Awakening the dragon

By day, Leo Ström works as an assistant in a tattoo parlor. By night... Well, he isn’t quite sure what happens at night. He just knows that it’s best if he restrains himself.

Ink is more than just superficial decoration to Rhea Carlisle. Her ability to read her clients’ souls in their tattoos gives her work its special magic—and it allows her to see that there’s more to Leo than his brilliant blue eyes.

The passion that kindles between them might be Leo’s salvation. Or it might be the end of the world...

Rhea set down her mug. “So roll up your sleeve.”

“Actually, I was thinking of the Midgard Serpent.”

Rhea laughed nervously. “Right. Because that wasn’t at all awkward the last time.”

“I wasn’t present the last time,” he reminded her.

“At least not mentally. And you said you could focus on an event from the past.”

She looked suspicious. “Why does it have to be the serpent?”

“Because the question I want answered—Do I tell you beforehand?”

“It’s not a parlor trick, so, yeah, that information would be useful.”

“Right. Sorry. I want to find out exactly when and where I got the tattoo.”

“And you don’t want to know where you got the others?”

Leo gave her an apologetic smile. “Not from you.”

JANE KINDRED is the author of the Demons of Elysium series of M/M erotic fantasy romance, the Looking Glass Gods dark fantasy tetralogy and the gothic paranormal romance The Lost Coast. Jane spent her formative years ruining her eyes reading romance novels in the Tucson sun and watching Star Trek marathons in the dark. She now writes to the sound of San Francisco foghorns while two cats slowly but surely edge her off the side of the bed.

The Dragon’s Hunt

Jane Kindred

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Blood ran into his eyes as he struggled to his feet. The groans of the maimed and the dying around him were eclipsed by the battle cries of his comrades who remained, and by the crack of iron against leather and wood—and against flesh and bone. They never should have followed their enemy into the woods. They’d been set upon by forces they couldn’t count, swarming out from behind every tree and every rock like a band of brigands, surrounding them with no room to maneuver, no way to stand in shield formation. It quickly became every man for himself.

Through the blood and mud caking his vision, he caught sight of the sudden arc of a battle-axe swinging down on him from his left. He’d lost his shield, and he turned and parried with his sword, but he’d taken a fierce blow to his sword arm from the last man he’d killed, and he stumbled back under the force, pain radiating like fire through his arm to the shoulder. The next swing from his opponent’s axe he couldn’t evade, and the blade caught him under the ribs, hooking in the links of his hauberk. He prayed to the Allfather as he went down that he might take one more enemy with him as he died. Let him die an honorable death. The axe descended, and he summoned all his strength, thrusting his sword to meet the bastard’s gut as his enemy fell on him.

The blade should have split his skull. He thought he’d felt the blow. But he was blind as a newborn kitten in the muck and mud. And then he realized he must have gone deaf as well. Silence fell over him like an oncoming bank of fog, muting the clangs and cries, engulfing him in an utter lack of sensation. Perhaps he’d died. But this was no Valhalla. This was...nothing. Had Odin not chosen him after all? Could this be Fólkvangr, the field of the slain in Freyja’s domain? Or was he in cold and empty Helheim? Surely he’d not been consigned to the Shore of Corpses. He was no oath-breaker; and murder—it didn’t count in war.

A hand, cool and feminine, touched his forehead. Perhaps this was only the in-between place where warriors waited for the Valkyries to come for them. He tried to clasp the hand but found he couldn’t make his limbs work. A cool kiss now brushed his forehead.

“Beautiful one.” The whisper at his ear was a soothing breeze, quieting the fire in his veins with the beauty of its cadence. “You shall not die.”

Was he to go back out to the battle? He must be in the tent being tended by his father’s slave girl. He’d lost consciousness.

“Did I kill him?” His voice came out in not much more of a whisper than his benefactor’s, though much rougher. His throat still felt the fire that had eased from the rest of him. A fever, no doubt, had taken him. He’d lain delirious and was only now coming around. Yes, this made sense. “Did I send my foe to Hel?”

“You were victorious. And I have claimed you.”

Before he could ask her to repeat the odd phrase, a searing pain encircled his heart, not fire this time, but the burn of ice, accompanied by the sensation of pins and needles in the flesh of his forearms. He could neither move nor speak, and the pain was becoming intense.

“Hush, beautiful one. Now they cannot have you.”

“They?” He managed to croak out the single word, though his tongue felt like wool batting.

Soft lips breathed against his. “That Which Became, That Which is Happening, That Which Must Become.”

Chapter 1

Summoning a demon probably wasn’t the smartest thing Rhea Carlisle had ever done. But the Carlisle sisters weren’t exactly known for doing the smart thing. Phoebe let dead people step into her, and Ione had picked up a dude in a bar and boinked him until he turned into a dragon, so, really, anything Rhea did after that was fair game.

Technically, though, it wasn’t her fault. The ink was to blame.

Rhea had picked it up at a body art convention in Flagstaff from a guy who sold his own custom blends—pigments supposedly mixed with the ash of Mount Eyjafjallajökull and consecrated under the full moon. All that mattered to her was the exceptionally rich color. It was the perfect deep poppy red with just the slightest whisper of blue. It made her think of a dark chocolate cherry cordial spilling open. Or pools of fresh blood. Maybe pools of blood oozing out of a dark chocolate cherry cordial. It was just the thing to fill in the crescent moon and descending cross she’d outlined on her calf—a symbol representing the “Black Moon Lilith,” the geometric position of the moon at the apogee of its elliptical orbit.

It was Rhea’s way of claiming her heritage as a descendent of the goddess. Demoness. Whatever. Whether a real “Lilith” had ever existed, Rhea’s great-great-great-grand-whatever, Madeleine Marchant, had believed she was her direct descendent. It had been enough to get Madeleine kicked out of her coven in fifteenth-century France and burned at the stake. It seemed the decent thing to do to claim Madeleine’s blood. Not to mention defiant. Ione was a high priestess in that same coven today, which made things a little awkward for everyone involved.

Before she’d even finished inking the tattoo, Rhea felt the tremors of a vision moving in the pigment. Reading the ink was her gift—she’d dubbed it “pictomancy”—and one that had been growing with her skill as a tattoo artist, but the visions were becoming increasingly intrusive, and she’d been actively trying to avoid them. They came now without conscious effort, giving her glimpses into minds she’d rather not have access to. But she hadn’t yet been able to read a tattoo on her own skin. Maybe this was her opportunity to get some answers about her own fate for once. She smoothed her thumb along the edge of the fresh pigment and concentrated on what she wanted to know: What does my future hold? Will my business be a success?

The room around her winked out, replaced with the image of a snow-covered hill and a frigid sky blazing with stars.

Rhea leaped to her feet as thunder rumbled over the hill, a froth of dark snow clouds swiftly gathering as though in time-lapse. From within them, what could only be a Viking horde emerged on horseback, wolflike hounds howling as they charged through a bank of snow that billowed and roiled like an ocean of thunderheads beneath the horses’ hooves. The leader of the hunt, ruddy-blond hair wild about his head, and eyes the pale, bleached cornflower blue of the Sedona winter sky, was close enough to touch as the horses rumbled right through Rhea like spectral apparitions. Or maybe she was the apparition.

Either way, the hunters vanished as swiftly as they’d come, leaving her standing in the living room of her one-bedroom apartment—with the fully solid figure of a demon. At least, she thought it must be a demon. Standing on its hind legs, the creature was the size of a human with the appearance of a fox, green eyes fixed on Rhea. It was a weirdly attractive fox, red fur flowing down its back in feminine waves, piercing eyes rimmed in black that rose to a charming point at the outside corners, putting Rhea’s cosmetic attempts at the effect to shame.

“Why have you summoned me?”

She hadn’t expected the fox to speak. Which, given that it was standing on its hind legs in her living room giving her its foxy resting bitch face, seemed a little obvious now that she thought about it. The voice was decidedly female.

“I didn’t. Summon you. At least, I wasn’t aware I was summoning...anyone.”

“But you’re a sorceress.”

Rhea laughed. “Sorceress? You’ve got the wrong sister. I’m just a college graduate with a useless degree and a crap-ton of student loan debt trying to make a living as a tattoo artist.”

The fox narrowed her eyes and gave Rhea an up-and-down look, taking in the slightly overgrown shock of unnaturally blond hair streaked with rainbow pastel hues, the oversize flannel shirt, and Rhea’s bare legs. Because who didn’t tattoo herself in her underwear?

Being made to feel self-conscious made her testy. “Just who are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

One tuft of russet fur rose over an outlined eye. “I am Vixen, the Guardian of the Hunt. You have spilled blood upon the pristine snowbanks and summoned me.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to summon you. I was just inking a tattoo.” Rhea pointed her toes and indicated the crescent moon on her left calf still seeping blood in little dots against the fresh ink. “I guess that’s the blood you meant? But I don’t know anything about pristine snowbanks or hunts. I think there’s been some kind of mix-up.”

Vixen looked offended and crossed her downy little paws in front of her chest. “There is no mix-up. I come when I am summoned. Whom do you wish to have hunted?”

“Hunted? This is getting a little out of hand. I don’t want anyone hunted.”

Vixen was looking decidedly more human as she observed Rhea with a slightly suspicious—and more than slightly irritated—expression. “If you did not summon me, how were you privy to the Hunt?”

“What hunt are you even talking about?”

“That which rides in Odin’s name to claim the souls of murderers, adulterers and oath-breakers. Odin’s Hunt. The Wild Hunt.”

“The Wild...?” Rhea felt light-headed. Maybe she was hallucinating from low blood sugar. “Okay, I’m done with this. This isn’t happening. You’re not real. Go away.” She headed into the kitchen. There was orange juice in the fridge. Rhea grabbed it and drank straight from the carton.

When she set the empty carton down, Vixen was gone. Maybe it was time to wrap this up for the night. She’d finished the fill on the calf piece, anyway; she could do the shading another time. And maybe it was time to quit this pictomancy crap once and for all. Rhea cleaned up and bandaged the tattoo before putting her kit away and heading off to bed.

The peculiar incident continued to nag at her as she tried to fall asleep. It had been her imagination, hadn’t it? The whole thing was probably the result of the blood sugar drop. She always told her clients to be careful to eat something before she worked on them, and she’d ignored her own advice. It made more sense than having conjured some kind of vulpine Guardian of the Hunt with her own blood. And why a fox, anyway? As a symbol, those were always trouble. Maybe Theia would know.

Her hand was on her phone on the nightstand, ready to dial her twin out of habit, when she remembered. She wasn’t speaking to Theia. They hadn’t talked since Theia had revealed the bombshell she’d been withholding about their father’s infidelity and his double life with a second family. How could Theia have kept that from her? They’d never had secrets from each other. Even when Rhea had gone off to college at Arizona State in Tempe, and Theia had gone in the opposite direction to Northern Arizona University, it was always “Rhe” and “Thei” against the world. Until now.

