Chapter 274: The Sketchbook

Vivian’s POV

Zahliver suddenly cleared his throat rather loudly right behind us, startling both of us out of our focus. Eddie blinked up at him in surprise, then wiped away a smear of excess ink casually from his chest. I clenched my jaw tight and swallowed back the low, angry snarl clawing its way up my throat. My gums tinged with an uncomfortable heat, my canines aching to extend in full pack dominance.

Or we could just snap those dainty little fingers of hers right now, my beast added inside my mind with a dark, feral snarl. That would definitely get the message across much faster.

I did not respond to her out loud, but I had to admit that the idea sat a little too comfortably in the back of my chest.

Then came the sound sharp, constant, and irritatingly persistent. The buzzing of the machine. Eddie leaned back in with quiet, professional focus, completely unaware of the dangerous storm brewing just a few feet away from her table. The exact moment that sterile metal needle hit his skin, I knew the tattooing had officially begun.

Twenty agonizing minutes crawled by, each second marked by the never-ending electric buzz and the sharp scent of chemical ink lingering in the air. I swear, it was enough to drive anyone completely insane. Especially someone who was being forced to sit quietly and watch their mate get marked by someone else’s hands.

I kept waiting for Zahliver to flinch or show some sign of discomfort. Just once. But nope he did not even blink. He sat there calmly and completely still, like physical pain was an entirely foreign concept to him. I stared at him, feeling a frustrated mix of annoyance and deep curiosity all at once.

"I still cannot believe you are actually going through with this," I muttered under my breath, knowing full well he could hear me loud and clear. "Those things last forever, you know."

"Not really. And besides, this is not my first time," he replied casually, as if we were just chatting about the afternoon weather.

I snapped my head toward him in shock. "What? That is absolute bull."

I quickly ran through every single inch of his body that I had ever seen in my mind and there were a lot of inches but I could not recall ever seeing even the faintest trace of a tattoo anywhere on his skin. Not a single old scar or faded design.

"They do not last permanently on us," he explained smoothly, keeping his voice low. "On Lycans, I mean. After a few decades, our supernatural healing cells start breaking down the ink and fading it away. I will probably have to come back every once in a while just to keep the lines looking fresh."

Great. Just what my birthday needed more visits to this place.

"Fantastic," I grumbled under my breath. But now that I knew the ink faded over time, I had a brand-new game plan: make sure that if he ever returned here for a touch-up, it would be a male artist doing the work. Every. Single. Time.

No exceptions allowed.

After fifteen long minutes of that constant, buzzing sound drilling into my brain, I finally reached my absolute limit. It was not just ringing in my ears anymore; it felt like it was bouncing around inside my skull, distorting everything until it was hard to tell what was real and what was just my irritated imagination.

I stood up from my chair with a quiet, heavy sigh and folded Zahliver’s heavy winter coat neatly, placing it carefully on the chair beside me. Who knew how long he would be stuck in there with her? And frankly, I was not entirely sure my strained nerves could take much more of that noise. I hated the thought of leaving him alone in the room with her, but if that violet-haired menace tried anything shady while I was gone, I would make sure she choked on her own stupid tattoo dye.

He must have heard me shift my weight because his voice came through the closed door, sounding calm and firm. "Do not leave the shop, Vivian. I will be out here quickly."

I did not bother to answer him back. Instead, I turned on my heel and walked out of the back room, making sure to close the door gently behind me even though every single fiber of my being wanted to slam it hard enough to crack the wooden hinges. I forced my hands to stay completely relaxed at my sides, the soft click of the latch somehow feeling more satisfying than the violent slam I had originally envisioned.

Out in the open lobby area, I wandered around a bit, pretending to deeply admire the colorful artwork lining the walls. Maybe some of these framed pieces were the actual designs Zahliver had picked out for himself? I honestly could not tell. The waiting area had cleared out a bit while we were in the back; just a few other people lingered quietly like I was, probably waiting for someone tucked away in the private rooms.

Mero was still sitting behind the front desk, though now his full attention was locked onto a large sketchpad, a pencil flying swiftly across the paper. His brow was furrowed in deep artistic concentration, but something must have nudged his supernatural senses maybe his wolf picked up on me watching him because his eyes suddenly lifted and found mine. Confusion flickered across his face for a second before it smoothed out into a polite smile. I offered him a small, friendly wave.

Clicking softly across the polished marble floor in my high-heeled boots, I made my way over to the desk and dropped gracefully into the empty seat across from him. He looked a bit surprised by my sudden approach, but genuinely pleased to see me.

"Hello, Luna. Can I help you find anything?" he asked, his tone polite and warm.

"I am alright, thank you. Just waiting for him to finish up," I said. I did not even need to use his name Mero already knew who I meant.

My gaze dropped down to his open sketchpad, and I let out a soft, appreciative gasp. "Whoa... that is incredible. What is it supposed to be?"

Vibrant, colorful patterns were spiraling and twisting together across the heavy paper page, slowly forming into a complex shape that had not quite revealed its final form yet. Even unfinished, it was completely mesmerizing.

Mero rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, looking a little sheepish. "It is just a stupid doodle," he admitted softly.

I snorted. "Well, damn, I really wish my random doodles looked half as good as that."

He chuckled at my remark, and the pleasant sound lifted some of the tight tension still coiled anxiously in my chest.

"Thank you, Luna. That is honestly the best compliment I have received all week," he said with total sincerity.

Something about the way he spoke to me warmed me a bit from the inside out. His deep respect for me clearly did not come from fear or my pack title it felt entirely genuine and kind.

"Do you mind if I sit here and join you for a minute?" I asked, gesturing down to the spare paper and pencils resting near his elbow.