Page 67 of Bite of Sin

“Unless she found a permanent solution to it.”

My heart skipped at Zan’s words. No matter how hard I tried to calm it, and from the small smirk on his face when his eyes dropped to my chest, he caught it.

“What’s on your body that’s added?” he questioned, almost to himself.

My jaw clenched, and I realized it wouldn’t take him long to figure it out. This time when he reached for me, he spun me around until my chest hit the cage. Warner crouched, putting his face in front of mine. My fingers wrapped around the bars, and I squeezed them tightly, feeling Zan grip the hem of my tank top. Warner reached forward as if to cup my face, but he stilled when Zan spoke up again.

“I wouldn’t,” Zan warned dangerously. “I told you what would happen if you touched her.”

I swallowed thickly, knowing Zan wasn’t bluffing about killing him. A muscle in Warner’s jaw flexed as he glowered at Zan while keeping his hand inches from my face.

“I’m fine,” I whispered. I met Warner’s gaze and attempted to give him a small smile. “Don’t get yourself killed right now.”

“When did you get this tattoo?” Zan asked, lifting my shirt to reveal my lower back.

“Two years ago,” I answered honestly. Dread weighed down my limbs as he studied the artwork that had taken hours upon hours to finish. It took up my entire back, and I’d chosen to make it a landscape of the river because it was the first place I fell in love with after leaving Project Hope. Blue water wound up my spine, with trees and flowers surrounding it. It was beautiful, and the person who’d done it was a true artist. The details were immaculate and worth every hour I’d spent on a table while he tattooed me.

But it also served a greater purpose.

Because every single part of that tattoo had powdered hawthorn plant in the ink. That was the reason it took up my entire back. There needed to be enough in the tattoo ink for it to seep into my skin and stay. As long as I had this tattoo, I couldn’t be entranced. The hawthorn sat in my skin at all times, just like Warner’s bracelet did for him.

All the women in the group had one, and the men were slowly getting theirs. Warner was supposed to get his next year. Tattoo ink was hard to come by, and it was decided that women needed to have it first since vampires usually went for them before men.

“There’s no way,” Viggo mumbled. “Hawthorn in ink? I’ve never heard of that.”

Zan dropped my shirt before grabbing my arm and spinning me back around. “Is it the tattoo?”

“No.”

I could easily see that he didn’t believe me, and Pax stayed behind his brothers, staring at me with pity.

“She’s useless if that’s the case,” Viggo said pointedly. “If we get wrong information about Project Hope, it could ruin everything. We need to make sure it’s the truth.”

My value and chances of staying alive were declining with every word, and I searched for a weapon or anything that could get us out. Viggo was watching me intently, as if knowing what I was thinking, so I stayed pressed against the cage, not moving a muscle.

“What about you,Warner?” Zan spat out the name, lifting his eyes toward the cage. “You have ink too?”

“No,” Warner bit out.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Fuck you.”

Viggo stepped up next to me and reached inside the cage, snatching Warner’s arm. He yanked him close until he could reach his neck and then wrapped his hand around that, keeping Warner right in front of him.

“Take off your shirt,” Viggo repeated, keeping his eyes locked on Warner’s. It was clear he was trying to entrance him, and I let out a breath when Warner pretended to follow the direction and slipped off his shirt when Viggo released him. He raised his arms and spun in a slow circle, proving he didn’t have a tattoo.

“I’ve had eyes on Kali all week,” Zan murmured. “There’s no way she had time to slip him any hawthorn.”

“I did,” I protested.

Viggo was still standing next to me, and he glanced at Zan. “Hold her.”

“Wait. What are you doing—”

Zan pulled me away, wrapping his arms around mine and keeping them pressed to my sides. Viggo crouched down, and in a quick move, he snatched Warner’s ankle and pulled, sending him to the floor of the cage. He went down hard, hitting his head on the bar, and he spat out curses when Viggo gripped his pant leg and pulled it up to his knee. Warner tried kicking him away, but Viggo just pulled him forward, sliding Warner’s leg through the bars as far as it would go. Viggo did the same to the other leg, holding them tightly as Warner kicked and tried to crawl away.

“Get the fuck off me,” Warner snarled, panic rising in his voice that I was sure none of them missed.

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