Valkyrie Tattoo Drawing Novels & Stories

she said to herself. She looked carefully at one of the frozen warrior. At the nape of his neck, she found a round symbol with a beam of blue light in the middle. She summoned her Valkyrie weapon and shot at the nape of their necks one by one. The warriors melted down leaving behind pools of fluid metal that eventually evaporated.

“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.

Tyr whispered to himself. He reached to her beloved's hands and clasped them into hers. His eyes began to glisten once more as he summon the energy of nature, gathering all the elemental planes, even those that are not within the boundaries of his ability. Earth, water, fire, wind, and sky. The paraelemental, even the quaiselemental energies had responded to his call. The entire Valhalla had begun to shake. This is therefore his one last blow, he doesn't care.

Her gaze sweeping over me, settling at the tattoo in my left pectoral, a wolf and a crown on top, the Alpha symbol. She had seen me shirtless numerous times, but she had always been too shy to stare. "It's beautiful." She whispered, as she rose on her knees, and began to trace my tattoo with her fingers. I shivered slightly under her touch. "Valerie, I think you are supposed to be doing something else." I said, clutching her hand. "You will have more time to do that." "Oh." She then lowered her gaze to tent that had formed in my pants, and to my delight, she said; "I want to touch it."

Then the black tee. Elena watched, mesmerized. Without the suit or the hoodie, the full extent of his ink was visible. A massive vulture was tattooed across his back, its wings stretching to his shoulders. Scars—some from blades, some from bullets—marred his bronze skin like a map of a violent life. "You're staring again, sweetheart," Julian said, stepping toward her. He looked like a pagan god of war. "I've never seen so much of you," she whispered.

And that desire was only getting stronger. The closer she became to him, the more his wolf wanted to claim what it already believed was theirs. Valduz forced his attention away from her throat. “Tell me about your tattoos.” Hope Elara glanced down at her arm before resting it on the table. “I designed it myself.” Of course she had. Valduz reached across the table and carefully took her wrist. Her pulse jumped beneath his fingers. So did his. He slowly turned her arm and studied the artwork. Roses wrapped around her wrist. They were beautiful at first, but as the design climbed higher, it began to change.

Her eyes were pits of black. For a heartbeat Kael thought the world had ended. He fell to his knees, the sound that tore from his throat more animal than man. “Rhea…” His hands trembled as he reached for her, desperate to find breath, heartbeat, anything. But Violet’s voice cut through, sharp. “Kael—wait.” She crouched by the body, fingers brushing the girl’s shoulder. Her eyes widened. “Look. Here.” Kael blinked, forcing himself to see. A tattoo curled across the girl’s shoulder blade, a twisting vine pattern inked deep into her skin.

A figure steps out—no, emerges, like a shadow born of war itself. Valerys Winthrope. The crowd draws a collective breath as he appears, and I swear the temperature drops. He's massive—easily thrice my width, and at least a twice taller. His muscles bunch and flex beneath scarred, inked skin that tells stories of every fight he’s ever won. A black tattoo coils around one arm, making him look all the more scary. His eyes are void of mercy, a pale, grey that seem to see through flesh and bone. His nose looks broken in three places, his face looking like a craggy cliff.

His hair was wet, and he had nothing but boxers on. I had a vivid view of his tattoos. Adorning his back was a fierce-looking wolf, jaws agape and poised to seize its prey. On his chest, a heart ensnared in thorny vines bled profusely, the tendrils winding their way to a blossoming rose, seemingly coloured by the lifeblood drawn from the heart. Positioned on the left side of his chest was a strikingly fierce yet captivating eagle. Additional intricate designs adorned his arms, crafted with bold strokes of black ink. The well-defined muscles accentuated the synergy between his movements and the artistic lines. I found myself pondering about the talented artist behind these captivating creatio

My eyes drifted down to his torso, and my breath caught. God must have enlisted his finest artist to carve Killian Knight. The tattoo, a haunting web of thorned vines, began at his right hip and sprawled across his torso. Its black branches reached his heart, with another branch peeking over his left shoulder and spreading down his arm to his elbow. The intricate design, hidden beneath his clothes, was now fully exposed.