “I’m terribly sorry about him, he doesn’t much like cats,” a female voice said.

  I raised an eyebrow and turned to face the woman. A broad smile spread across her face as she looked me up and down.

  “Sometimes these things happen for a reason, though,” she said as she stepped closer to me.

  The orb left Kyra alone and fluttered around the woman’s head. Her deep red hair shimmered under the blueish light. Her eyes never left my face.

  “I’m Kaitlyn, an alchemist.” She thrust her hand at me.

  I looked down at her hand. I didn’t much like dealing with alchemists. They had an arrogance about them. It was different than the mages. The mages could feel the magic, they were connected to the networks, the webs. Alchemists were an entirely different species, and they seemed to feel that made them superior.

  I took her hand so as not to be rude. “Dacian.”

  “And your cat, she’s from a tattoo?” she said while stepping closer.

  Kyra chose that moment to slink away, apparently satisfied that I was fine.

  “She is,” I said.

  “A man of few words, I do enjoy that,” she said.

  I sighed and smiled politely.

  “I’m not interested in women,” I said.

  It was better to cut it off before things got too awkward. Her mouth fell open and she blanched before a pale rose blush crept across her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” she stuttered.

  I smiled gently and took a drink of my beer. “No harm done.”

  Apart from stopping me from getting more details on the tattoo thefts, of course, but she didn’t know that.

  “Enjoy your night,” she said before she became lost in the crowd.

  I turned my ear to listen to the tattoo magic students again, but they were discussing some pretty air elemental they’d spotted. Still, the night was young, I could worry about a tattoo thief in the morning.

  Two more beers later, and things were livening up. The bear shifter and magic breaker bouncers had already broken up two attempted fights between the alchemists and the shifters. The fire elementals had tried to get cocky with a nymph and an elf. That hadn’t gone so well. I wasn’t complaining; it was free entertainment. There had been no more word on the tattoo thefts. I supposed that wasn’t such a bad thing. Surely, if it was something to concern myself with, the entire bar would have been buzzing with it. I told myself they’d just meant tattoo designs that someone had drawn, rather than the tattoos themselves. It was impossible to steal someone’s tattoo. Or so I hoped. The very idea made me sick to my stomach.

  “Are you going to talk to him or continue stringing him along?” the Nord said to me as he cleaned off the bar in front of me.

  I tried to figure out who or what he was talking about. The Nord huffed and sighed, his great shoulders heaving with the effort he put into it. He jutted his chin at a waifish thing that sat at the corner of the bar, his pale green eyes watching my every move.

  “He’s been sat there, waiting for you to notice him, for the last hour,” the Nord rumbled.

  I smirked. “Then I’d best introduce myself.”

  I pushed my way through the crowded bodies and leaned against the bar in front of the waif. He was a skittish little thing. His eyes darted down I approached. His hands refused to be still. They constantly tapped on the bar. I put my hand over his and smiled at him.

  “Dacian.”

  He was more delicate than I usually enjoyed, but variety is the spice of life. I rubbed the base of his thumb with soft, slow circles. His eyes slowly lifted to meet mine, and what eyes they were. Pale green pools that whispered of secrets and passions that I planned on thoroughly enjoying.

  “Isaiah,” he replied.

  A smile threatened to form on his pretty mouth. His lips were a little thinner than ideal, but that somehow added to the invitation of his mouth. His was thin, too thin really, his collarbone protruded even under the thin long-sleeved shirt he wore. His high cheekbones were a touch too stark, but those eyes shone like stars.

  “Your place or mine?” I whispered in his ear.

  No point in wasting time, after all.

  11

  He didn’t live too far from the Silent Scream. His building was in the rougher part of the neighbourhood, and the rough grey bricks had seen better days. Still, who was I to judge? The light flickered in the hallway to his apartment. The single bulb barely chased away the darkness. His nimble fingers fumbled with the key. His eyes remained down. I could understand his shame, it wasn’t the sort of place you showed off or bragged about, but I wasn’t that type of guy. He opened the door into a small apartment. The living area, with a well-used couch, shared space with the kitchen space. It had all we needed.

  The single bulb hung over the living room flickered to life, not that it did much good. It cast a soft orange light over most of the space, just enough for us to see each other. He placed his keys down on the small nook carved into the wall behind him. A nervous smile lit up his face. His hands fluttered to my hips. I was more than happy to be the dominant party. I gripped his hip in one hand and put my other behind his neck as I pressed him against the wall and claimed his mouth with my own. He kissed me back with an increasing fierceness, his body hard and tight against mine.

