Black Handprint Over Mouth Meaning Novels & Stories

He tilted his head, eyes glued to my neck. Without my permission, my hands were on my neck. My fingers probed at the spot where his eyes were stuck. I winced, a paining sigh escaping my parted lips as my fingers came in contact with the tender, sore flesh. He did bruise my neck. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found his handprints tattooing my neck. “Come here.” I stilled, watching him with wide, untrustful eyes. The grey of his eyes darkened to a shocking black when his eyes hardened.

He said quietly. "And I'm slowing you all down." "No, you aren’t. We will head to Alpha Romeo’s pack and see from there what’s happening, you just woke up. Relax a little, we have this covered." "I'm not stressing." I pouted, trying not to focus on how close he was. My core clenched when he took hold of my hand with his free hand and looked at my little finger, frowning deeply at the black snake symbol that now wrapped around it, hints of gold shimmering in it.

With his other hand he opened the covers and saw that they were both naked. He felt defeated just seeing them like that, he closed the covers then went and moved the hair on Mercy’s neck. There is was, his mark on her delicate neck, it was a pitch-Black Moon, it looked so beautiful on her pale skin and it looked like it was tattooed there. “Fuck!” he cursed under his breath upon seeing it and the mixed scents confirming it. Carl kept his word and marked her without his consent. He got out of bed in all his naked glory going to the bathroom to clean up.

He reaches out and grasps my legs with both hands. He leans back slightly and smiles, looking like a shark about to strike. His eyes glow red and his body glows brighter with each passing second. I try to pull back, suddenly realizing that we might both be in bondage, but this man is not my friend at all. The black hole where his nose should be, fills with smoke, and he coughs heavily, holding his throat in agony. I move out of his way, and watch incredulously as his head spins violently and he starts swaying dangerously on his feet. Then he falls to the ground in a heap, and blood gurgles from his mouth like red frothy saliva as he struggles to breathe.

The man’s voice said again, anytime he opened his mouth to say something, Grace noticed how her stomach made rumbling sounds as though the worm inside were happy to hear his soothing and husky, alluring voice. “Take it!” He said and stretched out his hands again, and Grace beheld the beautiful, attractive, shiny black tattoo on his hand. She was still on the edge of retrieving the paper from her when her eyes fell on it, and she was lost in thought; she hadn't even studied what it was when he used the other of his palms to cover it. “U...mmm, sorry!” Grave said and quickly retrieved the paper from his hands. “How did you see that? No one has ever seen that, even if my hands are open.” The ma

“He dead? We better start moving.” “Not that Brad,” the other replied. “Look at your hands.” Brad stared down at his hands and then he saw it. The blood from the punch he had given Xavier was all over his hand and clothes. But that was not the problem. The blood was not red as expected. It was black. Shining black. “What does this mean,” he turned to the other two boys. “I’m not sure,” one said standing up. “But I’ve heard stories.” “What stories?” Brad asked, eyeing him.

It feels like liquid fire expanding in my lungs, a sharp, tearing pressure that cuts off my airway entirely. A harsh, hacking cough rips violently through my throat. I jerk backward, breaking his grip as I instinctively bring my right hand up to cover my mouth, my body trembling from the sudden, agonizing spasm. The taste of heavy iron and copper instantly coats my tongue, warm and thick. I pull my hand away from my lips, my chest heaving as I look down into my palm in the dim twilight of the hallway. Blood. Thick, dark, metallic-smelling blood is dripping from my fingers, pooling in the creases of my skin and smearing across my palm.

My hand flew up to cover my mouth, muffling the sob that tried to escape. It was bad. Really bad. Reese’s handprint stood out in vivid, furious shades of red and pink around my throat—like a brutal tattoo. The bruising was deep, the outlines of his fingers clearly visible. It looked exactly like what it was. Someone had choked me with serious force.

“What?” The old man’s withered hand lifted slowly—too slowly—until it hovered at Caius’s face. “I want you out of my way.” With a sudden thrust, the old man’s palm shot forward—and black smoke burst from it, coiling like vipers into Caius’s mouth, nose, eyes.

She breathes. His eyes narrow and he steps in closer, his scent enveloping her. Instead of answering, his hand extends, his cold thumb stroking the rim of her lip. She's not breathing. “You’ve got blood in your mouth,” he murmurs, wiping his thumb gently over her mouth. Entranced, her mouth falls open, and she lets him run his finger over the inside of her lip. Alarm bells shriek in her mind. But as quickly as he touched her, his hand falls away, as if burnt. His jaw tics, and his expression turns menacing.