Rhea turned and punched her pillow a few times—fluffing it and getting out her frustrations at the same time—before giving up. She sat up and thumbed through her social media news feed, trying to quiet her mind, unabashedly cyberstalking her own twin sister to see what she was up to. Nothing much, it turned out. In the past week, she’d posted a couple of kitten memes, reposted some inspirational platitudes, and posted a status update consisting of a picture of the Flagstaff sunset over the snow-covered San Francisco Peaks from her back deck, with the caption, “Snowbowl is open. It’s officially assclown season at NAU.”

* * *

By the following morning, Rhea was convinced it had been a dream after all, and by noon, she’d forgotten all about the talking fox in her living room. But the images of the Hunt itself still lingered. She sketched out a quick drawing of the riders before heading into Sedona for the day.

She’d spent her whole life in the town that was part provincial charm, part metaphysical tourist trap—with a dash of Western mystique thrown in for good measure—but now she was a commuter.

The first half of the drive was dusty high desert dotted with snakeweed and desert broom and scrubby piñon pines until the bluish-gray shades and shadows in the distance differentiated into striations of burnt orange and creamy café au lait and succulent green. But from the moment the pale sandstone dome of Thunder Mountain came fully into view amid the red cliffs and mesas, it was like driving into a secret world. Being away at college had given her a new appreciation for its visual magic.

Although she’d forgotten just how crazy Uptown could get at Christmastime. Just south of the strip where she’d rented her shop, the Tlaquepaque Arts & Crafts Village was in the grips of a full-on holiday orgy of decorated trees—and decorated saguaros—complete with strolling midday carolers in Dickensian garb.

The galleries would be stunning at night with the glow of the six thousand luminarias now lining the walkways and walls. Rhea allowed herself a quick drive around the circle to admire the artful kitsch before heading back up the hill to deal with the mundane aspects of starting a business. Pretty much all she’d done so far was hang the sign out front, and there were barely two weeks before her official opening.

In between setting up her accounting software, filling out DBA forms and scrubbing graffiti off the stairwell, she couldn’t help returning obsessively to the drawing of the Wild Hunt. In the back of her mind, she knew this was classic avoidance—a habit that had plagued her all through school—but the central figure in particular was compelling, as if he demanded to be drawn. She labored over the details of the wild hair and leather armor, trying to remember whether it had been trimmed with fur or whether the fur had been underneath—

“I have to say, I did not expect to see someone like you sitting behind the counter.”

Rhea jumped at the warm, rough-edged voice and glanced up, surprised by the intrusion and trying not to show her irritation at having been dragged out of the mental world of the drawing. She hadn’t even heard the bell on the door. She opened her mouth to say she wasn’t open yet, but the scruffy, muscle-bound dudebro didn’t give her a chance.

“Is this your side project?” A pair of bespectacled blue eyes twinkled at her beneath a somewhat careless mop of blond hair with a hint of strawberry in a face framed by stubble with a more decidedly red hue. Something about those eyes gave her a little shock. A warning premonition? Déjà vu? His smile was amused, one well-developed arm in a snug, black Henley resting on the counter as he leaned against it. She realized she was staring.

“I beg your pardon?”

The smile faded. “Ouch.” He straightened and scrubbed his fingers absently over his scalp in the hair at his crown, making it clear how his hair had gotten that way. “I guess I kind of ghosted on you. Not cool. Sorry.” He had a slight accent she couldn’t place.

Rhea blinked at him, trying not to physically squirm at the little frisson of unease tickling her spine. “Ghosted?” Did he have something to do with last night’s visitation? The possibility that he’d been a part of that intrusion into her mental peace made her testy. “Who are you supposed to be, Christmas Past?”

“I...” Rando-guy looked startled—and a little hurt, as though no one had ever spoken to him in such an unfriendly manner before. Maybe he expected women to be dazzled at the sight of his muscular Nordic perfection and quirky little smile. And those sky blue eyes. And his ginger beard and tousled bedhead. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. I just saw the sign...” He messed up his hair again, distractedly, like he was trying to be that freaking adorable. “Never mind.” He turned and headed for the door, and Rhea had an attack of conscience (because it certainly wasn’t the firm ass in those jeans affecting her); he was here about the Help-Wanted sign.

“Sorry, wait.” She closed her drawing pad and set down the pen. “I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’m a little cranky this afternoon and you kinda caught me off guard. We’re not officially open yet, and I wasn’t expecting anyone to wander in. You’re here about the job?”

He turned, tucking his hands into his jean pockets, looking like a damn little lost lamb. A two-hundred-and-twenty-pound lost lamb. In cowboy boots.

“Uh, yeah. Is the position still open?”

“Do you have any retail experience?”

“Not...as such.”

“Been around tattooing much?”

“Um, no.”

“Are you inked?”

One hand slid out of its pocket, going for the forelock once more. “This was a bad idea.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge?” Rhea handed him her tablet and switched over to the job application. “It doesn’t have to be super detailed. I’m just looking for someone with a demonstrated ability to hold down a job. And someone who’s personable.” She gave him a pointed look to let him know that so far he hadn’t passed the test for the latter.

His sky blues lit up with an engaging smile. “I can be personable.”

“We’ll see.” Rhea turned her stool toward the credenza behind her, making a point of going back to her drawing and paying him no attention. The rider on the most prominent horse took shape under her pen, the wild hair and eyes she remembered from her vision—eyes that bore a striking resemblance to her applicant’s—the rugged furs, the upraised sword—

“All done.”

She started at the second interruption. She hadn’t expected to get drawn so deeply into the image so quickly.

Her determined would-be employee slid the tablet across the counter toward her when she looked up. “There wasn’t that much to fill in, to be honest. I just moved here, so none of it’s local—I don’t have a permanent address yet. But I’m dependable.” He gave Rhea that amiable smile once more. A little too amiable for her taste. It gave the impression he wasn’t too bright.

She took the tablet and looked it over. Leo Ström had waited tables at a family restaurant chain in Flagstaff for a few months, bagged groceries in Tucson over the summer, worked as a lab assistant at the University of Arizona for a semester. He also had a degree in biology from Stockholm University.

Rhea glanced up. “You studied in Sweden?”

Leo shrugged. “I’ve lived all over the place.”

“And what made you come here?”

“Ley lines.”

He said it with a grin, but Rhea couldn’t help rolling her eyes. It was bad enough when tourists treated the town like a wacky sideshow, but people who moved here strictly for the metaphysical ambiance could be even worse.

“Kidding.” Leo smiled. “When I dropped out of the grad program at NAU, I decided I wanted to regroup in a place that spoke to me. And Sedona...” He shrugged. “Spoke to me.”

It was still kinda ley lines. “What were you studying in grad school?”

Leo gave her a peculiar look. Had she already asked that question?

“Molecular biology.”

“No kidding? My sister’s in the molecular biology grad program at NAU.”

Leo laughed awkwardly. Maybe he thought she was making fun of him somehow.

“Seriously. She’s studying autosomal recessive neurodegenerative disorders in rats or something.”

“Are you...?” Leo’s hand was in his hair again. He looked completely flustered. “I thought...” He shook his head, the flustered expression turning to a look of understanding as his pale skin went pink. “You’re not Theia, are you?”

Chapter 2

Now it all made sense. She wasn’t usually this slow on the uptake, but over the last four years of living more than a hundred and fifty miles apart, she’d become less accustomed to being mistaken for her twin.

“You know Theia.”

Leo nodded, combing his fingers through his hair. “This is embarrassing.”

“When you said ‘ghosted’...”

“We met on Tinder. We went out a couple of times, but I kind of stopped answering her texts because things got weird. I mean, not weird. We just weren’t hitting it off.” He exhaled deeply. “Oh, boy.”

All the times some guy had mistaken her for Theia in high school came crashing back. Theia was the “sweet” one, the normal one who didn’t dress weird or act like a clown, and guys were always falling for her. And more often than Rhea cared to recall, they had run into her somewhere and taken her for Theia, treating her the way guys usually didn’t treat Rhea. Then they’d realize they were talking to the “other one” and the disappointment would be palpable and awkward.

“I made this weird, didn’t I?” Leo tucked his hands back into his pockets. “Sorry. I hope you find someone to fill the position. Take care.” He was walking away again.

Anger flared inside her, irrational and childish but impossible to suppress. “So Theia was good enough to bang for a while, but I’m chopped liver.” Damn. Why did she have to say that out loud?

Leo’s shoulders stiffened as he reached the door, and he turned back with a miserable look of discomfort. “Look, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s me. Sorry. I’m totally overreacting.” Rhea sighed, setting the tablet on the counter. “You just triggered some stupid childhood drama.” She tried to laugh it off. “Should we try this again? Rhea Carlisle.” She held out her hand.

Leo squared his shoulders and came back to the counter. “Nice to meet you, Rhea Carlisle.” He smiled as he shook her hand. “I’m Leo Ström.”

“Yeah, I know.” Rhea indicated the tablet with a nod of her head when Leo looked suspicious. “It’s on the application.”

“Right.” He laughed, still a bit awkward but more at ease.

“So what’s your availability?”

“My availability?”

“For the job. What hours would you be available to work? I’m open seven days.”

Leo’s eyes widened within the wire frames. “You’d actually hire me after this disaster?”

“It’s hardly your fault someone Xeroxed your ex-girlfriend.” Without telling you, apparently. Which was a new low for Theia.

“Whoa. Wait. She’s not my ex-girlfriend.”

“Oh, so you’re still seeing her.” Rhea laughed at the look of mortification on his face as he stuttered, trying to answer. “I’m just giving you crap. I need someone to work about twenty hours a week to help get the place in shape and book appointments, mostly mornings, occasionally closing if you prove trustworthy.” She winked at his expression. “Sound okay to you?”

“Uh, yeah.” Slightly bemused, he took her outstretched hand once more and shook on it. “Yeah, sounds great. Thanks.”

“You didn’t ask what it pays.”

“At this point, I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t press my luck.” Leo grinned as he pushed up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Tomorrow morning, then?”

She was probably going to regret this. Honestly, she was already regretting it. Why hadn’t she just let him walk away? An entanglement of Theia’s was the last thing she needed.

Rhea put on a professional smile. “Morning is a relative term. Eleven o’clock sharp. We open at noon.”

* * *

The temperature, mild when she’d set out this morning, had dropped precipitously by the time she headed home, and the first snow of the season was falling. Not heavy enough to cover the ground yet, but if it kept up, it might have some staying power by morning. She wasn’t looking forward to snow driving after spending the last five years in Tempe. Especially now that she’d chosen to live in Cottonwood, half an hour from her shop. Not that choosing was precisely the word for it. The tiny apartment was all she could afford, especially without a roommate. And she’d only been able to swing the one-bedroom because the manager had offered to give her the studio price for the first three months.

For a while, she’d thought she might move up to Flagstaff with Theia, but that was out of the question now. Unbelievable that Theia wouldn’t even have mentioned having a twin to someone she was dating. Was she ashamed of everyone in the family now? It was bad enough that she’d officially changed her name, taking her middle name, “Dawn,” as her last name because she didn’t want to acknowledge the father who’d lied to them all their lives. Rhea wondered if Theia recognized the irony of her secret keeping.

