Page 157 of Legacy
Not wild. Not unleashed.
Contained.Controlled.
“The only reason red touches my world…” His voice is low.
Grave.
Devastating.
“…is becauseyou’rein it.”
My heart stutters.
“You think the red is an homage to the girl youwere? To what we had?”
He takes a step closer, voice measured.
“No. It’s a dedication. To the life Iwant. And the woman I love.”
He turns his back to me.
Fury rises in my throat, until I see his hands move to the hem of his shirt.
In one smooth motion, he pulls it off.
A gasp escapes me before I can stop it.
The wings.
The massive, black tattered wings that span the breadth of his back—the same ones I used to trace with my fingertips, soft and reverent, five years ago—now have veins of red ink feathering through the black.
The crimson bleeds through the frayed edges of each plume like fire licking the ruin.
Exactly where my hands used to rest.
He turns around and I forget how to breathe.
His body iscovered.
Ink wraps his arms like thorns, barbed and deliberate, twisting around vivid roses and soft carnations that bloom across his skin.
Our flowers.
Realistic. Tangled.
The blossoms are interrupted only by two small symbols; one carved like a lion’s mark, the other a bull’s crest.
Leo. Taurus.
Us.
On his right bicep, the scales of justice sit perfectly balanced, unmarred.
Clean and ordered.
Like me, maybe. Or howhesees me.
My eyes drop to his chest, there, right over his heart, is a ruby. Cracked down the center, glowing with inkwork so rich it looks like it burns beneath his skin.
