Page 89 of Ballad of Nightmares

That was one of the things he loved about drawing. They didn’t have to be perfect. They could be as messy as his mind was. Art forgave him for who he was, for what he’d done. For the things he’d locked away. It showed his darkness in a way that words had failed him. It was like putting his soul to paper, letting out his inner struggles, and surrendering to the lines.

Perfect in a way he never would be.

“What is this?” she asked as she picked up a drawing.

Sam stared at the piece in her hand, the raven skull and roses… the blurred symbol that he had declared a rendition of his own mark.

His original mark was snakes, roses, thorns… but this raven skull, the soft rose, the singular snake hiding out in it… He loved it. It reminded him of the witch’s text about him and thus reminded him of the one witch that had tried to save him.

He’d drawn it as a piece for a raven and roses collection that he’d done a few years back, and some people knew the symbol—including Jay. He had obsessed over it for days, scrounging ancient witch texts, until he finally found it.

“This is… this is beautiful,” Ana said, her fingers stretching over the lines on the canvas. “The detail… I… Didn’t you say your friend was a tattoo artist?” she asked.

Sam wracked his brain. He couldn’t remember if he’d said that. He rarely talked about Rolfe, though maybe Jay had told her. “He is,” he answered.

She looked back down at the painting, her fingers running over it, and then her lashes lifted to him. “I think I’d like this drawn on me.”

He didn’t know why, but the mere thought of one of his marks on her skin made his stomach drop, and his heart tighten. His body ignited to the very tips of his extremities. It was a restless ache that he couldn’t figure out, and without thinking, he took his phone from his pocket and dialed Rolfe’s number.

“Yeah, boss?” Rolfe answered.

“Are you busy?” Sam asked, still watching Ana pour over the drawing.

“Ah… not really. Why? Got something for me?”

“Come to the studio.”

Rolfe chuckled. “Have the itch for new ink?”

“Not me,” Sam replied, and his heart bled warmth when Ana’s eyes met his.

“Oh… Okay. I’ll be there in twenty.”

As they waited for Rolfe to join them, Sam continued showing her some of his other pieces. Ana couldn’t get over the detail in his madness. They were beautiful and heavy, and somehow reminded her of finding peace in never-ending darkness. Once he’d shown her nearly every piece, he escorted her down the stairs and into the empty tattoo studio.

“When does he actually do tattoos?” Ana asked as Sam began to shift a few things around.

“A few times a year,” he answered. “Most of his clients do full bodywork, so sometimes he’ll only take on about ten clients a year so he can focus on them. He does all of the artwork.”

“And he did yours?” Ana asked.

“Every one of them,” Sam said as he sat in the rolling chair and faced her.

He kicked the chair back, that soft, domineering smile that made her knees weak on his lips, hair falling into his eyes and entwining with his long lashes. Legs wide, shoulders slumped, he sat in that chair like the most confidently surrendered person she’d ever met. It was a different aura than she was getting used to with him. More dangerous.

He was full of secrets, and she was prepared to fall into his darkness to learn them.

“Sit,” he said.

Ana looked at the backwards chair and the armrest he’d positioned for her, but as she started to sit down, the door opened.

“Sorry, boss, didn’t—“

Rolfe blundered inside, pulling off his scarf as he did, but his words stopped upon seeing Ana standing there. A flirty smile lifted his lips beneath that full mustache. “Hello, Ms. Smith,” he teased her.

She shook her head at his smirk and watched him pull off his jacket. “I told you, Rolfe. It’s Ana,” she insisted. “And why do you call him ‘boss’?”

Sam exchanged a look with Rolfe, and both snickered under their breaths. “Inside joke,” Sam said with a shrug. His chin jerked in the direction of the chair as he stood. “Sit.”