I Returned With The Alpha’s Son
And that was when Brayden dragged a hand through his hair, the motion pulling his open shirt further off his left shoulder, baring more of his chest to the pale morning light.
Moonless’ eyes caught on it before he could stop them. Every word died in his throat.
A tattoo, small and dark, inked just above his heart—a crescent moon split clean through the middle, one half smooth, the other jagged like something had been torn rather than cut, the two halves bound together by a thin circling line, like a wound stitched shut and called whole.
The same tattoo he had seen on the chest of the man who had called him “my favorite experiment.”