Doom Slayer Tattoo Novels & Stories

I’ll never be able to drink tequila again without thinking of him, that’s for sure. I see Erik still watching me. I hand him his shirts. “Five black belts? That’s incredible. All this time you never mentioned it.” “That was a long time ago, I’m not that person anymore.” I can’t help but ogle him and he catches me checking out his Nordic styled tattoos. There’s a chariot on each pec, one pulling the sun, one pulling the moon, each being chased by a wolf. “This is Sköll,” he points to one of the wolves, “and this one Hati. They chase the sun and moon.”

He headed to the room with the bed, his fingers slipping into my pussy before he slapped my ass and gripped the flesh. We passed the threshold, and he threw me onto the bed. He reached down and tugged my jeans the rest of the way off, then his shirt. My eyes widened at the ink that covered his skin. Red. Black. Blood and death. Skull, lion, rose—symbols of who he was. He pressed my thighs down to the side against the mattress.

The man was covered in blood that oozed out of his neck that he has slit. We all looked silently at his dead body. While I was staring at him I saw a tattoo. This one stood out from all the black ink tattoos this one looked like a scorpion on his right hand, I looked closely at it. I even went forward and wiped the blood from the area to look at it closely. Adam came to see what I was staring at. I looked at him. "Are you thinking what I am thinking?" I asked him

“Two long tears. Both eyes.” The tattooist looked up from his tools, his expression grim. “You realize what you’re asking for? This isn’t just any tattoo. It marks you as part of a violent group. Step into River, and you’ll be arrested on sight. Worse, your soul will be bound to hers. If she dies, especially by your hand, your soul shatters into fragments. You’ll be left a husk—a mindless, broken shell. Are you sure about this?” In the corner, Argent leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, her silver braids reflecting the dim light as she formed a heart with her hands.

His body wasn’t just built—it was carved, sculpted from violence,A Full Sleeve tattoo, a combination of smoke, roses, and skulls. Italian writing ; Veni, Vidi, Vici. I came, I saw, I conquered. A warrior’s creed. A killer’s promise. My grip tightened around the first aid kit, my pulse thrumming in my ears. He came closer. Sharp-cut jaw. A mouth carved in sin. Eyes that should never be called beautiful but somehow were. I should have moved. I should have spoken. I should have done something. But all I could do was stare. The first aid box nearly slipped from my hands. My fingers tightened around it just in time, the rough edges pressing into my skin as I walked over to him. He wasn’t touching

I curled around my stomach, trembling. When it was over, Damon knelt beside me. Blood smeared his shirt. His eyes searched mine. "Are you hurt?" I shook my head. He stood and motioned to the fallen attackers. One of his guards rolled up a sleeve. A tattoo. Black ink. A stylized wolf. I staggered closer. My breath caught. "That mark—I saw it. On the SUV. The day I crashed." Damon’s expression darkened. "It’s Andrei’s mark."

My gaze sharpened. “This slave is useless,” I said coldly. “He bit his own tongue to keep silent.” I lifted the file slightly, angling it toward Alpha Dorian and Elder Henry, my finger tapping the image. “But this sign... What does it mean?” Alpha Dorian leaned forward and pointed at the image, his finger hovering just above the page. The tattoo was shaped like a jagged thunderbolt, carved in flesh. “When I first saw it,” Alpha Dorian said gravely, “I felt I had seen it before. So, I consulted the ancient history scrolls.”

He scanned my expression, his brows drawing together. I sighed. “Sorry. Since my pregnancy I've been more emotional. I hope it’ll go away soon.” I cleared my throat then rested my palm over his shoulder blade. “What’s the meaning of your tattoo? You know why I got mine, but I wonder why you got yours.” A hint of wariness flashed in his eyes, the walls he was used to keeping up wanting to lock back in place. “Damian did it. About seven years ago.” I nodded to show him I was listening. “It’s a fallen angel, like you said. It represents the fall Damian and I took on the day our mother tried to kill us.”

As long as it wouldn't hurt anyone. I got Max's call after a few minutes. Walking away from the men who were mopping the floor, I took the call. “Any news?” “Yes, my alpha. The tattoo belonged to the men of the Scorpion Syndicate. That's their symbol mark. It's of a skull being pierced by an axe and an arrow prodding from its left eye. I can't be wrong about that.” “I see.”

Her fingers trembled as she undid the last button, pushing the fabric aside to reveal my skin. "Greedy little virgin," I teased, but I shrugged off my shirt, exposing my tattooed chest—rippling muscles, scars from my rough past, all symbols of the darkness she was embracing. The ink swirled in intricate patterns: a snarling wolf on my pec, vines of thorns wrapping around my abs, each one a story of conquest and pain. Her eyes widened, fingers tracing the ink, sending shivers down my spine as her nails scraped lightly over a scar. "Touch all you want. But remember, this body is your master now. Every ridge, every scar—it's yours to worship, but only because I allow it."