Page 70 of Tempest Rising

He shifted closer, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path along the curve of my neck. The subtle pressure sent a shiver cascading down my spine, my breath catching in my throat. Heat pooled low in my stomach, anticipation coiling tight—until a different warmth bloomed beneath my shoulder blade, distinct from the pleasure Mason's touch ignited.

It started as a faint pulse beneath my shoulder blade, spreading outward in steady waves that made the rest of the room feel colder by comparison. It wasn’t unpleasant—far from it—but it was impossible to ignore. I shifted uncomfortably, reaching back with my hand, my fingers brushing against the spot like I could somehow soothe it.

Mason’s sharp eyes caught the movement instantly. He sat up straighter, the bed creaking softly under his weight as his dark gaze locked on me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, with that quiet intensity that always made me feel seen.

I hesitated, my fingers pausing where they pressed against the heat. “It’s… my tattoo,” I said softly, glancing over my shoulder at him. “Something’s happening. It feels… different.”

His brows furrowed, and without another word, he shifted closer, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. “Let me see,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Swallowing hard, I turned my back to him and tugged the sheet down from my shoulder, exposing the mark. Cool air kissed my skin, a stark contrast to the pulsing heat beneath the tattoo. The room was silent except for the faint rustle of fabric and the sound of Mason’s measured breathing, deep and steady, though I sensed the tension he was trying to suppress.

His touch came a moment later—warm, calloused fingers brushing lightly against my skin. I flinched, not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of the sensation. His hand stilled immediately.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost a whisper.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just… intense.”

He resumed his exploration, his fingertips tracing the lines of the coiled dragon etched into my skin. His touch was deliberate, reverent even, and I couldn’t suppress the shiver that rippled through me. Somewhere deep inside, I felt a faint hum, as if the mark itself were coming alive beneath his fingers.

“It’s changing,” Mason murmured, his voice tinged with awe. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin as his thumb brushed over the mark. “There’s… a flame now. Dark gray. Like a stone.”

I turned my head slightly, trying to catch his expression, but his focus was entirely on the tattoo. “Dark gray? What does thatmean?” I asked, my voice shaking just enough to betray the nervous energy coiled in my chest.

He didn’t answer right away. His thumb lingered on the mark, and I felt a faint ripple of energy beneath my skin, like the tattoo itself was responding to him. Finally, he exhaled, his breath brushing against my back.

“It’s my flame. A part of me… tied to you,” he said quietly, the words heavy with meaning. “ But there's another flame here. A shadow.”

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. I pulled the sheet back up over my shoulder and turned to face him, the vulnerability I felt mirrored in his dark, searching eyes.

“It started with Ciaran,” I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. My cheeks burned as I looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “The mark first appeared when we kissed.”

His hand stilled, his brows furrowing slightly.

“Ciaran?” he asked, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of something I couldn’t quite name. “Who’s Ciaran?”

“He’s my mate... supposedly,” I admitted, my cheeks flushing with heat.

Mason’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he leaned back slightly. “Ciaran… haven’t heard him.”

I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and the uncertainty gnawed at me. The silence stretched on, and I couldn’t stop the nervous words that tumbled out of my mouth.

“I—I didn’t know what it meant at first,” I said, my voice trembling. “And I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared you’d be… upset or—”

“Tess.” His voice cut through my rambling, quiet but firm. The sound of it steadied me, as if he’d reached out and physically pressed a hand to my shoulder to ground me. He turned to face me fully, his eyes softer now, though still unreadable. “I’m not upset. And I’m not angry.”

“You’re not?” I blinked, my heart stuttering in my chest.

He shook his head, a small smile curving his lips. “No. It’s unusual for a human, I suppose. But polyamorous relationships aren’t exactly uncommon in our world. And… if anything, I’m relieved.”

“Relieved?” I echoed, confused.

He reached out then, his hand cupping my cheek with a tenderness that made my chest ache. The heat of his palm seeped into my skin, grounding me in the moment. “Because it means you’ll have more people to protect you. To care for you.” His thumb brushed against my cheekbone, and I leaned into his touch, my eyes stinging with unshed tears.

The knot of tension in my chest loosened, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t walking away. He was… accepting. Maybe I wasn’t as broken as I thought. Maybe I wasn’t asking for too much after all.

“But…” His smile turned playful, a spark of mischief lighting his dark eyes. “My gargoyle side? He’s not too thrilled about sharing you just yet.”

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