  His nervous hands roamed up my back before his elegant fingers dug into the back of my neck and his tongue thrust into my mouth. Still, his body remained tense against mine. I pulled back and bit down his neck, gentle bites that drew soft moans from him. I tugged on the bottom of his shirt and began pulling it up to remove it. He froze. I stepped back and gave him some room. I wasn’t going to push him through whatever issues he had.

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted.

  I caught sight of the bruises on his stomach and ribs.

  “Did I miss something…?” I asked.

  He looked away and
tensed as though expecting to be struck. I should have walked away. No good came from getting involved with waifs and strays. I stroked his cheek with my thumb and waited for him to breathe.

  “I’m not going to hit you,” I said softly.

  He looked at me, wide-eyed and trembling. He began to unbutton his jeans, his eyes not leaving mine.

  I took his hands in mine and smiled. “I’m not that kind of man.”

  He swallowed hard and exhaled slowly. “I’m not going to use you, Isaiah. I don’t know what trouble you’ve been in, but I am not one of those men.”

  He searched my face, no doubt looking for lies or tricks. When he found none, he relaxed and smiled before he dragged his fingers through his hair.

  “I really do want to screw you,” he said with a harsh laugh.

  I smiled and waited for him to continue, to relax. “I… I’ve had a shitty taste in men. I didn’t mean offence.”

  I shrugged and took a step back, giving him more space. “None taken.”

  A little had been taken, I prided myself on not being like that, but it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know me from Jack. He stepped closer to me, closing the space between us. He stood a few inches shorter than me, but there was a fire burning within him, a fierceness I hoped never got extinguished. Slowly he reached out and ran his thumb along my jawline, his eyes drinking in the details of my face. I remained still and allowed him. He leaned in and kissed me softly, his lips exploring mine with a gentle curiosity.

  Slowly, he came to me. A series of gentle kisses that gradually became more. I made sure that everything was done on his terms, that he was ready for each new step. He was begging me, breathless and desperate when I finally took him.

  I hadn’t intended on staying the night in his small bed with him. I had a strict policy of leaving once the fun had been had. There was too much risk of attachment forming if we woke up together. Yet there I was, his small frame in my arms, his head on my chest with a contented smile on his face. The sun was filtering through the thin curtains, harsh and pale through the dark brown material. I stretched and tried to extricate myself from him without waking him.

  He stirred and groaned when I moved.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked lazily.

  I smiled despite myself and ran a finger down his spine. “I’ve some things I should do today.”

  His hand roamed down over my stomach.

  “Shame,” he pouted.

  I kissed his forehead and sat up, forcing him to roll over onto the mattress.

  He propped himself up on his elbows and said, “I want to see you again, Dacian.”

  There’s was a strength, determination to his words. I looked him up and down. He was leaner than I’d thought. His ribs were scattered with bruises, some fresh and dark. His stomach was taut and called for my touch. His hip bones protruded too much, as much as I’d enjoyed gripping them and left the bruises to show as much.

  “When did you last eat?” I asked.

  He shrugged and pushed himself up to sit properly.

  “Isaiah,” I said more firmly than I’d intended.

  “My ex took this month’s wages when he showed up for his things,” he said quietly.

  What had I gotten myself into?

  “How long till you get paid?”

  “Only a week.”

  “And what do you do?”

  I was pushing, perhaps too hard, but there was something about him. He brought out my protective instincts.

  “I’m a weaver,” he said proudly.

  He had every right to be proud. Weavers were rare and in high demand. From what I understood, it was a delicate art that took a great deal of talent and skill. I looked around the small apartment with the threadbare blankets and the peeling paint on the walls.

  “My boss only gives me five percent of the fee he charges his clients,” he muttered quietly.

  “He took you to bed and promised you he’d protect you?” I said.

  Isaiah flopped back onto the bed. “I know, I’m a fool.”

  “You’re graded and qualified?” I asked.

  If he’d been graded and certified by the council, then had had no need for his boss. If he was still an apprentice, then he’d be screwed until he could get his certificates.

  “Yes,” he bit out.

  “Then quit your job and set up alone,” I said.

  I pressed my finger to his lips when he went to argue.

  “You can do it. And you will,” I said firmly.

  He frowned at me. I removed my finger and kissed him hard.

  “You’d better be freelance when I see you next. I’ll leave my number on your fridge.”

  “You drive a hard bargain,” he grumbled.

  “I’m worth it and you know it,” I said with a grin.

