Chapter Three

Erik focused on the blue ink rather than the curl of River’s fingers on the edge of the transfer paper. He watched the image appear, a one-dimensional sketch that stretched from the middle of his arm to the top of his hand.

“How’s that look?” River’s thumb brushed Erik’s palm, his bare hand warm on Erik’s wrist. “It’s even, yeah? Looks straight.”

I sure fucking hope not. He opened his mouth and closed it with an audible click. “Yeah, looks straight. Can we extend the tail a bit?”

River nodded and tapped the groove between Erik’s knuckles. “Want it to curl around here? Over your finger, maybe?” He traced Erik’s middle finger.

“Think it’ll bleed into the lettering?” Erik flexed his hand.

River shook his head, brow furrowed. “No, it’ll be nice and thin. Trust me?”

Heat built in Erik’s cheeks. No. Yes, maybe. Erik sure as hell didn’t trust himself, but River had captured his attention, and trust aside, he couldn’t look away. River looked back, one brow climbing high, and waited.

“Sure, hot shot,” Erik said. “I trust you.”

The side of River’s mouth quirked. He released Erik’s hand and tugged on a pair of black latex gloves. Tiny containers of ink were lined up on a silver rolling tray next to the armrest. River adjusted the light, scooted forward until he hovered over Erik’s outstretched hand, and brought the buzzing tattoo machine to Erik’s skin.

It was the same as always. A pinch that turned into a sting, a sting that annoyed more than it hurt. River started on the tail first, outlining the flick of it over Erik’s middle finger, before making his way to the top of Erik’s hand. He watched River closely, the pass of light across his eyelashes and the relaxed concentration on his face.

Music filtered through the speakers, slow, melodic rock that was predictable enough not to distract the artists but rough enough to add to the ambiance of a tattoo parlor. It was a long time before either of them spoke.

River dipped the liner into a vat of ink and nodded toward Erik’s hand. “So, is it true?”

“Is what true?” Erik glanced at his bandaged fist.

“Do you bite?” A grin curved River’s mouth into a half moon, but his attention was unwaveringly pointed at Erik’s tattoo.

It registered like a spark in his chest. Erik’s gaze fluttered away, toward the ceiling, the wall, the mirror across from them, anything besides River. He fought the rising burn that spread across his cheeks and steeled his nerves. Because River was flirting with him. Or at least Erik thought he was. He had to be. People didn’t say shit like that while wearing a smile like that without meaning to.

“Sometimes,” Erik said through a soft laugh. “But that’s just half of it.” He held up his free hand. The bottom edges of the four letters on his knuckles peeked from underneath the bandage. “The whole thing says, ‘wolf bite.’”

“Wolf bite,” River repeated. He sat back and lifted his gaze, catching Erik’s eye. “Any significance?”

“An old friend used to say that I fight like an animal. He told me I should give people a warning, that a hit from me was as nasty as a bite from a wolf.” He cleared his throat and averted his gaze. Memories throbbed restlessly in the back of his mind, a closet filled with skeletons. “The last thing someone sees during a fight is usually my knuckles, so…” He tipped his head one way then the other. “I got them done when I was seventeen. Never thought I’d get paid to fight, but five years later, here I am.”

River swiped blood and ink from Erik’s hand. “You do competitions or something?”

The needle crossed over a vein. He winced and tried to smother it with a lighthearted smirk. “Or something.”

River glanced up at him, then down. Erik thought he saw his lips press tight. Silence spun and spun, a needed thing, a necessary thing, and after a while, a heavy thing. Erik considered what else to say, but nothing came to mind.

“And what about this?” River spoke suddenly. “Do the dragons mean anything?”

Erik sat back when River scooted closer. He held Erik’s skin taut and outlined a curve along the dragon’s body, up to a short-clawed foot on the knob of his wrist. River’s eyes flicked to Erik’s, waiting.

“I get them if I win.”

“A fight?”

“Yeah, this one is an Imugi, a Korean dragon. Imugis aren’t as powerful as they could be, so they create storms and chase after falling stars, hoping to catch one.”

River finished outlining the dragon’s wicked, narrow eye and its long whiskers. “Falling stars, huh?”

“Yeouiji,” Erik said. “Apparently, they’ll grant a wish for the dragon that catches them.”

“What do the dragons usually wish for?”

Erik took in River’s cheekbones, the line of his jaw and length of his throat. His gaze swept from River’s hand, wrapped over the tattoo machine, to the tendons shifting beneath his skin, the just-so curl of his fingers, and imagined them elsewhere. “To become something more,” Erik said.

