Forearm Guardian Angel Angel Tattoo Novels & Stories

My lips press on her forehead. "I'm here," I whisper, drawing an imaginary circle on her arm. "Your guardian angel"

Still, the pack murmured, and Layon laid a hand upon Angel's furred shoulder as he urged her, "Angel, shift and show them the truth." Though she knew what he was asking her, for a moment she was merely frozen in fear, unable to do anything until he stroked down the length of her back. Finally she began to shift, standing before the pack as naked as the day she was born. Layon gripped hold of her hand and squeezed her fingers even as he urged her around to reveal the scarring he'd left upon her shoulder, showing his own in the process. "We are marked as fated mates for all to see!"

I whispered, “You were amazing.” He pulled back and beamed at me. “Did you see my roll? And—and how I dodged and flipped him?” “I did! I don’t even think I could have done that,” I laughed, brushing his hair from his face. He puffed his chest. “The warriors say I’m strong. That I’m brave.” I kissed his forehead. “You are. You always have been.” He held up his arm, showing me a fresh tattoo inked onto his forearm. A beautiful phoenix with its wings spread in mid-flight as it stood in flames.

More! On the other hand, Guardian Angel repeatedly tapped the tips of her index fingers together, her eyes panning left and right.

I hesitantly accepted and dropped it after one hurried shake of our arms. He immediately turned his back to me and began heading to the center of the sparring ring. When he pivoted around I momentarily caught a glimpse of the back of his neck. I was taken aback when I spotted not one, but a plethora of Molnija marks, small tattoos shaped like lightning bolts coming together in an X. Each tattoo signified a Strigoi kill and was usually accompanied by our Guardian insignia upon entry of service. Many Guardians kept their hair shorter or pulled back to show them proudly. I supposed I had only seen him with his hair down up until that point, but for a moment I couldn't believe my eyes. I started

Just barely enough for me to see it and know it was meant for me. I looked away from her and that was when I saw it. The stranger had stepped slightly further into the light of the hallway and his left forearm was visible where his sleeve was pushed up. A tattoo ran along the inside of his forearm, dark ink, a specific pattern — angular lines that curved at the end in a way that was not common, not something you saw every day. I had seen that tattoo before. I had cleaned dried blood away from that exact forearm three days ago in the cold air near my mother's grave, my hands shaking as I pressed gauze against skin that had been torn open by something I hadn't asked about.

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.

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.

Angela, who'd watched in silence, asked Julian, "Are you hurt?" Julian was pleased that she was concerned for him. Holding her hand gently, he said, "I'm fine. If he ever bothers you again, ignore him. Just tell me about it." "Got it." Angela lowered her eyes to hide how touched she felt, but she just so happened to see a tattoo around his left ring finger. It was a thin line of black that circled around the finger. After staring closely at it, she mumbled, "AT? Are those… my initials?"