chest. “This, too. It's the Moretti family crest. My own interpretation, I guess. I added the skulls and the engine parts.”
I see the mechanical-looking elements now, as I look closer. The skulls, too, laughing and macabre. Different flowers bloom from the gaps in between, and red, and blue, and green—the only splashes of color in the otherwise black designs.
“Cobweb on my elbow,” he says, lifting his arm, frowning a little ruefully. “Got that in juvie. Kinda wish I hadn’t. And this,” he says, stroking a finger across the scaled tail of the creature that’s wrapped around his body, “is the Lord of the North Wind, Bahamut.”
“Unusual name.”
“From Arabic mythology. Misappropriated, but who gives a fuck. He’s a bannerman for the weak and downtrodden. A safe refuge. Also, takes no shit,” he says, grinning. “He’s pretty badass, but he metes out justice if you fuck up.”
“Where’s the rest of him?”
Alex's quirked eyebrow rises even higher as he turns around. There, the front half of a beautiful, somber-looking dragon has been tattooed between his shoulder blades—elaborate, with swirls and curlicues, yet incredibly masculine. Above the dragon, in darker, older ink, is the word ‘Fearless.’
“You really are, aren’t you? Fearless,” I say.
Alex turns, bowing his head forward, letting his chin drop to his chest. He sighs, wrapping his arms around me. Leaning my forehead against him, we stand like that for a long time before Alex whispers gently into the dark. “Not nearly as fearless as you. Take me to bed, Argento. I wanna hold you.”
22
ALEX
“He’s fucked in the head, just like his mother was. Little prick. If I don't curb that shit now, he's going to end up hurting someone one of these days, just you wait and see. Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. If the belt doesn’t work, then my fist sure as fuck will.”
I jolt awake, disoriented. A second ago I was crying in a closet, listening to Gary tell his brother what a worthless, vile little cretin I am. Now, I'm cocooned in a blissfully soft bed, staring into the face of the most beautiful fucking girl I've ever seen.
Silver’s still sleeping. Her hair is loose, fanned out around her face, golden and warm in the early morning light. Her lips are slightly parted. Her eyelashes are so long that they’re resting on the top of her cheekbones. From the serene look on her face, the dreams fluttering through her subconscious are nothing like mine were, and for that I am glad.
I never told her, but I vowed to myself about three seconds after I met Silver that I was going to make Jake and anyone else who had a hand in hurting her pay. I’ve already plotted a few unique and interesting ways to make that happen, even with the promises I made to Silver tying my hands. But none of that matters if I can’t protect her from the monsters if they visit her when she closes her eyes to sleep. I can’t keep her safe in there, and that makes me sick to my fucking stomach.
She stirs, nestling down into the covers. Her eyes stay closed, but I know that she’s woken up. “You know how to work a Keurig, Alessandro Moretti? Or are you more for decoration?” she mumbles.
I smile. Really smile. Maybe it’s easier because she can’t see me with her eyes closed, but it feels natural—a normal thing to do, and not like some breach in my defenses. “Yes,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss her on the forehead. “I know how to operate a Keurig. I’ll be right back.”
She moans, reaching after me, grabbing for my hand as I climb out of bed. I laugh under my breath all way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Without the fire burning in the living room, it's fucking freezing in the cabin. Should have put some clothes on before I came down but fuck it. As soon as I have some caffeine for Silver, I'm fully planning on getting back into bed and staying there with her for the rest of the morning. I already got my shifts covered at the Rock, so I don't have anywhere else to be.
The pods for the coffee maker take some tracking down. After rummaging through every cupboard and drawer I can think of, I eventually locate them in the freezer of all places. I fill up the water reserve on the machine and stand, hands braced against the kitchen counter as the thin stream of black gold