Interstellar Black Hole Tattoo Novels & Stories

They aren't 'Remembering' the 'Founders'; they’re 'Re-Cycling' our 'Original-Friction' to 'Fuel' the 'Galaxy-Standard'. Dominic Thorne stood beside her, his "Vantablack-Indigo" energy now a "Universal-Anchor" for the "3026-Grid." He looked at the "Luminous-Variables" below, his "Ice-King" gaze now a "Sovereign-Watch" over a millennium of "Equity." He felt the "Source-Code" of his own "30-Day-Contract" being "Broadcast" across the "Centauri-Link" as a "Creation-Myth."

It was my name! My cheeks flushed red as my toes curled. That tattoo wasn't new. Then my eyes dropped to the others. It felt like his skin was a story I wasn't allowed to read. It started at his throat, black ink. Sharp, spiked lines that dragged down the column of his neck, split over his collarbone, and bloomed. The tattoo. It wasn't flowers or tribal...it was sigils, interlocking. Quite ancient like someone carved a spell into him with a blade instead of a needle.

Relief settles for a heartbeat—my pack is safe. “Rhett,” Laura sighs. “Tell me already, what the hell is going on with you?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” I glare at her. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone.” I turn and head for my apartment. Inside, I strip off my clothes. I’ve been holding back from checking the stabbing pain in my chest. I turn to the mirror— And freeze. A tattoo runs across my back, down into my chest. A river of blue light twists into a crescent moon. Inside the glow, faint outlines of wolves howl and run, their forms made of mist and stars. The whole thing pulses like a living vein under my skin.

He preferred it that way. Beta Remus entered the hall and sniffed appreciatively. His black eagle tattoo peeked out from the collar of his shirt. In a pinch, he could release the inky bird and it would take flight, providing reconnaissance from above. Each pack member's tattoo, received upon turning sixteen, transformed into a unique animal providing a unique gift. Only one wolf could claim each creature.

She felt his love, his devotion, his fierce, protective hunger, pouring into her through that single point of contact. The stone flared brightly, and when it faded, it was gone. In its place, on her wrist, was a mark—a delicate, silver tattoo of interlocking wolves, their forms spiraling into an infinity symbol. It glowed faintly for a moment, then settled into her skin, a permanent, beautiful declaration. Dante lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the mark. When he looked up, his eyes were bright with something that might have been tears. "Mine," he breathed, the word no longer a claim, but a prayer.

Zoey “What’s this about?” Bri asked, sitting back in her chair. She wore Wyatt’s shirt open with only a thin low-cut bralette beneath. The new tattoo she’d had Issac drill into her skin was simple and elegant as it rested on her sternum just below her breasts. Up the center of her chest, the water lily bloom birthed a crescent moon, a series of lines and dots indicating its glow in a circle around it, and above that a dainty fleur de lis. It paired with the twin Hyacinth Bean vines that now wrapped around her biceps and snaked down her arms and around each ring finger all in elegant black and grey. She and Issac had this thing about being in each other's company in companionable silence. The

Dustin sneered. “Certainly not. If you tell me, I can leave one person alive, but if you don’t, I’m going to annihilate your entire family.” Brennan’s face turned grim, but in the end, he could only sigh. Then, he whispered, “I can tell you that the person who gave the orders that day was someone with a red spider lily tattoo on the back of his hand.” Dustin’s face froze. Some organizations used tattoos to mark their members. That was a very common thing.

CHAPTER 11 Nova Sterling Point Of View “Look.” Vangh's lips brush my ear as he points to his chest. A fake tattoo stretches across his breast, reading “Property of Alpha House.” Which now peels off like old wallpaper. His real tattoo markings surface underneath. It’s a rebel symbol hidden all along, a secret no one knows. Sloane appears beside us, stretching her knife at Vaughn's throat. “You lying bastard.” Her wedding dress smells of burnt sugar- sharp and sweet. “How long have you been working for the rebels?”

I realized how much I missed him, more than I had admitted to myself. “You really love tattoos,” I remarked as he casually removed his shirt. His back was covered in intricate black and gray tattoos—half a skull, half the face of a crying woman. His shoulders and arms were adorned with shading, letters, and flowers that had intertwined over time. I noticed the names of my parents, mine, and his pack etched on a cross. My dad would have had a fit if I had even a single tattoo.