Warrior African Tribal Tattoos Novels & Stories

The man uttered a high-pitched scream. “That was just a taste.” Kane said, casually as if discussing the weather. He drew back again, watching the man’s face intently. Joffrey sat on a crate, observing the scene, seemingly disinterested. The whip cracked again, this time drawing blood. I noticed one of the men had a tribal tattoo on his right arm. I went closer to inspect it. I recognized it as the mark of the Bloodlust Warriors, a Canadian pack. I grabbed the man by the hair, growling, “You are from the Bloodlust Warriors. Why are you here?”

What in the world? I see a small crowd of angry faces egging them on. Why isn’t anyone stopping this? A girl yells, “Kick the crap out of him, Gaston! Show the royal punk werewolves aren’t to be messed with!” The wind ruffles Sapphire Eyes’s short, glossy brown hair, making it look like he's doing one of those shampoo commercials that make you wish you had better hair. I notice a tattoo on his back: large, black tribal markings that zigzag across his shoulders and go down to the middle of his back in a complicated pattern. When he throws another hard blow, I whistle to get their attention. Andddd it’s ignored. I sigh and make my way toward them.

And after he retrieved the stone from the volcano, he then dubbed by the elders as one of the tribe warriors. There was no fancy robe, no carpets to lead their way, no gowns. It was simple as if they wanted to be one of the nature. Jion was tattooed the head of the black pumas on his back, ears both pierced and wore the earing of pumas teeth. Instead of finely stitched robe, he walked on the petaled grass towards the altar with naked upper torso, head with red linen binds. There were loud cheering among the tribe, roaring of the tamed animals signifying their blessings to the new warrior and the man of their tribe princess.

The red signifies the prisoner, the black signifies Xylah men and the white signifies our army. I use the other colors like yellow, blue, orange and brown to mark the other pack we were to attack. As I was calculating, I felt an arrow being thrown at me which I dodge, causing it to land on the wall. "Woah," I heard them mumble. When I looked, I found Dante with the arrow and I noticed it was already evening. I have been calculating this for quite a long time now. "See Gemma, even with her focus on it, she could still sense it," he said. I quickly put everything away, before standing up.

He also loves showing off his tattoos – he has tribal tattoos all over his chest and arms. Tattoos aren’t fun at the best of times, but they’re more painful for us wolves. We heal too fast and don’t scar easily so the only way to get tattoos is to use a tattoo gun made with pure silver because any injury caused by silver once healed leaves a scar. Gamma James’ tattoos are basically a giant warning sign screaming ‘I’m dangerous and pain means nothing to me.’ “Just once I wish my old man would wear a shirt,” whispers a voice beside me and I have to stifle a chuckle.

chest rising in a calm rhythm like he was meditating, not surrounded by criminals. Speaking of his tattoos, he's got the weirdest tats I have seen on any guy. His back bore the most outrageous tattoos in the history of tattoos. His back looked like someone had lost a wrestling match with a possessed octopus holding a tattoo gun. From shoulder to shoulder, the ink sprawled like a chaotic crime scene—tribal swirls, demonic curls, and angry squiggles that might’ve once meant something, but now just screamed, “I don’t pay taxes and I bite.”

I am such a slut. "No. And I'm Chief Keiran Arin of the northernmost tribe of Arin. Follow me." He walked ahead of her, not even bothering to check if she was following him. His loincloth made of wolf's fur emphasized his toned bareback. His sexy tattoos of nomadic words crisscrossed across his back too, covering a large scar subtly. His braided brown hair contradicted his silver eyes. And his well-defined shoulders could protect her small form – or smash her to pieces if she dared say those flirty words again. The last thought snapped Tori's train of thoughts. Tori shook her head.

I was trying to think about it when I noticed the tattoo on her neck. I was shocked. It was no secret that Zara hated tattoos. She was the only warrior who did not have any tattoos before now despite how good she was at drawing them. The alpha's tattoos had been drawn by her, it was a skill she was blessed with and yet she refused to have one of her own back then.

He is gorgeous to behold. He had a tattoo on his right pectoral of a wolf howling. That continued down his upper arm to a forest scene, with a dark-haired woman kneeling amongst a black wolf, two gray wolves, and a solid white wolf. The woman appeared familiar to me, but I didn’t get the best look. There was another tattoo below it that encased his forearm in a skull with an ornate feather headdress. There was a black tribal bracelet tattooed around his wrist, and on the top of each finger were unique wooden arrows. Not one arrow was the same. On his other hand was a dream catcher with various feathers on his fingers.

The grief vanished, instantly swallowed by a roaring, incandescent rage. She was a warrior of the 1920s, born in the shadow of Kilimanjaro. She was not a fragile maiden. She possessed the physique of a brawler—broad, powerful shoulders, thick biceps, and a core carved from years of intense labor and brutal combat. Intricate, geometric tribal tattoos wrapped around her dark arms and collarbone, marking her not just as a woman of her tribe, but as a weapon of the earth itself. She refused to die here. She refused to let Baraka’s betrayal be the end of her story.