Itachi's Eyes Tattoo Novels & Stories

Giovanni turned his back on me, my eyes were on the giant snake coloured tattoo that covered his whole back, I was still staring at the tattoo before he disappeared into a closed door. I settled back, eyes closed, palms resting on the table, and let my mind wander to Giovanni's canvas of tattoos. The intricate snake on his left neck caught my attention first – its delicate scales seeming to slither across his skin. My gaze, though imaginary, traced the vibrant, full-back serpent, its red and black hues dancing in mesmerizing harmony. Next, my mental focus shifted to the cobwebs delicately etched onto his broad neck, their subtle complexity a testament to the artist's skill. The bold, cursive

he taunted. I think it's the joy of torturing me because there was an unreadable glint in his eyes. The bastard. I was holding my teeth so bad from gnashing but my efforts were in vain as because there were certain things your body couldn't take as a human no matter how you tried. I closed my eyes to gain control of my body but I was loosing the fight, not to mention the fact that I just recovered from being ill. "Nothing to say today?" He asked as he raised one brow at me, one of these days, when I have the opportunity I'm going to scrap off that brow, let's see the brow he's going to be raising at me.

It looked like a sincere smile, not a sadistic one like calculating eyes. -This is what we're going to do to you- He turned around and pulled his shirt down a bit. He had a D tattooed on his scapula. Blue eyes or Mike did the same. Another D was there. -If there is no other remedy ...- I sighed.

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.

A black tattoo coiled around his neck, feathers or wings inked in clean, sharp lines. And his eyes… Gods, his eyes were a funeral and a promise. They hit me like a punch to the chest. I staggered. Heat flooded my limbs. My knees nearly buckled. My fingers clenched around the rag like it could anchor me. The world around me blurred. But him? He was crystal clear. Every sound faded. Every thought vanished. Every cell in my body knew. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. The bond slammed into me like lightning. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.

Zach Romano. Leaning against the kitchen doorway like it belonged to him. His black hair was a mess, his blue eyes flat, unreadable, and his bare chest on full display, carved with muscle and shadow. On his ribs, a tattoo stretched over olive skin, an Italian cross with Latin scrawled underneath. Mors tua, vita mea. Your death, my life. I stared at the tattoo. Then, slowly, my eyes dropped to his torso. Abs, tight and low, vanishing into a pair of dark gray sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips.

The icy blast would’ve made anyone else recoil, but Dante stood there, solid and unmoving, like he was made of stone. His back was a canvas of ink, just like his front. The artwork was nothing short of breathtaking. Spanning across his entire back was a massive, detailed tattoo—an angel, powerful and divine, standing within the ruins of an ancient temple. The wings spread wide across his shoulder blades, reaching toward his arms, while crumbling pillars surrounded the figure in dramatic grayscale contrast. It wasn’t just a tattoo; it was a story, a testament, a work of devotion etched forever into his flesh. It was absolutely beautiful—mesmerizing, even.

He nodded, totally understanding what I was thinking through our connection. As he stood up, I could not help but let my eyes wander over him, pausing at his chiseled abs and then down to his pelvis. Right there in the middle was a thick, four-inch tattoo of an infinity symbol. Mated wolves have this thing where they let anyone who catches a glimpse of their skin below the waist know they have a mate. This tattoo meant a lot. A lump formed in my throat as my eyes began to water. How long had he been dealing with this?

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.

’ And, nothing has ever felt so good than having people there for you. "Do you notice anything about his appearance?" Gia asks, interested. "Well," I try to rack my brain, conjuring up the memory of his face, his face was covered with a cloak, so it was harder, but then I remember, "A tattoo, he had a tattoo of a raven bird on his wrist." "Wow. That's sick." Gia rolls her eyes. “So, where were we?” Chiara smiles, taking a muffin from the plate. Clearly, she doesn't want to talk about the man, it's making us all uncomfortable so I don't blame her.