“I love children. I always have.”
“Let me guess,” Hector says in a teasing voice. “As a child, you picked out names for your future children.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No.”
“Admit it.”
“It’s not true.” I play with my necklace, squeezing the kyanite stone between my fingers. “I didn’t really have time to think about children once Mother died.”
I was too busy planning to avenge her. Though, that’s a truth I doubt Hector wants to hear. It would bring up too many painful memories.
Hector stands and removes his surcoat. Torchlight cradles him as he washes and turns to observe me staring.
His brow rises. “Enjoying the view?”
“How could I not?” I see no reason to deny it.
“I guess we’re even then.” He smirks. “I always stare at you.”
I trace my gaze over him, enraptured by the sight of the intricate tattoo weaving from his shoulder to his wrist. The black lines curl and twist like vines snaking over his bronzed skin. My eyes follow the patterns they create. The sharp edges of the design contrast with the curve of his muscles, accentuating every contour effortlessly.
A few weeks ago, I didn’t know any of the words interwoven with the lines and symbols. Now the ancient Bloodstone words read as clearly as the ones in the book. Stone. Ash. Origin. Soul. Dust. Earth. Core. Shadow. Vapor. Guardian.
“Why did you choose these words?” I ask.
He glances at the tattoo. “I didn’t. My grandfather did.”
My brow wrinkles as I consider what he said. “I thought he died when you were a child?”
“He did. He sketched the Luminia on a piece of parchment when I was first born.”
“Why?”
“It’s a tradition in the Bloodstone tribe for the chieftain to design a Luminia for all his grandchildren.”
Does that mean the rest of Hector’s cousins have a tattoo like his?
Entranced, I study the lines, following them down Hector’s bicep. “Does it mean you could have magic?”
“The gods took Bloodstone magic. Remember?”
Why is he toying with me?
I rephrase my question. “If your people could regain their gifts, would you be one of them? Would you have magic?” I place my linked hands against my thighs and lean closer to him. “Is that what your tattoo means?”
His laughter draws a frown to my face.
“Why is that amusing to you?”
He grabs his blankets from the shelf. “Why do you care what I could or could not have?”
“I want to understand you.” So very much. He’s still a room with a thousand doors and no keys to unlock them.
“But you don’t want anything to do with Bloodstone magic, remember?” he says.
“I know.” The words escape me in a whisper.
Silence throbs between us. It fills the room with an invisible weight, pressing in on us like a heavy blanket.
