Chapter 27
“You’re one crazy motherfucker,” Krys said as he hovered over Archer. “This is worse than putting a woman’s name on your ass.”
Khalid, the tattoo artist working on him, flicked a glance up at Archer. “Are you sure you want the liquid fire? People test out my designs all the time. I don’t mind.”
Of course he didn’t mind. Tattoo artists in the Breed world had skills they refined for centuries. Their images were flawless and unique, but not one of them complained if an immortal only wore their design for a short while before their body absorbed the ink. That meant more money in their pocket if the customer decided they wanted to change it or get something else.
“That’s permanent,” Krys said.
“Do you think I’ve been dragging your ass to Austin for the fun of it?” Archer tucked his right hand behind his head. “I had to find an artist with my vision.”
“You made the right choice,” the tattooist said.
Krys merely grunted and walked back to his chair.
On the last trip, once they agreed on the design, Khalid inked the outline so Archer could make sure the position andsize worked. His shirtsleeves always covered his left upper arm, and because the ink had faded since then, no one had seen it.
“Why not put a wolf on there?” Krys stretched out his legs and pierced Archer with his crystal-blue eyes.
“What the hell do I want a wolf on my arm for?” Archer stared up at the ceiling. “A wolf is the reason I don’t have this arm, and I sure don’t want to commemorate him with permanent ink to remind me.”
The tattooist flicked an inquisitive gaze up but didn’t ask the burning question he must have been wondering about the amputation.
Archer had a bow and arrow tattooed on his right arm. After he lost his arm, he had an artist modify the bow limbs to make them into wings. Even though the Relic had given him a prosthetic grip that worked with a bow, it wasn’t the same. The precision, agility, and speed for which he was once revered was off. Aside from that, it stirred up bad memories. The thorns around his neck symbolized his pain. All of those marks were depressing reminders, and he wanted something inspiring.
Khalid wiped the tattoo several times and leaned back. “All done. Take a look.”
Archer swung his legs over the chair and walked up to the mirror. He had decided on a profile image of a horse’s head, its tousled mane twisting away as if caught in the wind. It wasn’t a realistic or heavily detailed image. But man, was it beautiful.
Archer had never seen Cecilia’s horse, so his tattoo was a drawing that represented her spirit. Cecilia was on her own path to healing, and her resilience made him want to be a better person. She was discovering her voice and finding her worth in the world—a challenge for a woman who had lived a sheltered life.
Yet he couldn’t take for granted that she also might be masking her pain. Thinking back to his struggles with self-harmand depression, Archer never wanted her to experience that. He wanted to be there for her.
It had been foolish to think he could stave off the inevitability of her learning the truth about his past, but the way it all went down last night made him want to crawl into a hole. Still, she needed to know what she was signing up for. So that moment in the truck when she leaned into him was everything.
She had chosen him.
For the first time, Archer felt love. He always knew he was capable, but in his one hundred years, he’d never felt he deserved a woman’s love—even before he lost his arm. How could anyone love a sinful man?
“Well?” Khalid tapped on a large jar. “You want to wear it for a while? Maybe you’ll change your mind and put it somewhere else or want adjustments. I don’t like using this on someone who isn’t sure.”
Archer returned to his chair. “Let’s do it.”
Krys cursed under his breath and repeated, “It’s permanent.”
“So is your charming disposition, but you don’t see me complaining.”
Khalid snapped on a clean pair of black gloves and rolled up his stool. After unscrewing the jar, he measured out a scoop of what resembled thick petroleum jelly. “Brace yourself. Don’t be afraid to cry.”
This guy didn’t know what pain was.
When Khalid slathered on the substance, permanently sealing the ink, it burned like flames consuming his skin. Archer thought how weak it felt in comparison to the pain he’d once suffered.
“You’re a brave man,” Khalid remarked while smoothing it over the ink. “I once had a Mage come in who was a prominent leader many centuries ago. He screamed like an eagle when I sealed his back tattoo. In my experience, women handle pain better. I guess they’re built differently than weare.”
Once Khalid wiped off the excess, he used a wet rag to clean the area while explaining how tattoo artists had to use more liquid fire than you would normally use for a scar. “It’ll never change, fade, or bleed,” he said. “If you ever want to add color or modify the design, call me.”
Khalid removed his gloves, put on a new pair, and repeated the cleaning process. Archer didn’t know where liquid fire came from but guessed it was made in secret to protect those with the special knowledge. Probably Relics.
