Death Moth Throat Tattoo Novels & Stories

She’s wearing a sleeveless black shirt her bare left shoulder tattooed with a winding black dragon. The girl yells: “Oh my God, did I kill her?” Trent looks at the lady, who is beginning to rise on shaky knees, her hand sweeping beneath a parked car for her knife. “Uh, no, I think she’s immortal or something . . . ” “Get in.” The girl revs the motor. “Cops here soon.”

“That tattoo on your neck was the same as hers. The exact same, no difference. I would remember that tattoo even if I was dead.” I stared, still not knowing what else to say. I had never felt strongly about anything as I’d felt about this. But where was the evidence to prove I might have not been responsible for Zara’s death? And the same tattoo? No one had my tattoo. No one. It was the inking of me as an angel dressed in black and wielding a gun and a knife, and next to it was a star. The word ‘death’ was inked on one of the wings while black stars were inked dripping like tears from the other wing.

“Stop calling me that! I’m not some bitch you met years ago!” Hades moved closer, his gaze intense. He was about to inject her when the tattoo on her shoulder caught his eye. The dragon. He dropped his hand, his fingers tracing the outline of the ink. A flimsy excuse to cover her gunshot wound. Interesting.

Then it became worth my attention. I leaned in. The figure moved fast—too fast to spot anything in the first frame. The second frame was where I caught almost everything I wanted. First a flash, then a forearm exposed as the man pivoted to fire. And then I saw a mark, the undeniable prove that the man was indeed the guy I’ve suspected he was. He had a tattoo. This wasn’t the kind of fancy snake tattoos you got on a dare or during a midlife crisis. This mark had a meaning that was too familiar to ignore. An ouroboros curled around a caduceus—medicine’s polite way of saying “We hold your life by the throat.”

"We fight." ​: As the first drone dived toward us, the black thorn on my wrist didn't just throb—it opened. A third eye, violet and slitted like a cat’s, blinked open in the center of the scar. ​"The Scythe has evolved," a voice that wasn't mine whispered in my head. "And it’s hungry for steel."

His obsidian eyes were gone—replaced by a terrifying glow of violet and gold. And beneath his unbuttoned collar, the black serpent tattoo coiling around his neck was blazing a furious, bleeding crimson. ‘Kill him,’ Acheron was roaring in Theron's head, the beast transforming into a bloodthirsty monster at the sight of another male holding her. ‘HE TOUCHED HER. HE TOOK HER BREATH. SNAP HIS NECK.’ Theron’s fingers gripped the stone balustrade. With a sickening crack, the solid granite fractured beneath his hands.

My mouth began going down from kissing his neck to that strong broad chest, my eyes were closed but then I looked up to catch his expression after he held back a groan in his throat, but my eyes landed on his chest who welcome me with a new tattoo, I brushed my fingers on the ink, This tattoo was a combination of words which I knew was Spanish, those words were completing a circle and huge deadly snake was printed between them, starting from Amor (Love), Escapar (Escape), Desamor (Heartbreak), Venganza (Revenge), Misión (Mission), I could few words of it. “What is this, Armando,” I examined the details of that horrific tattoo, my eyes couldn’t move from it, It was obvious from some words tha

Behind the desk sat a massive man with a salt-and-pepper mustache and sunglasses. “Chance?” Matteo asked. “Alpha Matteo!” the man said, grinning. “Take a seat.” “We’ll stand,” Nickie said, his eyes locking on the man’s hand. On the back of the man’s hand was the tattoo. The serpent and the moon. “What’s the ink mean?” Nickie asked, his voice lethal. “It’s about renewal,” Chance said calmly. “The snake sheds its skin. The moon turns. Life through death. It’s the mark of the Velvet Syndicate.”

Being claimed by an Alpha of his strength while my body was already weakened by the heat had left me more sore than I wanted to admit. As I stood there in the dim light of the corridor, my mind involuntarily flashed back to the first time I’d gone to Damon’s room for help. I remembered the ink on his skin. It had been mesmerizing—thorny vines wrapping around his neck, dark symbols on his forearms. But it was his back that haunted me. He had skeletal wings tattooed across his shoulder blades, intricate and macabre. And right down his spine, there was a line of cursive script. I hadn't been able to read it then, but the image of it was burned into my mind.

I thank her, and we chat as she hands me something and shows me where I can change. It’s a black teddy with stain ties on the thong. It’s nice and leaves nothing to the imagination. I turn and look at my back in the mirror. My Chinese dragon tattoo covers my back. It’s open paw under my shoulder blade holds an orb. In that orb is the Mother’s Revenge emblem, but it is tattooed with invisible ink. Only a certain light will make it visible.