2. Barythaya
BARYTHAYA
T he hum of the tattoo gun usually helped calm the anxiety that always threatened to overwhelm me. The vibrations were steady, predictable, unlike the life I had to claw my way out of. A childhood that was too ugly to look at for too long, one that left scars deeper than ink could hide. But the ink helped. It was my therapy. Every piece of skin I worked on, every design etched into someone else's flesh, was like taking back a little bit of control. That's why I created Sanctuary Tattoo . It wasn't just a tattoo parlor, it was a place to forget, to heal. Even the café in the back served as a kind of refuge for the broken souls who drifted through my doors.
I was one of those broken souls. I guess that's why I was the way I was. My experiences as a child only heightened my emotions. I felt things. I always had, ever since I could remember. The trauma I'd been through had cracked me open in a way that left me raw, exposed to emotions, to energy. That's what they called it now—an empath. But for me, it was like standing in the middle of a hurricane with no shelter. People's feelings would slam into me like waves—joy, pain, lust, anger—it didn't matter. I felt it all. And sometimes, it nearly drowned me. Which is why the hum of the tattoo gun brought a sense of peace with it. A sense of numbness and accomplishment.
I had worked hard to build what I had. After running away from home at sixteen I started to work. Finished high school and assisting a tattoo artist, I paid my way through school. I learned everything I needed as a business major and saving what I could, I moved to Washington, found myself a business partner, and opened up my shop.
Port Townsend was a small town, and the freaks, like us, weren't very much welcome. The last few months had been difficult, and I feared I either had to move or close. But I had my locals and word had slowly started to spread. Not as much as we would have liked, but enough to keep us open.
Tonight was a quiet night, as most Tuesday nights were, which was probably why I was so startled when the door chimed and they walked in. I knew who they were as soon as I saw them, and my instincts went on full alert. But the energy that came from them was opposite to the rumors I'd heard about the bikers. Anyone you spoke to told us to stay away from this bunch. The rumors were not all good, although I had to admit, every once in a while I'd speak to Quiver or Sol up at the Inn and they always told me how nice the men were. How handsome. I laughed it off but I always wondered how long it would take for them to come into my place. All were welcome there, so why not them?
The six men looked rough...dangerous. They wore their leather jackets like second skins. The air shifted as they entered the small parlor, it thickened with their presence.
The Royal Bastards had finally paid me a visit and I wasn't sure what to expect.
They were trouble with a capital T, and I had to admit, I was intimidated. My eyes looked over at Ray, my best friend and business partner, who was back, managing the cafe. She nodded a me in reassurance. Skye, our other tattoo artist, wasn't around tonight. She'd taken the night off which meant it was just us holding the fort, but I knew my girl had her hand on that rifle behind the counter and was ready to rain fire on these guys if they got out of hand.
The man standing up front by the counter, his energy hit me the hardest. The others brought their own storm with them, but he… he was different. His energy wasn't just dark—it was tortured . Haunted. I could sense it. The weight of something that ate at him from the inside out. And damn if it didn't pull me in like a riptide. It didn't help that he was tall, his hair a dirty blonde, disheveled as if he spent all his time running his hands through the thick locks. He had this look on his face as if he were constantly on alert. He watched everything, his bright blue eyes glancing everywhere as if memorizing the location and everything and everyone in it.
I looked up and as his eyes locked onto mine, it was like a magnet drew us together by something more primal than either of us could control. His stare was intense, stormy. The kind that could strip you bare without saying a word. I felt it ripple through me, a hot, slow burn that started in my gut and spread through my chest and down between my thighs. Although dangerous, I liked it.
One of the men, one I recognized as the Fire Chief's son, grinned, breaking the tension. "Heard you're the best tattoo parlor in town."
"Well, you heard right," I said, barely glancing at him, my eyes still caught on the man to his right. He hadn't broken the connection either. His lips twitched into the ghost of a smile.
"Well, it's nice to meet you…" he reached a hand out and I tore myself away from the man's gaze to shake his hand.
"Name's Brim."
"I-I'm Barythaya."
"Barythaya," he sounded it out and nodded. "Cool name."
He gripped the man behind him by the shoulder. The man removed his cowboy hat and nodded at me. "This here's Saddle, that idiot over there is Guardian, you've got Hart…"
"I know you. You're Quiver's husband."
Hart grinned at me. "Yup. In the flesh."
I let out a slow breath, controlling my anxiety. It was a lot of emotions hitting me at once, pride emanated from Hart at the sound of Quiver's name.
"I know your wife too," I uttered to Brim.
"She's hard to miss," he gushed.
I couldn't help but smile at them as he continued to introduce the men, and then he grabbed the man to his right by the back of his neck. "This newbie here is our Chaplain, Virgil ."
