Chapter 54 Winnie
Winnie
The bonds at my center hum, and I've never felt so whole in my life. The loneliness in Zeke’s bond ran so deep that I didn’t realize how bad it had become until the others joined it, layering warmth and presence over the ache.
When we were done bonding, I made the leap and fully moved into the pack house.
Summer is in full swing on Main Street. June has brought tourists back in droves, and the guys have been working nonstop.
Downtown, a new black-and-white sign reads Blackline Tattoos.
The storefront is covered in the guys’ different tattoo designs.
Even the windows are etched with their art.
It stands out on Main Street, impossible to miss.
Inside, the shop is all sleek lines and chrome.
It feels like what would happen if a motorcycle became a room.
They’ve been working on it for a couple of months now.
Before she'd moved, I'd taken Stella a small card, signed by the rest of the shop owners in town.
I'd had to goad and bribe most of them into it, but Stella's shop had been a fixture in town for more than thirty years.
Whether anyone personally liked her or not, I thought she deserved at least a little respect.
Stella had taken the card and tossed it aside without looking at it.
I again wished her the best of luck and then watched her climb into a rented car and leave. Never to be heard from again.
I approached my pack the week after we bonded and explained an idea I'd been considering. They insisted I didn’t have to get a tattoo, that it wasn’t some prerequisite of being their bonded mate.
I knew that, of course. But the thought of carrying their art on my skin was something I couldn’t let go of.
We talked it through, and they explained the process.
Each of them started with a line drawing, bold lines and vivid color chosen to stand out against my skin.
It hurt at first, a sharp sting, but then the sensation softened and blurred, melting into something strangely intimate.
We let it heal for a few weeks. In the meantime, we had another dinner with my family, who were thrilled to see the Blackline Pack and me officially bonded. I expanded my stock for the tourist season, met with the girls for book club and just for fun, and settled into the rhythm of this new life.
We sat for another session last week, and now it’s time for the final details.
The tattoo shop doesn’t officially open until tomorrow, but I’m reclined in a comfortable black tattoo chair.
The leather is soft beneath me, warm where my body presses into it.
I lean back slightly, my shirt open to expose my chest. Just above my heart sits a lilac.
Hovering around it are six hummingbirds, one in each alpha’s style.
Corbin’s work is realism, and the hummingbird he creates looks alive, as if it might lift off my skin at any second.
I watch them work through the mirror, the movement of their hands steady and focused, the sight completely mesmerizing.
The last hummingbird comes from Nick’s notebook, and Rafe finishes it in Nick’s signature blacklight style.
“Done,” he breathes.
He’s poured every ounce of concentration into making the art true to Nick’s vision.
I think he focused harder on this than he did on his own bird.
The skin is puffy and red, tender beneath the wrap.
The after-hurt is sharp as they place the bandage, careful and precise, making sure it heals cleanly.
I already know that when it does, it will be perfect.
It’s my alphas on my skin and in our bond.