The wipers swished across the windshield, set to intermittent, and as they slid back into place against the hood, something else whooshed past in their path. Something large and white and moving fast. Rhea slammed on the brakes—and, of course, began to hydroplane on the freshly wet road. The back end of the car whipped about and Rhea was in free-spin. Luckily, no one else was on the road. She managed to get the car under control and pull onto the opposite shoulder, although she was now facing the wrong way.

Shaken, she watched the wipers snap up and fall back a few times, trying to put together what could have whizzed past her window. A bird? Its wingspan, if it was one, must have been wider than her windshield. While she contemplated it, a loud horn split the air, making her heart pound.

That wasn’t a car horn. It was some kind of literal horn, with someone blowing into it, the notes of a herald or a mounted charge. Rhea braced herself, gripping the wheel as the ground rumbled with the impact of something heavy—or many somethings. It was like the vision in her living room, only this was right out in the open and there was no tattoo to read. But the riders were here.

This time, they’d taken on a more spectral appearance, the horses looking almost skeletal and the riders gaunt and wraithlike, dressed in contemporary clothing. The wet road was visible through their translucent forms as they thundered across the highway toward her. Rhea shrieked and ducked against the seat with her arms over her head as the riders began to leap across her MINI. She was sure they were going to trample the roof and crush her inside, but they somehow all managed to clear the top of the car—though some just barely, as hooves rattled and scraped across it.

As the last horse thundered onto the ground on the passenger side, the gaunt-faced horseman paused and turned, spectral gaze fixed on her as she sat up. Oddly, he was wearing a cowboy hat. He tipped it at her, sunken orbs in the hollowed spectral flesh flashing a vivid aquamarine, before turning and galloping away.

She’d finally started to exhale when something jumped onto the hood of the car and scrambled over it, making her heart leap into her throat. A wolflike hound trailed the hunt. Like the rider, the hound turned and fixed its wolfy eyes on her—pale blue and disturbingly sentient—before tearing off into the brush. They were all swallowed up—the vision and the thunder, the horns and baying alike—into the billowing, unearthly fog that traveled with them.

In their wake, the snow became a sudden, violent hail, with large marble-sized pellets hammering her roof and windows. She waited it out, making sure the worst of it was over before putting the car in Drive and turning around on the slick road to head home.

Delayed shock hit her once she was inside her apartment. Rhea collapsed onto the couch in the dark, shuddering and trying to catch her breath. She hadn’t had an asthma attack since she was a kid, but her chest was tight and her airway felt like it was closing.

She sat up and deliberately slowed her breathing, listening to her lungs make a peculiar wheezing rattle as she breathed in deeply, and finally got herself under control. Maybe it was time to get some expert advice, because this was getting too weird. Not from Theia, of course. And Ione would freak out and go into “mom” mode. It was hard for her oldest sister not to slip back into the role their parents’ deaths had forced her into—a teenager herself at the time—whenever anything threatened one of her siblings. But Phoebe, the middle child of the family, was used to dealing with weird.

Phoebe answered on the first ring. “Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”

“When you have shades stepping into you...do you ever see anything ghostly or is it just their presence you feel?”

“Well, hello to you, too. And, no, I don’t perceive the shades visually. Rafe sees them, of course. Dating someone who commands the dead has its perks.” Phoebe’s boyfriend happened to be the last scion of Quetzalcoatl. Because of course he was. “Why, did you need me to contact someone for you?”

“No.” Realizing she was scratching at her jeans over the healing tattoo, Rhea snatched her hand away. “No, it’s...never mind. I think I’m overtired.”

“Rhe. Come on, this is me. What’s going on?”

Her hand slid under the jeans, but Rhea curled her fingers and managed to stop herself. Damn this stupid tattoo.

“I thought I saw something a little...weird.”

“How weird?”

Rhea hesitated.

“Rhe? How weird?”

“Johnny Cash ‘Ghost Riders in the Sky’ weird. Only on Highway 89A and not in the sky.”

“Okay. That’s decidedly in the weird column.”

“And it’s not the first time I saw them. I had a vision while working on one of my tattoos. And then there was a fox in my living room, and she said I’d summoned her from the Wild Hunt.”

Phoebe was quiet for a moment. “Honey...are you still taking those antidepressants?”

Rhea let out an exasperated sigh. “I wasn’t hallucinating.”

“Sorry, but it’s a little hard to process. A talking fox?”

“And who has a boyfriend that turns into a feathered snake god, can shift into crow form and talks to coyotes? Jesus, Phoebes. Talking to a fox in my living room is hardly the weirdest thing anyone in this family does. Ione has sex with a goddamn dragon.”

“She doesn’t actually have sex with the dragon. Dev and his dragon demon are two separate entities who happen to share the same corporeal form.”

“Right. Okay. You’re absolutely right. I am being completely ridiculous with this fox-spirit thing. That’s way more normal. Good night.” Her thumb was poised to end the call.

“Rhea, wait.” Phoebe made a noise suggesting she was blowing her bangs out of her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a jerk. After everything that’s happened lately, I guess I owe you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Yeah, I guess you do.”

“What does Theia think?”

It was Rhea’s turn to blow at imaginary hair—or not so imaginary, as her spikes were getting way too long these days, and one in particular kept flopping over and hanging in her eyes. “I don’t know what Theia thinks.”

“You didn’t call her first?”

“I’m not really talking to Theia.”

“You’re what? Rhe, what’s going on with you?”

“Besides talking fox hallucinations? Just trying to deal with the fact that Theia kept Dad’s second family a secret for months.”

“I thought you two found the genealogical information together.”

“That part was all Theia. She knew we had three other sisters, and she knew one of them was living a few miles away from her. And she never said a word to me. Maybe if she had, Laurel wouldn’t have apprenticed herself to a psycho necromancer and tried to kill you.”

“Nobody’s to blame for that but Laurel herself—and that bag of dicks who took advantage of her vulnerability, Carter Hanson Hamilton.” Phoebe delivered the name of Ione’s ex with all due mocking disgust. Though “bag of dicks” was being kind, as far as Rhea was concerned. “You can’t let that come between you and Theia. Does she even know how you feel about it?”

Rhea sighed. “She knows. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to know if there’s any kind of precedent for seeing a ghostly hunting party. Can you check with Rafe to see if he knows anything about the Wild Hunt or if he’s seen anything out of the ordinary in the spirit world lately?”

“Of course.”

“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.

Chapter 3

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 series Oh My Goddess! The third Norn is called Belldandy in the series, which always made me giggle, so I do know a little bit about Norns, but only enough to know the names.”

Leo was intrigued. It was the first he’d heard of Norn manga. “I’ll have to check it out.” He held up his other arm, turning his wrist to reveal the knotted designs of the wraparound. “This one’s Mjölnir—”

“Thor’s hammer.”

Leo cocked his head. “You’re sure you don’t know Norse mythology?”

Rhea grinned. “Marvel Comics. And the other?”

One of Jörmungandr’s coils was visible under his sleeve at his right biceps. Leo pushed the sleeve up to reveal the coiling solid cuff. “The Midgard Serpent.” A look of apprehension and surprise flashed in Rhea’s eyes. “I know what you’re thinking. I have all these Nordic tattoos. I promise I’m not a Nazi skinhead. I’m just proud of my Swedish heritage. And apparently, as you’ve already noted, fairly stupid.” He smiled wryly. “I never realized most of these symbols had been co-opted by white nationalists. I tend to keep them covered most of the time.”

“I wasn’t thinking that.” Rhea’s look was guarded. She was so thinking that. “But now that you mention it, I can see where someone might make that mistake.” Uh-huh. “I have to say, though, that scruffy puppy-dog hair pretty much ruins the skinhead look for you. If that’s what you were going for, it’s another big fail.” Her laugh, letting him know she was cutting him slack, was infectious, and he found himself smiling at the warmth in her eyes. A smile he realized was probably only adding to the impression he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the pack.

But Rhea had switched into business mode. “Before I put you to work, we should probably talk pay.”

Leo rolled down his sleeve over Jörmungandr. “I was thinking maybe we could work out a deal. I’d be happy to exchange some work for touch-ups. Maybe some new ink, too.” Why had he added that? He didn’t want new ink. He didn’t even want the ink he had. But it did need touching up. In fact, it was what had brought him to the shop in the first place. Before he’d seen the Help-Wanted sign, the name of the place had caught his eye, and he’d figured it would be as good a place as any to get the work done. It wouldn’t be wise to put it off any longer. Like the nightly ritual, he knew the marks helped him keep his equilibrium, though he wasn’t sure why. It was a stupid idea, anyway. She’d probably think he was some kind of scam artist.

But Rhea cocked her head, considering. “The first gauntlet would probably take less than an hour, maybe two for the second, and the cuff might run a little longer. Let’s give it a conservative estimate of six hours for the three. Anything else you want, we’d have to negotiate based on the size and complexity and whether you want original artwork or have something of your own in mind. Normally, I charge one fifty an hour, with a one-hour minimum. So let’s say ten hours of work equals one hour of tattoo work. That would take you through the end of the year and my official opening. We can decide on any additional commitment after that.”

Leo’s eyes widened at the dollar figure. “Fifteen dollars an hour? That seems awfully generous.”

Rhea shrugged. “To be perfectly honest, there’s no way I could pay you in cash right now, so let’s just say I’d be giving you a good deal on the ink. Besides...” That devilish half grin she’d given him through the window earlier turned up the side of her mouth. “You don’t know what I’m going to have you doing.”

What she had him doing, it turned out, at least for that first day, was little more than counting inventory and learning her booking system. When she ran out of things for him to do, Rhea offered to start working on his touch-ups while he was still on the clock. He hadn’t expected her to start right away, but he certainly had no objection. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be. As long as he was back at the motel before nightfall, everything would be fine.

* * *

As soon as Rhea’s fingers brushed his ink, there were whispers of visions. Her gift had initially manifested as shared visions with her clients, a kind of psychic reading, and she’d done a few for family and friends. But her skills had recently expanded to include the delivery of more immediate images that popped into her head without the client even being aware of it—and without her wanting to see them. Ever since she’d gotten images from some creep thinking about pushing her head into his lap, she’d been very careful not to indulge in the latter type.

She tried to keep her mind occupied by focusing on the physical anchors of the here and now—the sharp scent of the alcohol as she swabbed Leo’s skin, the soft snick of the razor as it traveled over the blond hairs on his arm, the warmth of Leo’s body heat as she leaned in close to examine the lines she’d be tracing. And the scent of his skin, like amber-resin oil and pumpkin spice and—Wow.

Rhea got up and busied herself readying supplies to get herself under control. What the heck was that about? He was kinda hot, sure, but not so-hot-that-smelling-him-makes-you-wet hot. Except, clearly, he was.

She worked to keep from blushing as she gave him a smile after setting up the machine and ink caps. “Okay, ready?”

