Ashton Harding smiled as he finished the last shade of gray in the middle-aged tourist’s tattoo. His gleaming grin had the intended effect on the lady. She batted her eyelashes at him and smiled shyly before pursing her lips. Ashton squirted salve on the fairy tattoo on the woman’s shoulder and smoothed it into her raw skin. “I’ll recommend you to all my friends,” she cooed. That’s just what he wanted to hear. He placed a bandage on the fresh tattoo and helped her up from the chair.

The lady sauntered over to the cash register, her eyes flicking over Ashton’s six foot three form, his broad shoulders, and mane of wavy blond hair. “It looks great,” he said. Of course it did. It was one of his tattoos. He preferred to draw things that were a bit bolder, mountain lions for example––one of the last great predators of the Pacific Northwest. He did so enjoy drawing his own portrait. “Remember what I told you about taking care of it while it heals,” he said as he ran her credit card.

She smiled again as she signed her recipe and waited for a breath. He could smell her arousal. She wanted him. Ashton looked out the window and saw a balding, middle-aged man waiting in the car. Husband. He grinned again and gave the woman a wink as he closed the register drawer. “Next time you’re in Mystic Harbor, come by for a touch up,” he said. She let out a long sigh and said she would before turning to go. Ashton watched her full bottom twitch as the glass door closed behind her. Not bad for a lady in her forties. Ashton rubbed his jaw. He was only twenty-six, but he liked his women mature and curvy. Something about the worldly experience mixed with those luscious curves turned him on, but he never messed with the married kind. No sir. No thank you.

He went back to his drawing table and began working on a sketch for an appointment he’d made over the Internet. The client wanted a mass of skulls and blood with daggers and such. Not really his style, but he aimed to please. He looked down at his design. Not bad, he thought, a grin curling on his full lips. A motor rumbled outside, and Ashton looked up to see a motorcycle drive into the parking lot of his tattoo shop. The leather clad biker kicked down the kickstand and pulled off her helmet to reveal a cascade of dark brown hair that tumbled down her back and around her shoulders.

He sat stunned as he watched her march into his shop. Her full breasts practically spilled out of the tight black tank top she wore under her leather jacket. And the leather pants hugged her generous hips so alluringly, Ashton felt himself stiffen. Down boy, he told himself. His inner lion roared. He liked what he saw. When the mystery woman entered his shop, he could see her face clearly for the first time—pouty red lips, almond-shaped Spanish eyes the color of caramel, creamy white skin, and high angular cheekbones. She was stunning in a way that left him breathless. He gulped, almost unable to speak. His cock twitched, and his heart thumped. Her smell hit him like a ton of bricks. What was it? Spice and steel. Honey and jasmine. He licked his lips, his fangs protruding ever so slightly.

“I’m here for an appointment. I booked online,” she said in a low sultry voice. He stood to find the woman was almost a foot shorter than he was, in a petite, curvy little bundle of sexy. “Isabella Amador.” She revealed a line of gleaming white teeth between her wine-stained lips when she spoke. Ashton had to resist the urge to lick those red, pouty lips. He forced himself to cool down. He didn’t want his new client to see his cock hard through his tight jeans. That just wouldn’t be professional.

“Right,” he said, after clearing his throat. I finished your design.” He grabbed the sketch and put it on the counter in front of her. She gazed down at it while he beamed. His chest expanded as he let out a satisfied purr.

“Hmm,” she said curtly. Ashton’s self-satisfaction tumbled into his stomach and caught there like a chicken bone in the throat.

“What is it?” he asked, not able to believe someone didn’t approve of his work.

“I just expected more,” she said with a shrug. She turned and looked out the window, a wistful look in her eyes.

“More what, exactly?” he asked, irritated. He’d spent all morning on this design.

She turned to him, anger rising in her eyes. He could see a hidden power lying behind the caramel irises. Her inner fire ignited and she sneered. “I won’t have it tattooed on my skin if it isn’t right, lion.”

Ashton frowned. She knew his true nature and he didn’t know hers. He’d never seen her around town, and he wasn’t familiar with her scent. “Look, lady, tell me what you want and I’ll fix it. Revealing someone’s paranormal identity isn’t done in Mystic Harbor, by the way. I don’t know what it’s like where you’re from, but we respect each other’s privacy around here.”

“I am from here. Just… Before you were born.”

“Vampire…” he said narrowing his eyes at her. Great. He’d so wanted to bang this chick. No way was he banging a vampire. If she’d even let him. He wasn’t about to risk his neck for sex with the undead.

“Half vampire,” she corrected, crossing her arms over her ample bosom.

“I thought you smelled different.”   

She inspected the sketch, running her finger over the bloody skulls. “Just make it more violent,” she said, looking up into his eyes. 

“More violent?” he asked, stunned. It was the goriest drawing he’d ever done. He didn’t go for blood and guts. Even the human bikers didn’t request such gruesome tattoos.  Ashton liked strong, bold statement pieces. He was even partial to intricate, well done tribal tattoos, but he didn’t like gore.

“Just make it twenty percent bloodier,” she said, holding her palms up. She shrugged. “That shouldn’t be hard for a man of your…talents,” she said, showing her fangs.

Ashton narrowed his brow. Was that an insult? He couldn’t tell. Something about this woman irked him and aroused him at the same time.

“Fine,” he said. “Twenty percent bloodier.”