Werewolf Traditional Tattoo Novels & Stories

Her long blond hair was wild all over her and some stray strands stuck to her face in sweaty patches. The werewolf started to circle around her, slow purposely strolls. It's huge black eyes was staring down at her as it moved around, assessing her. It looked like it was performing some kind of ritual. The werewolf was huge with black brown fur and from the light coming from the moon behind it, it looked menacing. It's eyes were deep and dark and a scar ran from it's eyebrow to the corner of its eyes.

There was no way I was letting go of such an opportunity. The guard gave me an enraged glare so I let go of him swiftly and lifted the sleeve of my left arm showing a red mark. The color of my wolf. It was history, but it was also a widely accepted rumor that wolves that were red in color were stronger and fiercer than other wolves. The guard's eyes seem to widen in shock upon seeing the mark. But then he nodded and led me to the registration unit. After registering, I was allowed into New Moove great hall.

“It’s time to stop.” Ever since I heard that Harriet is still alive, I held out a little flicker of hope that Malcolm was alive too. He was a spirit wolf, after all, and valuable to Lupus Dominus, but now I’m back to utter despair. He’s dead. He has to be based on what Gayle told me. I touch the tattoo over my heart. It’s difficult for a werewolf to get a tattoo that lasts. Only an expert can do them. While getting it done, I had to remain in a state between human and animal so the ink wouldn’t fade when I shifted.

That three minute comes from helping the kid. While waiting for the bus to arrive, Nicholas could not help but seriously stared at the barcode for a few seconds. He remembered the day since it got marked on his wrist. At first, he thought it was only him who got that kind of mark out of nowhere but later found out it was all of them, werewolves. But for most of the wolves, the barcodes that have been marked on their wrist was a curse. A curse under an incurable curse. That’s how they could describe it. For Nicholas, the barcode was a blessing in disguise when because of it, all the werewolves were prohibited to do bad things, not just for their kind but for the humans as well.

On either side of the werewolf, towering pine trees stand with their branches reaching upward, creating a frame around the shield. A banner unfolds below the werewolf, bearing the pack's motto in bold, silver letters: "Umbrae Noctis, Virtus Luporum" – translating to "Shadows of the Night, Strength of Wolves" from Latin. A border encircles the entire crest, adorned with swirling patterns resembling storm clouds. Electra knew the crest well. It had been everywhere when she had been growing up. The dark werewolf seemed to always be watching, judging, condemning. She had always hated the crest. It surprised her when she did not see the crest.

rubbing my head I see a mark on my arm. Laying my arm straight and focusing on it. The mark, is not a mark its a tattoo! The tattoo of a wolf head with red eyes and extra-long knife sharp k-9's. There is a design on the wolfs forehead and behind the head that reminds me of some kind of tribal design intricately woven in what looks like hair.

"Who claimed the she-wolf had no mate? Her alpha merely arrived with the hunter's moon rising!" Axel, Derek, and Kai stood rigid at the clearing's edge, their scents radiating distress and confusion. After completing the essential bonding rituals, Dominic and I politely escorted the pack members from the ceremonial grounds, accepting traditional gifts and well-wishes. As the clearing emptied, Axel suddenly seized my arm, pulling her into a secluded pathway between the ancient oaks that bordered the ritual space. "Enough games, Luna," he growled, his claws slightly extending. "How long will you continue this performance?"

Then he covered her with the quilt and kissed her forehead tenderly before leaving the way he had come. It was so liberating to stop fighting what he felt. He felt lighter. Stronger. At home, he went straight to his room. He took off his shirt and looked at his new tattoo on his chest: Silver, in its wolf form, with blue eyes and a purple lightning bolt. On his arm, he read aloud, written in the language of wolves: “Together we are strong.”

The other two didn't fare better, and in a few seconds, they fell to their death. Another two rushed at me, holding a black dagger in their hands. I slashed at the wrist of one of them, and that was when I saw an odd tattoo on the man's wrist. The tattoo was painted in black ink, showing two black blades on top of a howling wolf. The image was familiar, but I could not remember where I had seen it before. I realized that the other person also had the same tattoo on his wrist, and so concluded that it was an identification method for their pack or clan.

He looked really large and had tattoos that did not look like what any wolf would have but I could tell he was a werewolf. Which was strange because each time we tried getting a tattoo, it heals immediately.