Heart Under Blade Tattoo Novels & Stories

That was, until I overheard someone in the sect saying that they had taken me in just so they could claim my heartblood when they needed it… until Cain came at me with a dagger for the first time, thrusting it into my heart. It was only afterwards that he told me that he had a childhood sweetheart—a mortal named Yvette. She had given him a pill bestowed upon her by a sage so that he could gain transcendence and join the Bladelords, while she was left shackled by mortality. Caught in disbelief, I had demanded at the time, "So you wooed me just for my heartblood?" "Yes," he admitted to it boldly. "But I also truly fell in love with you. There's no way I can have a relationship with Yvette now

“But this works too. No witnesses out here.” She lunges forward, the makeshift blade aimed straight at my heart. l

The room went very quiet. Blade stood completely still for a moment that stretched far too long. He was aware of Hector somewhere behind him in the doorway. He was aware of Petra still crying softly in the chair. He was aware of the faint sound of the house around him … the distant closing of a door somewhere, the settling of old walls. He was aware of all of it and he felt none of it. What he felt was something vast and furious rising from somewhere beneath his ribs, burning upward through his chest, filling the back of his throat until he could barely breathe around it.

"Be something that survives the blade." The magnetic seal locks. I sit in the dim light of the Faraday cage with my hand resting where his palm was, and the child's heartbeat still tuned to his frequency. The drugs are already losing ground—I can feel the silver threads pushing back against the amber weight in my veins. I reach into the bedpost and close my fingers around the Phantom Blade. The titanium needle begins to hum faintly, the silver light from my skin leaping onto the metal as though it recognizes it. He wants a weapon.

She looked ruined. And she couldn’t stop. The next morning she returned to the tattoo shop once again. The old artist didn’t even ask questions this time. She simply nodded and prepared her station. “The heart piece,” Aria said, voice husky. “I want something that ties them all together.” The artist chose a stunning, dark design — a blooming obsidian rose with thorny vines that would sit right above her heart, with tendrils reaching toward her breasts and down toward her pussy like living roots.

I gasp at the stretch. He starts fucking me—long, deep strokes that make my eyes roll back. Then the blade returns, cool metal pressing over my heart. The first cut is sharp. Pain blooms instantly, bright and blinding, mixing with the devastating pleasure of his cock slamming into me. I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. He grunts with every thrust, hips snapping harder as he slowly carves his initial, an R, into my skin right above my heart.

Some in memory of the lives I was forced to take and others to remind me why I was here, why I was so dark and hollow inside. Two tattoos held more meaning than the rest, though. The first is the crest for the Bloodstone pack. It sat just above my heart. Two wolves howled at the moon on opposite sides of a sword that sunk between a crown and shield—roses growing around the tip of the blade.

That morning I had slipped the silver blade into the waist band of my joggers, it seared a tiny bit against my skin and I pushed the pain away, if they were not willing to listen to me, this would be final. As I plunged the silver blade into my chest, exactly where my heart was beating, I didn’t even feel the pain of it piercing my skin or the moment it hit my heart. I concentrated on the blue eyes I had grown to love. He was in utter shock and I tell him through our mind l**k that I love him. Darkness seeped in at the edges and I instantly felt my mothers presence “You stupid girl, what have you done!” I couldn’t help but smile at her, I felt no pain and when I looked down the blade wasn’t

He breathes out. "Who is Blade?" I ask, turning to face them while trying to mask the frightened look on my face. "We heard he's in the mafia or something. He's from the neighbouring town." Tasha explains to me, her gaze flickering towards them for some seconds. "He's a fucking psychopath." "We need to leave." She says again, rushing to finish her ice cream and I look down at mine, suddenly losing my appetite. Jackson nods, "What the fuck is he doing with them?" He asks as we walk out.

A sharp gasp escapes my mouth and I finally understand what he wants to show me. His finger points at his chest, close to where his heart is located. It's hard to see at quick glance but when you look closely, it's clear as day. Underneath a tribal tattoo etched onto his skin is a scar. A circular scar that dipped deep into his skin. It's an ugly white colour, a sign it had been there for years. "Is that a — " "A bullet scar." His jaw completely clenches, his face as icy as stone. My hand shoots up to my mouth as I examine it closely in awe. My other hand reaches towards it but I stop in mid air —