Jordyn (A Daemon Hunter 1)

"Well, considering the fact that I could kick your ass and your friendE'sass with my eyes closed, I'd say so," I snipped out, not liking his tone. I stood in front of his hulking girth, not flinching.

He surprised me by throwing his head back and bellowing out a hearty belly laugh. "You've got some steel balls," he said, pushing himself up from the couch and lumbering away from us. Reaching the far side of the room, he touched a discreet panel that was hidden to the naked eye. A vacuum-sealed door swung open with a splash of color tantalizing our eyes from beyond.

I gasped at the mirage of color that contradicted the stark whiteness of the room we were standing in. Stepping closer, I tried to peer around Anthony so I could get a better look in the space. Anthony stepped fully into the room, allowing Emrys and me to step in behind him. My mouth fell open once inside. Every square inch of the walls, ceiling and floors was filled with intricate airbrushed landscapes. Dozens of dragons, witches, goblins, fairies, and every other mystical being you could dream up were woven into the designs. Some were hidden behind trees in the landscape while others lurked in front of castles or villages. The detail was awe-inspiring and was clearly the same hand that had tattooed Emrys.

"Pretty amazing, huh?" Emrys breathed in my ear, making me shiver with awareness.

"It's pretty cool," I teased. "Especially after the freak show out there."

"Watch it, missy, or I might just tattoo a demon on your snarky ass," Anthony warned as he started pulling out supplies from the long airbrushed camouflaged cabinet that ran the length of one of the walls.

Why would he say that? What does he know about me?

"Relax. He only means since you're acting like a tough ass," Emrys mumbled for my ears only. He must have noticed the way I suddenly tensed up.

It was just the surprise of hearing someone outside of my circle refer to Daemons. Even so, the idea of actually having one tattooed on my ass was downright puke-worthy.

"Only if I'm kicking the demon's ass," I replied.

"Sweetheart, ain't no one doing that. They're vapor, nothing of substance," Anthony answered, pointing to the only chair in the room. I looked at the chair appraisingly, not even aware it was there until he pointed it out. Like the cabinet, it was just another extension of the same airbrushing that covered the walls.

"This really is amazing," I admitted, studying the chair. "Why hide it?"

"I have my reasons," Anthony answered, his genial tone gone.

Emrys shot me a warning glance. Biting back a sarcastic comment, I settled in the chair. It probably wasn't wise to piss off an artist before he permanently put his ink stamp on my skin.

"So, pick your poison," Anthony said a little more jovially as he indicated the walls that surrounded me.

"I can pick something from this?" I asked excited as I stood up and studied the walls more critically. There were literally thousands of things to choose from. I wouldn't have minded a kickass dragon like Emrys's, but pretty much felt that would be ultra cliché and borderline psycho to get the same tat as the guy I liked. Looking past the bigger designs, I studied the smaller pictures that would have been lost next to their larger counterparts if not for the minute details that made them appear lifelike. I circled the room twice before stopping beneath the one picture that seemed to have a trancelike effect on me.

"I want that one," I said with finality, pointing above my head to a unique butterfly that morphed from flaming shades of red to a vibrant shade of purple.

"Good choice," Emrys murmured with approval.

I didn't need his approval, but it did give me a little bit of pleasure, knowing that he liked what I picked.

"Why?" Anthony asked.

"Why what?" I asked, confused at his odd question.

"What is it about that particular picture that speaks to you? Marking your body should not be entered into lightly. Your body is your temple and should be treated with the utmost sacredness. What one word describes how you feel when you look at it?" he asked, studying me with intensity.

His words struck a chord within me, and I completely understood without a shadow of a doubt what the picture meant to me. "Free," I said without hesitation. "It doesn't give a shit about anything else but being free, shedding its old self in the process. Becoming something so much better, so much more important, something unforgettable," I added with passion, fighting back sudden tears.

Both of them seemed taken aback by my words as they studied me intently.

"It seems free," I said lamely, trying to keep my voice natural.

"Yes, it's free, but at what cost?" Anthony asked, pointing to the destruction that was left behind the trail of the butterfly as it morphed from one shade to the next. Flames licked their way up the path the butterfly had flown destroying everything it left behind.

Perhaps that's why it appealed to me so much. If I was ever set free, would I leave nothing but destruction in my wake?

"Freedom is a battle," I answered, agreeing with him.

"Where do you want it?" he asked, obviously satisfied with my answer.

"Here," I said, pointing to my left shoulder blade.