All Chapters of The Luna's Tattoos: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

OLIVIA’S POVI sat on the edge of a sagging motel bed, the springs creaking under me, my boots scuffing the stained carpet. We’d been on the run for three days—three days since I drove that silver dagger into Mayor Larry’s gut, since his blood stained my hands and his dying words about my mother burned into my skull. New Orleans was a memory now, left behind in a blur of sirens and backroads. Damien, Alaric, and I had ditched the truck outside Baton Rouge, swapped it for a rusted Chevy that smelled like cigarettes and regret, and kept moving. No plan, just survival.The room was dim, the single lamp buzzing faintly, casting yellow light over peeling wallpaper. Alaric had gone out for food, leaving me and Damien alone in this nowhere town, some speck off the highway with a name I couldn’t pronounce. My shirt—still crusted with dried blood—clung to my skin, and I peeled it off, tossing it into a corner. The air smelled of mildew and cheap cleaner, but it was better than the mill’s basem

LUCIEN’S POVI slumped against the motel door, the wood creaking as it shut behind me, the keycard slipping from my fingers to the carpet. The room smelled of stale smoke and bleach, the single bed sagging under a faded quilt, the TV flickering static in the corner. I’d stumbled into this dive—some nowhere stop off the highway, miles from New Orleans—after driving all night, the Chevy’s engine rattling like my thoughts. My legs trembled, still weak from five months in that coma, and I sank onto the bed, the springs groaning under me. Eighteen years gone from my real life, lost to the werewolf world, and now everything I’d built there was ash.I rubbed my face, my hands rough against stubble, and stared at the ceiling, yellowed and cracked. Archimedes’s blood still stained my memory—hot and slick on my hands, his last breath wheezing out as I held him. Not my real dad, but the only father I’d known since he’d bitten me at eight, turned me into a lycan, and dragged me from my human fami

OLIVIA’S POV I sat on the couch, the cushions still warm from where Damien had been, my legs curled under me as the cabin’s quiet pressed in. Alaric’s words echoed—Archimedes dead, Lucien awake, gone from New Orleans. My chest tightened, a storm brewing beneath my ribs, but I’d forced a smile when Damien asked if I was okay, nodded like it didn’t gut me. “Yeah,” I’d said, my voice steady, a lie he’d bought. He’d squeezed my shoulder, his touch lingering, then stepped outside to talk to Alaric, their voices fading into the night.The door clicked shut, and the dam broke. My hands flew to my face, tears spilling hot and fast, my breath hitching as I doubled over. Sobs tore out, raw and ugly, shaking my whole body. Lucien knew, he knew I was with Damien, living this perfect little life, and he’d left without a word. My fingers dug into my scalp, the ache spreading, a mess of guilt and anger I couldn’t untangle. I’d moved on, let Damien in, built something real, but hearing Lucien was aw

NANA’S POVI sat on the folding chair by Archimedes’s grave, the cold metal biting into my thighs, the damp earth soaking through my slippers. The cemetery stretched quiet around me, the headstones gray and weathered, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the grass. Three months had passed since he died—since the Selene cult stormed the house, since I drove that knife into the last attacker’s spine and watched my brother bleed out on the floor. My hands rested in my lap, wrinkled and still, the ache in my chest a constant companion.Lucien’s leaving hit harder. He’d packed his bag that same night, his face pale and set, and walked out without a backward glance. I’d stood in the doorway, my arms crossed tight, the house too big, too empty without him. Archimedes gone, Lucien gone—my family shredded in days. I’d shrunk into myself since, my voice rare, my days blurring into silence. The estate loomed behind me, its halls hollow, the creak of the floorboards my only company mo

DAMIEN’S POVThe bed jolted beneath me, Olivia’s scream slicing through the quiet night, her voice raw and jagged. I bolted upright, my heart slamming against my ribs, the sheets tangled around my legs as I reached for her. She thrashed, her eyes squeezed shut, sweat beading on her forehead, words spilling from her lips—guttural, strange, a jumble of sounds I couldn’t grasp. Her hands clawed at the air, nails digging into nothing, and I grabbed her shoulders, shaking her gently, my voice hoarse. “Olivia. Olivia, wake up.”Her eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, black voids staring past me, her breath ragged. She shoved me off, scrambling for the nightstand, her fingers snatching a pen and a scrap of paper from the drawer. I froze, my hands hovering, as she hunched over, scribbling fast—sharp, jagged symbols, loops and slashes that meant nothing to me. “Olivia,” I said, louder now, leaning closer. “You okay? Talk to me.”She didn’t flinch, didn’t look up, her pen scratching louder, f