Page 73 of Pink Ink

For my brother’s sake, I need to stay away and wash my hands clean of everything to do with this girl. But one look at her, and I’m questioning whether it’s worth losing her or my sanity. The line between right and wrong blurs where she’s involved.

When was the last time I made a life decision just for me? Since I was a child, everything I did was because I had to. My brother’s happiness has always come before mine.

The arrangement was fine at the start. Beyond escaping the Order’s grasp, there wasn’t much more I desired in life. Everything I wanted to claim, I did. I made a name for myself within the art community and established myself as a highly respectable academic within my field. I had my art and my kills in between being a pawn for someone else’s goals.

But I think I’ve found something I want for myself. A slice of paradise that I want to keep at the risk of making all my suffering meaningless.

I want to tell her that I’m the one she’s been following, because then I’ll know whether I’m going to war only to lose in the end. More than that, I want her to see the real me. The side that no one else knows—not even my own brother—so I can know what human connection really feels like.

I don’t want walls. I don’t want threats. I want to have my bloody cake and eat it too.

With Reyna standing here, in my most sacred space, staring at my uncompleted artwork like I’ve painted the Sistine Chapel, something volatile settles within me. Her lips are parted, and there’s a glassy sheen over her eyes.

Every time I’m around her, I’m helpless. Helpless to her whims. Helpless to the onslaught of inspiration her existence strikes within me. Taking my phone out of my blazer, I take a photo to save into my encrypted album later. If I can’t stand here and draw her, taking a picture will need to be the next best thing. My collection of her is growing, and I don’t want to share it with anyone. I don’t want to shareherwith anyone.

Watching Reyna stare at my art is both euphoric and frightening. I don’t care for anyone else’s opinion. I only want hers. She’s the reason I’ve stopped worrying about what the critics will think about my exhibition. All I care about is doing the pieces the justice they deserve—it’s a perspective I haven’t held in a long time.

Every cell in my body is telling me to close the distance and come up behind her, drag my nose along her neck and feel her soft skin against mine. I want to get her back on my couch and see what she’d look like when she comes with my tongue in her cunt.

She makes me want so much I can’t have.

Reyna’s attention moves from the painting of a woman holding a sword to the sculpture on the workbench. It’s far from finished, but there’s no mistaking that it’s of a woman. The wings still need doing, as do the water ripples, her tail, and her face.

I watch Reyna’s eyes slide over the sleeping frame of the five-foot-seven plaster sculpture. At the moment, a cloth covers her backside, and her arms are crossed in front of her to hide her breasts. Part of her body is cut off to look like she’s beneath the water. I intend to make it my centerpiece.

When Reyna tips her head to the side, the golden highlights of her dark-brown hair fall from her shoulder and down her back, revealing the red peonies on the neckline of her top. The afternoon sun pours through the window, casting shadows across her face as her skin warms into liquid gold. The glossy sheen of her lips glistens, and I’m overcome with the urge to kiss her like Imight be able to absorb everything that’s going on in her head, create a connection that will allow me to sleep pretending she’s safe next to me.

“Little dragon.” I suck in a sharp breath when her eyes collide with mine.

Calling her irises brown would be an insult. Under the afternoon sun, they’re rich cinnamon with threads of caramel and marigold. I could spend a lifetime staring at them and I wouldn’t get bored.

“What?”

“Naga,”I rasp, trying to get myself together. I straighten and manage to get the next words out in an even tone. “It means dragon in Indonesian.”

The lines around her eyes soften, and the most subtle shudder goes through her that I wouldn’t have caught if I weren’t wanting to consume her mind, body, and soul.

She nods even though it wasn’t a question.

“Like the dragon tattoo on your back.”

Her lips part, and it takes everything in me not to press mine against hers. Just once. But once wouldn’t be enough for me. I’ll want it over and over again until it’s the only thing I’ll ever know.

“Yes,” she whispers, eyes dropping down to my mouth for a notable second.

She’s killing me here.

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Sinaga.” I nod at the art piece.

Inhaling deeply, she focuses on the incomplete painting. “I think it’s too soon to tell.”

If there’s one thing I can rely on Reyna for, it’s that she’ll always tell me what she thinks when it comes to my art. Not just that, she provides actual constructive criticism. It’s refreshing.

Her eyes widen with shock when she notes my smile. I have the urge to move closer when her gaze stays on my lips for long enough that the rise of her chest becomes more pronounced.

Red paints her cheeks, and she whips her attention back to the painting like she didn’t mean to be caught staring.

She clears her throat. “Although, I think it could be appropriate to add pomegranates into the empty space over here—since the snake is holdingher hostage to the chair.” She motions to the empty space behind the woman, where I’ve already set the values of a pedestal and skull.