Saber Tooth Tiger Tattoo Novels & Stories

They were in the middle of the Joshua Tree National Park and their favorite place to run free. Celeste’s eyes wandered over to the man with traditional black ink tattoos covering his body. When he came into his prime, the marks were placed around both biceps. By the time he was cast out of the pride, his arms and torso were completely covered. Slowly, he was covering the traditional marks of his Pride with tattoos that he chose. The marks that had traced his lineage back to the original pride of saber werecats, were now under roses and paw prints. Even the Marine Corps werewolf pack crest graced his upper left bicep.

This was an year old picture of him standing topless for the playboy magazine. "Now what the hell is wrong with her?" Troy frowned and then walked out of the office instantly, wiping away the sweat from his forehead. The only person Troy was afraid of was his grandmother, Mrs. Herarld Dawson, his only living family. Troy was closest to her grandmother ever since he was born and perhaps that is why she was the only person who could control the untammed tiger.

I smiled, though my body trembled slightly with unease. He smirked, his eyes darkening as he sauntered towards me. Slowly, he reached out, invading my space. My gaze drifted to his chest, where intricate tattoos sprawled across his skin, half of his left chest completely inked. There was a large python coiled menacingly, its fangs bared as if ready to strike. Surrounding it were other symbols—a bleeding dagger, an intricate skull wrapped in thorns, and a blood moon rising behind them all. The ink seemed almost alive, dark and haunting, like it held secrets too dangerous to reveal. I had seen something like this before. The imagery was disturbing, almost as if he were part of some secretive c

He also loves showing off his tattoos – he has tribal tattoos all over his chest and arms. Tattoos aren’t fun at the best of times, but they’re more painful for us wolves. We heal too fast and don’t scar easily so the only way to get tattoos is to use a tattoo gun made with pure silver because any injury caused by silver once healed leaves a scar. Gamma James’ tattoos are basically a giant warning sign screaming ‘I’m dangerous and pain means nothing to me.’ “Just once I wish my old man would wear a shirt,” whispers a voice beside me and I have to stifle a chuckle.

Both cobras faced each other in their defense position on his midriff, their fangs in display, and their forked tongues stuck out. She didn't see the whole tattoos as his towel covered them; she knew the cobras extended to his crotch. At least she completely saw the diabolic tattoo of a furious wolf on his right breast. Beads of water trickled from his damp hair down to his face. Strands of his wet hair fell over his forehead, as his hair was unkempt. Steams erupted from his body like he doused himself in a boiling tub.

She finally fell back onto my chest, sighing. She mumbled softly, again something I didn't understand. "What did you say?" She smiled. "I'm sorry, just something in Masai. If we stay together I'll tell you. Right now, be happy I said it, even if you don't know what it is." She refused to say more. Changing the subject, I asked her about the tattoo she had on that cute little butt. "It's a Masai shield over crossed spears. It's the same design as the one on our national flag. What does yours mean?" she said, tracing the outline on my bicep.

What in the world? I see a small crowd of angry faces egging them on. Why isn’t anyone stopping this? A girl yells, “Kick the crap out of him, Gaston! Show the royal punk werewolves aren’t to be messed with!” The wind ruffles Sapphire Eyes’s short, glossy brown hair, making it look like he's doing one of those shampoo commercials that make you wish you had better hair. I notice a tattoo on his back: large, black tribal markings that zigzag across his shoulders and go down to the middle of his back in a complicated pattern. When he throws another hard blow, I whistle to get their attention. Andddd it’s ignored. I sigh and make my way toward them.

But I was at peace when I saw the kids were taken care of in a parental manner. I flinched when I scented earthy musk and decided to investigate. It took me thirty seconds to find Ian. He was smoking in a corner, hiding from plain sight but there was something strange. He was backing me and was shirtless. The strange thing was the large tattoo, well made and designed, on his back. It almost looked unreal. It was the head of a cheetah. Its eyes were blue and its mouth was open, with powerful teeth protruding from its muscular jaws. You could see the details of its whiskers and spots were visible as well but in lighter shades of black.

A massive tattoo stretched across his back, dark, swirling lines that formed a wolf’s head surrounded by a crescent moon. Kieran stood at the counter, chopping vegetables with the precision of a surgeon. His long red hair fell over his shoulders in loose waves, and his tattoo was just as beautiful as Kai’s: a roaring dragon with flames curling down his spine, its tail disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. Kylan, of course, was leaning against the fridge with a smirk that could melt steel. His tattoo was a constellation of stars and a running wolf, the design wrapping around his ribs and down his left side.

He scoffed, taking off his trousers, and I looked away. A wave of dread washed over me, not sure what to expect next. Fear rose in my chest as I curled my fingers into the bedspread. By the time I looked back up, he was fully undressed, but he had his back facing me. I felt a drool escape my lip as my eyes traveled over his body—broad shoulders, his muscular back adorned with a large crest tattoo, identical to his brother's, except he was larger, taking up the entire top left side of his back. The tattoo depicted a shield with two swords crossed above it. Two lions stood on their hind legs, pulling the shield from both sides. Below the shield, a banner displays the name "Dontrell." The desig