I caught sight of the tattoo I’d seen the first time we were in this cottage together. I brushed my fingers against the black ink on his forearm, noting the way goosebumps rose in response. It was a beautiful drawing of an animal face: half of it was a fox, and the other half looked to be a wolf. Delicate vines swirled around it and down his arm all the way to the top of his hand. Leaves and henbane flowers sprouted from the stem.
