Page 95 of Her Irish Treasures
Aidan shoved up off the couch and came closer. He dragged his finger across my arm, smearing through the ink to reveal untouched skin beneath. The grooves between his eyes deepened in a furious scowl. “What did Warwick say when you asked him why he didn’t have any tattoos?”
“He said that fae skin doesn’t take to ink,” I replied slowly, unsure what that had to do with anything.
“Exactly.” Aidan leaned down into my space, nose to nose with me. His eyes searched mine, looking for something. Looking for…
My eyes widened. The tattoo hadn’t stuck. The ink. Spilled. Like it wasn’t going into my arm at all. But…
“Impossible,” I whispered. “I’m not… I didn’t even know about all this magical shit until I found Doran’s statue in the bar. I’m just a regular, average woman. I’m mortal. Even Warwick said so when I asked, and he swore not to lie to me. I’m not—”
Aidan shook his head slowly, his voice gruff. “You’re no more mortal than Pointy Ears, Riann. You be fucking fae.”
* * *
