mood, I leaned over his desk again. “Hmm, I kind of like this background,” I pointed at a sketch with swirling smoke behind the snake, “and this kind of detail on the scales. Can you combine them?”
“Of course. That’s easy.”
I sat back in my chair, trying not to beam too hard as Shadow held my arm steady while he cleaned my already-started tattoo with an alcohol wipe. He didn’t hesitate in touching me this time and I hoped that would only continue.
For his own comfort, not for your thirsty ass, I reminded myself.
We sat together in companionable silence as he worked on me, much like my first tattoo. I enjoyed this with him too. With my three guys, everyone was always chattering on about something. I’d almost forgotten how comfortable silence could be, too.
“Can I ask you a medical question?” Shadow said—completely unprompted—when my line work was done and he prepared the colored inks for the scales of my snake.
“Shoot,” I answered.
“I guess I’m wondering,” he mused, “if there’s a medical reason why I can’t feel pain.”
“Ah.” I tilted my gaze up toward the ceiling to ponder. “Most likely there is. Is it everywhere on your body, or just certain areas?”
“Yes, everywhere.”
“All types of pain?”
“Um, yes. I think so.”
“That tells me it’s neurological,” I said. “Your brain shut off the signals from those nerves for some reason, probably to protect you in some way.”
He finished pouring the small pots of ink and turned to me, looking unsure of himself again.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“I only feel it during those nightmares,” he confessed. “I feel everything vividly. But while I’m awake, I only feel my skin coming apart, the blood spilling. All of the other sensations, but never pain.”
“It sounds to me like your brain is trying to process your past trauma when you’re asleep. And the feeling of pain is closely linked to that. But when you’re awake, it gets buried again, to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?” he muttered with a frustrated growl that was oddly adorable. “If it weren’t for those pills you gave me, everyone would have to be protected from me.”
“This isn’t my area of expertise,” I admitted. “But in simplest terms, when people confront their trauma before they’re ready, it can make things worse. They can become depressed, harm themselves, or attempt to take their own lives. So sometimes the brain sort of locks traumatic memories away to prevent that from happening.”
“I remember everything that happened to me,” Shadow said. “And I can remember what pain feels like, if I focus on it. I just…wonder why it left and never came back.”
“I don’t have an answer for that.” I looked at him sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He returned to tattooing me, the buzz of his machine filling the silence between us.
“Maybe not right away, but at some point,” I said softly, “you might want to talk to someone about what happened to you.”
“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t like thinking about it, much less talking about it.”
“I don’t know if it would bring the pain sensation back, but the sleeping pills are only a band-aid on your nightmares.”
“They work for me.”
“They won’t forever,” I insisted gently. “You’ll develop a tolerance, and another bad habit, if you’re not careful. But if you want the nightmares to go away for good, you have to work through what’s causing them.”
Shadow paused to set his machine down and wipe away the excess ink on my arm. “I just want to move on. My past isn’t something I ever want to return to.” His gaze flicked up to mine for a moment. “The present is so much better.”
Nine
MARIPOSA
“What a shame to have to leave this all behind.” I walked around Reaper’s study as if noticing it for the first time. Glass cases held mementos and artifacts like elk antlers, a skull carved out of quartz, and motorcycle parts. A heavy, wooden bookshelf held maps and weathered volumes.
“It’s just stuff.” Reaper moved behind me, fingertips skimming over my waist. “It can all be replaced.” He pulled a slim, leather-bound journal from the shelf and tossed it onto his desk. “We’ll need that. All the Steel Demon MC laws are in there.”
“Have you made copies?” I opened the cover to find an ink drawing of the Demon grinning up at me from the title page. Shadow’s work, most likely.
I traced the horns with a finger, picturing Shadow bent over this book as he sketched the symbol of his one place of belonging.
“Hard