Draco Malfoy Tattoos Novels & Stories

"I'll be enjoying every moment of it." My cheeks are steaming red and glancing over at Galina, she is also blushing with her gaze downcast. She proffers me her hand and I wordlessly take it as I'm burning with fury inside over the dastard. My eyes catch sight of the tattoo on his muscled upper arm. The black ink of the Christian Cross encircled by a fierce Dragon, made a dramatic striking contrast against his fair skin. Some girls would think it was bad of a guy, however, to me it was bad news about a guy.

placing her hands under her chin, she was getting tired of their unending talks. Draco was torn between the offers in front of him. He had tried his best to develop a cure for the strange illness by killing wolves in his pack, but nothing worked. He cannot afford to lose the throne that his parents died for and now here he is with an offer to marry the daughter of his parents’ murderers.

Eventually I'd pass out and stop breathing, which is what I wanted soon. "Draco have you been working out? Your techinque for torture and that wip is really top notch. It's giving me chills. I love it." I tried wriggling my eyebrows at him but had no idea if they were working or not. Draco had a creepy smile on his face and he leaned in closer. "Maybe I'll go back to earth and start asking your little bastard where her witchy mother is and I'll be sure to fuck her too."

As I approach the crowd, someone places their hand on my shoulder. “Hello Mate,” I hear from behind me. I turn around. “Draco. What the fuck do you want? I guess the authority sent you to deal with me,” I say. “Yeah, it seems you got a nice little bounty on your head, my friend,” Draco says. “I see you got your sidekick with you,” I say, eyeballing Tatina. “Yeah, well, I don’t let her out of my sight much. She has a wee bit of a temper, as you well know,” Draco says.

“Shit!” “I keep telling you not to struggle, but your resilience is really impressive.” Startled to find his voice so close, I turned my head to find him leaning down to my height, his face inches away from mine. “You should know when to quit, farfalla, don’t get your wings torn off just yet.” Before I could understand what was going on, Draco had parted the robe from my shoulder slightly before his fingers lightly traced the butterfly tattoo on my shoulder that I had gotten when I was still a naïve sixteen year old girl.

The kind of room that had no purpose and therefore no softness. Draco was on the far side of it. I registered him in pieces, the way you registered things when your body was already reacting before your mind had fully caught up. The shirt on the floor somewhere behind him. The shirtless back turned toward me broad and defined and covered, across the left shoulder and down the spine, with a tattoo that was not decorative. A dragon, rendered in black ink so detailed and so large that for a moment I simply looked at it the scales, the wingspan, the specific quality of something that had been inked not as art but as record. A testimony. This happened to me and I survived it and here is the mark

I retract my claw and slowly back away from him "Now answer my questions. Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you want from me?" I forcefully ask again, trying so hard to keep my anger in check. He collects the handkerchief his friend extends toward him. Taking his time, he carefully wipes the trail of blood away from his neck before pressing the handkerchief to the back of his head to stop the bleeding. "My name is Draco..." He says after he's done cleaning himself up. 'Draco!?... What the fuck kind of name is Draco? Draco means dragon or serpent. Who named their child that?...' I wonder to myself as he continues talking

Draco was sitting on my bed. Drunk. Silent. His bare chest gleamed under the dim light, covered in faint scars. His slacks hung low on his hips. His hair was tousled, eyes bloodshot. A half-empty bottle of scotch sat beside him on the floor. He looked up at me slowly. And smiled. But it wasn’t the charming, smug grin he usually wore. This one was cold. Tired. Mad. “How the fuck did he get in here…” I whispered, backing toward the bathroom, but it was already too late.

The men gasped at the sight, now realizing that Draco's curse wasn't just a rumor like everyone had thought. The scholar Draco had contacted concerning his other form had said he was a Wraithling, while another called him a beast because of how scary and huge he was. Unlike every other lycan, Draco's was bigger and towering with wings as wide as a Dragon's. He had scales on his face with long fangs and claws that could spell death for someone upon a single graze. Two horns jut out from his temple, curved with ridges. Draco's beast was powerful, horrid, and fast. It had an uncontrollable hunger for blood.

No one could tell that way that inside me was purely chaos. Vasilis turned Danae over, ripping the clothing over the spot where the seal sat. An ancient symbol in red and blue unfading ink. "Slit your palm and place it over the seal. Quick about it." Delphina ordered whilst Vasilis chanted. I let my beast slip and my claws dug into my palm, piercing my skin. I crouched and placed it over the seal before it could heal. I looked away from the leaking liquid that reminded me whose child I was. Who I truly was and how powerless i'd become.