Hell Hound Tattoo Novels & Stories

“The one I cut on the back?” I blinked at her. “You mean the little asswipe with the shitty tattoo who wanted to fuck up my pretty face with his brass knuckles? Yeah, I’m fairly positive I don’t care if he’s okay. But from the way he lit out of there like his tail was on fire, I’d say he’s just fine.” “It wasn’t a shitty tattoo,” she mumbled. “It was the eye of Horus. Some thought it was a symbol to ward off evil, but it’s actually supposed to symbolize healing.”

I’ll never be able to drink tequila again without thinking of him, that’s for sure. I see Erik still watching me. I hand him his shirts. “Five black belts? That’s incredible. All this time you never mentioned it.” “That was a long time ago, I’m not that person anymore.” I can’t help but ogle him and he catches me checking out his Nordic styled tattoos. There’s a chariot on each pec, one pulling the sun, one pulling the moon, each being chased by a wolf. “This is Sköll,” he points to one of the wolves, “and this one Hati. They chase the sun and moon.”

“Your tattoos are beautiful.” I look at the tattoo of a skull surrounded by black flames. My whole right arm is decorated with tattoos from shoulder to wrist. My skin prickles with every caress of her fingers, but I don’t stop her from touching me. The tattoo sleeve has several tribal symbols, and there are a seal trident and a frogman tattoo on my shoulder. Each tattoo represents something in my life. The skull represents my status as an Assassin, and the cross is a play on my name. Her finger moves down the line of my intricate cross, then to the inside of my rib cage, where I have an inscription. Qui velit, ut vivat in aeternum.

His fur had once been a sleek, silken black. Age and hunger had dulled it. Scars crisscrossed his flanks. On his shoulder, visible where the fur had been ripped away, a tattooed sigil stood out, ragged but unmistakable: A crescent of ink laid over a blotched circle. Moon over shadow. He had seen that mark burned into trees, carved into stones, painted on shields in old war stories. The brand of the Shadow Pack. “What in the Moon’s broken face,” Tamsin whispered, “is a Shadow dog doing alive?”

A gothic O with two crossbows through it was tattooed on his skin, and green runes swirled around it in an intricate pattern. Harry recoiled and immediately pulled Emmanuelle behind him, shielding her: "The Order of the Hunters. We are in the Hunters' Den?" he whispered in awe as he recognized the symbol: Ferdinand gave him an amused smile, then shrugged: "The den? No. The village is more correct." A growl left the Alpha's lips. He was angry that he had not gotten this information sooner. And, more importantly, he was now concerned for his Mate's safety: "Why did the Council call on you? How could you let my Mate walk the grounds of your territory so freely?"

"I don't remember this place looking so unkempt." Logan walked over to the desk and rested on it, turning to face them. "Alright, enough gaping. This isn't the most terrible room you have ever seen." He waited until they had looked around enough, then started. "I have already told Casper about this Louve, so it's you that should listen to me. There has been some updates about the recent happenings." Louve looked from her cousin to Casper and back. "What updates?" She asked. "So when we captured the rogue wolf, we found this tattoo on his shoulder. It's shaped as a crescent in a circle. That tattoo really stood out to me as I had never seen anything like it before. It was a simple tattoo, yet

I resisted the urge to fan myself as my body temperature shot up. Other than bulky muscles, black ink marked his back with various tattoos. My brain had melted the moment I saw his hot, muscular body, so before I could think about it, I took a step in his direction and then a few more until I had a clear view of his tattoos. At a little distance down the neck, there was a tattoo that portrayed eight phases of the moon in a horizontal alignment. On the right side of his back, the anatomy of a wolf heart was tattooed with blood dripping down in drops. A date, 12-08-1994, was etched beneath the wolf's heart.

“But don’t come crying to me when you’re still sitting here days from now, staring at that tattoo and pretending it’s the biggest mystery in your life. You have the key to make your choice by getting laid.” Her presence receded as abruptly as it had appeared, leaving an ache in my chest that wasn’t entirely physical. The silence felt heavier now, the weight of her words pressing down on me. I stared at the tattoo again, my fingers trailing over it almost absently. The design twisted and curled, impossibly intricate, like something alive and untamed. It felt… ancient. Powerful. And yet I didn’t know what it meant in my mate bond with Lucien and Damon. Did it mean that I’m only mated to Lucien

She’s wearing a scarf and her face is covered with red vale revealing her eyes with only black colors. “State your concern, lady.” I gathered my hair using my right hand and turned sideways to show her the family emblem tattooed on the side of my nape. The Ahvaz family symbol has the sign of a full moon with the face of the wolf, a number of ten stars surround the moon. “We’re here to pick Louisa Ahvaz’s potion orders.”

His heart skipped a beat as his gaze landed on a distinct tattoo on one of the approaching men's arms. The tattoo showed the profile of a Holt's helmet, visor closed, exuding silent authority. Adorned with a laurel wreath and backed by crossed swords, it marked victory, readiness for battle, and strength. A roaring lion at the base signified unmatched power. This was no ordinary mark—it was the insignia of a Mafia King, a symbol feared in the criminal underworld. Recognizing its significance, the guard's voice wavered, "Drop your weapons!" His partner looked at him in confusion, "What the hell are you talking about?"