The Tattoo Artist's Mate

As in, her bloody, fucking stupid, tattoo.

Needs must.

Isla had dithered for months over where to go and how get rid of that blasted stupid and she hadn’t even wanted it, tattoo, that Julian had insisted on. At first, she was more concerned about sorting her life out than being de-inked or whatever you called it.

Thank God she’d never moved in with Julian. Even when he’d tried to pull the “I’m your Dom, you will live with me” stunt. He’d about begged, but she’d stayed firm, thank heaven. Then he’d suggested he moved in with her instead. Lucky for her, Isla had a ready-made excuse, even though she wasn’t sure why she needed it. It was her mum’s house, not hers. And she was only house sitting on the understanding there were no extra inhabitants.

That was a lie. Her mum was the most open-minded person she knew, but it was a good get out. Whatever it was that warned her to take things slowly she had no idea, but boy did she give thanks for it.

“I told you, I watch over my own.”

That damned voice in her head again. And a growl? Isla glanced around. The alley was almost deserted. A black cat slunk across from one doorway to another. Too far away for her to hear a noise from it. Two schoolboys jostled each other as they came out of the chippy, a poke of chips and a can of something fizzy in their hands. No one else around. She must stop eating too much before bed. Maybe she needed to switch from coffee to water?

It was next step time. As in ditch the crappy tattoo, not switch to water. Isla had researched laser removal but wondered if it might be better just to change it somehow. There was pain, and yeah, there was pain. If she’d discovered one thing from Slimy Julian, it was she really didn’t do pain. Plus, as there was no guarantee a laser removal would take it all away, maybe a wee change might be better. It was enough of an incentive for her to at least ask. After all, Julian wasn’t a lot to hide as roses, a wallflower or a snake or something? She was partial to wallflowers and got the heebie-jeebies over snakes. Maybe not a snake then. Something pleasant. Trailing ivy? Hearts and flowers? Glencoe? Nope that might be a bit too controversial. Whatever, she’d suffer that amount of pain it gave her for a good cause.

After a long while, cussing, moaning, vowing to cut the said Julian’s balls off—that was once she’d read up on a D/s relationship and realized that was what they hadn’t had—Isla was ready to say fuck him, forget him, and properly move on.

Hence this first peek at “Bear at the Bare”.

What a stupid name for a tattoo parlor. After all, why Bare? For that matter, why Bear? Okay she’d seen a picture of the bloke who ran it, and yeah, he was big, hairy, and she could see him as a grizzly, but please. Why so fucking twee? Did he make sure all his tattoos had bare-naked ladies peeking out from some shrubbery? If so, he could go fly. She didn’t want ladies bare or otherwise on her skin. Or men. She wasn’t an exhibitionist.

Isla hesitated and took a deep breath. Pull up your big girl panties time. It was the one place recommended the most. Lots of five-star reviews. Not just for, as one customer put it, “the hot as hell if he played his cards right, he could have me” tattoo artist, but because he did a superb job. Artist, it was proclaimed, was an understatement. The photos on his web seemed to confirm that.

If only he wasn’t a MacDonald. Her granny would have a fit about her “puir wee bairn” putting her body in the hands of a MacDonald in any which way. Granny Campbell still hadn’t forgotten or forgiven the so-called treachery of the Clan MacDonald at Glencoe. The fact that the battle—or massacre depending on which side you supported—was over 400 years earlier didn’t sway her. Granny Campbell was a staunch supporter of her clan and its history, and had done her best to make Isla understand why.

For Isla it was all a long while ago, and if that was bad of her so be it. One of her best mates at school had been a Campbell. So what? Isla was more concerned with getting the best re-tattoo possible than centuries-old grudges. After all, was he going to come at her with a broadsword or a musket?

As long as he wasn’t one of the old guard, it wasn’t likely. Maybe he’d refuse to touch her.

She heard that damned growl again.

Chapter Two

Gaspar MacDonald wiped over the addition to his clan mate’s ever-growing sleeve, and applied the moisturizer with a smirk.

“You know the rules now.”

Josh nodded. “Ad nauseam. I won’t do anything daft like showering and so on. Looks good, eh?” He held his arm out to inspect it in the mirror.

“Well, duh, look who did it?” Gaspar smirked. “Only the best will do.”

Josh rolled his eyes. “Always one to hide your excellence under a bush, eh? Ever the understatement.”

Gaspar laughed. “I tell it like it is. You gonna run out of room on here soon, bro. Best hope this one is a lad, eh.”

The fifth bear cub ran away merrily with its siblings in an intertwined dance that made Gaspar’s chest feel tight. He’d had the privilege of designing this sleeve from the beginning, when Josh had first encountered his mate. The man had staggered into the studio as soon as it opened, begged for coffee and anything, anything to eat and told Gaspar he’d met his life partner. He confessed they’d spent all night sitting on the beach—no sex, just cuddling to keep warm—and waited to watch the sun come up before setting home.

In a whirlwind romance even for shifters, he’d wedded and bedded and got her with five adorable cubs in the space of six years. What’s more, the two were still as besotted with each other as the day they’d first clapped eyes on each other. Mates, husband and wife and Dom and sub. Something that Gaspar was beginning to realize he craved for himself. Anyone would think he was turning forty soon, instead of thirty-five, but hooking up with random women when the need struck him to scratch that itch had long lost its appeal. He was ready, more than ready, for permanence. If only he could find the fucking time to go searching for “the one”. Dreams were all well and good, but no substitute fro the real thing. Okay, he woke up wet and wanting, and knew enough that they meant something—the shadowy woman in them was going to be important to him, but not how and when. He needed to know her now. Before his bloody cock shriveled up from underuse. If only she’d just appear and show him who she was, and let him get laid and sated.

He was so busy, he barely had time for toilet breaks, let alone take a day off to go mate hunting. And if he did, where the fuck would he start? Shifter mating wasn’t a website easily found.

Josh grinned and punched Gaspar playfully into the shoulder. Gaspar rolled with it and bared his teeth at the younger guy, while swallowing a growl. They were on their own in the shop so he could let his grizzly show a little, but fuck only knew why his inner beast was so volatile today. It’s as though his bear was expecting something momentous to happen. Yeah, he was getting maudlin in his old age.

Happenings didn’t happen for him.

“You know darn well, I dinnae give two hoots about whether this one is another girl,” Josh stated. “Besides you know my Bella. Balls of steel, and the girls take after her. Wee Aimee is already shifting, and she’s not in her teens yet. Just five and growling like an adult. Precocious or what? Still, we’ll see what we’ve been given and love him or her for who they are.”

Fantastic sentiments and ones that Gaspar hoped he got the chance to emulate one day. “You can’t do better than your Bella.” He mimed a kiss. “If she had a sister I’d be at the front of the queue.”