Trafalgar Law Tattoos Novels & Stories

He pointed to his tattoos as he spoke. 'This is a tribute to Adrian," he said. He pointed at the tattoo that sat on the left side of his body just below his shoulder blade. It was the name Luca with a halo above it with angle wings on either side of it. Underneath it said, 'I am because you were'. "That's beautiful," I mumbled as I stood up and walked closer to him to get a closer look. "This is for Blade." On his arm was a dagger. The blade was cut in half and the word

Lenora's POV Alpha Zade stood before me, stark naked, his chiseled physique on full display. My eyes darted wildly around his body, taking in the tattoo that covered part of his chest and left arm. His tattoo was the same as the symbol I had seen on the signboard earlier. ‘Two daggers crossed over its forehead, their blades adorned with ancient runes.’ Alpha Zade's tattoo, a symbol of his Pack's heritage, seemed to glow in the room's dim light, a reminder of his strength and authority and power.

I irritatingly mutter but he just presses his lips tightly to me. "You're not that talkative before" he mutters "Let me show you my tattoo" he whisper. I stop. So he's serious about getting undress first before I able to see his tattoo? "Eyes down here honey," he sexily utter "Here's my tattoo" I slowly look down and I saw him pointed the upper part of his waist. And there I saw his tattoo, a small crown with a written letter under it- Cosa Il Sovrano. The 'L' in the Cosa Il Sovrano was replaced by a knife. The font style is beautiful and it matches the font size.

CHAPTER 11 Nova Sterling Point Of View “Look.” Vangh's lips brush my ear as he points to his chest. A fake tattoo stretches across his breast, reading “Property of Alpha House.” Which now peels off like old wallpaper. His real tattoo markings surface underneath. It’s a rebel symbol hidden all along, a secret no one knows. Sloane appears beside us, stretching her knife at Vaughn's throat. “You lying bastard.” Her wedding dress smells of burnt sugar- sharp and sweet. “How long have you been working for the rebels?”

"And I'm not wearing that damn collar, Barzil. I don't care what Nergal does to me." "I know." He took the velvet box from the table where the stylist had dropped it. He looked at the obsidian choker. Then, he snapped the lid shut. Click. "The Lugal wants a symbol of ownership," Barzil said quietly. "He wants the court to know you belong to the system." He reached into the breast pocket of his uniform. He pulled out a small, silver object. It was a pin. The crest of Unit Vanguard—a wolf's head superimposed over a shield.

One look, and I can tell that the tattoo has been there for a long time. My heart is pounding now. “Layla told me about how the Bratva marks its members. But she said the women only get tattoos if they’re the last living heirs.” “Heirs!” That gets a bitter laugh out of her. It’s loud enough that I glance around nervously, worrying someone might hear. “Layla wants to protect your tender heart, Camila Stepanova.” She covers the fox up, standing over me again. “Do you know what that tattoo actually means?”

“Nor have I.” The prisoner sagged with relief, thinking his suffering was over. But Ezra shoved him back, ripping the man’s shirt open. His gaze locked on a mark etched beneath the skin, burnt into flesh like a brand. “What’s this?” Ezra growled. Kaelen stepped closer. A tattoo, half-hidden by grime, stood stark against the man’s ribs, a shield with twin wolf fangs slashed across it. Recognition jolted through him. “A crest, Kaelen murmured. Not of this pack.”

“Your tattoos are beautiful.” I look at the tattoo of a skull surrounded by black flames. My whole right arm is decorated with tattoos from shoulder to wrist. My skin prickles with every caress of her fingers, but I don’t stop her from touching me. The tattoo sleeve has several tribal symbols, and there are a seal trident and a frogman tattoo on my shoulder. Each tattoo represents something in my life. The skull represents my status as an Assassin, and the cross is a play on my name. Her finger moves down the line of my intricate cross, then to the inside of my rib cage, where I have an inscription. Qui velit, ut vivat in aeternum.

The puckered, raised marks of bullet wounds on his left side and his right shoulder. He wore all of that. Survived all of that. And came back anyway. My eyes move to his back as he turns to splash Isabella back. The tattoos there are the ones I know best by now — the dark detailed work that covers most of his upper back, the designs I have traced with my fingers in the dark. And there, running down the center of his spine in that elegant script. FARFALLA. My name. My nickname. Permanently written into his skin.

At least they will get to share something special together. My red dress clings tightly to my figure and frames my cleavage, the slit up the side making my family tattoo visible. The tattoo is of a fighting wolf and snake, their bodies entwining around my thigh. It’s our mark of honor as alpha daughters, usually appearing when we come of age. Mine made its debut on the night my mother died.