Claimed By The Ashen Lord

ARIELLA'S POV

I was three hours into Matteo's phoenix tattoo when the door opened. I didn't look up immediately. Walk in happens, I just kept my hand steady, the needle tracing the outer edge of the left wing.

Then the air in the room felt different. I paused and looked up.

A man walked in. He didn't look dangerous. He was dangerously handsome in a way that made me forget to look away. Expensive coat, dark long hair, tall, huge with grey eyes that shimmered under the light like glass.

I didn't like how the awareness of him made my stomach flutter.

His grey eyes found mine, and I lost my place entirely. The buzzing of the tattoo jolted me out of my thoughts and I quickly pulled myself together and turned back to Matteo's shoulder.

“We're booked,” I said, not looking up again. “You can check the website for next month's openings.”

I expected him to leave but he didn't. He just glanced at his phone with no expression on his face and replied, “I'll wait.”

His voice came out smooth and deep, and it made the air in the room feel thicker. I felt it in my chest. Matteo suddenly shifted in the chair, restless,and I realized I'd been staring.

“You can wait over there.” I motioned towards leather chairs by the window. “It's gonna take a while, probably three hours.”

He just let out a small ‘hmm’ and inclined his head as he crossed to the chairs and sat like he had all the time in the world.

This just added to the strange things I've been experiencing for a while. Clients who came back, sitting in my shop watching me while pretending to read. Arguments that fizzled down the moment I walked past. A barista who never once charged me for my order. Three months of it and not one explanation.

I had typed every search term I could think of in my phone to explain what was going on with me, but the results kept getting stranger and the answers kept getting further away and I still had no name for what was happening to me. I couldn't even tell Isla because she'll think I'm crazy.

Then I understood for the first time that whatever was happening to me was getting worse.

“Well I'd be damned.” I muttered beneath my breath as I continued inking Matteo.

After a while, I looked up at the man and realized he had been staring. Not at the shop surrounding, not at the portfolio across from him. His gazed was locked at me.

I cleared my throat and focused on my work. I still had two clients waiting and there was no time to stare at a hot stranger.

I finished Matteo's phoenix tattoo and got over to the next client. The only sound that was heard was the buzzing of my tattoo machine and small talks I had with my clients during sessions. Tessa got the half sleeve she'd been planning for months and Xavier added a smoky pattern to his collection, and all through this, the man at the corner sat perfectly still and watched me with those dark unreadable eyes.

It made me feel strange, hot and off balance, like I'd tripped over a stair in the dark.

When it was ten, all my clients had left, except him. My wrist and back ached, I was already calculating how fast I could get this done, so I removed my gloves, dropped them in the bin, and walked over to him.

“You’re patient,” I said. “I’ll give you that.”

Then he stood up, his huge frame almost intimidating. “I'd like a tattoo.”

“Yeah, I got that. Any specific design?”

“Something small and unique.”

“Uhm, that's not a design. Placement ideas? Reference images?” I asked, getting impatient.

He was quiet for a moment. “Design what you think will suit me.”

A laugh threatened to climb up my throat. “You want me to design something for you without knowing anything about you?”

He expression was indifferent, “Yeah.”

“You know that's not how this works mister.”

“Just design something custom, you're an artist.” he said it like he was getting impatient with conversation.

I should have refused, I should have told him it was late and I was tired, and if he wanted a custom piece he should book an appointment. But there was something in the way he was looking at me that made the refusal die in my throat.

I just picked my pencil and headed to the drawing table. I picked a fresh sheet. I didn't stop to think about it, I just allowed my hand do the drawing. I tried to pull back—to stop and think, but it kept pulling and my fingers kept moving.The design came out fast, faster than any sketches I'd done previously.

What emerged was a stylish fiery pattern spread across the sheet, clean black lines and red pattern with spaces that made it look alluring. It was stark and elegant and somehow ancient looking. Like something carved onto a stone rather than on paper.

I stared at it, my pulse fast. I had no idea where it came from. I had never drawn anything like that before.

“Is this okay by you?” My voice came out steadier than I felt.

He looked at the sketch, then back at me. Something flickered behind his eyes, gone before I could catch it.

"Yes."

"Where?" I said as I dropped the sketch on the table and reached out to arrange my equipments.

He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled out the left part. The right part of his arm and shoulder was completely marked with ink. He pointed a spot that hasn't been marked from the middle and motioned downward, to his fore arm.

I blinked twice and gulped before I cleaned the skin, applied the stencil and reached for the tattoo gun with hands I was trying to keep steady.

Then the needle touched his skin. The fierly pattern took shape beneath my needle, with careful lines and shading. The man didn't flinch, didn't breathe any differently than he was sitting in the waiting area. I could feel his attention on me, not on the tattoo.

I finished the final stroke and set the gun down. My hand ached. But my pulse was doing something erratic against my throat, and I couldn't look at him.

"Let me clean the excess ink," I said, reaching for the napkin.

Then his hand closed over my wrist gently.

His thumb settled against the place where my pulse beat hardest, and I knew he could feel it thrashing under his touch.

The air in the room suddenly tightened, then he stood up slowly, unfolding his full height and I was suddenly caged between the table and his chest, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin that I has to raise my head to meet his eyes.

His eyes weren't grey anymore. It burned with something that should have terrified me—but it didn't.

“I don't want this moment to end yet,” he murmured, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. His knuckles grazed my temple, feather-light and I almost felt weak in the knees.

My heart skipped a beat. I should have pulled away, but I didn't.

“I'm sorry what?” I managed to mumble, still lost in the moment, my gaze not leaving his.

His phone buzzed and it shattered the silence as he snapped out. He let go of my wrist and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

His expression darkened as he looked at the screen. His jaw clenched. Whatever he saw there, was definitely bad.

“I have to go,” he said as he pulled his shirt over the fresh tattoo. No bandage, no proper cleaning and no aftercare instructions.

He was halfway through the door before I finally found my voice.

“Wait….you need to wrap….you can't just…..”

“Another time.” and with that he was gone. I realized as the door clicked shut and the bell chimed.

“What the……” My gaze still on the door. Then it dropped to my work station.

I sighed. Two hours. A full custom piece. And he just—left. I didn't even get his name.I pressed my tongue to my cheek. I felt somehow insulted and impressed, I just gave up and started cleaning my workshop.

I walked to my car, lost in thoughts. But as I reached to start the engine, I stopped. My hands were glowing. Not a reflection. Not the amber wash of the streetlight bleeding through the glass.

Something from inside, faint and gold, like ink rising to the surface.

I turned them over slowly. I knew every mark on my hands. Every line, every tattoo, every scar from years of handling needles. But this wasn’t mine.

The glow pulsed once. Slow and steady, like something breathing, It didn't hurt.

I pressed my back against the seat, eyes closed and did not move for a very long time.