Male Native American Arrow Tattoo Novels & Stories

They also have lots of unmated females and bringing them into the fold would definitely make me a hero to my people. As I come upon the only cabin I’ve seen on the mountain, I take in three males standing around outside. Two are quite obviously of the royal guard, they have heavy belts with several weapons. The other I can’t make sense of, but something tells me he looks familiar. That doesn’t mean much, I’ve likely seen thousands over the years since my father always took me on his travels. But this guy… When he turns, my eyes land on the tattoo on his chest. I immediately cock my head to the side at the familiar ink. The same that Dakota’s father wears and all of the males in her family on

After the near rape incident the first few months I was there, we had the tattoos done on our left arm to signify we were all one, part of the same group. A sigil of each pack combined into one tattoo. A wolf’s head with long fangs for Venom Fang, the crescent moon above its head for Crescent Moon Lucius’s pack, The forest behind it for the Black Forest pack that Johnny comes from, a red river at the bottom for Dex’s pack the Blood River Pack and the night sky, for the Dark Night Pack where Brent is from. They all have the same one. Heading out into the living room, I see them all sitting around chatting and laughing when they all look at me.

I asked and Archer smiled before shaking his head. “No, I'm going home late,” he said calmly. “Do you live far away?” I asked with a frown. “I live on the Valtare Reservation, just outside the region,” he said and my eyebrows rose. The Reservation was the place of the original settlers and ancient indigenous tribes that still remained. I didn't want to be stupid, but Archer didn't look like one of them. He smiled at my expression. “My family is native, but there's been a lot of mixing in the bloodline, so in my territory there's everything,” Archer said and I nodded with red cheeks.

“You said this MC would be weak against our brand of fighting. You never told us they were protected by Indians with arrows. We lost almost half our fucking men.” “Yeah genius,” Blade growled as he winced from the pain of the wound in his shoulder. “This is supposed to be Cherokee land. There’s a tribe that lives here. Ever think of that, dumbass?” He wiped the blood from his hands onto his jacket. “Hell, I wasn’t expecting it either. That was just like out of a movie. I thought Indians were supposed to be peaceful drunks, not wild men on the warpath. Fucking hell.” Roslyn looked down at the man she was lying over.

They played for a bit she sighed dreamily as the Carson, Matthew, and Chuck took off their shirts, a few minutes later Leon, John, William and Blake followed suit, and she couldn't help but smile as she noticed that Carson and Blake had similar eagle’s tattoos on their left shoulders. But she also noticed the black jaguar that ran mid-back on Blake and the lion on Carson.

“Please leave the mare with us. She is all the chance I have to get us out of here. Without her, my husband will die.” An ugly little man with a greasy headscarf pulled low to cover one eye snorted with malice. “If the man is to die anyway, then we should hasten his departure. One less white- eyes to kill on the morrow, and this yellow hair will look good fastened to my lodge pole.” “Touch him, and I swear that I will kill you!” Raven promised. “He chuckled and his dark eye glittered. “Your little doe has fangs, Chaubenee. But Tenskwatawa is not afraid of a mere woman.” Nevertheless, he moved away.

They’re all tall, cut, and have the same natural confidence that Justus does. They all have tattoos like Justus, too, the same intricate maze of lines and spirals that wind around the simple outlines of boats or trees or fish, draped over their right shoulder, arm, and torso like a shawl. The older the male, the further their tattoos stretch down their right sides to their thighs. Some have tattoos all the way down the tops of their right foot. Even the oldest males seem willing and able to shred an interloper to pieces. There are so many cocks nestled in such thick pelts.

Deep-set forest green eyes flecked with amber held a calm vigilance, much like Malik's. Tribal tattoo spirals peak out from a tailored, dark navy tunic of woven wool, its broad shoulders reinforced with leather pauldrons embossed in tribal knotwork. The tunic’s front panels overlap like scales, fastened by a hammered silver clasp shaped as interlocking spirals. His trousers are equally dark, cut slim to tuck into fur-lined boots polished to a soft sheen. Draped over one arm was a heavy cloak of midnight-black bear fur, the underside dyed forest-green to mirror Malik’s vigilant gaze. A silver circlet resting low on his brow, engraved with his tribe's crest.

I ask quietly. "I got most of my tattoos on my sixteenth birthday, as a symbol of manhood. Neron's mother was a part of a tribe known as the Sceneca, they lived in these woods. They had a tradition where at the age of sixteen, boys would get these tattoos to symbolize their ascent into manhood. Being raised by Neron, I was brought up learning such traditions, which is why I got the tattoos done," He explains, as if reminiscing a fond memory. "So, Neron is not a native to this country?" I ask.

Matthew gasped as he tried to struggled free, but it only made it worse. "Matthew Leverton will you stop that? What do I look like, a rope-testing dummy?" Alexander groaned grumpily. "Sorry..." Matthew said as he looked at June, "you okay?" "Yeah," June nodded weakly, "where are we?" She looked around as the tribe stood motionless around them. Matthew noticed something about these men. Every man in the tribe was wearing animal skin, some parts of their body were tattooed, including their faces. Some of the tattoos, Matthew observed, weren't tattoos as all; they were scars, scars from the past battles they had fought in, scars that were a sign of their combat, scars to show their victory and