Seraphim Angel Tattoo Novels & Stories

"Hello, Sariel." with a small nod, she acknowledged me. Tall and lean and perfectly sun-kissed regal elegance graced this angel. One of the deadliest of angels ever created a real predator. Dark straight hair is worn in a high ponytail. Peridot eyes that sparkled even at night, lined with long dark lashes, her perfect high cheekbones. A straight nose and rounded lips colored deep red. Her beauty drew you in, and like a black widow, she'll end while showing you love. Peridot wings dripped in emerald angel dust. One word described her, and she couldn't hide it or deny it. Lethal.

At a glance, I only felt cold in my heart. "Even a black angel?" Yu Xiangyang walked to Chu Xuning side, a sound, "and quite personality." Chu Xuning almost didn't fall, sure enough, Su poured back the freak to follow the others are strange, this situation is not afraid to forget. Yu Xiangyang this bold still sighs! He rolled his eyes. The Black Angel, also known as the Fallen Angel, does not represent evil, but always represents an ominous omen. It is rarely tattooed onto the arm.

Two years later, I graduated from university behind Victor Medici's back. On the day I was about to graduate, I saw Victor, who was supposed to be in Mexico negotiating an arms deal, standing there kissing a woman. I recognized her instantly. It was Sophia, my closest friend. She was wearing her graduation gown, her face glowing with happiness. Then, in the next moment, Victor took a delicate velvet box from the family’s consigliere. He opened it and revealed a brooch set with a massive sapphire. The brooch was called ‘The Heart of Sicily.’ Only the Don’s wife had the right to wear it.

"Is that what the tattoo is for? Your Mom?" She slowly nods her head and averts her gaze back towards the window, her tattoo peeking out just a smidge above her uniform collar. "For her... and my Dad. Black angel wings usually represent fallen angels. My Mom and Dad? They were my angels." Silence looms over us as I pull into the department parking lot and turn the engine off. "Will you talk to him for me, Crayvin? Just check on him for me, please? I don't want him alone, and you two are close. He probably needs you more than you think right now, even if he isn't ready to admit that to you, yet."

"You are still the same, zoning out when relaxed." Ambrosius chuckles as I trail patterns on his chest with my fingers. He got a tattoo of an angel riding a ferociously looking black vampire on his chest. I absolutely love it, especially the vampire. I know it is him because of the golden eyes. And the angel is me. It brought me to tears when I saw it for the first time. Ambrosius said he had to have something that would stay with him for the rest of his life, that reminded him of me. "And you can still tell when it happens."

An hour later, I was in the home office organizing files when my phone buzzed with a text. It was from Seraphina. It was a picture of a tattoo design. I recognized the pattern—the intricate rose on Dante's left chest, encircling a name. That name used to be "Isabella." In this new design, it was "Seraphina." Beneath the photo was a line of text: "It'll be finished tomorrow. Thanks for stepping aside, Isabella." I stared at the picture, remembering when he got that tattoo. It was our first anniversary. He said he wanted to carve my name over his heart, to make me a part of him forever.

The cracked circle surged with black light, and images flashed across the stone cathedrals burning, altars split in two, blood running down Seraphina’s hands. Lucan growled, stepping between her and Astra. “If you touch her” “I already have,” Astra murmured. “You just didn’t notice.” Then her eyes snapped to Seraphina. “Go on, finish the seal. Touch it. Call your name out loud. Let’s see if the world still stands after.” Seraphina stared at the circle. Her hands ached with power. Her rune was burning on her palm, glowing gold and red at once.

Now, it was their time to rule, their time to live. Back in the Temple Seraphine stood perfectly still, her breathing shallow and ragged. She slowly raised her hands to her chest, her fingers trembling as she pushed aside the torn fabric of her robes. There, where the black brand had burned into her skin for years, where fire had lived and pain had been her constant companion… there was nothing but smooth skin, marked only by a faint, silvery outline that looked almost like a tattoo, shimmering softly like moonlight on water. No pain. No burning. No voice screaming in her head.

They were not just soldiers; they were acolytes, a cult of death and darkness. Seraphina was dressed in a flowing red robe, her hair unbound, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. She was not just a woman; she was a conduit, a vessel for a power that was older than the mountains, a power that was consuming her from the inside out. "You're too late," she said, her voice a low, hypnotic murmur that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. "The ritual has begun. The veil is thin. The old gods are listening."

She covered his hands with her own, lacing their fingers together—a gesture of solidarity, of love, of determination. "Nothing we didn't already know," Seraphine admitted, her voice steadier now with Lucien's warmth surrounding her. "The terms of supernatural bargains are binding. The Angel gave me seven years, and when those seven years are up..." She couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't voice what would happen when the clock ran down to zero. Lucien's arms tightened around her, and she felt him press a kiss to the crown of her head, a gesture so tender it made her throat tight. "Not happening," he murmured against her hair, the words for her alone. "I won't let it happen."