Wicked Soul (Ancient Blood #1)(78)
Warin eased down on the couch, plucking the present from the table to study the wrapping for a moment.
I was really quite excited to see if he would like it, as I had put a great deal of time and thought into it, but I did my best not to rush him.
Finally, Warin carefully unwrapped the paper, his fingers deftly undoing the tape and ribbon until the framed picture was finally between his hands.
It was the charcoal drawing of him I’d been working on while we got to know each other, set on the background of a sunrise similar to the one on my wall he’d admired so much.
Warin stared at with a completely blank expression for the longest time, and for a moment I worried he didn’t like it. Then his eyes softened and he let his finger slide over the canvas in a featherlight caress.
“Do you like it?” I asked, incapable of holding back my anticipation any longer.
“It’s… very beautiful.” He finally lifted his gaze from the picture to my face and held my gaze until I began to fidget, heat rising in my cheeks. There was so much emotion in his blue eyes… which made me completely uncomfortable, so my brain decided to spit information at him to ease the awkwardness I felt under his intense focus.
“The sunrise is made mainly in pastel crayons, and as you can see, I did you mostly in charcoal, but I've just used that to highlight the colors of the sky, emphasizing the light. It was really hard to capture the glow of your skin without clashing with the sun, so I had to put in some blue and purple tones in as a contrast, but your features were just so easy to get right. Almost like what drawing one of the old Roman statues would be like—perfect balance and contouring," I rambled.
Warin leaned back in the couch, a half-smile on his face. “I appreciate your gift very much, little one. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I mumbled, clearing my throat in an attempt not to word-vomit all over him again.
“Does this mean you are done drawing me?” he asked.
“Oh… well…” I bit my lip and tried to find the courage to ask something I’d wanted to since the first time he fed me his blood. “I know you have… a couple tattoos. The one on your arm, and… on your collarbone?” I’d glanced that one when he’d asked me to bite his shoulder.
“Yes?”
“Would you maybe be okay with me drawing them?”
His eyebrows rose. “You wish to draw my tattoos?"
"Yeah, from what I've seen of them, they look really cool, and it would be so insanely amazing to trace up real, centuries-old tattoos.” I frowned. “Er, if… they’re from your human years, of course. Can you get ink after…?”
“It’s impossible to permanently mark vampire skin. They are from my human years.” He sighed good-naturedly. "If it will please you to draw them, I don’t mind.”
I think I squealed a little bit, if Warin’s chuckle was an indicator, but I was way too excited care. I jumped up and speed-walked to get my sketchbook and pencils (because running would be too undignified). When I returned, he was standing up, and just as I realized that wait, this had to be done shirtless, Warin would be topless, he easily un-tugged his crisp shirt, pulling it over his head in one, swift motion that made the muscles in his torso flex and contract in a most hypnotic way.
And then there he stood there, right in front of me, bare from the waist up so I could see the entirety of his muscled, lean upper body.
It wasn’t that I hadn’t had my share of perverted fantasies of Warin naked, but… somehow, my imagination hadn’t been sufficient.
His skin was smooth and wintry, rippling over the tightest six-pack I’d ever seen. His pants hung low enough on his hips that I could just make out the top of a distinct “V,” and his chest broadened into well-defined pecs decorated with a gray-blue tattoo running along his collarbones. He wasn’t bodybuilder big, but he’d obviously been at his absolute physical peak when he was Changed.
The arm tattoo traveled all the way up his bicep and joined with the collarbone tattoo by his shoulders.
Oh, good goddess!
It wasn't until I pulled my eyes up high enough to notice his sly smirk that I realized I’d not only been thoroughly ogling him, but at some point I’d also started… panting? Oh, holy wow, Liv, way to be a fucking creepo!
"Uh…" I quickly looked down at my sketchpad, all the while pretending like I wasn't blushing. "They’re nice." Oh goddess, were they nice, stretched over hard muscle and smooth skin. So. Much. Bare. Skin.
"Hmm." That damned smirk was evident in his voice too. Yeah, I really hadn't been subtle.
I glanced up, willing myself into artist mode. With determination, I grabbed a pencil and walked over to him, careful to keep my eyes on his tattoos. They seemed reminiscent of tribal tattoos, but when I got closer, I could tell they’d not been made with modern needles. The edges weren’t as crisp, and his skin was slightly raised over them. I let my gaze follow the curve of the design, until the heat between my legs reminded me that I was balancing on the edge of being a creepster again.
Clearing my throat, I quickly stepped around him to see if he had more on his back.
He did.
“Oh, wow,” I mumbled at the intricate blue ink that ran the length and breadth of his spine. But instead of just geometric lines, it looked like it depicted a tree of some sort, intertwined with runes. Without thinking, I brushed my fingertips up along it, letting the raised skin tell me the story of every line that had gone into this piece of art. I’d never seen anything like it.