Stolen Ink (Ink Born Book 1)

by Holly Evans

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY FOUR

  FIFTY-FIVE

  FIFTY SIX

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  End Note

  Stolen Ink

  Ink Born 1

  by

  Holly Evans

  Copyright Holly Evans (2016) ©. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are purely from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is fictionalised and coincidental.

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  Dedication.

  First and foremost, I have to thank my dear husband. None of this could have happened without his support. My twin, Mollie, has been an absolute godsend through everything. I’d be lost without her. And of course, this wouldn’t have come into existence without my very own gay elf, my best friend Matty. A final quick note goes to my cheerleading team on Twitter. You’ve all kept me sane, and for that I’m eternally grateful!

  1

  The city heaved a great sigh as morning broke. Thick blue-grey clouds hung on the horizon, threatening to engulf the city in a few more hours of darkness. The rough stone bit into my hands when I pushed off it, preparing to face the day. A niggling need in the back of my mind was gnawing at me with increasing urgency, the desire to be somewhere and do something, but I had no idea what. I spat a few choice curses at the gods as I crossed the rooftop down to the stairs. The sky lit up with a flash of lightning, quickly chased by a crack of thunder. They’d given their thoughts on my curses. I spat a few more before I slammed the door on the morning. If they wanted action, they were going to have to give me something more than an irritating feeling in the back of my mind.

  Keirn thrust a large mug of hot black coffee at me as I entered our small kitchen.

  “Cursing them won’t help you, you know,” he said.

  I shrugged and took a sip of the coffee. It burnt all the way down.

  “Who’s our first client?”

  He curled his lip and looked up from his sketchbook. “Some prissy boy in an expensive suit.”

  “I suppose that means he’s mine, then. Any idea what his animal is?”

  His mouth spread into an easy smile. His eyes shone with victory. I should have fought him over who had the displeasure of dealing with the prissy boy, but my night had been full of nightmares, and I just wanted to get through the day.

  “Drink your coffee, you look like hell,” was all he gave me.

  I took a long gulp and glared at him. He was holding out on me, and that was rarely a good sign.

  His pale silver eyes held my gaze before he waved his hand at me and said, “Something big and impressive, I think.”

  I snorted. “I look forward to the day it’s a damn gerbil, something simple and amusing.”

  That brought a grin to his face. “They’d be too ashamed. Morons have no idea what it means to have anything at all.”

  He descended into elvish cursing. I didn’t need to be fluent to know he’d slipped back into his world and the overly familiar territory of people’s connection to magic, honour, and respect. Or the lack thereof. I knocked back the last of my coffee and set about preparing for the day proper. Tattooing is an art that requires artistic and magical skill. Those come from patience and focus, neither of which I had much of that day.

  Keirn continued to mutter while he returned to his sketch. We had an hour before we opened up, and I had to make the pretense of preparing for the day’s magic. The hallways were dark. The elf had good night sight and saw no reason to hurt his eyes with more light than was strictly necessary. I ran my hand down the familiar smooth wall on my left before it stopped at the edge of the door. My preparation space. A sacred room that no one else dared enter. I flicked the light on and gently closed the door behind me as I breathed in the scent of basil and lavender. A glance at the small potted plants told me they were still healthy and well, a small comfort from the darkness of the night. The nightmares clawed at the back of my mind as I bent my knees and knelt on the mat in the middle of the sparse room.

  Normal humans have to pay respect to the magic as a living entity before they slip into their role as a tattoo magician, must don their spiritual armour in preparation for whatever magic they’ll be wrestling that day. I wasn’t normal. I hadn’t told anyone, not a soul, about what I was or what I could do. No one knew that performing ink magic was as easy as breathing, and it had to remain that way. Closing my eyes, I slowed my breathing and allowed the memories of the nightmares to slowly form. The threat of fear pooled at the back of my neck. I brushed it aside. No harm could come from the memories.

  An all-engulfing darkness filled my mental landscape, threatened to choke and devour me, yet nothing emerged from it. Taking another deep breath, I pushed through the viscous black that filled every inch of the space around me. Nothing appeared. Frustration grew after what felt like an eternity of pushing and fighting the memories. There was nothing but black. I sighed and relaxed my muscles, trying to find my centre. The day was starting, there were more important things to focus on than useless dreams.

  2

  Keirn was down in the main tattoo parlour when I emerged, fresh and calm from my meditations. My mental armour had clicked into place with barely a thought as I started down the short passage between the kitchen and the parlour. The elf had tied his long white hair back with a metal tie. It only highlighted the electric blue and violet streaks down the sides. His tattoos shimmered slightly under the bright fluorescent light; he’d changed into a sleeveless shirt specifically to show off that hawk that sat proudly on one bicep. The small black bear usually sprawled out on his other forearm, but it was hidden somewhere under his clothes that morning. My suspicion rose once more. Our tattoos were connected to the ink magic, and Keirn’s caginess about the prissy boy was starting to trigger alarm bells.

