Knights Templar Cross Tattoo Mga Nobela at Kwento

I chuckled dryly. “Your highness, I am sure our pack will warmly welcome you. If her highness the luna permits, can this knight present you with a lucky charm?” Arki asked. “A lucky charm?” Arki had my full attention. Anything that could help me relax at that moment. “Yes, your highness. In the darkest times in my life, this helped me stay strong and always look forward to life,” Arki fetched out a golden knight’s badge. It had the design of a rose pierced by two swords in a cross. He held the tip of a sword and presented it to me.

Pure, unholy sin. My hands moved on their own, sliding up his chest, tracing the tight lines of muscle beneath his warm olive skin. My fingers brushed the tattoo inked into his ribs, the Italian cross, the Latin carved beneath it. Mors tua, vita mea. Your death, my life. His grip tightened on my waist. He pushed me back, and my spine met the cold marble wall with a gasp. The contrast between his heat and the chill behind me sent a shiver all the way down to my toes. Zach’s lips left mine and dropped to my neck, kissing, biting, branding me with sins no holy water could ever cleanse.

Scar kissed her neck softly as she traced every line of the ink as if she was re-inking them herself. A large skull was surrounded by an array of roses. A Christian cross in the back, behind the skull, stuck out to Lani because of the dove perched on it so innocently. Scar's tattoos were a mixture of dark and light, they described him perfectly. The same happened on his arms, one was decorated with the ideas of Satan, the other those of holy angels.

I The border with Kirdan, stretched as long as the eye could see, the ground trembled with their gallop. They rode without rest, for days, swift as a wind, for they must deliver a message to Albin. Important news await, which he alone must hear. Their armors were the same; hard to spot the difference between them, the heraldry, which hung on their right shoulder, was the same; a yellow turtle on a green field, the sigil of House Transin. The bull horn-helmed knight stopped for a moment, looked at the worn-down signpost. His dark green eyes looked at the names on the board. He mounted his steed, turned to the other direction and galloped, the others followed in toe.

They all had a cross tattoo on their neck. “Blessed be the Hunt,” I said, lowering my head slightly in greeting. “Blessed be the Hunt,” several voices echoed back. That was the familiar motto of the Order of the Silver Cross—the organization that had raised me. Hunters trained to keep the balance by eliminating creatures that threatened humanity. At the center sat Matron Valeria, my godmother with her silver hair twisted into a perfect bun. Beside her sat Wren, stiff and unreadable, with Daphne and Jordan standing nearby.

My eyes drifted down to his torso, and my breath caught. God must have enlisted his finest artist to carve Killian Knight. The tattoo, a haunting web of thorned vines, began at his right hip and sprawled across his torso. Its black branches reached his heart, with another branch peeking over his left shoulder and spreading down his arm to his elbow. The intricate design, hidden beneath his clothes, was now fully exposed.

he said absent-mindedly, his hand that was drawing shapes on my back, dipped underneath the sheets and fumbling with my naked breast. "Why did you get it?" He was relaxed like wax against my body and his fingers that rubbed circles on my breast almost got me distracted. He shrugged. Not saying a thing. I guess I wasn’t getting an answer to that. My hands rub over the rest of the tattoos on his knuckles. One was a the shape of the cross on his ring finger and the other, a black shield like shape on the finger near his thumb. "And this?" I asked and he frowned almost immediately after looking at it.

Golden for the birth of crown Red for bringing up the dawn Niveus for the day of rebirth Blue to bring the magic down White for when one is wilted down Scarlet when the hunt is back again Silver blades rise on victory march Love will patch our tattered hearts Smoke on the summon of spirits you choose Black coffins when endowed are buried down Happiness when the lost returns No forbearance for the illicit affairs Lapis Patera when the pure blades rise Nigros for slaughter of the demonic souls Taç for the pure and just reign.

Eventually my brother also got dragged into the conversation and blamed for the tattoo just as he had been blamed for the first one. Speaking of my beautiful little brother I glanced down the other end of the bar where Mark was talking to Mitch and a couple of his biker buddies and stared at his right arm where the other half of my money had gone. Like mine Mark's tattoo covered his arm from shoulder to elbow and was an evil version of the great god Pan. This wasn't the silly looking Greek Pan, this was the original Celtic version complete with horns, hooves, red glaring eyes and a long horn that called to all the lost souls. Between the size, the colors and of course Mark's extremely well m

The tattoo was his art, his design, and also the image of what he carried inside him every day the image he now carried on his back, that moved with him. Nikolai name was inked with intricate, beautiful calligraphy letters, while nico name was bold, broken, and bleeding into the flames. He loved his brother, but hated himself. There was a single crack in the headstone right at the top of the cross. The flames that engulfed the cross from the ground were blood red, angry shades of orange, its only goal to destroy while his name suffered its wrath.