Dark Tower Tattoos Novels & Stories

My eyes widened when I saw the wolf head tattoo on his chest, and the several marks like claws and scars on his chest. Seeing my eyes glued on his chest, the man smiled and said, "Admiring my tattoos, right?" "Yeah. Are you a warrior? Doesn't this big tattoo hurt?" I asked him, knowing that it was wrong to pry into a stranger's life. We were only having a night together, and I did not need to ask him who the fụck he was. "Yeah. It's a tribal tattoo. I am from the Dark Mountain Pack," he said, and I saw his eyes glow, and I didn't know if I was hallucinating at that moment.

Esmeray held her forearm up, examining the intricate tattoo that adorned her skin. The tattoo depicted a majestic wolf, its eyes fierce and determined, surrounded by swirling patterns that seemed to dance with a life of their own. The lines were bold and precise, giving the impression of strength and resilience. “This tattoo is so unique,” Esmeray remarked, tracing her fingers over the contours of the design. “I’ve always felt a connection to it, but I never knew why.”

That every wish of mine would be fulfilled with him by my side. Laying down on my pillow without feeling any pain, I fell in a deep sleep. The very deep sleep that seemed like forever. On waking up, I felt much pain in my back. Something felt like a huge wound on my back, I rushed to the mirror to check what it was that was paining me so much. To find out, it was a bat tattoo. I didn't cry instead I felt so happy.

For the man I loved with my everything. Endora's voice softened. "That pup inside you breaking three hundred years of darkness." I looked down at my still flat stomach, where beneath layers of muscle and skin, a future king or queen might be growing. A child who would never know the weight of thorns around their father's heart. “But then his tattoos…. why are they darkening?” I asked. “Because they are trying to bind his wolf further and further to erase the bond. More he tries to be close with you, the more the marks will make him suffer. But once you are marked, it will be broken,” Endora said.

"All I am trying to do is get you people a strong alliance before I die... Delgados are our golden opportunity. But if anything goes wrong then it can kill all of us... You might be misunderstanding Damon's soft behaviour with you but you people need to understand that they are heartless criminals and you have no idea what they do to their enemies... I beg you to make sure that nothing goes wrong tonight..." "Okay!" Maya assured with glossy eyes. She sighed and grabbed her head while sitting on the couch. "Maa, Durga ko toh haldi lagi hi nhi!" (Maa, Durga's haldi ceremony didn't happen!" Tara looked at her sadly. Maya wiped her tears, her heart was breaking at the insult her husband had to g

“Don’t you have training to do?” “It’s not nearly as fun as watching you.” I countered, pouting just a bit. My eyes found the tattoo that started at his shoulder and snaked down his back. A scaled dragon, full of razor-sharp teeth and eyes glistening with intelligence. Its tail was curled around his waist, and ended in a tuft of dangerous points. Atlas’s tattoo seemed much brighter now; definitely brighter than the faded blue it had been in the past. His dragon, it looked as though it were made from ice.

Or at least, I try. But my gaze never makes it to his face. Instead, it lands on them. His tattoos. Dark ink sprawls across his chest in a masterpiece of meaning I can’t quite decipher. Hawks take flight from his ribs, their wings stretching wide, as if fleeing something unseen. Beneath them, shadows curl into thorned branches, creeping toward his arms, where they twist into something darker—skulls hidden within the tangle, their hollow eyes watching. And beneath it all, symbols—sharp, cryptic, carved into his skin like remnants of a past that refuses to be forgotten.

The first thing he came across was his reflection in the mirror. He was shirtless with his pants hanging around his waist. His hairs were a little dishevelled covering his forehead. There was small tattoo of a tornado. It was just an inch tall as he made that when Kaz and Conner challenged him to do so. He never liked to ink his skin as he liked it clean devoid of any absurd pattern on it. The scars he got from the wars he had won were enough for him and he cherished them on his skin. But they, especially Kaz loved to ink his skin or he should say he liked to be penetrated by a needle to ink his blood. Zackarya never had these types of likings.

I turn slowly to see the fourth one. Leaning on the doorframe, carved from shadow, he's broad, barefoot and shirtless. Hair pitch black and buzzed at one side. Tattoos crawl across his entire torso, every muscled inch is covered, moving up his thick neck like smoke licking at his jaw. Across his hairline ink stretches a dark halo. Down the side of his cheek, neat script is inked in the same language viking boy has. Oh he's dangerous. He inhales and holds it. I swear on every pack of mini donuts I’ve ever loved, he growls so low I feel it through the soles of my boots.

His height prohibited me from getting a good look, so I rose back onto my knees, holding his hair to one side and leaning near. “More light.” “Demanding,” he whispered, but picked up his axe, lifting it aloft to illuminate his flesh. Not unexpectedly, the tattoo was fashioned like an axe, the blade engraved in great detail, however, the rune signifying Thor was what grabbed my eye. Like my own tattoo, the crimson inkwork pulsed with the beat of his heart, and, beneath my observation, it seemed to throb quicker. “Nervous?” “My neck is exposed to you, Born-in-Fire,” he answered. “I’m terrified.” Smiling, I drew my left index finger along the faint red lines.