Chapter 4
Ink said, “Yes please,” before his brain caught up, and then he stood there staring at Aidan for a second or two, not knowing what or how else to answer.
Yes, he’d let Aidan Callahan scold him. Chastise him. Put him on his knees again. All of that, completely yes, everything.
He had a name now. Given to him.
He let that sink in for a second too.
He hadn’t expected that, tonight. Not that he’d expected any of the night.
He didn’t have to keep the name. It wasn’t traditional, wasn’t given by his herd, wasn’t approved.
But Aidan had said it, had called him liquid poetry, had turned that banshee’s voice into a kiss and a crescendo and a comprehension. Ink. Full of stories.
He didn’t know whether Aidan knew how much that meant. The act itself: a naming, which in a herd should’
