Page 105 of Into the Isle

I stared at him for a bit too long before shaking my head and putting my spear away. “What are you doing here, Magnus?”

“Reading. Same as you, I take it.”

I frowned, giving him a dry expression that said I didn’t appreciate his sarcasm at the moment. My heart was thumping too loudly. “And, uh . . . why do you have your shirt off?”

“It’s hot as Muspelheim in here. I didn’t expect to see another soul. I thought I was safe.”

“Safe?” I asked, my brow arching. “Why wouldn’t you be safe?”

“Because people typically don’t like what they see when they see my skin, girl.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about. I liked what I saw. The tattoos accentuated his physique. They looked so interesting, even if I didn’t understand what they meant, or what the blue swirls signified. He looked like a druid of ancient times.

He straightened, pulled his hand away from the book he’d been sifting through, and stepped toward me out of the candlelight.

And that’s when I noticed something else that stunned me stupid.

Raised flesh. Ragged drag-marks. Uneven skin, puffy and lit by the moon behind me rather than the candle behind him. The blue swirls seemed to glow in the darkness . . . and his flesh along with it.

Scars. Every inch of his body where there was a tattoo—literally his entire chest, arms, and up both sides of his neck—was traced by painful looking scarring and scar tissue.

Magnus Feldraug’s body was completely marred. It was as if the tattoo artist who had done the work had completely fucked up, dug too deep, and he had never recovered. Or, the tattoos were a cover to hide the scars.

“Odin save me,” I gasped, murmuring as he stepped closer. “What happened to you?” I wanted to reach out and touch the raised flesh of his chest, where the scarring was quite awful. It wasn’t a sense of retreating or withdrawing that struck me . . . it was a sense of wonder.

“It’s a long story, silvermoon.” His voice was deep now that he stood so close.

I could have touched him if I wanted, yet I was too afraid. I swallowed hard and glanced over my shoulder at the moon. “Seems like we have some time.”

I tried to give him a small smile, but his flat, expressionless face remained. He hadn’t invited my scrutiny, my touch, or the look on my face. I felt like I was intruding on an intimate moment the draug had been having. It made me feel guilty.

“You don’t pull back,” he said, tilting his head curiously. “That’s new.”

“Am I supposed to be . . . disgusted?”

“Most people are, Ravinica.”

I looked into his silver-gray eyes and said nothing.

He inspected my golden orbs, a flash of something dangerous in his expression. “Then again, you aren’t like most people, are you?”

“You know I’m not, Magnus. I’m a bog-blood.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

I took a step back, fighting against the urge to ask my questions and impose on Magnus’ life. I supposed it didn’t matter what he was doing here, or why he was here in the middle of the night. He didn’t bother me, didn’t faze me, and I made sure to show it on my face.

I wasn’t disgusted with him at all. If anything, I was allured by the mystery of him. It was a puzzle I wanted to solve, and now I’d been given my first opportunity to do so.

“Seems like we’re both looking for something,” I said, leaving it at that. I gestured around us at the endless shelves of tomes and scrolls.

His eyes flashed again. “Indeed, silvermoon.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I croaked.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to devour me whole.”

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