Fourth Wing Dragon Tattoo Novels & Stories

Dax glanced at Malfoy coldly and continued, “Listen closely. I am Dax Wimbleton, the Southern Warzone Master.” With that, his followers and aides introduced themselves one after another. “Drogo Azure, also known as the Eastern Azure Dragon of the Four Great War Gods from the Southern Warzone.” “Tiger White, also known as the Western White Tiger of the Four Great War Gods from the Southern Warzone.” “Axia Vermillion, also known as the Southern Vermillion Phoenix of the Four Great War Gods from the Southern Warzone.” “Ronald Black also known as the Northern Black Tortoise of the Four Great War Gods from the Southern Warzone.”

The tattoo stretched with lines forming into a design of interlocking wings and chains, intricate and bold. Without realizing it, I drifted closer. My hand rose almost on instinct. My fingers brushed the edge of his shoulder blade, tracing the ink. The heat of his skin seared into me. “Why this?” I whispered. He exhaled slowly, like my touch burned and calmed him at once. “Chains for what holds me down. Wings for what I want to break free into.” My fingers lingered on the design again. His skin was smooth, taut under my touch, every inch screaming with restrained power.

She gasped. A massive dark blue tattoo between his shoulder blades caught her eye. A dragon. Its wings were spread wide, the clawed tips arching over his shoulder blades, and it seemed to move when he moved his muscles. It was not unlike the dragons stitched on the dressing gown she wore. He must have an obsession with dragons. It was a bit odd, but who was she to talk when it came to obsessions? She loved old stones, and not because they were old or because they were sparkly or valuable, but because they were something pure and amazing that the earth had created.

repeated the woman, smiling softly. Draco's reflection on the lake's surface revealed dragon wings with a slight red tinge on their dark black wings. Small spots of silver, green, white color appeared a little part of the surface of the wings. “What is this? Why do my wings have colored spots?" Draco asked in surprise. "The color of your wings will look more beautiful when your strength is fully awakened," said Mannendake, the bamboo youkai, grinning as he swirled the flute on his fingers.

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

– He declared, letting go of my wrist, passing his thumb over his mouth, my eyes fixed on that man with a broad, defined chest, with a pecs designed as if he had been sculpted. On his neck he had a tattoo of a dragon that released a blue-green flame from its mouth.

I want to be normal'' ''But you are not, and you will never be'' Tornak rolled up his sleeve and on the inside of his right arm was a dragon tattoo curled up with its wings forming an armour around it "This is the mark of the dragon, when your dragon lord is united with his dragon you will get yours and the fate will bring you six together, it always does, no two dragons have the same mark so you are only bound to those with the exact same mark as you do'' Sven rubbed at his right hand

I opt for another half-truth instead. “Ah that, well it's a dragon tattoo I've had for some time now.” “Wow really? Can I see the rest of it?” He is almost giddy, and I see a little of the childlike excitement he used to show so rarely. “Well not all, because it reaches from my heart, all around me in a spiral to finish on my hip so can only show you below my chest.” I admonish him, he looks disappointed but there is a cheeky twinkle in his eye too and I realise that, being a guy, he really wanted to see it all.

It was the ink. A dragon, winding up from his chest, the tail curling along his ribs, the head climbing over his collarbone and stretching up the length of his left arm, almost entirely sleeved in intricate black and gray tattoo work. Scales, smoke, fire—details that felt as much like armor as art. This wasn't some impulsive drunken mistake. This was deliberate, meaningful. A story etched upon his skin. His throat, too, was fully covered in inked. And then—

Shia asked nervously. “No idea,” I replied calmly. “A golden winged dragon,” she said, trying hard to suppress her excitement. “A four-winged one!” “Really? Four wings? That’s amazing! Shia, you’re rich!” “Too bad it’s already been imprinted.” Imprinting—that was one of the reasons golden winged dragons were worth far more than silver ones. A golden dragon recognizes only one master. Once imprinted, it will never acknowledge anyone else. Loki was truly despicable. He must have anticipated that I might sell the egg at auction, so he had it imprinted before sending it.