Page 43 of Baited

“Not today. I’m supposed to be showing my Izzy a good time.”

“You can if you want,” I interject. “I don’t mind, as long as you don’t fall asleep on me.”

“I expect you to be in the chair with me,” Blayn growls, and my core clenches. “This one is for my shoulder.”

With an ease and litheness his massive form belies, he flings himself into the torture chair and drags me onto his chest.

“Get on with it,” Blayn growls at Voyon. “The design we agreed on,” he adds as he moves his wing downwards so it’s hanging out of the chair and his shoulder is exposed.

And I’m lying over his great chest as he wraps one wing around me.

Voyon’s forehead wrinkles as he looks at our tableaux. I get the impression this isn’t the weirdest situation he’s been askedto tattoo someone in. He pokes at a few areas on the chair with his hands and tentacles which reveal various implements, including one long arm which unfolds in an unnecessarily complicated manner from the furniture.

A small hologram appears, projected from below, and Voyon pushes one tentacle inside it. The arm hums, and I feel Blayn relax under me. He inhales slowly, and there it is, the smile I catch the occasional glimpse of.

And the smile is for me.

BLAYN

The sound of the tattoo laser soothes me, although Izzy could do that on her own. Her scent is intoxicating, delicious as she settles into me, watching Voyon work. I tuck one hand behind my head and think of the things I ordered.

The things I’m having delivered to the pleasure house.

The things I can nest with.

All I need to do is work out how to nest before she sees. It has to be a good nest. No, it has to be thebestnest a Gryn ever made.

I don’t know what a nest is, other than I have to create one for my Izzy. The Izzy in my arms, warm against my chest.

The throbbing in my wound abates as the gentle burn of the laser tattoo kicks in. A burn I used to think was the best thing ever, but having Izzy is much better.

Two combined? It’s causing an ache elsewhere on my anatomy, and I shift slightly, much to Voyon’s disgust.

“Don’t move!” he orders.

His orders are the only ones I obey. Apart from those given to me by my mate.

Izzy traces her fingers over my older tattoos, following the lines of the symbols which describe my victories.

“What do these mean?” she asks me.

“You do not know?”

“I can’t…I can’t read this language or any other than my own. The translator I was given when I was taken from my planet is too basic,” Izzy says, dipping her head and her cheeks turning pinker than before.

There is a growl low in my chest. Voyon raises a warning tentacle, and I repress it.

“You were taken?”

“Yes, by some reptilian aliens with bad personal hygiene,” Izzy replies. “But it was a nova-year ago, and they let me go once we got to Trefa. Something about being made to return to their home planet. Anyway, I found work with Madame Birrix, and I try not to think about it much.”

She is silent for a while. I’m not sure what to say. I want to give her more ky-sses, but maybe my Izzy doesn’t need a ky-ss when she is sad.

“These ones”—I indicate on my left pectoral—“they represent the different species I have battled in the dome. These symbols”—I indicate my right pectoral—“are the games I have participated in.”

“You have all of that displayed on your body?”

“Where else should I put it? If I keep it in my head, the dark and the light”—I repress a shudder to the annoyed snort of Voyon—“it takes over. If I put it on my skin, the pain takes it all away.”

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