Novel & Cerita American Traditional Reaper Tattoo

That night, Henry finally let go of all restraint. The room lay in shadow, and he pressed me against the floor-to-ceiling window, the lights of Riverton flickering like stars beyond the glass. “Claire…” “Yes?” “I want to get another tattoo.” “Where?” He gripped my hand and pressed it to his lower back, mirroring the spot that corresponded to mine. There, with each of his breaths, a faint outline of a feral totem emerged. “I want to tattoo your image. I want to carve you into my bones forever.”

“Nah, not really…I just don’t want them to know about your father, it makes their types nervous.” Cory laughed. “Yeah, I get it, sorry I should have messaged you first.” He looked Reese over, his eyes narrowing at the tattoos on Reese’s shoulders and upper arms. “Did you get more work done?” Reese looked at one arm and grinned. “Yeah…looks good, eh? I said I was going to get it all to join into one…just need to finish the back now and then do some breast plates…” He sat up and pulled his singlet up to reveal the large tiger tattoo taking up his whole back.

"Not everyone looking for me is as careless as Julian Vane. There are people out there who don't understand the concept of 'surrender.'" He approached me, and even though he walked with a slight limp, his presence was still overwhelming. He stopped in front of the stove, and the light from the fire illuminated the tattoos on his back once more. I was mesmerized by one in particular on his left shoulder blade: an ancient shield intertwined with thorns and an iron crown. It didn't look like the design of a common tattoo parlor; it had the symmetry of an official seal, of a coat of arms that demanded respect.

Not him. Just. Like. Everything. Else. "Yes, Pakhan." I bow my head with reverence, and Aleksander's eyes drift down to the tattoo on my wrist, where his gaze lingers. All the men in the Knights who pass The Reaping at the age of sixteen receive the Viking Futhark rune for defense tattooed on the underside of their wrist. They then receive the Greek Sigma symbol once they're initiated into the Brotherhood. I have neither because not only should no one know of my existence and lineage, but I was supposed to die that night seventeen years ago.

I followed Reaper's gaze. Idling at the very edge of the jungle treeline, acting as a heavily armed escort for the weary scavengers behind them, was a pack of about fifty outlaw bikers. They didn't ride sleek hover-tech. They rode massive, ear-splitting combustion choppers, rusted and spiked for wasteland warfare. Even from the top of the wall, I could see the patches on their heavy leather cuts. They bore a single, jagged word stitched in crimson: Revers. At the head of the column sat their leader on a monstrous, elongated chopper. Across his rusted gas tank, a brutal, unforgiving motto had been spray-painted in thick white letters: Blood on the asphalt.

River disappeared into his closet again as I headed for the bathroom. When I came out of the bathroom, River was pulling a muscle shirt over his head. He wore a pair of dry shorts. His back had a long pink scar down it, and he had a big tattoo on his back. His muscles flexed as he pulled the shirt down and spun around. He caught me staring at him. “Interesting tattoo,” I told him. I attempted to hide the fact that I was ogling. It was a reaper holding cards. Another pair of hands across from the reaper held cards too. As if they were playing poker. “I don't get it, though?” I wondered.

The four types of tattoos were the Alpha tattoo, the Beta tattoo, the Zeta tattoo, and the member tattoo. My tattoo had seven moons at the top of my back with two versions of the Helm of Awe on each shoulder blade. In the middle of my back was Yggdrasil, the tree of life with a wolf head coming out of the roots. Finally, below the wolf and running down my spine was my name in Old Norse. In the middle of Yggdrasil’s branches, the Alpha sign of our pack was cleverly blended in.

“Right there. Your name and music notes on either side. Maybe some little butterflies.” “Are you serious, Reb? That’s permanent, you know.” “I know. You don’t want me to?” She traced a tattoo on his forearm with one finger. It showed a dagger through a skull. It was a beautiful piece of art, but masculine. “Would you rather I get one that matches yours?” “I would love my name permanently etched on your sexy little back. I could stare at it while…” He lifted her shirt and took a peek at the area in question. “Damn…” he said breathlessly and gave himself a little shake. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

I tried so hard not to flush when I saw his naked torso; it was a sight to behold. Broad wide shoulders with lots of muscles, defined strong abs and on his left pectoral, there was a scary tattoo of a three-headed vicious dog, surrounded by flames. And a lot of scars were all over his abdomen. On his back, there was a full back length tattoo of some sort of grim reaper, angel! His grunts again brought me back from dreamland. I shook my head, clearing it; I gently touched the wounded area on his right, trying to understand what I was dealing with.

Graduation day at Reaper training My name is Skye Evanore Reoch and I'm the only daughter of the reaper king and queen. I'm half reaper and dark witch and possess loads of magic. My parents, Rowen and Ayira rule this reaper section out of thousands that cover the entire earth. Anyway, back to me, being the only girl out of four children, I'm a daddy's girl. I have an older brother Liam who is off being taught some things from his dark elf grandfather and my younger twin brothers Brodie and Brayden. I decided that I wanted to become a reaper and not just a boring princess lounging at a palace waiting for my parents to wed me off to some pompous prince so I enrolled in the reapers training pro