Leo smiled back, and it nearly melted her. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

She managed to act like a normal person as she sat and got to work on the outline. When the needles made contact with Leo’s skin, the image bombarded her psyche: blood spattered across a dazzling field of snow, like a giant cherry slush spilled on a white rug.

Leo was looking at her funny. “Are you okay?”

She’d taken her foot off the pedal. “Hmm? Yep, sorry, just thinking for a sec. I might want to use round needles for the line work instead of flat. Give it some more depth, since some of these strokes are really fine.” She hoped she wasn’t babbling nonsense. She could barely remember the words as they left her mouth. Rhea took a breath and went back to work. “I’ll start on the thicker lines on the three parallel columns.”

“Staves.”

“What’s that?”

“The columns are called staves, like in the tarot.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” And like the tarot, they were drawing pictures she couldn’t unsee. Running through thick overgrowth in an ancient wood, tree branches scoring limbs and face. After someone. On the hunt. A pause in the here and now to wipe the blood. The enemy emerges from the darkness. Now the hunted. Swinging the blade to block the blow and missing. Stumbling headlong into the snow as the light grows dim.

Somehow, she got through it without botching the original work and actually managed to make the tattoo sharper and bolder while giving the lines a bit more definition and character—a subtle woodiness to the staves, with ridges and bumps of texture in the outlines if you looked closely.

“This looks fantastic.” Leo studied his tattoo in the light, obviously pleased, as Rhea cleaned up.

“I hope you don’t mind the little extras I added. If you prefer the lines smooth, I can go over it again.”

“No, it’s great.” Leo looked up, his eyes shining behind his glasses. “I hope I can earn it.”

“It took me a little longer than I expected, but I’ll honor the estimate. So ten hours of work should do it.”

Leo shook his head. “Nope. I’ll pay for the time it took. Plus, there’s the tip, which you’ve totally earned. This is excellent work.”

Rhea felt her cheeks warm, as if he’d complimented her on her body instead of praising her skill. “Well, thanks. But you don’t have to tip.” Yes, he does, Rhea. Shut up and take the money. Even if the money was paid in labor, she had earned it, and she needed to stop devaluing herself if she wanted to make a living as an artist.

“But I want to. So what would twenty percent bring it to?”

“An hour and a half at one fifty an hour would be two twenty-five—”

“An hour and a half?” Leo’s brows drew together as he drew his phone from his pocket.

“Yeah, I know. Really, I’m absolutely cool with charging what I originally estimated. It’s not your fault I got fancy. Let’s make it one fifty plus anything else you think is appropriate.”

“No, that’s not it.” He was still looking at his phone, his expression slightly worried. “I’ll happily pay for the work. I just didn’t realize how late it was.”

Rhea glanced at the tablet on its stand. She’d spent a little extra time setting up, but it wasn’t even six o’clock yet.

“Sorry. I should have let you know what time it was when we got started. Did you have somewhere you needed to be?”

Leo slipped his phone into his pocket and gave her a slightly forced smile. “No, it’s cool. I’m just not a night person. I like to be home before it gets dark.”

“I suppose you turn into a pumpkin?”

Leo’s laugh was nervous. “Something like that.”

Rhea couldn’t figure out what faux pas she’d made, but she’d definitely made one. “I shouldn’t have assumed you’d want to jump right into it after your first day of work. We can schedule the rest of your touch-ups for whenever you want.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal. And I love the tattoo, so it’s all good.”

She still felt she’d upset him somehow. Maybe a gesture of trust would smooth things over. Rhea twisted an extra door key off the shop ring.

“In case I need you to open or close sometime.”

Leo stared as she placed the key in his palm. “You’re giving me a key?”

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?” Damn, she really hoped there wasn’t.

Leo’s smile this time was genuine and a little heartbreakingly adorable. “Absolutely not. You’ve got my Social Security number, so you can track me down. Not that you’d ever have to track me down. Because you won’t need to. You can count on me.” Leo looked flustered at his own rambling. He held out the key. “Maybe you should keep this after all.”

Rhea laughed. “No, take it. Just know that I will hunt you down if you ever screw me over.” He looked a little worried. Which was perhaps a little worrying. Why hadn’t she just taken the key back?

“Well, I thank you.” Leo gave her a dramatic little bow and slipped a length of ball chain out of his shirt from around his neck. He unhooked the clasp to slide the key onto it to hang next to the pendant he wore, an image of a wide-branching tree with roots that mirrored them. “I shall keep it close to my heart.” He patted his chest after he’d slipped the chain back into his shirt, emphasizing the firm definition of his pecs.

* * *

After Leo headed out, Rhea tidied up and checked to make sure all the valuable equipment was locked in a cabinet. She was almost home when she remembered she’d left the damn tablet.

A strong wind drove the light snow still falling across the highway, making Rhea more cautious than usual—while also keeping an eye out for wayward ghostly riders. Luckily, she saw none of those, but it was almost seven by the time she got back to the shop.

She’d left a light on in back. Had she let Leo Ström’s soulful eyes and potent scent rattle her that much? She grabbed the tablet off the counter without bothering to turn on the light and headed into the back to switch off the lamp—and gave a little yip of surprise. Leo Ström, speak of the devil, was sitting in her chair.

Correction: he was shackled to her chair.

Chapter 4

Rhea dropped her bag in the doorway. “Leo? What the hell happened?”

Leo looked embarrassed as Rhea examined the restraints at his wrists. “I came back to get my hat and surprised these two guys. I guess they were looking to steal your equipment or something. One of them pulled a gun and ordered me into the chair and cuffed me.”

The restraints were professional looking, heavy-duty leather cuffs secured with a pair of electronic padlocks. Rhea turned one of the locks in her hand. “These look serious. I’m going to have to cut the cuffs off.” She probably had a pocketknife or a box cutter in the toolbox in the back of her car. Rhea pulled aside the curtain and headed back out. “I might have something I can use.”

Leo called after her. “Maybe we should leave it. They said the locks were on a timer and they’d open automatically when the time was up. It can’t be that long. They probably just needed enough time to get away, right? We should just wait.”

“Wait?” Rhea glanced over her shoulder, incredulous. She shook her head and opened the door. “I’m not waiting around to see if they were telling the truth. Let me find something.”

There was no pocketknife, but she found a fish-gutting knife she’d forgotten about. It had belonged to her father, whose toolbox she’d been hauling around since leaving for college. Some girls kept letters and stuffed animals to remember the dead. Rhea had a toolbox.

A bell tolled distantly as she crawled out of the hatchback, some church clock chiming the hour. The mark of passing time brought her focus back to Leo’s claim. Who would use a timer on a padlock? Why would a couple of crooks even have wrist restraints with padlocks? Something didn’t add up.

When she returned, Leo had one leg crossed jauntily over the other as though he was just relaxing in the tattoo chair. He no longer looked embarrassed but completely at ease.

“Ah, you’re an angel.” He nodded at the knife in Rhea’s hand. “I knew you’d come through.” His eyes looked different somehow. Darker. Or bluer. Maybe it was just because he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

“You’re lucky I came back.” She unsnapped the sheath and slipped the knife out.

“Guess it’s a good thing I stopped in, though. Otherwise you’d have been robbed.”

Rhea paused with the knife at the edge of the first cuff. “But you’re tied up. How does that keep me from being robbed?”

“I guess finding someone here spooked them and they didn’t want to hang around.”

There hadn’t been much to rob because she’d locked up her machines and needles, and even the ink. The only thing of value had been right on the front counter in plain view of the door. The tablet hadn’t been touched. But they’d hung around long enough to threaten Leo with a gun and strap him to a chair with timed electronic locks?

Rhea regarded him. “So where’s your hat?”

“My what?”

“Your hat. You said you came back for your hat.”

“Oh.” Leo shrugged. “Yeah, guess it wasn’t even here. How dumb am I?”

Rhea straightened. “You don’t even remember telling me about a hat, do you?”

“Of course I do. It just wasn’t the most pressing thing on my mind.” He wriggled his wrists in the restraints. “Come on, doll. These are starting to chafe.”

Rhea slid the knife back into its sheath. “Don’t call me doll.”

Leo’s smile was mischievous. “What would you like me to call you?”

“How about my name? Rhea will do fine.”

“All right, then, Rhea, sweetheart, would you please get these off of me?”

Rhea folded her arms. “Is this some kind of joke?” She glanced around, half expecting to see a hidden camera. “Are you punking me?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to ‘punk’ you—unless that’s a euphemism for something. I wouldn’t mind euphemizing you, now you mention it.”

“Leo, this isn’t funny. I thought you seemed like a nice, normal person, so I gave you a chance—”

Leo’s laughter interrupted her. It infuriated her, and, at the same time, there was something deeply sensual about the way he laughed. It somehow managed not to be mocking. It was as though he genuinely found the idea amusing.

“Nice and normal aren’t words I would use to describe myself.”

“I’m beginning to sense that.”

Leo laughed again, and the timbre of his laughter tickled along her skin. “Come on, Rhea. Just release me. I promise to make it worth your while.”

“You’re kind of creeping me out right now.” Or maybe the fact that she was aroused by his laugh was creeping her out. She shivered as he chuckled softly. Nah, it was him.

“I’m sorry. I promise to be good.” He straightened in the chair and blinked at her from behind a messy lock of hair. “I solemnly swear I am not a creep.”

“You just said you weren’t nice or normal, which kind of leaves creep.”

“Oh, come now. There’s plenty of room between nice and creep. There’s interesting. Fun. Unusual. Exciting. You don’t really like nice, normal people. Admit it.” Rhea blinked back at him, matching fake innocence with fake innocence. “You’re not nice or normal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Leo studied her, taking stock with a frank gaze that made her blush. “You don’t dress like every woman your age.”

“What do you mean, my age? You can’t be much older.”

He ignored the question as if he hadn’t heard it. “So many tend to wear tight, revealing, bright colored clothing, as if they’re afraid of not being seen. The plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, loose cotton pants in black, practical boots—they speak of comfort, both physical and with your own individuality. Your dress is confident and unconcerned with being ‘right.’”

“I see.” She shifted her weight, feeling downright uncomfortable under his scrutiny, appreciative though it was.

“And your hair... I’ve never seen anything like it. How many colors have you got in there? I see dark roots beneath an almost platinum fair and little streaks of pale blue, pink, lavender—”

“Okay, so I like color.” Rhea ran her fingers through her hair, trying to get the floppy point out of her eyes.

“And then you put something in it to make it do that, to separate it.”

“Look, why are you going on about my hair?”

“It’s not nice or normal. It’s rather exceptional. I quite like it.”

Rhea could feel the heat in her cheeks. “Well, goodie for you. I didn’t ask for your approval—”

“I know. It’s extraordinarily sexy, you not wanting anyone’s approval.”

“And you’re trying to distract me from the real issue here, which is that you’re up to something weird in my tattoo shop. I don’t believe for a minute that you came back here for your hat, and a couple of random thieves happened by and locked you up at gunpoint with restraints and timed padlocks.”

“Don’t you?” Leo’s eyes glinted with amusement.

“No, I don’t. I think somebody else tied you up. And you let her. Or him. But I’m guessing her.”