  12

  Keirn was surprisingly sober when I walked in. Kyra jumped from the kitchen counter onto my shoulder and rubbed her face against mine. Even Aris slithered from under the table and wound his way up my legs until he was draped over my shoulders and down my back. They hadn’t greeted me with such affection in months. The last time, they’d caused a fight to break out between a pack of wildcat shifters and fox ferals.

  “What have you done?” I asked Kyra.

  Keirn handed me a large cup of coffee. I breathed in deep. No alcohol.

  “They haven’t done anything, Dacian.”

  The tiredness in his voice said more than the words ever could. I cupped his cheek in my hand and searched his silver eyes. Concern began to form. He smiled and kissed my inner wrist.

  “Have you not heard about the tattoo thefts?”

  It hit me like a jolt. “I heard something last night. Some tattoo students mentioned it. I’d assumed they meant art designs.”

  The elf shook his head and slumped down into his chair. “No… there have been three incidents this week. They died horribly, Dacian.”

  Kyra pressed herself against my neck and Aris gripped my body a little tighter. I ran my fingers over both of them, reassuring myself that they were safe.

  “What are the council doing about it?” I asked.

  Keirn bared his sharp teeth, his ears pressed to his skull before he withdrew into himself again.

  “Nothing,” he said quietly. “They don’t give a fuck about us lowly tattoo-born. They won’t even acknowledge it unless a precious ceremonial gets caught up in it,” he hissed.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed aside the blossoming anger. He was right, it was foolish to think the council would do a damn thing.

  “Is anyone doing anything?” I asked quietly.

  Keirn waved his hand and knocked back his coffee. “Nothing serious.”

  “Who told you about it?” I asked.

  He exhaled slowly through his nose. “No one specific. There were talking about it in the Nymph last night.”

  The Nymph was a pretentious gay bar where the social elite gathered to have some fun, usually drug-fuelled and full of magic. It wasn’t Keirn’s usual place. Like me, he preferred the less savoury and more entertaining hangouts. He refused to look at me. I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Zahr summoned you again,” I growled.

  Keirn sighed.

  “Keirn, we’ve been through this! He sees you as nothing more than a toy to pick up and discard as he sees fit.”

  “I was already tipsy. It was so easy,” he said softly.

  I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “You’re better than that, old friend.”

  He finally looked at me and smiled. “It won’t happen again.”

  A light tapping came from the back door. I frowned at Keirn, wondering who or what that was. When Kyra shot off my shoulder and began clawing at the door while mewing, I remembered. I’d completely forgotten that the feral was showing up for food. Kyra shot me a filthy look before I opened the door to see the girl cowering, her shoulders hunched and her hair falling around her face.

  “Sorry, I got side-tracked,” I said.
>
  Keirn had appeared behind me, causing me to almost trip over him when I turned to find her some food.

  “It isn’t like you to pick up strays,” he said with a smirk.

  “I picked up two in one day,” I muttered.

  I didn’t even know what ferals were supposed to eat. The predatory shifters needed a lot of meat, were ferals the same? She’d picked herself up a chocolate bar the day before, so maybe normal food would do. I grabbed a loaf of bread and a lump of cheese. We needed to do some food shopping. I stuffed the food into a paper bag that may have held a bottle of wine the day before. It didn’t matter. Keirn was learning against the doorway looking the feral up and down, who was doing her best to make herself as small as possible. Kyra was rubbing herself about the girl’s legs while purring. I handed the girl the bag of food.

  “Sorry, it’s not much. I’ll have something better tomorrow.” It had slipped out of my mouth before I’d had a chance to think.

  She raised her eyes to mine and smiled, a delicate motion that seemed almost foreign to her. “Thank you.”

  She ran off down the alley before any more pleasantries could be exchanged. Kyra sat in the doorway and cleaned her paws as though nothing had happened.

  “Tell me about this other stray,” Keirn said a broad smile on his face.

  I dragged my fingers through my hair.

  “In or out,” I growled to Kyra.

  She huffed, put her tail in the air, and strutted off down the alley. Whatever affection and concern she’d had earlier had clearly faded away. Damn cat. I shut the door and began making coffee.

  “I stayed out last night.”

  “I noticed,” Keirn said with a grin.

  “It hadn’t been that long,” I grumbled.

  Keirn’s grin only widened.

  I huffed and continued. “I met a waif of a thing, we had some fun. He’s a weaver that’s been taken advantage of.”

  “And you’re meeting him again?” Keirn said.

  I shrugged. “I gave him my number.”