[Isolde]
He threw his shirt back on in one rough motion, then crossed the space between us in three long strides. His hands clamped down on my shoulders firmly, eyes locked on mine.
I wasn’t sure what he was searching for there: answers, maybe? Confirmation that I wasn’t losing my mind or he wasn’t losing his. But the crease between his brows and the tight set of his jaw didn’t give off much to read.
First, he couldn’t see the marks on my arm. Now he was acting like the tattoo on his back wasn’t supposed to exist.
And then it hit me.
That serpent tattoo hadn’t been there before. I knew because I’d stripped him on the night I’d almost killed him in that bathtub. I’d studied every inch of him then, catalogued every scar, every mark. There had been no snake and such a bold tattoo would h
