Edgar Allan Poe Tattoo Novels & Stories

Summer was present. It was a very strong and humid sun, the pirates could barely stand the heat, they were all on their backs. Igor was looking at his map. His body was hot, his hair was wet from sweat. Kataleya approached. “ Why the Triquetra tattoo? Igor: “ It means eternity! Kataleya: “ Eternity of what? Igor stared: “ I don't know, tell me! Igor extended his hand, so that Kataleya could read her destiny. Kataleya touched his hand and shook her head.

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."

“Nor have I.” The prisoner sagged with relief, thinking his suffering was over. But Ezra shoved him back, ripping the man’s shirt open. His gaze locked on a mark etched beneath the skin, burnt into flesh like a brand. “What’s this?” Ezra growled. Kaelen stepped closer. A tattoo, half-hidden by grime, stood stark against the man’s ribs, a shield with twin wolf fangs slashed across it. Recognition jolted through him. “A crest, Kaelen murmured. Not of this pack.”

I asked Zion. He scrutinized my outfit choice. Black slacks, black button-down shirt, and a silver vest. The sleeves were rolled up, proudly showing off the new tattoo that I had Dante do for me. It was my girl’s name in Arabic inside of a fractal overlay. Our pups names were also placed within it in Arabic. “I think that Mama will love it. Are you nervous?” he asked me. Was I nervous? Nah. Not really. I was excited more than anything. I was a little anxious, hoping that she would like what I had planned out for the night.

The fiery burn lingered in my throat. "Nothing's wrong with being a gentleman, but pretending to be one just to impress women doesn't make you one." I smirked, taking another swig of whiskey. I surveyed his outfit, taking in every detail. He wore a vivid red shirt left open to showcase a muscular chest inked with a roaring lion whose fiery orange mane seemed to reach beyond his skin. Leonardo. Lion-hearted. That tattoo made perfect sense. A golden cross lay nestled atop the lion's mane, glinting in the light like a beacon of faith. It was clear that Leonardo wore his heart on his sleeve. His was a tattooed visual representation of his inner fire.

He could see the scars on her thighs and the ugly scar that marred her left knee. Lolita turned to the side, showing her profile. The first thing that caught his eye was the tattoo on her arm. He was immediately transported to the hospital, where there had been a bandage on her arm. Hayden had known she was seriously injured, but a tattoo? And one as gnarly as that? “What…” he cleared his throat and the emotion that clogged it. “What is that?” Lolita caressed it for a moment. “It was supposed to be the Paris tower, except now it looks like shit. Jarrod drew it. It was the most painful thing I’d ever experienced.”

I realized how much I missed him, more than I had admitted to myself. “You really love tattoos,” I remarked as he casually removed his shirt. His back was covered in intricate black and gray tattoos—half a skull, half the face of a crying woman. His shoulders and arms were adorned with shading, letters, and flowers that had intertwined over time. I noticed the names of my parents, mine, and his pack etched on a cross. My dad would have had a fit if I had even a single tattoo.

Then, I saw him standing by a door to a room, or somewhere. He had taken off his shirt. His upper body appeared bigger. They were tattoos all over his back, his trousers hung low on his waist, dangerously low. I could run my hands through this type of body all day without getting tired. He was receiving a phone call. He was immensely focused. I stood still, waiting for him to finish. His words didn’t make sense at first, until it got to the part where he said: “She doesn’t know a thing. I have it all under control… In the end everything will be mine.” His words made me tremble.

To the side, Kade gently took her hand and squeezed it. Not long after, Alex and Cara both joined them holding hands. They both bowed their heads slightly to Caleb and Meadow, then joined them on the round table. "Sorry for the delay, we were just letting our tattoos heal…" Said Cara with a bright smile. "Tattoos? What tattoos?" Viorra asked. "We decided to make this Valentine's day different and simple; we both had our late son Peyton's name tattooed on the back of our necks, see?" Cara replied as she tilted her head and showed Viorra and the rest, the elegant name of his dead son.

He stares at my arm, at where the sleeve of the jumper I’m wearing is rolled up enough and his eyes focus right in on where the tattoo is. I paid a small fortune for that tattoo. It’s a phoenix. It felt almost poetic at the time although I’d admit now it’s a bit cheesy. Its wings are inked into flames. It stretches over my forearm, not too big, but it covers what he’d done. How he’d marked me.