Klaus Hargreeves Tattoos Novels & Stories

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.

“We have losses.” “Derek…” “You know what? It is fine. It always will be. Just go ahead and tell me why you dragged me all the way out here,” I cut in, avoiding her eyes. Clearing her throat roughly, “There is a tattoo on the prisoner, a crescent moon tattoo,” she stated. “Hm, I noticed that too. What about it?” “That’s the mark of Kael’s elite warriors.” “What?” I barked, pulling my brows together. “Why the hell would Kael attack my pack if he’s trying to negotiate an alliance with us through you?”

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?"

That night, Henry finally let go of all restraint. The room lay in shadow, and he pressed me against the floor-to-ceiling window, the lights of Riverton flickering like stars beyond the glass. “Claire…” “Yes?” “I want to get another tattoo.” “Where?” He gripped my hand and pressed it to his lower back, mirroring the spot that corresponded to mine. There, with each of his breaths, a faint outline of a feral totem emerged. “I want to tattoo your image. I want to carve you into my bones forever.”

For the most part, the packs got along but there was still always a sense of authority that was tested. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you look good. Can’t be representing our pack badly.” Jacob was getting our Crest tattooed on his chest. It was the head of a wolf with its teeth showing and blue blood dripping from the fangs. Kind of spot on for whoever designed it but whatever.

Or at least, I try. But my gaze never makes it to his face. Instead, it lands on them. His tattoos. Dark ink sprawls across his chest in a masterpiece of meaning I can’t quite decipher. Hawks take flight from his ribs, their wings stretching wide, as if fleeing something unseen. Beneath them, shadows curl into thorned branches, creeping toward his arms, where they twist into something darker—skulls hidden within the tangle, their hollow eyes watching. And beneath it all, symbols—sharp, cryptic, carved into his skin like remnants of a past that refuses to be forgotten.

Did he find something? "I was checking the bodies to see if I could find any clues and see what I found!" He shouted excitedly and Claire walked towards him. She crouched down next to Nathan and looked at what he was pointing, only to frown when she saw a tattoo on the man's chest. It was of a howling wolf and a Crescent moon. Well, they were werewolves and if a guy had a wolf and moon tattoo, she didn't understand how it would be of any importance. Why was Nathan this excited for that?

He saw Iris’s eyes narrow, and her expression morphed into confusion. “I am not sure why Dame’s tattoo is up for discussion,” she was confused. She had never thought to ask him the story behind his tattoo. As far as she knew, he had always had it, and they never thought much about it. “Because Mrs. Lark, this is a tattoo of a radical underworld group called the “the blood wolves,” he typed something into his system and turned the screen toward Iris. She studiously gazed at the tattoo, but nothing rang a bell in her head.

I said while fiddling my fingers. "You do not have to thank me. I'd happily eliminate every last one of those cowards from the entire region," he said tightly. I noticed his jaw was set and couldn't help but take in his features. His black hair feathered across his eyebrows and I watched as he ran his hand through it to brush it away from his eyes. His full lips were set in a frown as if he was picturing eliminating the witch hunters in his mind. I also noticed the tattoo that ran from his neck and down to his shoulder. The abstract design framed a triple goddess moon symbol with a dagger that impaled the inner circle. This brought my thoughts back to the night before and Tor's magnificent p

The next morning, the pirates had already woken up. Igor was orienting himself using the compass and the map. To reach the other islands rich in treasure would take a long time, months and months. Two days passed. The pirates were all bare-chested, as it was very hot. Igor had tied a scarf around his head, had an earring in his left ear, was bare-chested, showing off his two tattoos. He had two tattoos, a scorpion tattoo on the right side of his abdomen and another huge Triquetran tattoo on the left side of his shoulder blade. Kataleya could barely take her eyes off him, she appreciated his tattoos, his fair skin, half pink in the sun, his thin lips, his black eyes and his smile. She liked s