Forearm Hawk Tattoo Novels & Stories

"Hell, a hole the size of a plum through the palm of your hand! The old healer had to pull the arrow through your hand to get it out. And you heard him yourself. Had it gotten lodged in your chest, which it should have but for uncanny luck, there would have been naught he could do to save you, cruelly notched as it was. You'll bear scars and pain in that hand for life." Hawk sighed morosely. More scars and more pain. So what? She hadn't even bothered to see if he was alive. She could have at least pretended to be concerned. Visited briefly to maintain the pretense of civility. But no. She probably hoped he was dying, for with him out of the way she would be a very wealthy woman. Was she even

She could never have imagined that the brushes in front of her had been intended for guests. When the fog faded from the mirror, she opened her eyes and swore at her reflection. She could see the red and purple marks of the hickeys he had given her on her chest and neck. Then she put a trembling hand at the base of her neck. A kind of black tattoo had taken shape there. Three parts stood out. At the top stands the head of a black wolf baring its fangs. Then, behind the head of the animal, a crescent moon was drawn. And finally, just under the wolf's mouth, two elegantly intertwined letters: M.B.

His six packs and muscular arms were perfect for his torso. The tattoos were splattered on his chest, the one that has the M symbol with a crown on it, has some words written on it. He turned around to drop the bottle, and that made me see the tattoo on his back. It was a tattoo of a large bird flying away from an arrow directed to it. He turned to face me back as he leaned back on the fridge, then I looked up to his face. I looked away but something caught my eyes. I saw those words clearly. Broken. I have a feeling every words and shapes that was tattooed on his skin has a deeper meaning attached to it. But two of those tattoos got me thinking. The M symbol with the crown on it and the wo

His voice was detached, but I felt the weight of it. On his right hand, a serpent coiled around his wrist, with flames dancing across his fingers and a miniature skull on his index finger. On his left hand, a majestic eagle dominated his wrist, with a cryptic symbol on his thumb and the ominous phrase "Mors Certa, Hora Incerta" on his ring finger. Around his neck and slightly above his chest, a delicate pattern of barbed wire ran along his neck. A pair of ravens perched on his shoulders, their eyes gleaming with an otherworldly intelligence.

The light scattering of hair on his lower abdomen disappeared into the towel and the only thing marring the beauty of his skin was the angry red mark on his chest, just a few inches away from his heart where he had been shot yesterday. Now that he was finally unclothed, I was able to see the tattoo on his left arm. It was a picture of a phoenix in flight and it was magnificent. The artist had focused on every tiny detail down to the red eye of the phoenix and somehow, it suited him. He was just as majestic as the bird.

By the time I lifted my gaze, Elion was already sitting in front of me just like Hael. His shirt was off his body. His back was bare and I saw his tattoo. Unlike Hael's, his were bold, colorful, and very vibrant, stretching from his shoulder blades to his lower back. It was a Phoenix. A big one. With large wings inked in gold, red, and black colours. The beak was open, as if it were screeching. Its talons extended as if it had just risen from ashes. It looked powerful, just like Elion.

Evandros sobs got louder, his pain was gushing out in the form of those transparent tears. The tattoo around his wrist started to move as it left his wrist and came to life. The black fog ball turned into a hawk with huge wings, flapping his wings in the air. That black eyes of his pooled up in tears as he stared down at his respective master. The bird made a loud screeching sound as if he was in pain. The pain of seeing its master cry had the bird screeching. Its voice was so loud the guards in the other corridor felt shivers running down their spine. They thought their lord was not in a very good mood.

At least, that is what I tell myself. Ryker doesn't answer me. Instead, he crouches low in front of me, his massive frame folding down like a predator that wants to toy with its prey. I catch the nasty manner with which his knuckles are bruised with scars, looking so rough like they have seen more than their fair share of fights. I also recognize the serpent tattoo coiling up his right forearm, with another tattoo that is a dead man’s skull circled by a crescent moon in blood-red ink right on his left bicep.

Hoping he’d say he thought of her first. “I did,” Orion replied. “But then I remembered they went to Becca’s grandmother’s today. So they aren’t in.” The hope deflated quietly. He lifted a hand and ruffled his damp hair, droplets falling to the floor. Vera watched the motion, stunned by how something so simple could look so dangerously attractive. She had never pictured Orion as a man with tattoos—but there they were. A black band wrapped around one forearm. A bird inked along the other, stretching upward, partially hidden by his sleeve. That same arm bore other markings—needles, knives, a skull, symbols she couldn’t fully make out.

He beckoned me over. I walked to the corpse of the assassin, the one with the poison spear. Drax was holding the rogue's arm up. He had ripped the tattered sleeve away to reveal the forearm. There, branded into the greyish skin, was a tattoo. It was a black circle with a jagged red lightning bolt cutting through it. "I know this mark," Drax said, his voice grim. "It’s the sigil of the Iron Hounds. Malakar’s elite guard from the old wars."