Ragnar Head Tattoo Novels & Stories

Perhaps I no longer belong to the moon goddess either. Ragnar appears in the doorway, blood streaking his defined bare chest and jeans barely in place. He buttons the top button of his pants as he walks into the room and pauses when I lower my hand. Around her heart are the marks of the moon, and I stare at them a second too long.

He ruled the east side realm, and rumour had it that he bedded different women even after finding his mate. He was the only demon whose hair was almost as long as Kieran's, and the reason was because he once lost a battle fifty years ago. Every Wilding knew he had an unspoken rivalry with Kieran. Ragnar craved power and control, and the only reason why he hadn't declared a war on the Nightshade Pack was because he knew not to mess with Kieran. He looked menacing. Deep set eyes, with a large scar slashed across his left eye. His hair was woven into a single braid which draped over his shoulder. His arms were as thick as trees, and he carried a perpetual sneer.

I asked with tears. "You're mine." His wolf responded in a deep tone, and I knew he was on the edge of exploding. Something was wrong, and not just with Gabe, but his wolf. "What is your name? You know Scarlet, seen her, spoke to her, but I don't know you." My hand brushed through his thick brown hair. "Ragnar, sweet little wolf." He responded and my lips smiled. That was a perfect name, a strong and old name of power and loyalty.

Derick turned to me with a dark smirk, and I could see the ill intent in his eyes. “I don’t need you for that. I have my methods of discipline, and when I’m done with her, she wouldn’t dare to raise a finger against me,” Ragnar said, but it seemed he wasn’t convincing enough since Derick’s hand was still at the side of my face. “Know this, if you so much as touch her, this deal is off,” Ragnar threatened, and Derick retracted his hand the very next second.

rubbing my head I see a mark on my arm. Laying my arm straight and focusing on it. The mark, is not a mark its a tattoo! The tattoo of a wolf head with red eyes and extra-long knife sharp k-9's. There is a design on the wolfs forehead and behind the head that reminds me of some kind of tribal design intricately woven in what looks like hair.

His study reeked of smoke, wet ash, and rage. Ragnar stood with his back towards Nate, facing the tall arched window, having his gaze scanning the horizon. His arm hung bandaged with black cloth, which was soaking with blood because the dagger she used was made of silver; the wound caused by the silver dagger doesn't heal with healing powers, and it also leaves a scar. He stood there calmly, he didn’t flinch, didn’t care. Vengeance was the only thing consuming him now.

“I am not going to go through all those troubles to just get an i/diot to sit on the throne.” “I won’t be ruling the kingdom, Lennie,” Ragnar said, “I’ve told you from the beginning. After it’s done, I will go back to the human world. I am not staying for anything. I hate it here.” “Not even for your little girlfriend?” Lennie asked. “She’s a wolf too. So I guess you hate her also?” Ragnar pressed his lips. “It’s none of your business,” he said. “And you shouldn’t have dragged her into this. She got hurt because of your engagement. And how could you brand her with a slave mark?!”

The wounds, that was from yesterday. "Did you show this to your father?" "Yes" "Why haven't you healed yet?" "I'm on punishment. Father wants the wound marks on me since I failed him again. Again Raven has shamed me" Last night, he had been brought home with his shirt dripping so much blood. Raven had cut deep when writing on his back. Carly quickly told their father everything in a rush. Mr Tartal grabbed his shirt and ripped it apart observing the writings. It was in Latin. He knew Latin. He frowned and fell with his back

She didn’t want to get caught at it, but he was interesting in the way that he didn’t look like anyone else. She’d found her sister’s mate, Castor, so exotic because of his half-shaved head, beard, and tattoos. He’d looked like a Viking warrior. Agnar was markedly different, though he wore his hard past like a garment. His hair was long on top, but the sides were shaved. He kept his tied in a knot high up on his head and didn’t braid or adorn it in any way. He wore all black, which suited him. It set off his mahogany hair and beard with the few silver strands shot through and his strange, silver eyes.

As I make my way down his neck and to his collar bone with my lips, a glimps of a tattoo that moves down his back catches my attention. Rin turns to the left to look at the place that is currently holding my interest before his gaze rises to meet my eyes. “I have a tattoo of a dragon that runs along my back.” His husky voice relays to me just as he lifts himself so he can capture my lips with his own, his fingers digging in to tangle with my curly locks.