Locke is quiet for a moment. I can sense that he’s caught in a tragic memory of his own, and his dejected expression makes my heart sore. Time for a change of subject.
“I told you about my brother,” I say. “Now you owe me a secret, too. You said you have a magical ability?”
“Ah, yes. It’s a strange and dangerous one. You might decide to run away once you hear it.” He smiles, but there’s a cautious apprehension in his eyes.
If he only knew… I’m the last person to judge someone for any strange or dangerous magical abilities they may have.
Locke inhales, then lets the words out in a rush. “I am one of a handful of people in the world who can bind someone to a vow using tattoo magic.”
“Tattoo magic? Wait—like the magic they use in Ravensbeck, to keep people from betraying its location?”
“Exactly like that.”
I gasp, my eyes widening as realization floods my mind. “You’re a tattooist who works for the Pirate King! So that means, if you work in Ravensbeck, you’re pretty recognizable, right? And while you’re out at sea, you don’t want people to know what you can do! That’s why you’re in disguise!”
There’s an unreadable shift in Locke’s expression. “Yes,” he says. “That’s why.”
“So you could give me a tattoo and make me do anything you wanted?”
“You’d have to make a vow first. Then I’d seal it with the tattoo. Pirates who receive the Ravensbeck mark can’t speak, write, or guide an enemy to the location of our haven—but they have to swear that vow aloud while the mark is being imprinted.”
“What if someone refuses to swear?”
Locke’s voice gains a crisp edge. “Then they have to stay in Ravensbeck as our permanent guest.”
Again there’s that echo of command, that hint of haughty control. I’ve heard it in the voices of men and women at court, and it creeps into Locke’s voice from time to time.
When he talked of magic-wielders wanting more power, was he speaking of others, or of himself?
Now that he and I have confided in each other, I feel strangely free and unburdened. I’ve still got secrets, and I suspect he does too—but in this golden space of floral fragrance and liquid heat, we’ve grown closer, and not just physically. I can feel my heartstrings weaving themselves to his, and I suspect that if he left aboard theArdentand I stayed in the Wierling Isles, those interwoven lines would slice right through the tender flesh of my heart, and it would be shredded. I’m not sure I’d recover.
I’ve never felt this strongly for anyone. The only relationship even close was my love for Mordan, but that was familial, a blood bond. This is new, and sparkling, and powerful. I can’t be sure that it will last, though. In the past, I’ve always lost interest in my partners once I had sex with them.
I need to know if my connection to Locke will last beyond a physical tryst. If it doesn’t, I’ll be free to stay here on the isles. And if my feelings for him persist, then I’ll be twice as confident about continuing to Ravensbeck with theArdent.
Now I just need to seduce him. That shouldn’t be difficult—he’s naked in the pool with me. As I drift nearer to him, the tip of his erection brushes my belly.
He doesn’t apologize or shrink away, but his lips part as I bump him again, sliding my lower stomach along that rigid length.
I lift my wet fingers from the water and walk them up his bicep, along his gleaming shoulder. “Let’s pretend you’re giving me a tattoo,” I say softly. “What vow would you have me make?”
“You’re touching me, Nick.” His hand hovers over mine. “Does that mean I can touch you?”
Everything inside me says,Yes, please.But I manage to stay nonchalant, and I shrug. “Fair is fair. I suppose you may.”
He collects my wrist in his hand and flips it over, exposing the fragile skin on the underside. His fingertip traces my vein. “I would place the tattoo here, I think. But I would never force you into a vow.”
“What if I permitted you to dictate the terms?”
Locke’s eyes meet mine through the hazy sunlit steam. His voice drops, low and smoky, rich with desire. “I would make you vow to never be satisfied by another man, but to yield me the sole pleasure of making you come, over and over, until you’re so weak with ecstasy that you can’t walk.”
I stare at him, my skin buzzing with lush heat. “Godstars,” I whisper. “That sounds like a lot of work for you.”
“Not at all.” He surges nearer. Our bodies are aligned, inflamed—the sensitive space between my legs is throbbing and pulsing, aching for his touch.
Locke’s palms slide over my rear, cupping me, drawing me in until we’re pressed together, steaming skin to skin. My hair curls damp and humid around my temples, and every part of me feels loose and wet and wicked.
His mouth slides over mine and I throw both my arms over his shoulders, aching, eager. Our tongues nudge and twine, mouths opening mutely wider with every kiss.
