Broken Promise Tattoo Novels & Stories

One long slim hand tucked under her chin and the other lay along her side, relaxed and beautiful in its unconscious pose. In those minutes of observation, Joey knew that he loved this girl. That he wanted this woman to be his. It was so sudden and unexpected as the sound of the first shell burst at the start of an attack. All his life he had waited for this moment, and now the realization that it had come at last gave him the same sense of shock as one receives when one expects a loud report, and because of the anticipation is more startled at the explosion.

“A band from Denver contacted me recently about using one for album artwork. They’re playing a show in Breckenridge on Friday, so I’m thinking about driving out there to meet with them.” “Really?!” I squeal, unable to contain my enthusiasm. My lips spread into a wide smile, and when he lifts his gaze to meet mine, I’m positively beaming. “That’s so cool! You definitely should.” He shrugs a shoulder, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Maybe.” He wipes at his thigh with the paper towel again, switching off the tattoo gun and setting it on the side table. Then he gets a fresh bandage, peeling off the adhesive backing. He affixes it to his thigh over the tattoo, his gaze lifting to meet mine.

Yet here she was, unwavering in her proclamation. The priest spread his arms to his sides. “May the Lord in his kindness strengthen the consent you have declared before these witnesses and graciously bring to fulfillment his blessings within you. What God has joined, let no one put asunder.” He grinned. “It is time for the giving and receiving of rings.” “Oh,” Camila’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t have a ring.” “I have one.” We all turned to the unexpected voice. I stiffened, ready to reach for my gun.

she said, gesturing in the direction of the club's VIP section. I looked up and he raised a glass in greeting. I froze .He looked like something I'd conjured up from an erotic dream with curly black hair styled long enough to tease his shirt collar.His black silk shirt unbuttoned to expose a wolf's tattoo on his chest did nothing to hide his hard toned body muscles. He watched me eat him up with his eyes as he tossed his head back to take another sip of his whiskey,his eyes peeking at me from under long luscious lashes.

Promise replied, pressing her face against Mama’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of woodsmoke and palm oil that no city perfume could ever erase. Elder Bamidele cleared his throat. His voice, though weaker, still carried across the square. “You broke the oath. You left. And yet… you did not die.” Promise pulled away from Mama and faced him. His beard had thinned, his hands trembled slightly as he leaned on his staff, but his gaze still sought to pierce her. “I did not die,” Promise said evenly. “Because fear was the only curse. And I refused to wear it.” The crowd had gathered — children peeking from behind their mothers’ wrappers, young men standing on tiptoe, old women whispering into each o

"To protect your title as Luna, you come up with such a ridiculous lie? Seven years, and I've never laid a hand on you. Or… Were you so impatient for the Blood Moon and found someone else?" His gaze was icy, devoid of any warmth. "Eva, you're becoming more ruthless by the day." My blood ran cold. Desperate to defend myself, I stammered, "N-No! T-That night… at the celebration—" "Enough!" Damian snapped, cutting me off. Pointing at the statue of the Moon Goddess, he said icily, "By the Moon Goddess, I swear to dissolve our mate bond. I reject you as my destined mate. The official papers to revoke your Luna title will arrive soon—and you will sign them."

My gaze fell back to the glaring tattoo on Bruce’s wrist. The small, delicate script of “Isadora” was gone, replaced by a bold, fresh “Seraphina.” I remembered what he’d said eight years ago when he got it. “Isadora, even if I can’t make us public, my body will always remember that you are my fated mate. This mark is the proof.” “Trust me, the day my pack is strong enough, I will proudly announce you to everyone!” Fated mate. What a joke. Turns out his “permanent mark” could be rewritten at any time, and his “fated mate” could be replaced just as easily.

Like there's a speck of puzzle that only he can fix the pieces? Perhaps, it was just the bond that calling out for him? "You seem bothered. What thoughts hooked you to be in this deep state?" Tatiana lifted her head and saw Erebor. He sat next to her while holding his cup. "The battle that I would not expect to win." "You promise to win in order to survive. You promise, Tatiana." She sighs as she remembers what words Erebor made her pledge. "Promises are meant to be broken. My promise will wither, Erebor. You know that."

I pressed my finger against her lips, stopping the objection that I knew was about to come. She grabbed my hand, and gently removed it from her lips. She looked at my left hand, and her eyebrows furrowed as more tears started to glide down her cheek. “I can’t do this.” She said, breaking our silence, as she continued to stare down at my hand. “You’re promised to someone else.” She breathed as her voice cracked at her own words. Her fingers lightly traced the top of my ring finger on my left hand, her eyes focusing on the wedding band I had tattooed there 5 months ago.

The bell above the tattoo shop door jingled as I pushed it open, my heart hammering against my ribs. I’d been thinking about this for months — finally getting ink on my breasts, something delicate and feminine to reclaim my body after a shitty breakup. The shop was called Ink & Skin, tucked into a quiet corner of the city with blacked-out windows and neon signs that hummed faintly. It was late afternoon, and the place was empty except for the artist behind the counter.