Page 55 of The Broken Wolf's Redemption

The day he’d first seen Seren, his closed off frigid heart received a hairline crack.

It was now broken wide open. He might just leave Casper, but that would mean leaving Seren behind. She’d never agree to come with him. She didn’t want him to stay. She’d made it clear she didn’t want to see him again.

Fissure or chasm, he’d live with the pain.

There was one thing he was good at, and it was enduring.

Chapter 19

Seren

“Hey, your consult is here.” Becka popped in through the open door of Seren’s room. “She’s early, but she said she doesn’t mind waiting.”

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just working on some drawings anyway.”

She reserved her earliest hours, before any clients were scheduled, and her late hours, after her last client of the day, for consults. She’d tried to find a way to do it differently over the years, and if someone truly couldn’t do those hours, she’d try to fit them in other times, on a Sunday or Monday, but she’d pretty much had to stick with the tried and true.

They opened the shop at noon, but between ten to quarter to twelve, Seren booked consults. The door was unlocked at ten, the sign turned on at noon, and generally clients knew that.

She was always excited to book a new client. She’d received the online form, filled out and emailed, a week ago. This morning was the first opening she had available.

Cassie’s form said she was interested in black and gray realism. She wanted a tattoo on her forearm but was open to continuing it into a sleeve over time. She was interested in florals, trees, and nature. She’d written that it was her first tattoo, but she seemed well informed. Seren didn’t mind if people weren’t. That was her job as a custom artist to inform, educate, and draw something amazing. She wasn’t there to scoff at ideas or belittle people who weren’t sure about the process. If someone brought in an idea she didn’t think she could do justice to, she’d draw them what she did think she could do, or she’d recommend someone else at the shop rather than give them a straight up no. She always tried to be respectful. People deserved that. So many other people in the industry she knew didn’t approach tattooing that way and she wouldn’t want to be treated with contempt or have a bad experience if it was her on the other side. At one time, it had been, but she’d been lucky enough to find Becka. At Becka’s old shop, though, she’d seen enough from the other artists who worked there to know how she wanted to run her business and approach clients.

Seren didn’t have to paste a smile on her face, although she’d been doing that a lot over the past two months. She hadn’t fooled anyone who counted, but her parents thought she was doing okay and that was important. Becka knew what was wrong, she was the only one who knew all of it, and other than checking in a few times a week, she gave Seren time to heal.

It was mid-October, which was usually Seren’s favorite month. Everyone assumed that if you dressed all in black, were more than a bit goth, and tattooed for a living, you must love Spooktober. It was true, but she’d always loved it. As a kid, it meant candy. As a teenager, it meant elaborate costumes and an outlet for her creativity. Later, she’d loved adding décor to her collection that usually only made an appearance around that time of year.

A lone woman sat on the French Provincial couch in the waiting area. Reupholstering it hadn’t been cheap, but it was worth it. The black brocade and gold frame was stunning and matched the black wallpaper and the gray wood pattern vinyl flooring perfectly.

Cassie was facing the window, only her profile in view. She had a lovely jacket on, emerald and vintage. It flowed over her, her white-blonde hair piled up on her head with a few tendrils hanging down.

“Cassie?” Even from the side, Seren was a little awestruck at the woman’s breathtaking profile.

Her new client turned and Seren had to grab the counter. She wasn’t so affected because of any beauty. She’d known who that woman was long before she turned.

Briar May stood up, the jacket flowing over the curve of her very obvious belly. It had been nearly unnoticeable the last time Seren saw her. Two months in a wolf pregnancy was a long time. Most were only pregnant for four and a half to five and a half months. It seemed to vary greatly. She’d once researched it in depth.

She felt a stab of humiliation at being duped and also at the reminder of the memory of her standing in that room with Rome, explaining to him why she couldn’t have children.

Why did I ever do that? Give him another part of myself? He was already leaving. I didn’t have to chase him away by telling him I was defunct and unfit. I didn’t want to be a fit match for him in any world anyway.

“Briar May.” Saying her name made her real.

She smiled at Seren and set a hand on her rounded belly. “Hello, Seren. I’m sorry I had to lie to you about my name. I knew you wouldn’t see me otherwise, thanks to my degenerate of a brother, who I still love desperately, despite hearing his truth.” She knew everything, but there was no judgement or pity there. “The rest of the form was true. I really do want a tattoo, if you’re willing to take me as a client.”

“You’d have to travel,” Seren stated stupidly, so numb that she wasn’t sure if she was even alive or if any of this was real. “I can’t tattoo anyone who is pregnant.”

“I was thinking more for after. I figured your wait list was pretty long anyway. At least six months.”

“I, uh…”

“You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to. I can’t imagine getting something permanent on my skin by someone unwilling would be a pleasant experience. You could hide a penis in a tree or something.”

Seren couldn’t stop a laugh from bursting out. “That’s true, but I would never do that.”

“Do you know people who have?”

“I’ve heard stories.”

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