Luna’s Butterfly Tattoo Novel – Five springs had passed since I terminated the mate bond with Alpha Landon Ashford when we met again in a tattoo studio. He was there to touch up the name of his mate across his chest. I was there to cover the old scars on my wrist. Years had slipped by, and for a long moment, we simply stood there, wordless, looking at each other.
Just as Landon broke the silence and was about to speak, the hem of his shirt was tugged by a small hand. “Daddy.” The little boy stared at me curiously, “Who is she?” … The island breeze stirred the wind chimes hanging outside the porch, breaking the long, heavy quiet. “I’m a customer,” I said, “Same as your dad. Just here for a tattoo.” The boy tilted his head, “Do you know my dad?” “Marcus!” Landon’s tone sharpened, and the boy pouted, falling quiet. “Nope,” I answered anyway, “We’re strangers.” Landon’s expression darkened.
The shop owner tapped the counter, glancing between us. “Who’s first?” Landon had been leaning against the bar, but now he straightened, his eyes fixed on me. “She goes.” He wore an off-white linen shirt tucked into silver-gray slacks, the top buttons undone, revealing the defined lines of his chest. Over his left pec was a tattoo, partly obscured, but I knew exactly whose name it was. Even when we terminated our mate bond, that name had not yet been inked over Landon’s heart. “First come, first served.” My voice was polite, distant. “Please, after you.” Before Landon could respond, his phone vibrated.
By chance, I caught a glimpse of the screen: Sweetheart. The screen went dark as he immediately pressed it, and he looked straight at me. I turned away and walked toward the lounge booth. Behind me came the excited voice of the boy, “Was that Mommy calling?” Landon’s reply came low and cool, the way he always sounded when he was trying to soothe someone. His voice blended with the cello music humming softly through the studio.
I stirred my coffee without looking up until a small, timid “Ma’am” sounded beside me. I turned. The little boy from earlier was leaning over the armrest, peering at me. He was delicate and pretty in a soft, bookish way, impossibly cute. Cute enough that even knowing who his father was, I couldn’t bring myself to feel any resentment. “You know,” he whispered as if sharing a secret, “you look a lot like my mom.
She’s a beautiful superstar.” “Then you must look like her, too.” His eyes lit up instantly, and he leaned forward as if wanting to get closer, but a large hand pressed down gently on his head. Landon patted him lightly. “Go wait in the car with Mr. Vaelen.” I lifted a brow. Turning, I saw the middle-aged man who had followed Landon for years. Our eyes met. Shock washed over his face, mixed with something faintly embarrassed. “Miss Sinclair…” I nodded calmly.
He was Landon’s most trusted beta, and we had crossed paths many times before. Landon scooped the boy into his arms. As he rose, a glint of gold flickered at his wrist. His watch. A Patek Philippe. A model he never would have chosen back then. On his long ring finger was a plain band, understated yet impossibly expensive.
During the two years Landon and I were bonded, he never wore a bonding ring. So this was what it felt like to marry a destined mate. I took a sip of my coffee, realizing it was a feeling that didn’t fade with time.