The Hour of Dust and Ashes Read Online Free PDF Page B

definitions. “Any of these interest you?” He turned the book so I could read right side up.
    Rex leaned over my shoulder as I scanned the six sketches, finding one that was very similar to the mark on my shoulder—a curved, incomplete arrow-shaped symbol with two slashes and a dot, though it lacked the correct combination of slashes and dots.
    “We can do them in traditional tattoo ink or we can do them in Throne Tree ink. Tats will run you about eighty, and the tree ink will cost you a couple hundred to a couple thousand, depending on what you want.”
    Rex pointed. “Ooh, I like this one.”
    “I’m not buying,” I said to the artist. “I already have one. I just want to know what the hell it means because it’s not on this page.”
    That caught his and Rex’s undivided attention. “Let me see,” they said at the same time.
    I drew in a deep breath, turned, and tugged my shirt down over my shoulder, exposing the mark on my shoulder blade. Since we shared a home together,Rex would see the mark eventually. The bigger deal I made about it, the more hell he’d give me.
    The artist came around the counter and studied the mark, letting out a low whistle. “You got this and you don’t know what it means?”
    Rex’s laugh and the smart-ass comment that was about to come out of his mouth died a premature death thanks to the murderous glare I gave him.
    “No,” I answered the artist, truthfully. “I know it’s a truth mark, but that’s about it.”
    “Well, it’s an old version of a truth mark, one that signifies truth between lovers or a mated couple. These are illegal for humans, you know that, right?”
    “The only illegal ones are the death marks,” Rex said, working it out for himself.
    I didn’t respond. I
hadn’t
known. And I seriously doubted Hank had known that either when he marked me. As angry as we both were at the time, he’d never intentionally give me a death mark. Although, since I was no longer one hundred percent human, I was pretty sure the ink wouldn’t work in the same way on me as it would on your average person.
    “That’s hard-core, man.” Impressed, the darkling went back behind his counter. “Your work’s not bad,” he told Rex, mistakenly attributing the mark to him.
    Oh boy.
    A blinding grin split Rex’s face. “Why, thank you. It keeps my old lady”—his hand dropped possessively onto my shoulder—“in line.”
    I gave the artist a tight smile and ground the heelof my boot into the top of Rex’s foot. He hissed, but I kept my attention firmly on the artist. “Is it normal for the mark to get warm when I’m near the person with the corresponding mark?”
    He nodded. “Yep.”
    “How close do we have to be to feel it? Could I feel it if the guy was upstairs or in the building next door?”
    “You should, yeah.”
    My gut tightened into a wary ball. “What if he was that close and it didn’t respond at all?”
    “Then he isn’t where you think he is … or he’s dead.”
    Shit. “Thanks,” I said and then hurried out without another word.
    Rex caught up with me at Hank’s door. “So. He’s not up there or he’s dead. Not a whole hell of a lot you can do about either one, I’m thinking.”
    “Rex?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Stop thinking.” I faced him, finally at my Rex limit for the day. “In fact, stop talking. Stop egging me on.”
    “Fine,” he said without a hint of remorse. “Just admit you’re crushing on the siren and I will.”
    Count. Just count until you don’t want to wring his neck.
    I ignored Rex yet again and instead pressed Hank’s buzzer before stepping back, biting on the inside of my cheek and staring up at the dark windows.
Come on, Hank. A light. A light coming on is all I want to see.
    Nothing.
    Growing more concerned by the second, I pulledout the spare key Hank had given to me for emergency purposes only, unlocked the door, and ran up the stairs.
    I hesitated at the landing, my heart pounding. The tat artist’s “dead”