“Sex games, you mean.” Well, there it was. Blunt and out in the open.

“Maybe you didn’t play by the rules, so she left you to cool your heels. Or you were paying for it, which is more likely—paying for sex in my tattoo shop—and she robbed your ass and took off after she’d tied you up like a sucker.”

Leo seemed pleased. “I like that story. That’s really good. I should use that. But why would I do such a thing in your tattoo shop?”

“I don’t know, because you’re obviously a freak? I don’t care why. Because I’m calling the cops.”

Leo’s plump lower lip protruded in a mock pout. “That’s not very nice.”

“Yeah, well, as you’ve pointed out, neither are you.”

“Why don’t you cut me loose and find out how not nice I can be?”

“Cute. Enjoy your jail cell.” Rhea pocketed the knife and took out her phone.

“Well, it’s not ideal. But so long as somebody cuts me loose, I’ll have won the contest. I can work with that.”

Rhea paused and sighed. “What contest?”

Leo looked surprised and chagrined. “Contest? Did I say contest? There’s no contest.”

“Uh-huh. Good luck with that, then.”

“All right.” Leo sighed audibly. “All right, you caught me. It’s a little game I play with a friend. He bets me I can’t escape before the time runs out on the clock. If I’m free before dawn, I win the whole pot. And the pot is substantial. We’ve been at this a long time. If you help me win, I’ll split it with you, eighty-twenty.”

“Eighty-twenty.”

“Seventy-thirty, then.”

“You’re so completely full of shit. Tell you what. Let’s pretend there really is a game, and I won’t call the police. If you’re gone when I come back tomorrow morning, good riddance. And if you’re not? If your ‘friend’ doesn’t return to let you loose because you’ve been such a very naughty, naughty boy, then I call the cops. And you can tell your bullshit stories to them. Have a super night.” She switched off the light and left him sitting in the dark.

“Rhea.” The way he growled her name sent a shiver up her spine. “Rhe-a.” The musical lilt to his voice this time, deep and rich, made goose bumps skitter over her arms, the slight accent making her name into a promise of unspeakable pleasure.

She dug her nails into her palms, steeling herself to ignore him, and went out, locking the door behind her. There was nothing he could steal. She had the tablet. Let him get out of his own mess. And hopefully she’d never have to see him again. Which sucked, because she’d really wanted to like him.

It was a long, boring drive back to Cottonwood, and she couldn’t stop rehashing the strange scene she’d walked in on. Leo had to be on drugs. It was the only explanation for his odd behavior and for the bizarre change in his demeanor. It would be just her luck to have hired a meth head. Though he didn’t look like a meth head. He looked like Thor. The snug T-shirt fit him like one of Chris Hemsworth’s costumes in the Marvel Avengers movies. Did he own anything that wasn’t stretch cotton and snug? Who was he to talk about Rhea’s clothing, anyway?

His amber-resin scent still lingered somehow, and Rhea let out a quiet, frustrated growl. It wasn’t often a guy really got to her physically. She appreciated a hot body and a pretty face as much as the next person, but she was more likely to be affected by cerebral attraction. And there was nothing cerebral about Leo. At least, not the Leo she’d met yesterday, not the Leo she’d tattooed this evening. The Bizarro Leo currently shackled to her tattoo chair, however... Maybe not cerebral, exactly, but he certainly seemed to have a layer of depth the “other” Leo lacked.

A familiar thundering drew her out of her reverie, and Rhea gripped the wheel and slowed the car. The spectral hunting party galloped out of the darkness several yards ahead. Beside the leader, a woman in a long, flowing and utterly impractical gown rode a white horse that lacked the skeletal features of the others. She lacked them, in fact, green eyes bright in the headlights reflecting off the snow and healthy, rosy cheeks visible, as if an altogether different light shined on her. Or perhaps she refracted light differently. The gown was layers of brilliant cobalt blue fluttering in the wind, with a kind of leather breastplate covering the bodice, and flowing copper hair streamed out behind her.

Rhea slowed to a stop. The female rider did the same in the center of the highway, while the others thundered onward. She turned and smiled, and it was by no means a friendly smile. It sent a little chill up her spine. Or maybe that was the frigid air seeping through her windows. Rhea turned up the heat, her gaze drawn away for a second as she sought the knob. When she focused on the road once more, the huntress was gone.

Chapter 5

In the morning, Rhea took her time getting ready. She wasn’t looking forward to getting the police involved if Leo was still there. By the time she finally made herself head into town, the midmorning sun was brilliant against a clear winter sky—crystalline blue, although the air was icy. The snow had stopped falling sometime in the night, leaving the red rocks of Sedona’s dramatic landscape striped and dotted with white, like a spice cake dusted with powdered sugar.

She parked in back, making a mental note to take care of the spray paint on the wall of the building. She couldn’t make out what it said. Probably just some stupid tags. So much for Leo being able to help her with the cleanup. To her relief, when she unlocked the door, the shop was empty.

There was no sign of any hanky-panky Leo might have gotten up to in the back room. No leather cuffs and no electronic locks. And speaking of locks, she was going to have to change hers. That was another hundred bucks she didn’t have.

The little bell on the door jingled, and Rhea went through the curtain, hoping someone finally wanted to make an appointment. Her jaw dropped when Leo turned from closing the door behind him and smiled as if showing up this morning were the most ordinary thing in the world.

His smile faltered at her expression. “Is something wrong?”

“Seriously? That’s how you’re going to handle this? Just act like nothing happened?”

Leo frowned. “Like...what happened?”

“I’m not in the mood for this.” Rhea held out her hand. “Just give me the key.”

He stood blinking at her, baby blues wide with innocence behind his glasses, and she thought he was going to keep playing dumb, but he sighed and fished the chain out of his shirt inside his coat and slid the key off.

“You were here last night, weren’t you?” Leo placed the key in her palm. “I had this vague idea I’d spoken to you. I was hoping it was a dream.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. I kind of...blacked out last night. I should have told you about my problem.”

“What, that you’re a meth head?”

“I’m not a meth head.” Leo took off his hat and tousled his hair, which made him look even more like a meth head. “I...have a dissociative disorder. I usually lock myself in my room when I feel it coming on. It mostly happens around this time of year, after dark. That’s why I try not to be out late. It only lasts a few hours, so I came up with the idea of using timed padlocks.”

Rhea laughed sharply. “That’s the lamest story yet. You’ve gone from ‘a man came in the window’ to ‘I can’t help myself, it’s a mental disorder.’”

“It’s not a story.” Leo stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dopey plaid hunting jacket. “I said a man came in the window?”

“It’s from an old comic routine. Except the guy’s not funny anymore.”

“I see. What did I say?”

“You’re honestly going to stand there and tell me you don’t remember.”

“I don’t remember. I hope I wasn’t rude to you. But I can’t apologize properly if you don’t tell me what I said.”

Rhea curled her fist around the key. “You said you came back to get your hat and surprised a couple of thieves who’d broken in, and they shackled you to the chair.”

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much.” She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want to acknowledge the game he’d played with her.

“But I was still here this morning. You didn’t try to cut me loose?” Leo blushed. “I mean, not that I’m blaming you.”

“I didn’t believe you last night—and I don’t believe you now—so I left you to get out of your own mess. And it looks like you did, so I guess your dominatrix came back.”

“Dominatrix?” The slight pink in his cheeks went crimson. “I swear to you, that is absolutely not what happened. When I’m dissociating, I do a lot of weird things, say a lot of weird things. It’s like sleepwalking. That’s why I use the restraints. But there was no dominatrix. I just stayed out too late and didn’t think I’d make it back to the motel in time, so I slipped back in here after you left.”

“And you just happened to have restraints on you. You carry them around.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I can’t always afford to rent a motel room around the clock, so I usually check out in the morning and take all my belongings with me.” Leo sighed. “Look, I don’t expect you to believe me, and I’m really sorry for anything weird I said or did last night. I’ll have to find some other way to pay you back for the ink.” He went to the door. “But I will. You have my word.”

“Why don’t you just pay for it now?”

Leo paused in the doorway, looking back. “I really only have enough cash to cover the motel.”

“You can clean off the graffiti in the parking lot.”

She wasn’t sure why she wasn’t just letting him go and being glad to be rid of him, but something about his little sob story of not being able to afford the motel room around the clock rang true. She wasn’t buying the dissociative bit, but if he was essentially homeless, it didn’t feel right to toss him out on his ass in the snow. What had he really done, anyway? Used the key she’d given him willingly to let himself into her shop after hours and maybe got kinky with some crack whore in her tattoo chair? Yeah, okay. That was pretty bad. But he hadn’t done anything to her, and he hadn’t robbed her. So that was something. Sort of.

Leo was still staring at her, uncertain.

“I mean, if you want to prove you’re not some kind of creep, you can at least work off your debt.”

He nodded emphatically. “Sure. Absolutely. Just point me in the right direction.”

“There’s a bucket of cleaning supplies in the bathroom. I’ve had to do this a few times already. These damn kids keep coming back and tagging things.”

Leo nodded, looking like an eager pup, and fetched the supplies.

“The lot’s down the back stairs. Paint’s on the wall next to the red MINI. You’ll see it.”

“Got it. I’ll take care of it.” Leo paused once more in the doorway as he headed out. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

Leo shrugged. “For not calling the cops on me, I guess. For giving me another chance.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow. “It’s early yet. Don’t make me regret it. And no more weirdness.”

Even though she was still glaring at him, his face broke into an unexpected and disarming smile. “You won’t regret it. No more weirdness. Cross my heart.” He made the quaint gesture, finger making an X over his heart, before heading downstairs. If he was a meth head, he was a damn adorable one. Rhea sighed and set up her tablet and got to work.

* * *

Leo stopped at the bottom of the stairs and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. How the hell had he been so stupid and careless? He should never have stayed for the tattoo touch-up that close to twilight. He was usually good for a stretch of time after the sun initially set—he had an app on his phone to determine when civil and nautical twilight began and ended so he wouldn’t get caught out like he had. Because after full dark, all bets were off. Sometimes he recalled the transitional time—what he referred to as his own personal twilight—but more often than not, it was like drinking to excess, with only fuzzy memories of the time leading up to the episode. And the headache he had in the morning only emphasized the similarities. Christ. He might as well be a meth head.

He pushed away from the wall, rubbing at the serpent tattoo through his sleeve as he went down to the back of the touristy little shopping complex. Jörmungandr was the last of the marks, the one he knew a little something about, even if he still couldn’t remember getting it. He couldn’t even say how he knew, but something told him the symbolism of the Midgard Serpent contained the destructive energy of his illness. The part that would be unleashed if he wasn’t careful, if he didn’t follow the rules he’d set for himself. And last night he’d played fast and loose with the rules because of Rhea Carlisle’s touch.

