All Chapters of The Luna's Tattoos: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

DAMON’S POV Mayor Larry’s place was a squat, brick house on the edge of the settlement, all neat hedges and pretentious white shutters. I parked a block away, a habit making me cautious, and walked the rest of the distance. The sky was still bruising purple when I rapped my knuckles against his door. It swung open a heartbeat later, Larry’s thin frame filling the gap. His eyes widened, darting over my shoulder like he expected trouble to follow me in.“Alpha Damon,” he said, voice tight. “Didn’t expect you this early.”“Couldn’t wait,” I replied, stepping past him without invitation. The living room smelled of stale coffee and fear, the kind that clung to a man who knew too much. He shut the door quickly, locking it twice, and gestured to a threadbare couch. I didn’t sit—didn’t like feeling cornered.“What’s this about?” he asked, wringing his hands. His glasses slipped down his nose, and he shoved them back up, a nervous tic I’d seen a dozen times. “Is this about Alaric?”“You know

OLIVIA’S POVI stirred awake, the weight of Lucien’s arm pinning me to the bed, his breath warm against my neck. Nana’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding, pulling me from the fog of sleep. “Lunch is ready—get down here!” she’d hollered, her footsteps already fading downstairs. I slipped out from under him, the duvet sliding off my bare skin as I sat up, every muscle loose and humming. We hadn’t eaten all morning—too caught up in each other—and my stomach growled at the promise of food. I glanced at Lucien, still sprawled across the sheets, and stood, naked as the day I was born, my feet padding toward the bathroom.The door clicked shut behind me, the lock snapping into place, and I faced myself in the mirror. My reflection stared back—hair a wild tangle, lips red and bruised, a faint mark on my collarbone where Lucien’s hunger had left its claim. For the first time in months, I didn’t cringe. My body felt… right. Whole. Not just from the ache of exertion, but from him

BEN’S POVI jolted awake, the afternoon sun slanting through the blinds, casting gold across my tangled sheets. My head throbbed, a dull ache from a night spent tossing, my mind gnawing at Olivia’s choices. She’d slept with Damon—Damon, of all people—when I’d been so sure her heart still belonged to Lucien. Three years of marriage, spilt by three measly months, and she’d told me everything after—how empty she’d felt, how the void lingered. As her best friend, I’d listened, nodded, believed she’d run back to Lucien the second their mate bond snapped into place. Yet here she was, tangled up with Damon too, and it felt like a knife in my gut. Betrayal, plain and simple, even if she didn’t see it that way. I rubbed my face, groaning as I sat up, the bed cold beside me. Aslaug had stormed out last night, fed up with my pacing, my muttering. “I can’t watch you obsess over her anymore,” she’d snapped, her dark eyes flashing before she grabbed her keys and left for her own place. I hadn’t b

DAMIEN’S POVI stood in my study, the late morning light filtering through the tall windows, glinting off the whiskey glass in my hand. My black joggers hung low, my chest bare, water dripping from my hair onto my shoulders, fresh from the shower. The room smelled of oak and leather, but Olivia’s scent lingered—wild, sweet, a ghost from last night. She’d left for Lucien’s place hours ago, her weekend with me over, and I hated it. Nine months of this—two days a week with her, five with him—and it wasn’t enough. I wanted her here, always, her heat pressed against me, her voice in my ear. The imbalance gnawed at me, a raw ache I couldn’t shake. I took a sip, the burn sliding down my throat, and my mind slipped back to last night. She’d stormed in here, her eyes locked on me as I hunched over maps and notes, chasing Alaric’s shadow. Papers sprawled across the desk—leads, dead ends, whispers of where my brother might be. He was a phantom—human towns one day, werewolf packs the next, alwa

OLIVIA’S POVI perched on the edge of the bed, my knees drawn up, staring at Lucien as he lay sprawled across the sheets. His chest rose and fell, slow and ragged, the scratch marks I’d left on his cheek still red against his skin. My nails had brought him back—snapped him out of Zephyr’s grip—and now he rested, exhaustion pulling him under. The room was quiet, the late afternoon sun filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow over his face. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, my mind churning, torn in two directions I couldn’t untangle. Nine months had slipped by since the mate bonds locked me to Damien and Lucien. Weekends with Damien, every Saturday and Sunday tangled in his sheets at the Fallenstar’s Home, learning him piece by piece. Everyone feared him, whispered about the blood on his hands—his parents, his whole family, slaughtered by his own claws. They called him a monster, a killer who’d snuffed them out to claim power. But I’d seen him wake gasping from nig