Excalibur Sword Tattoo Novels & Stories

“Please...” “Your hand, Athena...” Buck whispered, his voice cracking with emotion as he pointed to my palm. I lowered my eyes to my right hand. The mark was no longer burning silver. It had turned solid, pitch-black. And directly beneath the broadsword crest, a secondary symbol had burned itself deep into my skin—a menacing, detailed carving of a massive wolf with two heads, one looking toward the starlight, and the other staring down into the abyss. Buck’s face drained of every last drop of color. He swallowed hard, his voice barely audible over the roaring wind in the cavern.

As she unbuttoned his shirt, she noticed the tattoo of a horse on his neck which was mostly concealed by his shirt. "This is one of Christopher Stallion's men," she said. "What?" "Look at him," she said, pointing to the tattoo. "That is impossible," the governor incredulously. "My men are all trusted men." "But he has the tattoo of a horse on his neck. It would interest you to know that Stallion has a similar tattoo, and so does every member of his gang. Do you doubt it? I have a tattoo of a scorpion on my back because I am a Black Scorpion. All the members of the gangs have tattoos on their bodies."

All of them had a silver hue, yet it was clear that they were not crafted from actual silver. One had a small ruby, another had elegant cursive inscriptions, and another had delicate floral etchings. I couldn't help but admire the intricate artwork that adorned his arm, from his fingers all the way up to his wrist. "What is the significance of this?" I gently ran my fingers over one of the intricate tattoos on his arm. The elegant script, adorned with delicate vines, roses, and lotus flowers, intrigued me, even though I couldn't decipher the Greek letters.

My gaze drifted unconsciously to his collarbone. There was a new tattoo there. Red, still swollen from being freshly inked, but unmistakable. It was my name. The characters were rendered in the most ancient, wild cursive form of script, like an old, binding sigil. My fingers trembled as I touched it. “When did you… get this?” Henry caught my hand and rubbed it gently against his palm. “Last night, after you fell asleep.” “Did it hurt?” “It was better that it hurt.” His eyes darkened, and a satisfied smile curved his lips.

Lucien's attention sharpened instantly. "What tattoo? Any particular details you remember?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, his voice quieter but urgent. Elara closed her eyes for a moment, replaying the image. "I don't remember everything… but it looked like a sword. And… a flower at the top of the sword. Something like that." She opened her eyes and nodded faintly, as if convincing herself. "Yes… a sword and a flower." A soft gasp escaped both Lucien and Ragnar at the same time.

"A new tattoo? I'm in." Noah was more solemn. "It is a vow. Not just of love, but of rule. A promise etched in skin." Elias was there, to guide the magic. Using a blend of Dawnfire silver and pack-gold pigment, he worked on each of us. The old mate mark, the single sun, did not vanish. It became the center of something new. On my chest, the sun was now embraced by a crescent moon (for Neal's spirit) and was rooted by a winding, flowering vine (for my growth and lineage).

His husky voice creating butterflies in my stomach again. He killed my fated mate but has the gall to claim he isn’t our enemy? The slight burning feeling on my wrist begins to itch. I tug my leather brace down just enough to know a symbol I’ve never seen before on my wrist. It’s a sword, but it has a circle around the handle like a halo. ‘What in the wands is this? What does it mean? What did you do to me?’ I shout at him. Lord Talon steels himself, and a sad look flashes across his face as he fights to avoid eye contact with me before returning to his straight face, now showing no emotion at all.

“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.

She had only glimpsed parts of it before, but even from across the room she could see the design. A two-headed eagle. “What?” He followed her stare and looks down at his tattoo. “Oh. This,” he said. “It’s a folly of youth.” He sounded a little embarrassed, and he frowned, seemingly puzzled by her keen interest. She couldn’t take her eyes off the ink as she walked toward him. He raised his elbow so she could have a better look. Inscribed across his biceps was a black shield bearing the image of an ivory two-headed eagle hovering over five yellow circles that are in the shape of an inverted V.

Each man wore the mark. Different symbols etched into skin: a serpent coiled around a sword on the left forearm of one, twin wolves snarling beneath a bleeding moon on the wrist of another, a skeletal crown on the palm of a third, and a phoenix swallowing its own tail just above the elbow of the last. Each tattoo pulsed faintly, dark and ancient, remnants of an allegiance born of secrecy, ambition, and old blood.