Crown Chakra Tattoo Novels & Stories

Xander snarls, rejecting her explanation, too angry to see beyond it. “The Order of Three, but those that know about it call it the order.” She unzips her jacket, and her friends match her movements, moving in unison. Together, they pull their collar away from their necks, revealing a tattoo where a mate mark should sit. A triple moon is etched into the skin with black ink. The center moon has a key and arrow crossed with a paw sitting in the center, holding the components in place.

Slowly, he turns away from me, tugs at his shirt, and lifts it up. There! Pristine and raw, is a new tattoo on his skin. A black crown on his shoulder. My mouth goes dry and suddenly I can hear Layla as if she’s standing here with me: Tattoos. Every man of the Bratva has some. Some signify their past deeds, terrible or great things they’ve done, and their ranks. It doesn’t take a genius to know what the crown means. I'd suspected Yannick planned to kill me, but now I know for sure.

he breathed into her ear before capturing her lips in a gentle kiss. He pulled away, grasping Klara around her waist. “We have joined in Mateship, now we have joined in rank. What say you?” Marc addressed the crowd. Klara tried to remember who it was that was in the room during the coronation. It was higher level wolves, she remembered that much. “Here, here!” A voice called, soon to be followed by all in the room. Marc guided her back to her own throne as he sat in his. Their hands still clasped in one another’s.

When the midwife lifted her, the room fell into a terrified hush. The girl was small, but it was not her size that stopped the hearts of those in the room. It was her skin. On her chest, directly over her heart, and across the span of her tiny back, symbols were etched into her flesh. They were not birthmarks; they were brands, glowing with a faint, amber luminescence that pulsed in time with the lightning outside. On her chest, the sign of the crab—♋. Across her back, two interlinked circles—⚯.

On his chest was black insignia tattooed on it with a silver crown wrapped in thorns. Jax went completely still which made cold spread slowly through my chest. “What is that?” I asked. He looked up at me slowly, and somehow his expression frightened me more than the attack itself. “That,” he said quietly, “is the Kingshade mark.”

It’s like a really faint tattoo without the ink. I shut the water off so I can look at it closely. It’s an infinity mark with a single vertical band running around the middle, and two dots on both ends of the band.

Because if I looked—if I saw—I’d fall harder than I could ever afford to. But right now? I’m looking. And I fucking hate that I can’t look away. His body is a masterpiece of power. Carved abs. Broad shoulders. Veins on his arms like he’s always halfway to bursting. And his chest—God help me—his chest glistens like he walked out of some ad for sin itself. And then— Then I see it. That fucking tattoo. A lion’s head, snarling right in the center of his chest. Its mouth open like it’s about to roar. Eagle wings stretch from both sides, curling around his collarbones like a crown of chaos.

Along the interior rim, a molten vein of alchemical glass - a deep ember-red - runs like a breathing heartbeat. Five asymmetrically placed black obsidian shards jut skyward, each carved into a razor’s edge, catching the light like falling stars. Threaded between the obsidian, pale moonstones glow with inner fire. Tiny silver filaments trace lunar phases around each gem. Across the front arch, grandfather inscribed a spiral of war-runes in obsidian ink. Flanking each temple are low-relief engravings of a phoenix’s upraised wing, rendered in platinum flash, mirroring Emberlance’s imagery. The crown’s underside is padded with midnight-blue silk from the Veiled Looms of Varistith. Finally, a hid

My jerremy coiled out, wrapping around his butterfly tattoo again, when its purple wings nipped with magic. “Your ink,” I asked, “is that what’s controlling your nature?” “Do you like it? Such a clever tattoo with magic woven into it that hides my Curse, when appearing nothing more than the mark of the Alpha Empire, where the Purple King butterfly is our national emblem,” King spat out, flinching as I reached to touch the tattoo. I instantly pulled back. “I’m sorry, it’s just so…”

Mea Dea, my goddess in Latin, despite wanting to spit at him to address me properly, my heart races. “You can call me Queen Aylin,” I force out in a hiss, although his smirk tells me I don’t sound convincing. I break eye contact with him to look him over. He is truly carved to perfection. He’s wearing a tank top, which shows the entire tattoo on his neck. It’s a black and white piece of a phoenix, midflight with its mouth open in a scream, surrounded by fire. The wings extend onto the front and back of his neck in brilliant detail and the fire down to his collarbone. He also has several different pieces down both arms, none of which I bother to look at since I’ve been looking at him for far