Saw Blade Tattoos Novels & Stories

“The one I cut on the back?” I blinked at her. “You mean the little asswipe with the shitty tattoo who wanted to fuck up my pretty face with his brass knuckles? Yeah, I’m fairly positive I don’t care if he’s okay. But from the way he lit out of there like his tail was on fire, I’d say he’s just fine.” “It wasn’t a shitty tattoo,” she mumbled. “It was the eye of Horus. Some thought it was a symbol to ward off evil, but it’s actually supposed to symbolize healing.”

They keep arguing in voices carrying, “How can I trust you to keep her away forever, Zayne might find her again, but not if she’s dead her scent will die with her” “How to get to that knife without dragging attention to me, I inch sideways, using my knees until the knife is between both knees, I lean slightly, my fingers patting blindly on the blankets until my fingers meet the hard handle of the blade. I keep my face calm, my eyes on them as I turn it in my hand holding the blade upwards and begin to saw through the roap. Going as slow as I can so I don’t nick myself with the poisoned blade, they will scent the blood or worse I might pass out again.

I, on the other hand, had zoned out, my mind racing through the fact that Blade was more dangerous than I had imagined. Plus, I had just cheated on Brian. Kissing someone else was against our bond: my chest was hurting. It felt like a dagger was constantly striking my heart. I had to explain to Brian and get rid of Blade as soon as possible. "What the heck?" Tone's voice snapped me back to reality. I glared at him and realized he was staring at my neck. He rose up. "How'd that get there?" He glared. "What?" Raina wondered then understood he was referring to my mark. "Oh, she got a tattoo. Isn't it so cute? We should get one too, matching."

My breath hitched as I caught sight of it in the mirror he pulled out of my bag—a faint yet intricate design swirling across my collar bone, glowing faintly silver before settling into a deep, ink-like black. The tattoo was mesmerizing, an elegant crescent moon at its core, its curves etched with delicate runes that seemed ancient and alive. Surrounding the crescent, fine lines branched out like veins, forming patterns resembling intertwining vines and stars, as though the night sky itself had been imprinted onto my skin. The vines wrapped gently outward, framing the crescent in an intricate lattice of beauty and mystery, their edges tapering off just shy of my collarbone. At the crescent’s

The blade I used had already been coated with Sierra’s signature scent, taken from the fabric one of my spies stole from her guest chambers during the summit. He collapsed, gasping, his blood spreading across the marble floor. “Forgive me,” I whispered, watching life leave his eyes. When his body stilled, I cleaned the blade and placed a leather scrap near his hand. Burnt edges. Claw marks. A perfect match to a rogue seal. A perfect match to Sierra. I returned to my chamber where I sat before the gold-rimmed mirror, brushing my hair. Not a single tremor betrayed the truth, that ten minutes earlier, I had slit Elder Tarek’s throat.

Blake kept working, sketching the design on my skin until I inspected the outline and nodded in approval. He smiled, picked up the tattoo machine, and the real work began. His focus stayed steady as he worked, and I watched the calm precision in his hands before the first sharp sting pulled a breath from me. “Ohh… fuck,” I seethed, clenching my teeth and turning my face away from where Blake was tattooing. The pain was much worse than I had expected and the sting spread fast, sharp enough to make my eyes water.

She pressed herself against the wall, peeking through the gap. Father Zerus stood with his back to her, his cassock already on the floor, his broad shoulders bare. He was reaching for a clean shirt when she saw it—the tattoo that covered his left shoulder blade. It is a serpent, coiled around a dagger, its scales , its eyes burning with an inner fire. The dagger was stained with drops of blood, and beneath it, a single word was etched in elegant script: Sosa. Krystal's blood turned to ice. The club. The night she had been so drunk she could barely stand. The man she had walked into, the man whose hand she had grabbed, dragging him through the crowd. The man she had kissed before he had pushe

Saint was about to look away grudgingly when Nicholas's towel lowered itself and then fell to the floor, revealing a tattoo. His gaze snagged on it before he could even stop himself. The tattoo rested low on Nicholas's back, directly above his waist. The design climbed the base of his spine in elegant black lines. Sharp points and sweeping curves intertwined around a narrow central shape that resembled a watchful eye. Thorn-like flourishes stretched outward before curling back in on themselves, giving the impression of something dangerous held barely under control.

It would be unfortunate if one pumpkin among the others ended up looking remarkably ugly. Mr. Sasagawa laughed. “It’ll be perfectly fine. Look, I’ve already drawn the design. You use a knife like this.” With a narrow-bladed carving knife, he expertly cut out one of the triangular eyes. Then he held the knife out to me. “It’s easier if you insert the blade perpendicular to the skin.” I steadied the pumpkin with one hand and placed the knife against its surface. Without hesitation, Mr. Sasagawa reached for my hand and adjusted my grip.

The blade tilted toward Zara. I stepped in front of her without thinking. “Don’t,” I snarled. Voss’s lips curved. “Fascinating. It recognizes hierarchy already.” The blade lunged. It didn’t aim for my heart. It went for my bond. Pain exploded through me, white, searing, intimate. The blade skimmed my chest, carving a sigil into my skin that burned straight through flesh and into spirit. I hit the floor hard, the world shattering into sparks and echoes.