Psalms 23 Tattoo Novels & Stories

“I’m here for a tattoo.” He leaned back, arms folding across his broad chest. The motion made the fabric of his shirt strain. “You? A tattoo?” He laughed, low and cruel. “Let me guess. Tiny heart on your wrist? Or maybe a quote about ‘strength’ in some flowery script so everyone knows how deep you are.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the design. “Lower back. Crescent moon with vines. I have the reference.”

“Says the guy who has his girl’s name tattooed across his heart.” “Hey!” Theo points toward Brock. “I’m not the only one, have you seen Brock’s tat on his ribs lately?” Jax’s eyes fly wide as his head snaps toward Brock. “You didn’t…” Brock leans back, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Damn right I did.” He grabs for the hem of his shirt, yanking it up to reveal a tattoo inked on his side. It’s a detailed piece with a forest treeline and a wolf howling to the moon, and sure as shit, running through the middle of it is his mate’s name: Astrid. The forest design and the letter A look a little faded, but the rest of Astrid’s name is a shade darker, like it’s a fresh addition.

"I've thought of that already. It's no big deal. I'll be fine anyway. We'll be fine, okay. Stay calm." I was quiet for a while. I had a bad feeling, my instincts weren't pessimistic about our stay there. I tried to distract myself but the silence wasn't helping. Then I remembered a verse I loved, from the bible that I even made into a song. Unconscious, I began to recite out loud. ✝ Psalms 91:5 "I shalt not be afraid of the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness;

I take in a sharp breath at the feeling it gives me, he props himself up on the headboard and sighs. "Six." He says softly, "Mom, Myles, Trevor, our infertility, what are the other two for?" His eyes wander from the marks on my thighs up to my face. I blow out a soft breath and focus my attention on the tattoo above his head. The moon, surrounded by words in Spanish. For she tamed the beast, guided by the moon. I trace my fingers over the meaningful tattoo and don't dare look Ramon in the eye. "Bravo." My voice is low- "because I'm not the wolf he needs me to be," my head slowly drops and I let my eyes land on Ramon's.

“That’s so weird, because-” Through grinding teeth, I blurt out, “girls usually get star tattoos,” my eyes shift past Lyra, “right Eden?” She stutters out her words, unsure of what to do, “yeah…oh definitely. I have a star tattoo,” she flashes them the inside of her wrist where there’s a star along with a music note and an apple core. It symbolizes our friendship. Obviously I’m the star, Lyra is the music note and Eden, well…the garden of Eden and the forbidden apple.

Nikolai is a god among men, and I am fortunate to be embraced by his presence. Nikolai’s tattoos are sexy, and I find myself unable to resist tracing them with my finger. The stars inked on both his shoulders catch my attention, making me curious about their meaning. However, it’s the eagle tattooed on his chest that truly captivates me. The majestic bird exudes power and strength, its wings spread wide as if poised for flight. The intricate details of the tattoo come alive on his skin, and I can’t help but admire its beauty. The eagle symbolizes freedom, and in that moment, I feel as if I am soaring alongside it.

I couldn’t falter; I wouldn’t let him bleed out on my floor, not when every heartbeat felt like a silent plea for survival. I settled onto the cold linoleum, my heart pounding as I locked my gaze on his battered body. Every inch of him told a story, each tattoo a chapter of pain and survival. The bold double DD letters sprawled across his knuckles caught my eye first, a stark contrast against the bruises and blood. A tree, strong yet fragile, adorned his left forearm, whispering secrets of resilience, while the wave-like patterns on his ribcage danced dangerously close to his deep, ragged wound. But it was the quote etched on his right forearm that pulled at my heartstrings, resonating with

“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.”

The sword and pen still hover above me, steady, waiting. In the polished blade’s reflection, I catch my own face—ruined with tears, bruised, broken—but my eyes are still green. Not corrupted. Not black. Still me. But something on my back itches, burns, reshapes. I feel it before I see it—a tattoo forming, alive with magic, stretching across my shoulders and down my spine. A phoenix. Wings spread wide, head thrown back, flames curling around its body like a crown. Ashes to flame. Darkness to light.

his voice dropped lower, heavy with hurt. Before she could say anything, he lifted his sleeve, revealing a tattoo on his arm. It was the one with a woman’s face, half-hidden behind a rose. “The rose is for my best friend,” he said quietly. “Isabella. And the woman is my mother. They both loved roses, always spending time together in the garden.” he chuckled darkly, the sound sharp and empty. Then he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his other tattoos. He pointed at where the word Little Bird was inked in elegant cursive. “This one’s for you, my love.”