My eyes fell on the man whom I had this instant connection with and I felt the heat crawl up my cheeks. I was a thirty-six-year-old woman feeling sheepish over this stranger, how ridiculous.
"Virgil. As in Dante's Inferno?"
He simply nodded, barely smiling. "So I'm told."
"What about Dante?" Brim asked.
"Virgil was Dante's guide through purgatory. He led him through the different levels in the book."
Brim nodded. "Makes sense as to why Bulldog chose you, brother," he smacked him on the shoulder and looked back at everyone. "Well, let's get this done, then," Brim said, stepping forward, but Saddle cut him off with a chuckle.
"Brim goes last, we all know he'll take forever deciding where he wants to put this thing," Saddle teased, slapping him on the back.
"I'm not here to baby you through picking out where to put your ink, man," Guardian muttered. "Let the artist do her job."
They were bantering, but I barely heard them. My focus was on Virgil, on the way his body moved toward mine like gravity was pulling him closer. He stood in front of me now, his presence overwhelming but not in a bad way. No, it was laced with something else. Something that made my skin prickle and my heart race.
"Let me guess," I said, arching an eyebrow as I leaned against the counter. "You're here for something small? Or you gonna let me cover up some of those other mistakes you're hiding?"
A grin spread across his lips, slow and wicked. "I don't do small ."
Heat rushed through me at the double meaning, and I had to fight to keep my calm. "Alright, big guy," I said, pushing off the counter. "Come on, sit down."
Virgil followed me, the weight of his gaze never leaving me, and when I pulled the chair out for him, he didn't hesitate to sit, leaning back like he owned the place. I grabbed my sketchbook and set it on the table in front of him.
"So," I began, flipping through blank pages. "What do you want and where do you want it?"
He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a strong, thick forearm already lined with ink, but there was space, deliberate like he'd been waiting for something specific to fill it. I glanced at his hands, large, also filled with ink, long thick fingers that sent a hot shiver down my spine.
"Here," he said, tapping the bare skin.
I blinked once then nodded before glancing up at him again. "What are you thinking?"
He hesitated for just a second, eyes flickering with something I couldn't quite place, then he reached into his vest pocket and took out a piece of paper, handing it to me, "A rune."
My hands stilled as I stared at the symbol. It was ancient, one I'd seen many times before, especially circling the Voodoo religion. "This rune?" I repeated, narrowing my eyes. "You know this isn't just a symbol, it's used for protection, right?"
His lips twitched again. "Yeah. That's the point."
"But it's a specific protection. This is the symbol of Marutukku."
"Now how do you know that?" Saddle asked from behind me.
I turned to look at them. "I studied ancient art and symbols or sigils such as these in college." I turned back to Virgil. "The occult intrigues me."
His eyes grew darker as he watched me. "Yeah, me too."
My cheeks flushed but I studied him for a moment, sensing the heaviness in his words. "What exactly are you trying to protect yourself from?"
Virgil leaned forward, his voice dropping just enough to make my pulse quicken. "Let's just say… I've got a few demons on my back I need to get rid of."
There was more to that, I could feel it, but I wasn't going to push. Not yet. I let the tension simmer between us, the charged energy palpable. "Alright, Virgil," I murmured, brushing my fingers over the space on his arm. His skin was warm under my touch, and I swore I felt him shiver. "But you should know, runes only work if you believe in what you're doing. You sure you're ready for that?"
He held my gaze, something hot and intense lingered in his eyes. "I've been ready for a long time."
I bit my lip, my heart racing a little faster. This wasn't just about ink—it was about whatever darkness had wrapped itself around him. And hell if I didn't want to know every inch of it.
"Well then," I whispered, my voice low and thick, "let's see what you're made of."
My fingers brushed against the soft paper as I sketched the rune he'd given me, each stroke deliberate, calculated. The weight of his gaze burned into me. There was something primal in the way he watched me, almost like he was waiting for me to see through him, to call him out on the secrets he carried like heavy chains. And maybe, just maybe, I was about to.
"You've dealt with the occult before," I said, not bothering to look up as I shaped the intricate lines.
"Once or twice," he murmured, his voice low, gravelly, like the shadows of whatever haunted him had settled deep in his throat.
I glanced over his broad shoulders and traced the other tattoos that aligned his arms. A crucifix was inked on his forearm, a rosary wrapped around the arm that led up to a skull.
"You're Catholic?"
"Unfortunately," he muttered.
I glanced up at him, his response nearly making me laugh. "You question it?"
"No. If there's something I know for certain is that there is a God. I don't know where the fuck he is at the moment, but there's no doubt in my mind he exists. What I'm even more positive about, is that where there's God there's the Devil. And that motherfucker likes to show up all the time where you least expect it. He's got front-row seats to all our sins.
