Page 107 of Seared Fates

“Promise?” he whispers.

I lay a kiss against his forehead.

“I promise.”

Chapter thirty-eight

Kai

We’re in the bathroom after getting clean, then very dirty again. The shower shuts off when I’m spitting toothpaste into the sink.

In my peripheral vision, a glass door swings open, and I glance up into the fogged mirror in time to watch Vidar strut out of the shower, towel dragging through his hair in rough, hurried strokes.

My mate is always a walking mountain of pure muscle, but wet and naked?

Hell yeah.

Teeth graze over my bottom lip as I follow water droplets cascading down his broad chest and over his pierced nipples.

Vidar catches me looking, and I don’t even pretend to stop.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks, so cocky that I want to flip him off.

But as he approaches, his big sexy feet hitting against the grey tiles and long uncut prick swaying between sculptured thighs, all my willingness to call him a bastard drains.

Vidar circles me in his wet arms, nestling his prick between my bare ass cheeks in a way that should be sexual—and it is when I playfully wiggle my hips, and he groans—but really, it’s just nice being held.

I lean back into him, head turning to rest my cheek on his chest. “Your tattoos need a touch-up.”

“You’ll do it for me.” The strong timbre of his voice is syrupy and warm.

“Obviously.” Turning in his embrace, I scan the tattoos across his upper body. “Whoever did them was talented.”

I reach out, wanting to learn the shape of each design as Vidar says, “My father, mostly. Some by others.”

My hand halts.

I always assumed his tattoos were meant to make him look like a badass, and as a tattoo artist, that’s something I can greatly appreciate. But I hadn’t even considered the deeper meaning behind the ink he’s carried under his skin for over a thousand years.

Vidar's lips quirk up.

“Each one is important.” He takes my palm before I can pull it back, laying it flat across the serpent coiling around his shoulder, gaze softening. “Special.”

“Tell me more.”

Vidar kisses my forehead, then slides my hand down the thin hairs of his arm, and to a tree at his elbow with no leaves. It’s a simple branch design done by a confident artist, if maybe inexperienced, from the shaky lines.

“Úlfr, my eldest son.” Vidar’s proud chin juts up. “Smart, but stubborn as a boulder.”

“So just like his father?”

Vidar winks, and I push up on my toes to brush a kiss across his lips.

He moves my hand over to a rune at his wrist; a lopsided ‘N’.

“My second eldest, Ketill, did this. He’s a flirt and is forever chasing skirts,” he scoffs. Yet his pride shines, and now more than ever, I can’t wait to meet his sons, just so I can tell them how much their father loves them. “When it came to a broadsword, however, he had no match.”

Our next stop is a paw at his elbow. The ink was pushed in too deep and bled out, like a picture dropped in a puddle.