Ragnar Lothbrok Tattoos Novels & Stories

Doughy from good living and laziness. Drakon is carved from granite. His chest is a landscape of muscle and violence. A jagged white scar runs from his collarbone to his ribs—a knife wound, old and deep. Another scar, a bullet graze, marks his side. But it’s the ink that holds me. A massive tattoo covers his torso. Wolves. A pack of them, snarling, fighting, running. They wrap around his ribs and disappear onto his back. It’s a masterpiece of shadow and ink.

mum replied "My wolfs name, how did you get ragnarok from Lagertha?" "Lagertha is originally a viking name" mum answered "Ok thanks mum" then ended the mind-link " mum said she had a hunch based on my wolfs name" "Your mums right, i am named after the greatest shield maden, and I have made it my lifes mission to uphold her name with honor"

“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?!”

Thor killed his third attacker and stepped back toward me. “How many?” he asked. I did not answer. Because I was counting differently. Not how many remained. But how many were designed to die. That was when I saw it. On the wrist of one of the fallen wolves, partially exposed beneath torn fabric. A mark. A tattoo. Recognizable. I froze for a fraction of a second longer than I should have. Thor noticed immediately. “What is it?” I knelt slowly, pulling the wrist closer. The symbol was burned into skin with deliberate precision.

This was where I met him—Ragnar, the rogue I’d fed coins and secrets to for years, my shadow, my blade in the dark. I pushed through the creaking door, my eyes adjusting to the dim light, my heart racing as Ragnar stepped forward, his hulking frame scarred, his yellow eyes gleaming with hunger. Not Darius, the warrior I’d pitched to Marcus, but Ragnar, a rogue so vile even the BloodMoon pack shunned him. He was my secret weapon, loyal only to my gold, my promises. “Veron,” he growled, his voice rough, his claws flexing. “What’s the job?”

“I need to see this land for me-self. And dont you worry your pretty little heads about me. They won’t know that am chief unless you tell ‘em.” And if I die, then I die. The tribe will be better off without me. “Now, prepare yourselves and do as I’ve said.” Ragnar cuts through the crowd, making his way to me side and whispering into me ear, he says with his husky voice, “Once we get on land, I am not leaving your side.” I look into his fiery left eye. His right eye had been greatly wounded as we ran away from home. He now had a piece of cloth that went around his head and covered the injured eye.

She was just a child and she was doing so much for us. I looked at Lorena and she was fighting with so much furry in her heart. I had never seen her so angry and I looked at her in awe. She was truly deserving to be the mate of the Beta. “You coward! Fight me! Be a hero and die by hand!” Ragnar had managed to get to his feet but his body was terribly wounded. Blood was gushing out from his wounds and soaking his fur. “You know that your end is near. Call off your armies and send this monster back and we might consider sparing you.”

So we killed more than one person who was involved with the Damned Forsaken. Now I have a Ravager's tattoo of a skull with a zombie raven atop of it wearing a crown, a pistol leaning against the blood-splattered skull. The zombie raven is for the Ravager while the skull with the pistol was my Damned Forsaken tattoo, and the crown is for the Death Kings. I put my spin on it so that it’s unique and easily identifiable as a crew tattoo. I didn’t mind letting the man who trained Lachlan be the one to do the work. Plus that Drogo is a Death King and the Vice President for the Death Riders MC.

—I asked, noticing he was just staring at me. —Now you understand why they couldn't grow up away from you. —Because you're a total disaster, with a passing interest, who couldn't live without me? —He laughed. —You couldn't have put it better. —This time I shrugged. —Do they have names? —I have two in mind —I gestured for him to continue—. Ragnar for the male... means lethal strength and primitive loyalty. You agree? —Very masculine, though quite fitting for their father's character —he just smiled. —And the other?