I nodded. "Sounds like you know him personally."
He grunted. "A little too well. Let's just say we're intimate."
"Is that why you chose this specific rune?" I pressed, glancing at him from beneath my lashes.
He smirked, leaning back in the chair, arms resting on the sides like he was perfectly at ease. But I could feel the tension, the tightly coiled energy radiating from him. "I didn't think you were the type to ask so many questions."
I narrowed my eyes, setting the pencil down for a moment. "I'm not. But when someone walks in asking for a rune to ward off evil, it makes a girl curious."
The others were still milling around the shop, talking amongst themselves, but I could feel their eyes on us. Guardian was watching Virgil like he expected him to explode at any moment, while Brim and Saddle kept their distance, their conversation a mere hushed whisper as they took sips of the coffee Ray had offered them. But I didn't care about them right now. It was Virgil. Just him, who had my attention.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and I could feel the heat between us intensify, thick like smoke. "I hunt demons," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not here to ward off some bad dreams, Barythaya. I'm here because I need something stronger to keep the real monsters at bay."
My heart skipped a beat. He wasn't joking. His eyes were hard, intense, and they bore into me like he could see every part of my soul. I swallowed hard, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice as I whispered, "Demons? You're serious?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Dead serious."
Suddenly, I felt the weight of something dark, something old, wrap around him like a second skin. His aura—if you believed in that kind of thing—was like nothing I'd felt before. There was pain there, so much pain it nearly knocked the wind out of me. But there was also power. A dangerous, seductive kind of power that had me leaning closer without even realizing it.
I stood, brushing the hair out of my face as I grabbed the stencil. "Alright," I muttered, keeping my voice steady even as my pulse raced. "Let's get this on you before you attract something worse."
He chuckled, low and dark, but he didn't move as I positioned myself next to him. "I think I've already attracted the worst of it."
I stared down at him, his fingertips gliding along my inner thigh. I felt his warmth, a primal instinct beneath the man. I licked my lips, his gaze following the path and leaving its heat behind. I wondered what he would feel like right there, along my core.
I placed the design carefully onto his forearm, ignoring the urge I had to straddle the man. Instead, I grabbed my gun, and let the needle buzz to life in my hand. I hesitated for a moment before I placed it against his skin. His muscles tensed, but he didn't flinch, just kept watching me with those stormy eyes. As the needle sank into his flesh, I could feel the connection between us deepen, a thread of something unseen pulling us closer.
"You feel that, don't you?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
I didn't answer at first, focusing on the lines of the rune, but my heart was pounding in my chest. I felt it. Whatever the hell it was that connected us, was strong.
"You're not like the others," I said softly, letting the words slip out before I could stop myself.
He was silent for a moment, and then he said, "Neither are you."
I glanced up, and the intensity in his gaze made my breath hitch. This was more than just attraction. It was like we were two puzzle pieces, jagged and broken in the same places, fitting together perfectly.
"Is that why you've got your walls up?" he asked, his voice soft but probing. "Because you're afraid of me? Of what I'm making you feel?"
I met his gaze, the sound of the tattoo gun filling the silence between us. "You don't know anything about my walls."
He leaned in just slightly, enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. "Maybe not. But I know what it's like to keep the world out. To feel everything and wish you could feel nothing."
I blinked, the words hitting me harder than I expected. He wasn't wrong. Hell, he'd hit the nail right on the head. "And you think a tattoo is gonna keep all that at bay?" I asked, my voice a little sharper than I intended.
He didn't flinch. "No. But it'll buy me time. Buy us time," he gestured at the men.
I shook my head, biting my lip as I worked on the last line of the rune. "Whatever's after you, it's more than just demons, isn't it?"
For the first time, he looked away, his jaw tightening. "You could say that."
The energy between us buzzed like static in the air. I wasn't sure if it was him or the work we were doing, but it felt like something was building, something dangerous and electric. I wanted to ask more, to push him further, but I knew better. I wasn't ready for whatever answers he might give.
"There," I said, finishing the tattoo and wiping away the excess ink. The rune gleamed against his skin, black and perfect.
Virgil looked down at it, his fingers brushing lightly over the fresh ink. "Thanks."
I stood back, wiping my hands as I tried to shake off the intensity of what had just happened. "You might want to avoid pissing off any more demons while that heals."
He smirked, standing and rolling down his sleeve. "No promises."
As he turned to leave, he paused, his eyes catching mine one more time. "You ever feel like maybe you were meant for something more than just this place?"
I blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"
He stepped closer, his voice low and full of something I couldn't quite name. "You've got something in you, Barythaya. Something powerful. Maybe you should stop hiding it."
And just like that, he walked out, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding, wondering who the hell I'd just met and wanting more of that connection.