Something had happened when she touched his skin. Not just the little tingle of pleasure at the softness of it or the desire to be near her, but a connection that made him feel as if he could almost remember whatever it was he’d forgotten about the marks and his episodes and his entire life. Little silent movies had played for an instant in his head as she’d worked the ink. And he was certain Rhea had seen those featurettes, too. Her reaction, that little shock of stillness, echoed his own. Snow kicked up by the hooves of horses—the sturdy, stocky horses of war. The smell and creak of leather and mail. The tang of blood and ice on his tongue. But wars weren’t fought on horseback in leather and chain mail. Not anymore.

Leo stopped in the parking lot to catch his breath, the familiar muscle spasm tugging at his ribs, as if someone had thrust a knife under them. Then it was gone and forgotten. There was Rhea’s red MINI, and there was the graffiti. Leo’s brows drew together as he contemplated the tags. This wasn’t gang graffiti. These were runes.

He set down the bucket and got to work. A brush and some paint thinner took out some of the color, but the paint had set into the wood—probably done while Leo was still tied up upstairs raving like a lunatic. When he’d done all he could with the thinner, he started on the sandpaper-backed sponge. As he scrubbed the runes from the wall, the shapes gave up their meaning. Soiled...impure. Throw—no, cast out. The impure shall be cast out. He pieced the rest together. And the pure shall inherit the land.

Leo set down his sanding sponge and wiped his brow. Something about this made him really angry. Murderously angry. And, as with so many things that similarly affected him, he had no idea why. Or even why he could read the symbols in the first place. Odder still was why some shiftless punk would be spray-painting Norse runes on the walls of an outdoor shopping mall in the middle of Northern Arizona. Because these were definitely Norse.

Leo’s spine twitched, as though someone had walked on his grave, and he rolled his shoulders. Under his right sleeve, Jörmungandr was prickling against his skin. The ink irritated him more in winter. Probably from going from the cold and damp to the dry air of heated interiors. He could feel the outline of the tattoo through the sleeve as he rubbed at it, slightly raised, the skin inflamed.

But it wasn’t dry skin. It was these runes. They were a message for him. Somehow, he was certain of that. And the mark was responding to the message as though to a threat. He pondered the faded symbols on the wall as he sanded out the last of them. Leo straightened and frowned. That little spidery shape at the end—that wasn’t part of the runes. He’d thought it was messy punctuation or maybe a stray mark, but now... Another shudder traveled down his spine, this time one of revulsion. It was a crudely drawn swastika.

It brought new meaning to the words spelled out by the runes. It wasn’t the first time some nasty little vermin had tried to drag him into their racist bullshit. And nothing made him angrier than being mistaken for one of them. They’d appropriated his heritage, sullied the beauty of his ancestors’ mythology, twisting it to their own purposes. He wanted to find the little shits and crack their skulls.

He tossed the sanding sponge into the bucket and went around to the front stairs and checked to make sure his bag was still safe underneath them. Of course, the cat, so to speak, was out of the bag. He might as well take it upstairs. The army surplus duffel bag contained a change of clothing, the restraints and locks, and his beard trimmer. Everything he owned in the world. Leo slung the bag over his shoulder and mounted the stairs.

* * *

Rhea made a face at the spreadsheet on her tablet. Numbers were so not her thing, much less this annoying program. Theia was the one who had always been good with calculations. They’d talked about owning a shop together for years. Not a tattoo shop, of course. Coffee and books had ranked among the top five. They’d both liked the idea of a cat café. But in every iteration of that idle dream since high school, cats or no cats, Theia had been the one doing the books and the finances while Rhea was the artist and the public face of the business. Now she was stuck doing everything herself. Which wasn’t exactly Theia’s fault—she wouldn’t have been interested in opening a tattoo shop, but it still rankled that Rhea couldn’t even count on her for emotional support.

True to Theia’s pattern, as soon as Rhea started stewing about her, a text notification chimed on her phone. In addition to having prophetic dreams, one of Theia’s gifts was an uncanny—and annoying—sense of knowing when someone was thinking about her.

Thinking about you, Moonpie. Also an irritating gift for synchronicity. And for coming up with cutesy names.

Rhea switched the screen off and glanced up as Leo came in. “How’d it go?”

Leo rubbed absently at his right biceps. “I think I got most of it. Did you happen to see what it was?”

“It looked like scribbling to me. I thought maybe it was gang symbols. Why?”

“It was in the runic alphabet. Norse runes, specifically.” His expression said this was significant.

Rhea set down the tablet. “Were you able to read it?”

“It was a message about racial purity. Have they done anything like this before?”

“No, just stupid gang tags. At least, I thought they were gang tags.” Rhea tried to remember if she’d ever seen anything overtly racist. “You’re sure the message was about racial purity?”

“There was also a swastika.”

Rhea’s stomach clenched. “Fuck. I guess that’s pretty unambiguous.”

Leo’s eyes were hard. “The next time you catch them at it, you should call the cops.”

“I’m not a big fan of calling the cops on kids, but I’ve never actually caught them.” Rhea considered. “To be honest, I’m not even sure they’re kids. I just assumed.”

“Does anybody around here have a security camera pointed on the lot?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You should get one. Or a security guard. These groups usually escalate.”

“I can’t even afford to pay someone to clean up graffiti. How would I pay for a security guard?” Rhea noticed the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “What’s in the bag?”

Leo glanced down as though he’d forgotten it. “My stuff. I was keeping it under the stairs so you wouldn’t think I was squatting here. Which I guess I kind of was. Sorry. It wasn’t my intention.”

“So you really are homeless.”

“I’m not an addict or anything. I just move around a lot during the winter. It’s hard to hold down a job and an apartment when you have to spend dusk to dawn restrained. People kind of frown on it when they find out.”

Rhea fiddled with the edge of the counter. Maybe she’d misjudged him. She liked to think she was open-minded about mental health issues. She wasn’t exactly the poster girl for neurotypicality. She was probably going to regret this, but that had never stopped her before.

“Why don’t you sleep here, then? You could keep an eye on the place.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed. “Are you messing with me?”

“I need a security guard, you don’t have anywhere to stay... It seems like a natural solution.”

Leo still looked skeptical. “You got the part where I’m not in my right mind and I have to be restrained until dawn, right?”

“But the vandals wouldn’t know that. If they see a light on, they’ll be less likely to try anything. And you can always call me—you have a cell phone?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a phone.”

“So if you see something, you could give me a call to alert me, and I could come by and catch them in the act. Assuming they stuck around that long.”

“You’re also assuming I’d be levelheaded enough to remember to call you—or to care. I don’t really know what goes on when I’m ‘out.’”

“Well, I do. I was here talking to you. You seemed perfectly lucid, just—kind of an ass.”

Leo laughed, that genuine laughter of surprise that made his whole face light up. “A lucid ass, huh? You know, I’ve never had anybody tell me what I’m like in that state. It might be useful to have an observer to document it. I mean—I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than babysit my lucid ass personality. But if you wanted to stick around to verify that I’m not doing drugs or calling pro-dommes to spank me in your back room, you’d be welcome to.” He grinned, running his fingers through his hair in a gesture that belied the easy self-deprecation.

Rhea pondered the idea. She’d be a fool to completely take him at his word. It wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him and see if he was putting her on.

“Why not?”

Leo cocked his head, studying her. “You’re serious. You’d let me sleep here—or not sleep, as the case may be.”

“Let’s just try it out for one night.” Rhea gave him her patented half smirk. “I’ll let you know what I think in the morning.”

Chapter 6

After locking up, Rhea finished off their Chinese takeout while Leo set up. It was like watching Houdini prepare for a straitjacket stunt. He was well practiced in setting up the restraints on each arm of the chair so that all he had to do was slip one arm in, tighten the strap and snap the lock into place, slip in the other arm, pull the strap with his teeth and wrap his fingers around the lock to close it. It was actually kind of hot. And now he was at her mercy, which she hadn’t thought about. She wondered if he’d thought about it.

Leo leaned back against the headrest, the scholarly glasses set aside as if his other personality didn’t need them. “I should warn you I’ll probably say anything to try to get you to release me once I’ve slipped into ‘lucid ass’ mode.”

“I’m aware.” Rhea raised a suggestive eyebrow without elaborating on what he’d said the night before. “I think I can handle you. It.”

It was Leo’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “There’s a reason I use the restraints. I might seem persuasive, even pleasant when I’m trying to manipulate you into releasing me, but I have it on good authority that I’m anything but when I’ve managed to wrangle my way out of them.”

Rhea was skeptical of the need for all this drama. She suspected his fear of being set free was all part of the illness. “You’ve wrangled your way out before?”

“I’m told I have, yes.” Leo didn’t elaborate, though he looked uncomfortable.

“Are you saying you become violent?”

“To my knowledge, I’ve never done anything totally random, like attack someone out of the blue. But it’s kind of like a blackout drunk. I’ve been jailed on assault charges for fights I’ve apparently been goaded into.” He colored slightly. “Or started.”

She realized she hadn’t even run a background check on him. She wasn’t off to a very good start with this business stuff. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I just want you to understand the seriousness of the problem. I wouldn’t go through this if I didn’t think it was absolutely necessary. I haven’t attacked anyone unprovoked, but I’d hate for there to be a first time. And I’d really hate for it to be with you. Promise you won’t let him charm you.”

“Duly noted.” Odd that he’d referred to himself in the third person. “And I promise.” She tried to keep her tone light, but she was starting to wish she’d let someone know where she was tonight. On the other hand, it was almost dark and nothing had happened to convince her he even had this dissociative disorder. “So what do you do all night while you’re tied to a chair? It has to be pretty boring. Isn’t there some medication you could take that would be easier than going through this?”

“If I could afford the medication, sure. But it also makes me kind of lethargic and dull. And it isn’t foolproof. Since I only have these episodes for a few weeks out of the year, this works well enough.”

“Why do you suppose that is? These few weeks, I mean. What’s significant about them?”

Leo smiled. “Are you analyzing me?”

“I’m just curious. I’ve never heard of a dissociative disorder with a time element.”

Leo lowered his eyes, like she’d caught him in a lie. “I have a confession to make.”

Rhea swiveled the stool back and forth idly. “What’s that?”

“I’ve been screwing with you.” He looked up, blue eyes twinkling. “I don’t have a dissociative disorder. When you caught me last night I was embarrassed to admit I was messing around in here with my toys and got myself stuck. So I made up the whole thing when you confronted me this morning.”

A rush of anger propelled her off the stool. She’d always hated being the butt of a joke. And she’d always been too gullible, which people like Leo tended to pick up on. People who thought it was funny to see how far they could take something before she caught on. Rhea wanted to punch him.

“You’re a goddamn jerk.”

“I really am. I’m sorry.” He seemed genuinely contrite, but she wasn’t falling for that. “To tell you the truth, I never thought you’d believe me. But I couldn’t help myself. The only disorder I have is that I’m a compulsive liar.”

“You’re a compulsive liar.” Rhea folded her arms. His eyes had taken on the darker hue or deeper intensity she’d noticed the night before. Maybe it was just the light in here. Or maybe it wasn’t. “If you’re a compulsive liar, why would I believe anything you just said?”

“Ooh. You’re good.” Leo’s expression changed from contrite and slightly chagrined to an almost sultry gaze of appreciation. “You’re very good. I like playing with you.”

