Beneath Her Skin Novels & Stories

She tries to free her hands from my grip overhead but it doesn't work. She curses at me again but it merely amuses me. I'm still stuck on how beautiful she looks like this. Her pale skin shines in the light and the way her blood rushes along her skin only adds to it. It's an unusual blue that matches her eyes and gives her an eternal glow. It's unbelievable.

something else. She pressed her palms against her thighs, trying to still the restless energy humming beneath her skin. But it wasn’t just nerves. There was a warmth building deep in her belly, spreading slowly like the first signs of fever. Her breathing grew shallow, her body increasingly aware of every point of contact—her clothes too rough, the air too cold, her skin too sensitive.

It was so thin and transparent that the cold seemed to bite her flesh even more now. "She doesn't look like much, eh?" Huge feet walked in front of her bowed figure. She could barely shrink back, there was no strength in her at all. All she could do was stay hunched over and take deep breaths. The skin of her hand was so thin now that her bones jutted out, threatening to burst through, her knuckles were pronounced and the outline of every bone could be seen through her skin.

The instant my bare feet cross the threshold and steps out into the hallway, I find myself face to face with a lady who suddenly materializes out of thin air. Draped in a pristine white button-up shirt that hugs her curves with elegant simplicity, she exudes an air of effortless allure. Dark, loose trousers, folded at the ankles, cascade like silken shadows around her slender frame, hinting at a grace that defies earthly bounds. But it is her skin that truly mesmerizes me, a canvas adorned with intricate black inked markings that writhe and coil like serpents in the moonlight. Against the backdrop of her silky caramel complexion, they seem to come alive, tracing a map upon her flesh.

She sat beside me instead of sitting where she does. ‘I can see you’re not just anybody. Who are you? And what is your status?’ ‘Why do you ask?’ I faced her with furrowed brows. I don’t know her enough to just answer her question without knowing who she really is. What if everything was just a setup by Heimdall? Who knows? ‘Your skin.’ She answered simply. ‘My skin? What’s with it?’ I asked. ‘I will say I’m experienced enough to know the different skin types of females in a pack. Your skin is so soft and smooth without blemishes asides the various wounds that just got on it.” She said, but I still found it hard to understand what she was saying.

Nyla's eyes narrowed as she stopped halfway with her hair straightener, her gaze piercing mine in the mirror. She slipped into a green sleeveless blazer, the vibrant color accentuating her radiant complexion. The fitted white pants hugged her curves, showcasing her effortless elegance. Her features, bare of makeup, glowed with a natural warmth. The gentle light danced across her skin, highlighting the subtle contours of her face. As she moved, her eyes sparkled, their brightness seeming to intensify with each passing year.

Divine. Her hair spilled around her like a silken obsidian wave, glowing faintly under the moonlight. Her eyes shimmered, not with the usual earthy brown, but a liquid gold ringed in violet—eyes that knew desire and ruin. Her skin glowed with a luminescent sheen, as though kissed by moonlight itself, smooth and perfect. Her lips were plump, rosy, and her curves, once muted by servant’s rags, now appeared sculpted by ancient gods—every movement hypnotic, every breath like a siren’s call.

I understood what made her build a thick skin. There were some of her thoughts buried deep that I felt like I would be prying too much. Those thoughts were hidden deep. It must be about something that hurt her so much. I never went further to know what those thoughts were. Even now that she was here caring for me. She was still licking her wounds. Her silver hair is marked as the identity of a powerful woman. one who had seen pain and bared loss. Looking at her skin, she had no visible wrinkles. She would have been a beautiful woman when she was younger.

The flooring under her knees cracked and her already pale skin turned red under it. "Ainar!" Scared out of her brain, Megan screamed, went on her knees, and covered the girl with her body. This way, she was able to bear the weight for her. Seeing this, KuLaa snorted and increased the pressure and it was Megan's turn to sink into the ground and turn red. Despite engaging all her spiritual strength to bear the pressure, Megan soon started shivering and then she vomited blood. Yet, she at he'd her back up so that Ainar could stay uncrushed under her.

she said, her irritation fading into a smile as she grabbed her slides and took one last look in the mirror. The soft glow of her bedroom lanterns reflected off her ash-blonde hair, which she had twisted into a perfect, messy bun, with short curls framing her round face. Her pale purple eyes sparkled, flecked with hints of silver—a distinct mark of being Moon-Kissed. Soon, she thought, her mate would see her as she saw herself: beautiful, unique, a prize worthy of any Alpha’s daughter.