Hunter Hunter Spider Tattoo Novels & Stories

"Max! It's been so long, why haven't you texted me?" Max was a tall attractive boy with brown eyes and silver hair. He had a piercing in one ear and lower lip. There was this design that Hunter called a Tattoo on his neck. If I had to speculate his age in the human world, I would say he was the same age as Hunter, around twenty-four. He looked at me curiously and smiled at Hannah. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

He answered. I couldn't hold back the laugh that burst through me. "That's so corny. It sounds so weird coming from you. I'm still not buying it." "I'm also not giving up either. I want us to be best of friends." I sat back and watched Hunter get a tattoo on his back. He has had dozens. I wondered why he wanted to have more. I was rather surprised he still had an untouched spot to put a tattoo on. I have never marked my body before so I couldn't stop asking him if it hurt, if it was itchy, or if It was painless. The tattoo took almost an hour to be done and then, I got a chance to see it, it was a drawing of my messy hair that I haven't been able to clean up and stretch at the hair salon.

The symbol in the middle was also 2 pieces running vertically with a curve at the top on both sides, representing a skull almost. This, encased within the jagged circle, represented The Vampire and The Hunter. What a fitting mark.

At first, they felt that Arnold was a werewolf and they stood there ready to attack if they needed to, but I took off my jacket so they could see the mark of my shadow hunter, my scarred tattoo. At an early age, all shadow hunters receive a mark to identify them as fully trained shadow hunters. It was very painful then. To be an accepted shadow hunter they need to peel a tattoo on your skin. I have them work on the back of my right shoulder. I chose to take the outline of an angel wing in the shape of feathers. The cool thing about this mark is it turns black after a week you receive it because shadow hunters use a particular knife to change the color of your skin. So now it looks like a bla

Around the clown's body were tiny, almost indiscernible symbols and lines that seemed to move and shift when viewed from different angles. It was as though they were alive, hiding some kind of hidden message or meaning. As I looked closer, I realized that the clown was not alone. There were other, even stranger creatures lurking in the background, almost like a circus of horrors. A towering tentacled monster, a demonic goat, and a spider with multiple heads are all expertly woven into the tattoo design. Then I approached Clark and asked him directly, "What kind of man was Hunter Grey, and why are the witches searching for him?"

My focus glued to this stranger and my heart beating through my chest with the sensation I’m being chased, stalked, or hunted. He's exactly as the visions showed. Perfect as a man, with good looks, and sculpted physique, a presence that screams dominant alpha male. He’s muscular and tall, covered in black Aztec tattoos which are there for all to see as he once again turns towards us. The large blazing sun sign of the hunter on his left peck, right where I hoped it wouldn’t be and it seals his fate. The symbol has not changed in hundreds of years, and even though this is a tattoo and not burned, carved cruelly on the skin of the hunter, it’s still exactly as it’s always been.

Hitting the light switch, my vision blurs for a second, and as the light brightens the room, my eyes take in the intricate designs on the skin of Hunter’s back that link to his arms. I want to see if the tattoos extend to his bottoms too. But it’s impossible since he has his pants on. “Tell me why you killed them. I deserve to know, if I’m going to be the next victim,” I say after shaking off whatever was about to go through my mind. Hunter turns, now lying on his back. One hand goes behind his head, while the other rests on the abs that he has for a belly.

Our relationship was so dry I could've fucked half the city and she wouldn't have noticed. That's when I saw him. Tristan. Except he went by "Hunter" on the app. No face pic, just his torso. All muscle and ink and scars. His bio said: "7 feet. Russian. Into twinks who can take it rough." My dick got so hard so fast I thought I'd pass out. I stared at that photo for twenty minutes. Just stared. At the tattoos snaking across his ribs. At the v-line disappearing into black briefs. At hands that looked like they could crush skulls.

The conversation flowed naturally, and I was just starting to actually relax when I heard footsteps approaching. I looked up and my breath caught in my throat. Alessio was walking toward us, and he was shirtless. My eyes went immediately, traitorously, to his chest. To the defined muscles, the tanned skin, the light dusting of dark hair. And then lower, to his abs, to the V of muscle that disappeared into the waistband of his black swim trunks. And there it was. The spider tattoo on his right hip, just above where his swim trunks sat low on his hips. That intricate black spider that I now knew with absolute certainty I had seen before, had touched before, had kissed before in a dark club thr

Ronan asked. The man flinched, just slightly, but it was enough. I saw it in his eyes—the moment he knew we’d caught on. I bent down, grabbing his hand and turning it to the side, exposing the faint mark etched into his skin. My growl rumbled in my throat. "He's a hunter." "Fuck," he hissed, the rope snapping as his claws swiped through the air where I’d just been. He bolted, but he wasn’t fast enough.