  Kyra and Aris were asleep under my skin. That eased the growing tension some as I brought out the small copper bowls for the tattoo paint. The familiarity of the routine brought some comfort as I waited. I laid the paints out carefully on the silver tray, each in their place so I could paint without looking. The brushes remained wrapped in their silk wrap. They were precious, a family heirl
oom passed down for many generations. Keirn almost succeeded in making me jump when he appeared behind me. Elves were notoriously light-footed, and he enjoyed making the most of it.

  A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I assume you can handle the client. I’ll be in the office continuing the sketches.”

  I gave a non-committal shrug. If I couldn’t handle it, he’d come running. Tattooists worked in pairs, always. The magic could be wild and temperamental, and sometimes it became a little much for one person to handle. That, and it’s very difficult to tattoo most of your own body. Keirn gave me a slap on the back and sauntered into the room behind the desk at the far end. He was an artist through and through. If he wasn’t sketching, he was painting or, of course, tattooing. I was far more interested in the magic and the ink. I was a tattoo magician who happened to need to be an artist.

  Aris began to stir. The great snake tested his bounds just as the man in the expensive suit walked through the door. Kyra hissed in the back of my mind. I smiled politely and tried to ignore my own tattoos in favour of feeling his. There was no denying the soft vibration coming from him as he strode towards me. There was something there, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. His mouth remained tight, and the shadow of stubble coated his lower jaw. Threats of bags hung under his eyes. Whatever was hiding from me had been giving him trouble. He held out his hand for me to shake. I shook it firmly enough to demonstrate I wasn’t weak, and no more.

  He returned the gesture and said, with a slight Russian accent, “How will this work?”

  I gestured to the tattooing chair. “Strip down to your pants. I’ll paint the design of the tattoo that’s trying to break free. Should you choose to accept it, then I’ll bring it forth and tattoo it. It will be painful. The more powerful the tattoo, the more pain you will endure. You will find its presence in the back of your mind once we’re done. As this is your first tattoo, I must add that, if you do not like the design, you cannot choose something else. Should you try and do so, you’ll be risking disfigurement or even death. Do you understand?”

  He gave a short sharp nod before he carefully unbuttoned the black jacket and folded it, taking his time to ensure that the shirt was properly folded and crease free next to the tattooing chair. I could almost see the skin of his back shimmering where the tattoo fought to be free. It covered his entire back and wrapped around his ribs. Keirn would owe me a few drinks once I was done battling something of that size.

  “Sit with your back to me, and I’ll paint on the design,” I said.

  He nodded in acknowledgement and straddled the padded leather chair, his strong back facing me. Taking a deep breath, I opened myself up to the threads of tattoo magic. My own tattoos wriggled and clawed, trying to be free. I mentally growled at them to be quiet. There was work to be done. Kyra yowled at me. The cat had never been one to do as she was told. Aris, however, stilled, his form tightly coiled against my spine. The soothing warmth of the magic flooded my being and tugged my hands towards the brushes. My instincts took over, removing all superfluous thought. I was verging on nothing more than a vessel for the magic. It was a dangerous dance, but one I loved more than life itself.

  The tendrils of magic flexed and coursed down the brush. There was nothing but the painting. Everything else slipped away as I lost myself to the art, caressing the threads and edges of the creature that was buried within the man’s very existence. It didn’t need coaxing, it practically exploded through the colour. I stepped back and wiped sweat from my brow. My hand froze halfway down to my hip when I saw the art on his back. It was there in glorious colour, clear cut lines and heavy muscle. There was no denying it, no escaping the fact that he had a dragon desperately clawing at the fibres of his being. A fucking dragon.

  3

  “I’ll be one moment,” I said as politely as I could muster while trying to push Kyra back down.

  The man didn’t even turn to acknowledge me, he simply nodded. I mentally swatted Kyra on the nose. The black cat hissed at me before she curled up once more. I knocked on the door to the office. The elf was hunched over the wooden table glaring at a half-formed sketch. I closed the door behind me and cleared my throat.

  “Did you know it was a dragon?” I asked.

  He was my best friend, I trusted him with my life, but dragons were serious business. He looked at me with alarm on his face. His eyes widened. The points of his ears clamped against his head.

  “I had thought it was a lion or some such,” he whispered.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “What do we do now?”

  I opened my eyes to see Keirn’s lip curled upwards to show the sharpened canine tooth. Elves were slender little things, but they had other ways of defending themselves.

