Inked

thing to let the boys do the dirty work, but making the cut took a whole other kind of nerve. A nerve I didn’t have, either. The only times I had taken human life was in the heat of battle, or by accident.
    This was neither. This was cold blood.
    I stripped off my glove, revealing the armor, and climbed on top of the bed. I showed the Black Cat my hand. She must have known it was there—she had intimated as much—and yet she still flinched when she saw it. Flinched, as though I had struck her. She stared at the dull metal and her smile slipped away. So did her contempt. Her aura shrank.
    “You know this,” I said quietly, and then pulled back one of my braids to reveal the side of my face. “And this.”
    I felt the boys shift position, revealing a patch of pale human skin—and the twisting scar that was just below my ear: a brand, a symbol of a birthright that I did not understand; only that it was power. The kind of power that terrified even the most dangerous of demons—and their enemies. I was different from the others of my bloodline in more ways than one.
    “No,” whispered the zombie. “No, it can’t be.”
    “Look closer,” I snapped. “And tell me what you think it means.”
    Because I sure as hell had no clue.
    The zombie, however, stared at me like I was going to open my jaws wide and swallow her whole. She bucked against Jean, her aura shrinking even more—hugging the host’s skin so tightly it looked as though the demon was trying to hide. Jean gave me a startled look, but I ignored her, riding a dangerous edge; slipping past fury into something wild and hungry.
    “Don’t you fuck with us,” I whispered, bending close, holding that zombie gaze, which was dark with terror. “Bargain or no bargain, I will make you pay. I will make you scream . You know I can. So you will let these people go. And you will leave this host and never return. And you will forget those threats you made.”
    The Black Cat closed her golden eyes, but when she opened them again they were brown and human. All the fight had gone out of her. Every ounce of defiance and arrogance. All that power, pissing away. I could taste it, and there was a quiet presence inside me that felt nothing but disdain for how quickly that demonic parasite had folded against nothing but armor and a scar.
    She is ours, whispered that darkness inside of me. All of them belong to us.
    Heat poured from the zombie, shimmering over her stolen skin. I grabbed Jean’s shoulder, and hauled her away. The Black Cat remained on her back, chest heaving, her mockery of our tattoos suddenly resembling little more than a child’s drawing. As if I were watching ink fade, only deeper: power, heartbeat, breath—breaking loose, leaving the zombie.
    Those tattoos had been alive, I realized. Each one a life.
    “I could have used them against you,” whispered the Black Cat. “I could have spoken one word and forced those children to stand still while my men shot them. Or made them attack you. Or attack their own parents. They were mine, in every way.”
    I took the knife from my grandmother and dragged the tip, hard, across the stab wound in her shoulder, down her arm, across her ribs and stomach. I left behind a trail of blood. No one screamed outside. I looked over my shoulder and found Ernie staring from behind the sofa, eyes huge. Still rubbing his wrist.
    “Where’s his?” I asked roughly.
    Her jaw tightened. “My breast.”
    I found the tattoo. It looked newer than the others. I sliced it open, a single shallow cut. Ernie did not make a sound, or show any discomfort whatsoever.
    “Good,” I said, also glancing at Jean, who was staring at the Black Cat as though she had never seen a zombie before. “Now get the fuck out.”
    That aura flared to life. The Black Cat said, softly, “This host is strong. And she likes my kind. If you don’t kill her, someone else will take her skin. She will invite them.”
    “Then you better make sure your kind knows she’s off limits,” Jean whispered.
    “How dare you,” murmured the Black Cat, but there was no fire in her voice. Whatever the demon feared inside me had beaten her well and good.
    “Go,” I said. “You had your fun.”
    The zombie gave me a cold look. “I’ll remember you. I’ll warn the others. And my mother.”
    “Your mother,” I said, startled.
    “Blood Mama,” she whispered.
    “She’s every parasite’s mother. You’re not special.”
    “Aren’t I?” she said,