Chapter Thirty-Nine
The unmarred skin of Erik’s chest looked strange and blank compared to the rest of him. He glanced from the mirror to where the black stitches had decorated his side. They’d been removed this morning, leaving behind a raised, dark scar. His arm was covered in ink—the watercolor Ouroboros around his bicep, the Imugi that snaked over his forearm and onto his hand. The Svara coiled over his shoulder blade and around his side. The praying hands on one hip bone, the rose on the other. He flexed his hands, and the letters on his knuckles moved.
Erik turned his head and glanced at the side of his throat not covered in ink. Another dragon would sit there at some point, but for now, his chest was the place he kept going back to. It’d been empty for a long time, hollow and cold, but now, in a rainy city with River, Erik had decided that emptiness didn’t suit him.
How could it? Erik’s life was brimming with possibility, and finally, after years of wondering whether or not he was worthy of it, he loved someone who loved him back.
His phone buzzed on the sink. He grabbed it and paused to look at his lock screen, a picture of him and River, back at Little Si, greening forest lush behind them. He slid his finger across the screen. A second later, Beverly’s face appeared.
“Oh my God, put a shirt on,” Beverly teased. Her lips were mauve, eyes rimmed in black and dusted with silver shadow. “Are you primping? You’re totally primping.”
Erik smoothed texturizer into his hair. “Don’t knock a guy for giving a shit, Bev. What’re you up to?”
“We’re at the Space Needle. Seattle’s pretty from way up here.” She pointed her phone toward a long, circular window, then flipped it back around. “We still on for dinner tonight?”
“Yeah, after my tattoo appointment. I’m thinking seven, but we might run a little late.”
“We? Does that mean the boy with the cute name is still putting up with you?” she teased.
Erik shook his head and smothered a bashful grin. “Yeah, River’s still around. Says he knows a place downtown with an herbivore-friendly menu, too.”
“Cool, just send me the address, and I’ll meet you guys there. Is that all that’s on the agenda for today? Tattoo and dinner?”
“Maybe drinks,” Erik offered.
Beverly smiled at him, but a text popped up at the top of his screen. He glanced at it and caught the time.
“Shit, I gotta go, but I’ll send you the address as soon as I get to Styx, all right?”
“Sure—hey, Erik,” she said suddenly. She paused, watching him with warm eyes and a soft smile. “Don’t disappear on me again, okay?”
Erik let out a long, deep breath. “I won’t, Bev. See you tonight.”
“Yeah, see you then.”
The call ended. Erik sat with it for a moment, replaying how Beverly said his name, carefully, the way she used to when they were younger. His phone buzzed again.
Erik set his phone down and pulled on a black tank, turning to look at the almost complete work on his arm, a cluster of dragons and colors and fights. He gripped the sink until his knuckles whitened, the Imugi’s scales moving as his tendons did, claws extended and teeth bared.
Imugis aren’t as powerful as they could be, so they create storms and chase after falling stars, hoping to catch one.
He hadn’t caught a falling star. River had struck him like a comet, speeding and spinning and glowing. Erik hadn’t been prepared for the dizzying aftermath, but whether Erik had caught him or not, River was there, he was still there, weathering Erik’s storm.
River’s existence was tangible proof of Erik’s wish.
River loving him was what happened after that wish was granted.
His nostrils flared around a short sigh. Erik’s reflection looked back at him, eyes clear, skin free of bruises. The scar on his cheek was a tiny blemish and the line across his lip, a thin pink scar, was all that remained of his last fight. At first, he didn’t recognize himself. He’d carried bruises for long enough that being without them felt alien.
An itch to fight twitched in his knuckles, the remnant of a past life that he would and wouldn’t re-live. Fighting was in his blood, but punishment didn’t need to be. Not anymore.
Dragons were meant for skies, he thought.
…
Erik walked through the front doors at Styx and was met by the sight of River leaning over the front desk, chatting with Cheyenne. A loose gray shirt hung over his shoulders, and dark-wash jeans hugged his legs. Erik took a moment to look, trailing his gaze across River’s back before River met his eyes over his shoulder.
“I’m the needy one?” River teased. He straightened as Erik stepped into his space. He took the coffee cup Erik offered and pressed his lips to Erik’s for a quick, light kiss.
Erik smirked. “I got you an orange cranberry scone.”
Heels clicked on the floor, and a soft, windy sigh cut through the lobby. “That’s mine,” Cheyenne sang, and snatched the bag out of Erik’s hand. Her fire-truck–red lips split into a grin. “Thanks, honey.”
“Oh.” Erik arched a brow, one shoulder lifting into a shrug. “Well, you’re welcome.”
“We’ve met a few times, but ya know”—she wagged her head—“professional courtesy and all. It’s nice to see you again.”
He nodded. “Yeah, nice to see you, too.”
Cheyenne popped a piece of the scone in her mouth. Her hair was curled into spirals, pinned and fixed on the back of her head. “Here for another dragon?”
“Yeah, actually.” Erik’s gaze flicked to River. “Do we have enough time for a chest piece?”
River’s brows shot up. He glanced at Erik’s chest and then back to his face. “I don’t have anyone else scheduled today, so yeah. But we’re doing a dragon?”
“I won my last fight.”
“On a technicality. You got stabbed,” River said, stifling a laugh and covering his mouth.
“Yikes.” Cheyenne shot a grimace at Erik and nodded toward the front desk. “That’s a story I’d love to hear, but I’ve got a client in ten minutes. Catch you later, Erik.”
“Yeah, see you around,” Erik said.
River narrowed his eyes and prodded Erik in the chest. “A dragon, huh? One to protect you from knife-wielding lunatics or—”
Erik shouldered him playfully. “Not quite. C’mon, I’ll show you at your station.”
They walked into the back and sat down. River’s station was already stocked with ink and supplies. A few new sketches were tacked to the wall—an exploding flower, a skull blooming out of a rose, a few geometric animals.
River scooted forward in his seat. His warm hand slid over Erik’s thigh. “So?”
Erik passed River his phone, lit up with a picture. The dragon was red and gold, long and powerful, and had a bright, round sphere clutched in his talons.
“A Yong,” Erik said.
River glanced at him curiously.
Erik pulled his arms out of his jacket, stripped off his shirt, and tapped on the place above his heart. “Right here.”