Where my coloring is cool, Zhuliya’s is warm, and I marvel at the contrast as I run a claw down the curve of her spine.
A shudder wracks her body, and my stoyuk twitches. I’m worried that I might not actually be able to perform—for work, obviously, as I’m more than up for the task sexually—when an idea takes root in my mind.
I have no clue where it comes from, but the creative vision grips me with its beauty and intricacies, much like the woman before me.
After I prep Zhuliya’s back, I grab my irons and get to work. The tiny female doesn’t even so much as flinch when the needle starts tapping over her skin.
For all my fear of not being able to do this, I’m instantly lost in my craft. I’ve set aside all the colored tattoo pigments, choosing to do blackwork instead.
Time flies by, and I’m so immersed that it takes me a moment to register that Zhuliya cries out a little now and again.
Shaking out of my stupor a bit, I ask if she’s ok. Humans are more susceptible to pain than most of my other clients, and the bones of the spine are a sensitive area.
“Da,” she says in a low voice laced with an emotion that I can’t interpret.
Afraid that I might lose the vision sparking through my mind, I dive back in while making a conscious effort to ensure she’s comfortable.
Not once does she wiggle or fidget, like so many of my other clients—tested by the needle and for staying still for so long—but I do notice her hands clasped together, the knuckles white with strain.
“Are you sure—”
“I’m fine. Please continue.”
I’m about to stop when suddenly, another idea sparks like a firework inside of me. Reassuring myself that Zhuliya is an adult and has many tats, I chase my vision in earnest.
My hands swoop and arc, as if I’m really painting on canvas. The faster I work, the more I pour myself into the ink.
Every second brings me closer to my creation. I’ve never felt so alive, every part of me consumed by the urge to gift this woman with something amazing.
Beneath my touch, Zhuliya’s whimpers turn into moans. A forgotten part of my brain reminds me to check on her, to make sure that she’s alright, but I ignore it.
Instinctively, I know she’s fine. Never in a million years would—could—I hurt this precious creature.
Faster and faster I go, closer and closer until I finish the last swirl. The needle kisses Zhuliya’s skin for the last time, completing my masterpiece.
Just then, an ember of light flashes before my eyes, and I swear a piece of me detaches from my consciousness, embedding itself in the dark chaos of the inked flesh below me.
The tiny female screams, her entire body contorting as I pull away in horror. Her back ripples, showcasing the artwork I’m only now recognizing.
It’s the symbol of Aisyth, the fertility Goddess of my people, who blesses each and every mating bond with a unique branding.
Usually this is etched into the male Ithaqua’s horns by an Ithaquan priestess of Aisyth, but it would seem the Goddess decided to give me the vision instead.
All but the last part of the mating bond is complete, and panic crushes the air from my lungs until I remind myself that I won’t cross that last line.
Never.
Except…
I sniff, a heady scent clogging my nostrils, making me aware of my surroundings, of the human before me.
Zhuliya shakes like a leaf trying to ward off the coming winter. Sweat dots the back of her neck, and my own body quivers in answer.
“Are…are you…” I trail off, unable to finish the inane question.
Of course, she’s not fine—neither of us are. I just mated with a woman without her consent, and she just came from it. In doing so, she completed the bond.
Her pleasure ensured that she accepted the bond when I imprinted myself upon her, through her freshly drying ink.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
The situation has escalated from bad to worse case scenario. I have no idea what to do—what to think.
If anyone finds out, I’m in deep shit. What just happened is beyond illegal—as it should be. It’s one thing to keep humans and monsters apart, but another for a monster to take a mate without consent.
Humans don’t understand the concept of ‘fated’. It doesn’t matter that everything that happened was unintentional and unconscious.
It still happened.
I inhale, and instantly regret it, as Zhuliya’s arousal filters back into my senses and clouds my thinking.
Almost mechanically, I start spouting off my aftercare lecture, rubbing a thin layer of antibiotic ointment over her back.
She still hasn’t said anything, and my stomach bubbles in distress. Imprinting upon her literally means I’m physically attached to Zhuliya.
Where she goes, I must.
An Ithaqua can never leave their mate. An invisible tether binds the two together for all eternity. To not be near her would be a fate worse than death—an agony beyond comprehension.
