“Yeah,” she whispers. She doesn’t elaborate. I study her back, her breathing has turned a little ragged but the tension has fled. She’s shifted too, one thigh carving up under the blankets to press against the one knee I have propped against the bed.
She probably just re-situated into a more comfortable position in her nervousness yet she doesn’t make to remove it.
“I think I should maybe sit down.” I don’t want to sever the contact between us but it's not practical for me to remain standing when the force of the magic very nearly took me down. I carefully climb over her to position myself on the other side of the bed.
Next, the triquetra that will attach to her fear and signal to me when she’s in any danger. This is the only one that requires a corroborating mark on my skin. Thankfully since the shape is a triquetra it makes it easy to disguise it along the one on my hand I already have.
Generally, for the ones that mark our magic the corroborating mark is placed inside the Book of Records and held by the heads of each kingdom. The one in Samore currently being held by Morin. I often suspected that Morin used it to keep an eye on me, and ensure I’m doing as she’s ordered me to do. Those suspicions were confirmed when Valik admitted he knew me to be in Cerna.
Thankfully blood magic like I’m performing now to imbue her with these marks cannot be tracked and there will be no record of it anywhere.
The one I’m attaching to her will work differently than mine though. A minor tweak in the spell—so that it connects not to her magic but herfearor more specifically herheart. So, that I can both track its beat and be alerted when her heart rate rises above one hundred beats per minute. I hadn’t necessarily confided her in all of these minor details—but I told her it would attach to her fear so she understands the gist of it, at least.
I hear her suck in a sharp breath as I slash the triquetra on her first and then over the triquetra on my own hand. I exchange the blood and that same process repeats itself. My heart pumps, skin tightening. My mind glazes over, drifting somewhere else for a moment as the potency of her blood drums through my veins.
I’m still slightly out of it as I clumsily dispense the ink across her mark and then my own, spilling splotches of ink against the sheets. I hadn’t reached for her or pressed my weight against her this time, had merely slunk back to my knees. Her arms are squeezed tightly around her head again but just like last time her leg carved up to press against mine like she just couldn’t help but make some kind of contact with me.
Several seconds pass with neither one of us speaking or moving as I regain my groundings. “The last one,” I say finally. “To invoke the protection of the Goddess.”
I never intended to get married, never intended to place this mark on anyone at all. As my wife it’s rightfully hers. The magic required of this one is much higher and I have a feeling the effects of this one will be most potent of all.
The symbol will be the largest of them and I’d saved room for it. I slash the large circle and the two crescent moons similar to the mark across my own back. The bottom of the circle slices across her scars and I wince as I etch into her skin. She doesn’t even flinch this time. Gathering our blood, I allocate one drop of mine to her and one drop of hers to mine.
The sensation takes a moment to reach its full potency. At first it's just a slight humming and then it overtakes me, pleasure searing through me like a frothy, scorching wave. Her blood unleashes a fire in mine. I bite back a groan as my skin tightens. And then, I’m already feeling the frantic beat of her heart along the new triquetra disguised on my hand.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her skin glows like silk-powdered snow, wrapped around warm flesh and hard bone. Suddenly the urge to reach out and touch her is maddening. Her leg shifts, sliding along mine. It’s still hidden under the blankets but somewhere underneath them her thigh is stretching wider.
I jolt as she lets out the softest moan muffled into the pillowcase.
That fucking sound.
The things I would do—the dangers I would be willing to face just to hear it again. She turns her head, peering up at me with dazed, half-hooded eyes.
Her hands come down by her shoulders and then she starts to push herself up like she intends to turn around and face me.
Woah--wait--don’t do that.
I clamp one hand across her back in warning.
There’s no telling what I’ll do if you do that, Pandora.
I’d be there in no time, placing my body on top of hers and smashing my lips to her lips. Sliding one leg between her legs and running my hands over the soft velvet of her waist and up to knead the pliant flesh of her breasts, driving all of my solidity into her supple soft.
Stay.
Just…stay.
She blinks at me like she’s not quite sure what it was she was going to do. But now I’m touching her just below the un-inked mark of the goddess shining with her blood. The heat of her back positively radiates into my hand as the triquetra therethump-thump-thump-thumpswith the beat of her heart. And then it ceases, her heart-rate falling back into a normal pace.
She doesn’t look the least bit afraid of me. Maybe sheisn’tafraid. She’d made contact with me three times now. The awareness of her leg still pressing against mine washes through me in a relieved, heady thrill.
Dangerous, risky relief.
She’s not afraid of me.
She hadn’t been afraid of me at all, I realize. She was only afraid of revealing her scars to me. Scars that I’m now touching—their texture grazing my hand.
