Web Of Wyrd Tattoo Novels & Stories

I smiled Internally, he buried his face in my neck sniffing like his life depended on it. I opened my eyes slowly and gasped immediately at what I saw. I have never seen my mate without clothes but today he was bare from waist to chest and I was shocked because he has tattoos on his body. Do werewolves get tattooed, I thought that was only for humans. His tattoo was so beautiful and creative, a big tattoo of a raven was drawn on his hand and some ancient word on his belly. He was still holding me tightly, his hand was just between my lower back and ass, my thoughts wandered back to the incident that happened at the balcony.

"A new tattoo? I'm in." Noah was more solemn. "It is a vow. Not just of love, but of rule. A promise etched in skin." Elias was there, to guide the magic. Using a blend of Dawnfire silver and pack-gold pigment, he worked on each of us. The old mate mark, the single sun, did not vanish. It became the center of something new. On my chest, the sun was now embraced by a crescent moon (for Neal's spirit) and was rooted by a winding, flowering vine (for my growth and lineage).

He closed his eyes, his jaw slackening as I scrubbed his scalp. A comfortable silence soon settled between us. As I leaned forward to rinse the shampoo from his hair, my eyes caught the tattoo inked across his back and upper arm. The design was bold against his skin, curling like claws and wings. Black flames wrapped around a serpent swallowing its own tail. "What does it mean?" I asked, my fingers lightly brushing the ink. He didn't answer at first. "It's a symbol of resurrection. Power earned through suffering." I traced the outer edge. "You got it before or after everything?"

“And didn’t I tell you to drop the formalities when we’re alone, darling?” I have heard of the Dread Moon pack wolves being tattooed, but I have never seen one in person before. His right arm and pectoral are adorned with black ink, and I spy his pack crest amidst some rose designs. It is actually quite a beautiful tapestry and something inside of me seems to pull me toward him.

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.

These are the words bouncing through my innermost vision and thoughts. There are so many loose dots to fix. Maybe it’s my pity for Rain that pushes me to start checking up on Rain's mother, Yulia. In one of the pictures she took on the town’s beach with her bikini, I see a tattoo drawn on her ass, just a little above the valley of her ass with the name Wolfer. That name again? What the hell does it mean? Yulia's bio shows she's a good mythology researcher. I see some of her published works on supernaturals like Wendigos, vampires, and…

he breathed, grasping his Alpha’s arm and turning it to study the intricate design pulsing with otherworldly light. Magnus gazed down at the mark—taking in every detail with a newfound sense of awe. The intertwined hearts, adorned with Celtic knots that symbolized eternal love, throbbed in time with his own heartbeat. A subtle curved line—resembling a bite mark—connected the hearts, representing the intimate bond between mates. Within the design, a small, minimalist representation of a wolf’s head or a pair of wolf’s eyes was discreetly integrated, signifying the werewolf mate who had bestowed this gift upon him.

Thor killed his third attacker and stepped back toward me. “How many?” he asked. I did not answer. Because I was counting differently. Not how many remained. But how many were designed to die. That was when I saw it. On the wrist of one of the fallen wolves, partially exposed beneath torn fabric. A mark. A tattoo. Recognizable. I froze for a fraction of a second longer than I should have. Thor noticed immediately. “What is it?” I knelt slowly, pulling the wrist closer. The symbol was burned into skin with deliberate precision.

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