“Playing with me.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing? I suppose dull-as-a-sack-of-hammers Leo told you I was dangerous. Are you my babysitter?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Care to sit closer?” Rhea followed his gaze to his lap without thinking and quickly looked away from the prominent bulge in his pants. If this was all an act, he was one sick puppy. “Don’t tell me you and he haven’t been intimate.”

Rhea met his eyes once more, glaring defiantly. “Me and who, exactly?”

“Candy-ass. Leo the Dull.”

“So you’re not Leo. Is that what I’m supposed to believe now?”

“Me?” Leo smiled, utterly charming. “I’m Leo’s munr.”

“Munr?”

“His subconscious. The distillation of his will and desire. His id, if you like. I occupy the skin and retain control over the vital processes, the hamr and líkamr. Leo the Dull is ruled by his hugr, the essence of his conscious thought. You might call it the soul. I call it fucking annoying. Happily, it’s off doing some dull soul thing. But he doesn’t trust me, so he locks me up. It’s really unkind.” He gave her an adorable pout.

“So this is real, then. This isn’t just more compulsive lying?”

Leo—or Leo’s id—gave her a dramatic sigh. “If I said I was lying about being a compulsive liar, would you believe me? So many layers of meta. And so boring. When we could be having fun.” He gestured with his hips, and Rhea almost made the mistake of looking down again but caught herself. Leo laughed good-naturedly. “Come on. You don’t really think I’m dangerous like he told you? He’s a puritanical child. I’d never do anything Leo isn’t capable of doing himself. He’s repressed and he expects me to sit here all night, a slave to his tight little repressed ass, just because he’s afraid to be his authentic self.”

Rhea leaned back against the cabinet. If this was an act, it was Oscar worthy. It also didn’t seem like a dissociative episode. Not that she was any judge. But she’d seen magic before, and this had the air of a magical transformation.

“Have you made up your mind about me?” Leo smiled up at her.

“If you mean have I made up my mind about whether you’re telling me the truth—”

“No, I mean, have you made up your mind about whether you’re going to satisfy your curiosity? He won’t remember any of this tomorrow. You could have your way with me. But be gentle. Technically, I’m a virgin.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You have no idea.”

“And neither do you, according to you. If you’re never allowed free rein when you’re in control of the—what did you call it?”

“The hamr and líkamr. Appearance and form. The skin, if you like.”

“So if you’re never in control of the skin, how do you know you’re any good?”

Leo laughed, the rich, deep laugh that made her loins tingle. “Because, darling, I’m the one with the hard-on. Trust me, I know how to use it.” He gyrated his hips again, making Rhea suck in her breath involuntarily. “Ha, I knew it. You want me. Come on. You don’t even have to let me go. Just come closer. Please,” he added, and that one little word sounded sincere.

Rhea gritted her teeth. “I’m not coming over there, so you can forget it.”

“Why?” He growled the word in frustration. “I’m not trying to trick you. I just want a little kiss. A taste of your lips. Just to satisfy what we’re both feeling. What do I have to do to convince you I’m sincere?”

“You’re not sincere. You think this is a game.”

“Rhea. A hard-on is not a game.” He sighed, head back against the headrest once more. “It’s not as if I could pretend to have one.” He had a point. One that didn’t bear examining.

“I think my hanging out here while your soul is supposedly off skipping the light fandango was a bad idea. You’re going to spend the entire time trying to manipulate me into letting you go, and I’m going to spend the entire time being super annoyed.” Rhea took her coat from the rack. “I agreed to observe your transformation to validate your claim that you have a dissociative disorder, and I’ve done that.” She pulled the coat on. “So good luck to you.”

As she started through the curtain, Leo’s voice stopped her. “Did you tattoo me?” He sounded surprised.

Rhea turned, adjusting her collar, to see him studying what he’d called the allrune on his right forearm. “You asked me to touch it up. You don’t remember?”

“I tend to ignore Leo the Dull. He spends his time studying chemistry or something. It’s a snooze fest.”

“Molecular biology.” Rhea shrugged when he looked up at her with a look of curiosity. “That’s what you said. You dropped out of the molecular biology graduate program at NAU.”

“NAU.”

“Northern Arizona University. In Flagstaff. Where you met Theia.”

“Theia.” Leo’s eyes registered sudden recognition. “That’s why you look so familiar to me. You’re Theia Dawn’s sister.”

The usual irritation at having someone make the connection prickled on her skin. “And that, I presume, is why you’re sitting there sporting your misplaced ‘admiration’ for me.”

His eyes seemed to go a shade darker, and he leaned forward sharply, jerking against the restraints with such ferocity that she jumped back even though she was several feet away. “Don’t do that,” he snapped. “Don’t you dare stand there and try to tell me I don’t know my own feelings.”

“I wasn’t exactly talking about your feelings.”

“Desire. That’s my purview. I know all about desire, and I’m not some stupid animal ruled by my prick who’ll just wave it at anybody with tits.”

Rhea’s face went hot. “I didn’t say you were an animal, and I don’t appreciate the way you’re talking to me. Being Leo’s id—”

“Munr.”

“Whatever—doesn’t give you a free pass to be an asshole.”

Leo looked taken aback. “I’m an asshole?”

“Yeah, you are. Pretty much.”

“You’re the one who just accused me of being attracted to you because you look like your sister. I’d say you’re the asshole.”

Rhea flicked the hair out of her eyes in frustration. “How does that make me an asshole? You dated my sister! When you walked in here two days ago, it was because you thought I was Theia. It doesn’t take a genius to conclude that your interest in me—your desire—is misplaced.”

“I’d show you how misplaced it is if you weren’t such a chicken.”

As Rhea opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell, the realization struck her that she’d been drawn into an argument with a man’s id, and she burst out laughing.

Leo glowered at her. “What’s so damn funny?”

“This...” She lifted her arms, encompassing the room, the evening, the two of them. “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about the sincerity of your hard-on.”

His glower wavered, curving upward into a slight smirk. “I’d have to concede that it’s a first in my experience.”

Rhea returned the smirk. “I thought you didn’t have any experience. Except you obviously remember Theia.”

“But I didn’t sleep with Theia.” That he had no memory of it now didn’t necessarily mean he hadn’t, but the admission was more satisfying than it ought to be. “At any rate, when Leo isn’t boring me into a coma, I can retain some of his memories, but I can’t recall ever having such an argument with anyone. You’d think I’d remember being tattooed, though.” He glanced down, his gaze drawn to the other arm. “Are you going to do this one, too?”

“I was.”

He looked up. “But you’re not now?”

“No, I—He’s working it off. I mean, you’re working it off. So I may do the next one. If I let you stay.”

“And you don’t know if you’re going to let me stay.” Leo nodded thoughtfully. “That’s fair. Just once, I’d like to remember getting tattooed, though.”

“I’ll talk to him about it. He said he might want another new one.” She was starting to talk about Leo in the third person, but it seemed easier to treat them as two different people. “Might be a good way to pass the time while you’re locked up.”

“So you are letting me stay.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you are.” Leo looked smug. “And what about you? Are you sticking around? Going to keep that coat on?”

“Maybe. Going to keep that hard-on?”

Leo laughed in that incredibly sexy way Rhea was starting to want to keep being the cause of, the sort of laughter one would describe as being genuinely “tickled.” Not to mention the throaty richness of the sound he made. He also closed his eyes when he did it. It was probably a good thing he was tied up. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if he were able to reach out and touch her right now.

“So what is it with those tattoos, anyway?” She folded her arms, still wearing the coat, maybe subconsciously—or not so subconsciously—trying to keep herself closed to him. “They look older than you.”

Leo opened his eyes, the smile slightly less joyful. “They’ve been there as long as I can remember.”

“But you don’t remember all that much from the times you’re not in control of the skin.”

“True. But I also don’t remember a time when the marks weren’t there.”

“This soul-splitting-off thing with the other Leo—”

“Leo the Dull.” His blue eyes twinkled.

“Okay, Leo the Dull going off to do whatever and leaving you here in restraints—how long has that been going on?”

The smile faded as he pondered the question. “I guess I don’t remember a time before that either.”

“Not even when you were a kid? This was going on back then?”

“I—don’t remember being a child. I suppose that’s a bit peculiar, isn’t it?”

“Maybe not. Maybe it only happened after puberty. If it’s a dissociative disorder, that might make sense. Maybe something traumatic happened to you around the time you got the tattoos.”

“Except it’s not a disorder. I told you that was bullshit Leo the Dull made up to explain me away. It’s Leo’s self-righteous hugr going off to be self-righteous without me.”

“That’s how you see it, anyway.” She realized she was leaning toward the mental illness hypothesis after all.

“And you’re back to analyzing me.”

“Maybe I am. You’re right, I am. Sorry.”

“I’m not objecting. I just find it interesting. Because it means you find me interesting.” He grinned broadly. “Which I can’t imagine is something I share with Leo the Dull.”

“Or maybe I find your tattoos interesting. It is kinda my thing after all.” But she did find Leo interesting, with or without his hugr. “They’ve been there as long as you can remember, and they’re home jobs with significant fading—at least the two on your forearms. The other one looks professional.”

“The other one?”

“On your upper arm.” He was staring at her blankly. “The Midgard Serpent.” He’d worn the long-sleeved Henley today, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. What he couldn’t see, apparently, he wasn’t aware of.

Leo’s face clouded. “He’s marked me with the serpent? That son of a bitch.”

“What’s the significance of the serpent?” She’d noted it with some trepidation. Serpents seemed to be intimately bound up with the Carlisle sisters’ lives. It all went back to the Lilith blood.

“The Midgard Serpent—Jörmungandr—it’s supposed to bring about Ragnarök. The twilight of the gods. The end of the world. Jörmungandr rules the waters surrounding the visible world. It’s a sea serpent. A dragon.”

Of course it was a dragon. It was always dragons.

Rhea sat on the stool once more, rolling it closer to the chair. “So why is it significant that he marked you with it?” It was no use trying not to differentiate between the two of them. “Is he trying to end you?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d love to. But that’s not it. It’s a way of containing my energy just as Jörmungandr contains the world. I assume it encircles my arm and swallows its tail?”

“I only glanced at it, but, yeah, I think so.” She pondered for a moment. “Do you want to see it?”

Leo’s eyes danced with amusement. “I don’t see how you’re going to be able to get my shirt off without undoing the restraints. Or are you planning to cut the shirt off me?” He looked hopeful.

“Yeah, nice try.” Rhea wheeled the stool up next to him and pulled down the right shoulder of the stretchy fabric, baring his upper arm. “Take a look.”

Leo’s breath was warm against her hand as he stretched his neck to see the tattoo. “Can you pull it down a little more?”

As she did, her hand brushed the ink, and the vision from the allrune came back to her, only far more forcefully and in vivid detail. Where her earliest visions had encompassed a series of images answering a question in the client’s mind, the ones she’d had without the client’s awareness were more like impressions, a peak into memories or desires swirling about inside the person’s head. But this...this was like actually being there.

