Tortured Soul Tattoo Novels & Stories

The tattoo on my arm burns, but it’s not time to release that power yet. “Satan Wolf.” Before Nicolette’s return...while training. “Remember these three powers... the Satan wolf can be used for purification of a soul or for lethal attacks, but after its use, you won’t be able to move and as a result, you will be an easy target.” Present... The tattoo on my eye changes shape to the figure of a wolf with open jaws. My musculature increases and my hands become real wolf paws. The fangs are long to my lower lip and the hair is turned upward, totally red.

I whisper more towards myself. The tattoo is of no ordinary design. The intricate details almost seem inhumanly made. Swirls of dusty-grey storm clouds surround a midnight-blue sword. They begin at the handles and spiral throughout the golden blade. Behind the sword lays black and blue tip wings. Each feather tip is like a tempestuous addiction. The closer I come, I want to touch it. Visions of the wings wrapping around me, never allowing me to escape, consume my thoughts. I look up at Raquel and shiver, not understanding how a tattoo could be so powerful.

Annabel said, clasping his shoulder and squeezing lightly to ground his lost soul. Iden sat on a chair, his fingers clasped together, head hung low, legs spread apart. His shirt was dyed with red and dark blood, not only his. He was amidst a quest for revenge, yet here he was, tortured by the woman he sought vengeance upon. His eyes flicked toward the operating room, and his fingers tightened. His lips stretched in a straight line, and his eyes were bloodshot. The cold metal gate stared back at him as if mocking him. Inside, Ellaya was surrounded by doctors and nurses. Each moment stretched like an eternity, piercing him like a knife cutting through his very soul. Kaito stood in the corner,

When they’d drafted the terms in ink, never once mentioning what it really meant. This wasn’t about affection. It wasn’t even about heirs. It was about obedience. Breeding. Binding. Blood. She stared, frozen. The girl on screen sagged, losing consciousness. And then—the man turned toward the camera. For one moment, light caught his jaw just right. And Leora saw it. A tattoo. Small. Black. Etched into the skin just below his ear. A serpent devouring its own tail. Ouroboros. She’d seen it before.

After all the torture I went through in the mental asylum, the staff there carved the word onto my lower back. "You're just a slave bought by a wealthy family, yet you're so delusional to think that you could marry into the family. You're just a nobody. Being a slave suits you." I was pinned down on a metal bed while someone sat on me, slowly carving the word out. I was yelling so loudly my voice was hoarse. They had injected a weird serum into me. I could feel the pain, yet I could not pass out from it. "Where the hell do you come from? Why do you have such an interesting tattoo? Forget it. Since you're a slave, I'll forgive you."

The worst part about all of this is, as much as I hate Hale—loathe him for everything he’s done to me, for the brand he forced into my skin, for the games he plays with my body and my mind—I’d still choose this cage over the one Killian put me in. I reach for the edge of the waterproof gauze taped to my lower belly and feel the edges beneath my fingertips. I press down. Hard. The pain doesn’t even register. Beneath it is the tattoo Hale gave me. His mark. The one he stains every piece of his empire with. His mark of ownership—and I wear it now. Anger rushes through my veins like molten lava. My eyes burn, but I refuse to let the tears fall. I tilt my face toward the spray again and clench my

What we’ll do, I don’t know. I kneel upright, eyes glossing over the neat and intentional tattoos on his back. I take in his muscles and toned back. I have a feeling nothing’s going to feel soft. But back to the tattoos. There’s something written in a foreign language right in the middle of his back—the spinous whatever. Above it is a maze. A figure walks in the path, but there seems to be no way out of the maze. On the side of his ribs: ‘The way to the heart is a path full of thorns’

“Do you often drink this much?” “No, just when I know that the nightmares are going to be bad. The tattoo that I got tonight is for a K9 that gave her life for me. Protecting me. The memories are right there, just under the surface.” she tapped her head. “You see the five of us having fun, getting drunk, being a little too perverted.” She shook her head. “We’re trying to make peace with our demons.”

I tried so hard not to flush when I saw his naked torso; it was a sight to behold. Broad wide shoulders with lots of muscles, defined strong abs and on his left pectoral, there was a scary tattoo of a three-headed vicious dog, surrounded by flames. And a lot of scars were all over his abdomen. On his back, there was a full back length tattoo of some sort of grim reaper, angel! His grunts again brought me back from dreamland. I shook my head, clearing it; I gently touched the wounded area on his right, trying to understand what I was dealing with.

He lacked inner peace. He inhaled the vinous smoke as the corner of his lips twitched in a sad smile. His eyes deceived him being moist and a lone tear slipped down his face on the sand. The sand sucked the water as soon as it fell on it, and he wondered if his pain disappeared in thin air like that. He breathed out a puff of smoke through his nose and mouth. Looking up at the sky with the sad smile plastered on his face he spoke up, "Why so hatred for me, ya Rab?"