Panther With Wings Tattoo Novels & Stories

She sniffled, trying to regain control. “When I felt I could move forward, I got the tattoo. The butterfly is a harlequin I remember chasing with my siblings in Puerto Rico. Butterflies are supposed to symbolize hope and transformation. The flowers are the white plumeria native to Puerto Rico and symbolize love and new beginnings.” She explained. “That’s beautiful and fitting.” I nodded. “Thanks…” she sighed as she leaned her head against me. “I haven’t told anyone, other than my therapist, that before. It feels good to tell someone else.”

The natural waist dropped into a sheer fabric with flowers stitched into it. The scars have relaxed and really created a pretty chain-link pattern. Although our wolves really worked on healing me, they are just now calming down and looking like regular scars. I have grown accustom to them to the point that I want to get them tattooed. As a symbol of my strength and determination to not let evil win. Soft music was playing as I paced around this tent. The only thing I knew about this event was the smell of lilacs. “Ready?” Colt lifted the side and stepped in.

He takes a step and turns showing me his back, there is the tattoo. And what a tattoo, they are angel wings. Wings stretching down his arms, feathers covering his biceps. “It is…” I look for a word to define it, I can't find any. I sigh slowly and bring my fingers closer to the tattoo. I slide my finger along every line a pen draws, I let my hands explore his torso, his skin is soft and damn irresistible to touch. He tenses with my touch, then when my hands caress his wings he relaxes.

Instead, I place it in my pocket and walk out of the room. Slamming my bedroom door behind me, I run my fingers through my hair and pace around the room. My wings strain behind my back, desperate to come out. Removing my shirt, I walk over to the mirror and inspect my back. My tattooed wings glow and strain. I flex my back as the tattoo begins to vibrate until my wings retract. I strain my neck with relief as they flex and flutter. I hate keeping my wings hidden because it can be very painful. I guess the best way to describe it is that it feels like a stretch after a long day of sitting in one position. My wings flair, stirring the air around me. I don’t have tiny cherub wings. No, my wings

“And that tattoo, of course.” I start visualizing my body with it, and I feel like it would really look good on my thigh. I could get something symbolic. Something that perfectly describes my situation. A bird, to symbolize my freedom, but not just any bird. A phoenix. Rising from my ashes because it’s exactly what I’m starting to do. “Yeah,” I say. “I think it’d look great.”

I could see him take a deep breath when my palm landed on his chest, tracing the drawings. There was a wolf with wide wings on his right arm and a phoenix on his left arm. I felt something magical with them; they seemed to relax at my calm touch. The lion standing under a tree on his chest looked so endearing that I couldn't help but look into the lion's eyes. The tattoos weren't ordinary; every one of them had a meaning that I was sure of. "Do you love it?" He asked softly, looking up at me; our eyes met, his not leaving mine.

I know we’ve had sex several times already, yet I still feel a deep ravenous need for him. Rising from the stool, I wrap my arms around his waist and place kisses on his back. His stomach clenches under my hands as I run them down his textured abs. “Tell me about your tattoos,” I whisper in his ear. He looks at me from the corner of his eyes, then pulls me in front of him, places my hand over his left pec, and moves it down his tight stomach. The tattoo is a large, red, and black dragon. The dragon’s head starts at his shoulder, and the tail ends at his bellybutton. The wings stretch over his right pec, and his claws extend over his ribcage.

“Unless you kneel. In the mirror, Mamá’s face slowly shifted into mine. My reflection twisting and contorting—the dragon tattoo on my neck, my mark, replaced by the black butterfly sigil. Its skull wings seeming to burrow beneath my flesh, swallowing my identity. “This is your legacy, mijo. Lead my men. Rule at my side. Or… The mirror cracks, a sharp, spiderwebbing fracture shattering into a thousand black butterflies that swarm Dru. Their razor wings tearing at her flesh.

Just like me. I bet he was a biter. I bet he still is. He turns his back to face Chastan, and the air leaves my lungs again. His shirt is flayed open, the fabric falling down his back in a perfect V, highlighting tattoos and… two long, vertical scars on either side of his spine. They’re flat and silver against his tan skin, healed like they’ve been there for a very long time. He had wings once. That’s the only logical explanation.

The beast who almost managed to entice me into a lap dance that would have been appropriate for a Turkish Nights fantasy. The one with eyes that are as dark as the night sky and as blue as midnight. The black, bleeding ink of his tattoos is almost as stunning as the tattoos themselves. These vivid fever eyes of his are closed, and I wish that they remain closed for the foreseeable future. It is not necessary for them to question me in order for me to comprehend the full and terrifying significance of what has occurred here. His tattoos are quite effective. I immediately identify the American flag that is tattooed on his arm, as well as the fierce eagle that is tattooed on his breast.