Ice-cold air rushed up at her as she plunged toward the frozen ground, and the force of the impact knocked the air from her lungs. Blood made a spattered trail in the snow ahead of her—her blood. She struggled to stand, fumbling headlong toward the frozen thicket while the groans of the dying and the clash and thud of conflict sounded on the hill behind her.

Her feet were becoming numb as her boots sank into the snow, the creak and crunch of her weight compressing it the only evidence she was still touching it and not floating above the ground. Her chest ached, her lungs having trouble taking in air, and blood was flowing from a hole between her ribs. Blood and sweat ran into her eyes, and she collapsed into the snow and muck and mud, a yard from the covering trees. And from within them came the howling and snarling of wolves.

“What the hell was that?” Leo’s growl penetrated the vision, tearing her out of the icy snowbank and grim daylight into the warmth of the heated shop and artificial light.

Rhea broke her grip on Leo’s arm and staggered backward off the stool. “What was what?”

“Don’t give me that. What just happened? Are you going to pretend you didn’t see any of that?”

Rhea was still trying to catch her breath without showing she was doing it. “Why, what did you see?”

“Snow and blood and a pack of wolves.”

“Have you ever seen this before? Do you...remember any of it?”

“Why would I have seen it?”

“Because it’s your memory. Your reading.” Rhea sighed. “I wasn’t trying to get a reading. It’s an ability I have—I read tattoos. I’ve been trying to avoid doing it lately, especially when the person hasn’t asked for a reading. But when I get anywhere near your tattoos...it just sort of happens.”

He scrutinized her face, maybe trying for a reading himself. “It happened with Leo? I mean, when he was occupying the skin?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“And what did he say about it? Is it something that happened to us?”

“He didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. I don’t know if he saw it. Sometimes it’s like that, especially if the person hasn’t asked for a reading.” Rhea paused. “It’s not always a memory. It could be a premonition.”

“So I may be stabbed and eaten by wolves in my future?” Leo scowled. “Do it again. I want to see more.”

Rhea kept her distance. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”

“Why? It’s not as though seeing something is going to make it happen. I want to know what’s going on, where the wolves are, who stabbed me.” He gestured with his head. “Come over here and do it again.” He seemed to realize his tone wasn’t being appreciated. “Please.”

Rhea sighed. “I can’t guarantee it will be the same vision. I don’t even know if it is a premonition. I’m still trying to get a handle on this ability, which is why I haven’t been doing it lately.” His sleeve had slipped back up over his shoulder, and Rhea pulled it down again. The amber-resin-and-spice scent he’d exuded before rolled off him in waves, a personal pheromone designed just for her. Rhea bit her lip and let her hand move down the firm musculature toward the knotted pattern of the snake.

This time, there was no snow, no blood, no fighting. Only Leo’s body under hers, hard and hot...and naked. They were both naked, in this very chair, and Leo was bound to it while Rhea straddled his lap, full of him, riding him, moaning as he pumped his hips into her, grasping for his mouth with hers as the beating of their hearts and their rapid breathing rose toward a crescendo. She arched her back and tilted her hips deeper into his lap, feet off the ground and hands gripping the chair behind her as Leo dipped his head and closed the heat of his mouth over her breast, sucking the nipple in roughly against his teeth. And with a melodic shout, she—

“Holy fuck.” Rhea sprang back so forcefully she slammed into the cabinet behind her and hit her head on the corner of the shelf above it.

Leo’s eyes were on her, warm with amusement and desire. And his erection, she couldn’t help noticing, was back with a vengeance. “Well, that was different. Was that your future or mine?”

“I...” Rhea shook her head, trying to form words, her face giving off heat like a radiant coil. She managed, finally, four small words in a breathless rush—“I have to go”—and darted past him through the curtain.

Chapter 7

A clock tower in the distance struck seven as predawn light reached the back of the shop, and the locks, right on schedule, clicked open. Leo yawned and rubbed his wrists after working the buckles out of the restraints, disappointed that Rhea had left sometime during the night. He wondered idly if his presence in the building would actually be a deterrent to vandals. He’d kept his cell phone within reach, but would his alter ego bother to call Rhea if he heard someone outside? For all Leo knew, he was the sort of person who would cheer them on.

Leo frowned. God, he hoped his alter ego wasn’t a neo-Nazi. Could that be the source of the tattoos? No. He refused to accept the idea that he could harbor something so antithetical to his own morality. Rhea had said he was an ass, but she hadn’t said anything about him being a neo-Nazi ass.

As long as he was sleeping here—assuming he hadn’t done something reprehensible last night and Rhea was still letting him stay—he might as well make himself useful. After checking downstairs to make sure there was no new graffiti, he found more cleaning supplies in the bathroom and gave all the counters a good scrubbing, along with the bathroom tile and the wood floors in the rest of the shop. There was no shower, but he managed to give himself a decent sponge bath before changing into his other clothes. He wrinkled his nose as he sniff-checked the T-shirt. He was going to have to find a laundromat soon.

The door opened as he was pulling the shirt over his head, and Rhea made a sharp little noise like she’d caught him naked.

He tugged the fabric down, head emerging through the collar, and grinned sheepishly as he put his glasses back on. “Sorry. Guess I could have changed in the bathroom.”

Her eyes were even wider than usual and her cheeks were flushed. Maybe it was from being out in the cold. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been wearing any pants.

“Must have been boring sitting around with Lucid Ass Leo last night, huh?”

Rhea peeled off her gloves and unwound her scarf as she headed into the back. “I wouldn’t say boring, no.” She returned, sans hat and coat, with that little spike of silvery-lavender hair hanging in her eyes.

Goddamn, she was cute. The word wouldn’t have done her justice if he’d used it to describe her to someone else, but it was the best word to capture the sum total of her mannerisms and quirks—the wide, dark-rimmed eyes that crinkled with easy amusement and sarcasm, the combination of almost haphazard yet defiant dress that at the same time managed to seem completely unselfconscious and totally endearing, the no-nonsense way she spoke as if she didn’t give a damn if she impressed anyone; they could take her as she was or get bent. But the wild, punky hair had its own separate personality, rebelling from and complementing her at the same time.

She was staring at him like he’d forgotten to zip his fly. He checked to be sure.

“So...was I rude to you again? I hope I didn’t do anything out of line.”

Rhea studied him. “You absolutely don’t remember anything that happens when you’re in that state?”

“No. Shit, I did something, didn’t I? That’s why you left. I’m sorry, I wish I could—”

“You didn’t do anything. I mean, you tried to get me to sit on your—”

“No.”

“Yeah. But it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I mean the come-ons,” she added hastily. “But he—you—said some curious things about your tattoos.”

“Did I?” Leo leaned back against the front counter, palms braced against the edge. Was he finally going to get some answers his conscious mind didn’t have access to? Having Rhea talk to his alter ego might turn out to be useful. Unless she found out something he didn’t want her to know. He only wished he knew what there was to find out. “Like what?”

“He didn’t remember getting them. And he didn’t even know about the Midgard Serpent. He thinks you got it to punish him in some way. To control him.”

So the other him didn’t have a clue about the marks either.

Leo tried not to let the disappointment show on his face. “You realize you keep talking about me in the third person.”

Rhea shrugged in acknowledgment. “It’s a little weird trying to have a conversation with someone about their other self. He kept using the third person when he talked about you. He calls you...”

Leo waited, but she didn’t finish the sentence. “He calls me what?”

Her cheeks reddened slightly. “Leo the Dull.”

“Really.” He wasn’t sure why that annoyed him so much. “Did you tell him we call him the Lucid Ass?”

“It didn’t come up.”

“Well, maybe next time you can let him know.” The rush of air filling his chest and the tightness in his jaw were confusing until it dawned on him that he was jealous of his own alter ego. The idea of him spending time with Rhea—propositioning Rhea—made him want to call the asshole out and challenge him. But the “asshole” was himself. It occurred to him that perhaps this response wasn’t entirely healthy.

Rhea’s expression was guarded. “So, did you? Get the tattoo to punish him, I mean.”

Why did he get the feeling she was mad at him about it? “Maybe. I don’t know.”

She laughed, obviously disbelieving. “How can you not know?”

This was starting to go places he really didn’t want it to go. On the other hand, she already knew more about him than he knew about himself. What was the point in keeping what he did know a secret?

“Because...I don’t actually remember getting it.” There. It was out. She was looking at him the way he’d expected her to. Not only did he have an alternate personality he had to tie up at night, he had blackouts and giant gaps in his history no sane person would have.

“Neither of you remember getting the tattoo?” She glanced at his wrists. The way he was gripping the counter made the allrune and Mjölnir prominently visible. “Do you remember getting those?”

He didn’t want to answer. But she already knew.

“I only know they weren’t always there and they weren’t by choice. But when they were put there and by whom...?” He shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. Jörmungandr...” He paused, the memory of buzzing tattoo needles tugging faintly at him. He remembered the aftercare, peeling back the gauze bandage and seeing the intricate black designs, holding his arm before the mirror and turning until he could see the shape of the coiling snake. “Jörmungandr, I think I had done myself. But that’s all I know.”

Rhea studied him, trying to determine, no doubt, whether he was full of shit. “Do you have any long-term memory?”

Leo gave her a half smile. “Are you analyzing me?”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s what he said.”

“Well.” Leo shrugged and pushed away from the counter. “We both share the same skin.” He put his hands in his pockets, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. “So I promised to work off my debt. What else do you need done? I checked downstairs earlier and didn’t find any new graffiti, and I cleaned up a bit in here.”

Rhea glanced around, her eyes taking in the gleaming hardwood. “Did you scrub the floor?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at him curiously. “I don’t have a mop.”

“I just used a sponge and some warm soapy water. I followed up with a towel to make sure the water didn’t soak in.”

She was still looking at him funny.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just—Well, I didn’t expect you to be crawling around on my floor on your hands and knees.” That little flush was back in her cheeks. “But thank you. It looks great.” She glanced around once more, avoiding his eyes. “I did want to go over the inventory. It’s not much yet, a dozen bottles of ink, a small supply of needles and accessories, and the disinfecting supplies. I started a spreadsheet to estimate how much I’ll need and how much this is going to set me back before I start to turn a profit, but I couldn’t get all the columns to add up.”

“I can take a look at it for you.”

“Could you? That would be great. Even if you could just finish entering the physical inventory and tallying it, that would really help. The more complex stuff can wait.”

Leo smiled as Rhea fished the tablet out of her bag. “I’m pretty good with data. I’m used to working in a lab.”

While Rhea pulled up the spreadsheet to show him how far she’d gotten, the bell on the door jingled. A woman who looked as much like Rhea as she could without being her twin—except for the long, dark chestnut hair in a high ponytail and bangs—stepped inside, blowing on her bare fingers and stamping her feet.

“Goddamn. It’s colder than a witch’s tit.” She grinned as Rhea turned in surprise. “Hi, brat! I figured I’d come by and see your new digs while Rafe is busy dealing with the frozen pipes at one of his worksites.”

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