“And Phoebes? Don’t mention any of this to Ione or Theia.”
She lay awake later, unable to stop thinking about the haunting eyes of the straggling rider—and his straggling hound—as they’d paused to acknowledge her. The hound had lacked the skeletal appearance, but it certainly possessed the same unnerving gaze. Had all of the hunting party seen her? Or just those two? And why her?
According to Vixen, Rhea’s blood had summoned the Hunt. Of course, the name of the custom ink was Bloodbath. A bit macabre, maybe, but the color really was lovely. And unusual in its intensity. As was the damn itching. The healing skin was driving her mad again as she thought about it.
Rhea drew her leg from the covers. It could do with a little moisturizer. As she stroked the lotion over the Lilith mark, her fingers tingled with the precursor to a vision. Rhea pulled her hand away. She was so not in the mood for another vision.
But the pictomancy had a mind of its own.
This time it was an image of blood pooling onto a pristine field of snow. Something dark and hulking stood in the periphery, casting its shadow on the blood under a stark full moon. And then the darkness seemed to swallow the vision entirely.
There was no clear distinction between when the vision ended and when sleep and dreaming began.
Leo climbed back into bed after dashing from the bathroom over the cold tile floor, folding his arms behind his head on the pillow as he stared up at the ceiling. The vague stuff of dreams fluttered at the edges of his consciousness, but he could never quite recall his. What he remembered, though, was Rhea Carlisle. He had the feeling she’d traipsed through his dreamscape. He’d never met anyone like her. An absurd assertion since he’d dated her twin, but indisputably true.
Her eyes, like Theia’s, were a true gray, made more striking by the dark limbal rings encircling the irises. But Rhea’s gaze seemed to lay him bare. Theia, even after they’d hung out several times, had remained somewhere on the surface with him, never allowing him deeper, her eyes warm but guarded. Rhea’s eyes challenged the one gazing upon them to see her, to be drawn into her. Within moments of meeting her, he’d felt the challenge: I dare you to know me. And he wanted to. Intensely.
But taking the job at Demoness Ink was a bad idea. Because being around someone who wanted to be known, whom he wanted to know, meant risking being known. And, frankly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know himself. His nightly ritual kept whatever darkness was inside him from coming out, but it was a constant discipline. And the foolishness of romantic entanglements in the workplace aside, that discipline made dating difficult and awkward. Claiming he was busy whenever a potential partner suggested an evening date became quickly suspect, and he couldn’t blame Theia for having gotten weird about it.
And, anyway, what if she came into the shop to visit her sister? She’d never believe he’d just happened into the obscure tattoo parlor in Sedona where her twin worked by chance. She’d think he was crazy. Of course, he was a little crazy. And it didn’t matter what Theia thought of him. What mattered was Rhea. Which was why he was absolutely not going to show up to the job. It was out of the question.
* * *
He arrived at the little upstairs hole-in-the-wall that was Demoness Ink at five minutes to eleven and stood waiting in the lightly spitting snow until he realized, at five after, that Rhea was watching him calmly from behind the counter inside. The corner of her mouth turned up as he met her eyes, and Leo lowered his gaze, shaking his head with a laugh as he pushed open the door.
He brushed the soles of his boots against the sisal mat inside, hands in his coat pockets, before glancing up with a sheepish smile. “How long did you know I was out there?”
“Saw you come up the stairs.” Rhea’s heathery eyes were bright with amusement. “I thought I’d see how long it took you to try the door.”
“Employee intelligence test?”
Rhea laughed. “The opposite of what you’re thinking, though. I like mine a little bit stupid.” She meant her employees, of course, but for a split second he heard it as how she liked her men.
Before the heat in his cheeks at his foolishness could give him away, he took his hands from his pockets and blew on them, rubbing them together. “Well, you’re in luck, then, because I’m an idiot. I didn’t even think to put gloves on. Guess the joke’s on me.”
“The joke was already on you.” Rhea grinned at him, those starkly outlined irises merciless. “There’s a coatrack in the back if you want to hang your jacket up.”
“Thanks.” Leo headed past the counter to the back room, pulling off his hat as he went. At least he’d had the sense to wear it. Both the hat and coat were already significantly damp from standing in the snowfall. He found the rack and hung them on it, noting the sturdy, adjustable dentist’s-style tattoo chair. It might work in a pinch if he had to close some night and didn’t want to chance being late. Of course, he’d have to bring his own restraints, though he always carried them out of sheer necessity.
“Did you get lost back there?” Rhea’s perpetually amused voice carried from the front.
Leo tried to ruffle his hair back into place as he returned to the reception area. It was usually a losing battle, hat or no hat.
Rhea was eyeing his marks. He’d worn a T-shirt despite the cold, and the fading ink of his gauntlets and the band around his upper arm peeking out under the sleeve seemed more visible than usual under the fluorescent light.
“I thought you didn’t have any ink.”
He thought about saying he wasn’t sure it even was ink. How crazy would he sound if he said he didn’t remember getting tattooed?
“I didn’t say I didn’t have any ink. I said I didn’t have any experience with tattooing.” He glanced at his arm. “I got these done ages ago, so I’m not sure they even count anymore.”
Rhea came out from around the counter to look them over. “You must have been underage when you got them to have that much fading. Are they home jobs?”
“You could say that.” Let her think they were prison tattoos if that’s what she meant. Gang tattoos he’d gotten in juvie. Hell, maybe they were.
Rhea took his arm to inspect one of the marks more closely, and his skin rippled along his spine. “It’s nice work for a home job.” Her palm moved up his arm, warm and soft, and he flinched involuntarily. Rhea let go and took a step back. “Sorry. I should have asked first. I hate it when people touch my skin without asking just because it’s decorated.”
“No, it’s fine.” He couldn’t help wondering where she was decorated, since nothing was visible. “It’s just goose bumps. Feels like the temperature’s dropped a bit.”
Rhea tucked her hands into her back pockets, looking up at him. “Can I ask what they mean?” He hadn’t realized how stark the difference was in their heights until now, despite having dated her twin. But she seemed somehow smaller, more petite than he’d expected. He had a good six or seven inches on her.
She was still waiting for his answer.
Leo held out his right forearm. “This one is the allrune.” Two sets of three parallel lines crossed each other diagonally over three vertical lines. “It symbolizes the Web of Wyrd.”
Rhea’s eyes crinkled. “The web of what, now?”
“Wyrd.” He spelled it out to clarify. “One of the Norse fates. It’s supposed to symbolize the tapestry fate weaves.”
“Oh, Urd, sister of Skuld and Verdande.”
Leo smiled. “You know your Norns.”
“Actually, I know manga and anime.” Rhea laughed. “The