315 'The Property Of Siren Y.L.'

Because it was hers! At first sight, you couldn't even tell they were there, the scars were this minute. She was unique with her style and too equipped that her proficiencies hardly left marks and when they did they were like his.

Her hand unknowingly stretched, her cold fingers made contact with his sizzling hot skin in his contrast and landed on the diagonal vertical mark following the whole length of his back. She traced it and he had never felt more intimate before. She was caressing his soul through the scars.

Closing his eyes he relished in the feeling of her near him. She was his equilibrium for sanity, she was the leverage balancing his humility and beast. She was Queen of his heart.

She wanted to hug him and kiss his scars but the thought of some other darling out there held her rooted to her soil. But these scars, they were…

You wouldn't even realize they were there if you weren't looking for them. In her case, if you weren't this familiar with them. It was like she had done this, the more she looked, the more the thought was convincing in her head.

"It is my handiwork but…" She quizzically furrowed her brows, then firmly stated, "But I didn't do it! If I did, I would remember the King of the Underworld owe me." Her voice was strained though, she was trying her best to keep it firm.

No, she never would have forgotten him if she ever met him. Most importantly wouldn't he recognize her? It was a crazy thought. Very scarce but there were chances of a man to have copied her handiwork. 

"You would say so." He murmured in a neutral tone under his breath, if she heard him she gave no reaction to his statement.

Without turning to face her he brought his hand on the back of his shoulder and with a little pressure ripped the skin away. She gasped at the sight but before she could stop him her eyes landed on the skin beneath it…

It took her a second to realize that it was a prosthetics skin cover and what was beneath it had her breath hitching.

In bold Italic calligraphed writing was tattooed her ownership of the act.

'The Property Of

Siren Y.L.'

Her mouth turned dry and her hands shivered. It was her writing the strokes were enough trademark to call off her bluff. She froze in her place and blood ran cold. She did it...

Now a memory spiked like a thorn in her heart nearly stopping it: The night was dark and she was too drunk to tell between stars and headlights. But her fuzzy mind still had its instinct sharp to detect any sign of danger.

Those days she worked in a tattoo parlor because she wanted to keep a low profile as her adopted father and Grandfather were hunting her to put her head on a spike. After her shift, she had decided to hit a private party of a member for the alcohol of course. She would rather prefer something private but she wasn't old enough then.

It was late when the party ended there was a bloodbath unleashed on the East side by some upper-class Underworld Lords. Sadly that's where all exits of the broken Community were, so she had decided to take the long cut and head west where she had called for a pick-up.

Stumbling and trembling in the cold night, she had decided to trash in an alley where she wouldn't be noticed till someone came for her. The dark alley was quiet but she saw a figure trashed on the floor. Bloodied and Morbid.

Against her better judgment, she had decided to check it, not for sympathy but for the sake of curiosity.

Vividly she could recall a handsome injured man passed out on his back. Passed out, because she could see his chest moving up and down in a rhythm. 

The Wars' waste... and the only survivor, if he survives that is.

Her practiced instincts kicked in and she analyzed his condition. Two bullet wounds, gashes, all in the back. 

She nodded in wonderment, all in the back meant he was good with his skills and the only hit his opponent succeeded in was in his back. 

Waste of such talent!

The ground was getting soaked with his blood as it was flowing out of him. His bloodied hands held his phone which he may be using to call for help.

But she had seen too much blood and gore for it to be striking but what really did get her attention was the ring on his pinkie finger. Even her drunkard-self could tell it was pricey and it was antique.

Her eyes gleamed with indulgence. She had always liked shimmery, expensive things.

She slid it out of his finger at that instant with ease and when she was about to leave the man to rot there when her last shred of conscience decided to show up. 

She was capable of many things but stealing from a dying man... It was another level of low.

So she decided to pay him back.

Her profession always demanded she carried her surgical instrument but even without this she would still carry them. As those totally made up cool-psycho killing tools.

She checked all his organs and performed the necessary medical aid, taking the bullets out and stitched him up. In mild conscious, he would groan and hiss but she would just giggle and shush him. The thought that he couldn't reply to her was too amusing to her drunk self.

He didn't have any kind of internal injury but he was bleeding hard and if his wounds wouldn't stop bleeding, he wouldn't survive an hour long. She could only have inclination the man wouldn't die of an infection, he was going to catch from the place.

As a last act of mercy, she had taken his phone and messaged 'HELP!' and his location to the number on the speed dial. Vivid location: but whatever her drunk mind could conjure.

While waiting for her ride to finally find her, as she had strayed from the informed location. A strange thought had occurred to her. Because she had saved the man's life, he should be her slave for a lifetime!

To the drunk teenage Lei Xinyi that had made sense like nothing ever before but she didn't have hot iron to brand him, so as a second-best option, she had tattooed his back with calligraphy of her ownership on him beatifically.

Later the next morning she didn't remember much but she had the ring and a blurred memory of the young man and her actions. The man, who she had assumed was dead but didn't remember the alley she had seen him in.

Her research told her the ring was an antique and as the man was adorning it, it was likely to be an heirloom. She had felt bad for the dead man and decided to return the ring to his family. Who knows if his ghost would haunt the ring!

But when she had gone there to round the area to see, if she was going to find any kind of information of the man so she could return the ring but the community was washed off by an anonymous Lord's order.