  “We will have to tell the council,” he growled.

  The council wasn’t pleasant to deal with. They generally left us lowly tattoo magicians alone, but something as risky as a dragon needed to be… controlled. Control was their speciality. I glanced back at the door. Having the council around was risky, but what choice did we have? We’d have to go on the run if they found out we brought a dragon tattoo to life without telling them. Keirn shoved his chair back and grabbed the phone, jabbing at it before he put it to his ear. I left him to the phone call and braced myself for the conversation with the client.

  He sat exactly as I’d left him, back rigid, eyes front and centre. He had the bearing of a military man. I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad when it came to his dragon. It would likely make him more able to handle it, but that could also make the dragon a superior weapon in his hands. I took a long deep breath and focused on the magic. What happened once the tattoo was finished was none of my business. Drawing attention to myself would get questions asked, and I wasn’t willing to be exposed.

  “Sir, there has been… a development.” The words sounded tinny as I looked over the dragon again. There was no mistaking it. “The tattoo within you is a dragon. As such, we have contacted the council. One of their people will be here soon. Do you wish to continue with the tattoo?”

  A big part of me hoped he’d back out and try to fight to subdue it.

  “Yes. I will not deny part of myself,” he replied in clipped tones, his eyes continuing to look at the wall in front of him.

  Keirn came out from the back room. His spirit fox, a pure white arctic fox, walked close enough to almost trip him. My mouth went dry. He kept his fox hidden from strangers unless we were expecting trouble. It was stronger than a normal fox, being his spirit animal, something tying him to the snow as a snow elf. Kyra mewed in the back of my mind again. I squashed her once more. I wasn’t risking her getting hurt. I released Aris from his bonds.

  “This is my tattooing partner, Keirn. As your tattoo is large and powerful, we will be working as a team to bring it forward and bond you with it. Do you understand?”

  He gave a sharp nod. Keirn circled around the client while Aris slipped from under my shirt and sat across my shoulders, a cool, heavy weight. The great snake was a strong ally in difficult situations. I hoped he wouldn’t be necessary, but it’s better to be prepared. Keirn stopped a few feet away from the client and looked over the painting. The blood-red scales shimmered and flickered under the harsh light. The long black claws almost pressed through his skin. It was so close to breaking through that it would require barely a touch. I looked at the elf, my friend, for a few long seconds. His mouth tightened into a firm line before he nodded towards the needles.

  “You do the tattoo, I’ll cover you.”

  That meant he was taking the more dangerous job. My focus and magic would be in the ink itself, marking his skin. Keirn would deal with the dragon on the magical and spiritual plane, trying to keep it in check while I finished my work. I allowed myself a small smile in thanks before I went and picked up the tools. It was going to be a long day.

  4

  The tattoo gun felt comfortable in my hand, a simple elegant tool for what we were about to do. I inserted the slender bottle of bla
ck ink into the cartridge and allowed my magic to stretch down through the gun. It eagerly mixed with the ink and extended down through the needles, making the gun feel like an extension of my hand. Keirn’s expression was dark. His ears remained pinned to his skull, his fox mirroring the expression as they both stared at the dragon painting on the man’s back. Aris was calmly draped around my shoulders, his head casually resting against my collarbone.

  One final glance back at Keirn to make sure he was ready before I said, “We will begin.”

  The client seemed to favour fewer words. I didn’t even get a nod of acknowledgement before I pressed my thumb against the small needle that pricked the skin, adding a single drop of my blood to the mix. There was no going back.

  I gasped when it hit me. A furious heat struck me like a brick wall when I touched the very edge of the dragon. Keirn muttered something in elvish. His cold sharp magic drove it back, allowing me to continue. The damn thing was practically sinking its fangs into me as I slowly inked the black outline. Keirn’s muttering turned into dark growls and snarls that his fox echoed. The man tensed when I went over the dragon’s claws and teeth, but remained much the same as a statue otherwise. My suspicion grew when I began the arduous task of filling in the multitude of blood-red scales. It was starting to form fully between us. Its magic was solidifying in his own energy, the essence of his being. It roared and snapped at Keirn every opportunity it had, yet the client remained calm and still.

  The councilman, fuck knows what their proper title was, chose that moment to saunter up. Air flooded my lungs when the pressure I hadn’t even realised was present lifted. My magic snapped and crackled around the edge of the dragon that calmed and stilled for the first time in hours. I looked over my shoulder as I replaced the ink cartridge. A stiff man, a little shorter than Keirn, stood with his shoulders back in a slate-grey suit with matching tie. He was all sharp edges and straight lines. My chest constricted at the sight of him, at what he represented.