River wiped excess ink from Erik’s arm and hand then switched to a different machine. “I’m about to start shading. You need a break?”

A sarcastic smile graced Erik’s face. Really? He raised his brows and glanced from his wrapped knuckles to the clean black outline. Bruises littered his torso under his shirt. Three days ago, he’d had someone’s knee jammed into his rib cage. If there was anything he was used to, it was pain.

“Do you need a break?” Erik teased.

“No, but I figured I’d be polite and ask.” River shook out his hand. His grin was loose and effortless, the kind of smile that came with comfortability Erik hadn’t known for quite some time. “Don’t flinch, tough guy.”

Phrases built in his mouth, but Erik didn’t have the courage to say them.

I’d rather you weren’t polite. Call me tough guy again.

River went back to tattooing. He worked on the lower half of the dragon’s body for the next hour. A song River must’ve known filtered through the speakers. Erik watched his lips round the lyrics as it played. At one point, River’s gloved fingers were wrapped around the side of Erik’s hand. Erik’s pinky finger lifted to brush his palm. It was involuntary. He’d been wondering what kind of past and future traveled the lines there, and suddenly he’d touched them.

River lifted the shader from Erik’s hand. “You good?”

“Yeah, sorry. You told me not to flinch, but”—Erik shrugged—“must’ve hit a nerve.”

“Sure you don’t need a break?” River didn’t wait for an answer. He lowered the shader to Erik’s wrist and kept tattooing.

“Yeah, smart-ass. I’m sure. How long have you been in Seattle?”

A short, light laugh burst from River. “All my life. I was born here, raised here, plan to stay here. What about you?”

“I’m from L.A.”

“Course you are.” River laughed again. Erik wondered if he could keep making him laugh, if it was possible to bottle a sound.

“Shut up,” Erik teased. “I moved to Phoenix when I was eighteen, then went to Portland for a few years, and I came up here seven months ago.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a case of wanderlust.” River paused to change the tip of his tattoo machine again and filled a couple of containers with white and gray ink. “Do you like bouncing around?”

“I just haven’t found a reason to stay in one place yet, I guess.”

River’s rich brown eyes flashed to Erik’s face but quickly found their way back to the tattoo. “No partner?”

The question was innocent enough. River’s voice was quiet and steady, but Erik still had to relax before he answered. If they weren’t flirting before, they certainly were now.

“No,” Erik said. “No partner for a while. Kept it casual with the last guy I was seeing. No strings. That was back in Phoenix, so it’s been a while. What about you?”

Erik caught the twitch of River’s lips as he suppressed a smile. “I’m not seeing anyone, either. Seems like the ten months of gray skies chase the good ones away.”

“Then I guess I’ll stick around,” Erik said. River finished placing the white on the dragon’s eyes and sat up. He met Erik’s gaze and stayed there, watching and waiting. Erik stared back, unsure if he’d been too abrupt, and added, “Since I’m not one of the good ones.”

River geared up to say something; Erik saw it in his throat, in his hands, and behind his eyes, but River swallowed it. He cleaned the fresh tattoo and peeled off his gloves. “Looks badass. You like it?”

The Imugi was sharp-toothed and beautiful. It coiled down his arm to the top of his hand, floating in patches of smoke. No scale was out of place or line unfinished. River paid attention to detail, and his precision was undeniable.

“Yeah, I love it.” Erik stretched out his fingers, turned his arm one way and then the other.

“Can I take a picture of it for my Instagram portfolio? Cheyenne likes us to stay on top of social media.”

Erik nodded. He placed his hand on the armrest and River took the photo.

“Thanks for letting me tattoo you,” River said. “My portfolio is mostly color, so I usually don’t get many clients who want black and gray.”

“Thanks for tattooing me,” Erik countered. “Would you be interested in doing more black and gray? Not that I’m opposed to color, but…” He finished with a shrug.

“Definitely. Hit me up after you win your next fight.” River grinned as he taped down the plastic wrap covering Erik’s fresh ink. “I’m guessing you don’t need me to go over aftercare?”

“No, I think I’ve got it.”

Cheyenne’s heels clicked on the floor. She smiled to them, hands clasped in front of her. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got a walk-in. It looks like you’re finished. Mind if I send them back?”

“Yeah, sure. Give me a minute to clean up. Can you check him out?” Cheyenne nodded, and River’s attention snapped back to him. “I’ll see you next time, Erik.”

“For sure. Thanks again.” Erik stood and walked with Cheyenne toward the front of the shop.

He couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder, though. And when he did, he was pleased to see River watching him go, a private, shy smile perched on his mouth.