Burn Like Mark On Skin Novels & Stories

August flinched from the shattering sound. "That time our whole family was alive Steve! Do you even hear yourself!?," Adriel roared. "Have you forgotten what they did to us? It wasn't you who saw them bathed in blood, it was me. And our mother? Think about the pain she endured when her whole body was burned. Were her mighty husband and three children able to save her? No." August cried silently allowing his brother to let it out from his heart. Adriel snatched the unfinished bottle from the table chugging the contents down his throat. He gazed at the portrait of the beard man on the wall with resentment. August followed his gaze where their father's picture was hanged.

Slowly, I tilt my head, my eyes focusing on the strange, beautiful pattern now etched into my skin. It’s not just a faint bruise anymore; it’s something more. The mark has grown bolder, its fiery pattern glowing against my skin. Tendrils of flame, rich and molten gold, curl and intertwine, creating an intricate design that seems to pulse with its own light. I can almost feel the warmth radiating from it, as if my skin had been kissed by fire. The flames seem alive, dancing with a mesmerizing energy that draws me in, making it impossible to look away.

He applied healing cream to each wound, his touch light yet firm, trying not to cause more pain than I was already in. After tending to my face, his attention dropped to my upper right arm. Where the worst of it is. That was where the burn was. It wasn’t just any burn. The pain there wasn’t like the rest. It was deep, raw, and searing enough to make my entire body flinch even at the lightest contact. The mark had been shaped deliberately, molded into the first letter of the name of the Savage Beast. That single branded letter, etched into my skin like some kind of cruel signature.

He began, ending his statement with a warm laugh when I tore open his shirt the rest of the way. Little black buttons went flying in all directions, rolling across the floor and out of sight. I would’ve been completely taken by the hard grooves of muscle that lined his stomach if it hadn’t been for the streak of color marring his pale skin. Upon further inspection I realized it was a burn mark. Stretched across his left pectoral muscle, directly over his heart, was a jagged scar. The puckered skin was still a tad bit raised, a messy splotch across his chest surrounded by nearly a dozen sharp points.

Love. “I feel you here,” I touched my chest, which gave me an a deepened feeling. My fingers brushed the slightly raised indented portion of my body. I glanced at my chest to see a mark burned into my skin. It was a flame. A dark red flame like a fireball over my heart. “My mark,” he spoke with pride, gently caressing it. Shots of pleasure ran straight through me to the core. I moaned, causing Luci’s cock to twitch inside me. Luci bit his lip. “I’ll save that information for later,” he chuckled.

He grunted, staggering back a step. His shirt smoldered, then split as if sliced from the inside. The mark beneath flared into view—dark lines etched in his skin, glowing a sickly, pulsating red. The room constricted around us. My own chest exploded in agony. Same place. Same shape. Like an echo. Like my skin had just been branded from the inside. I gasped, hand flying to my ribs, fingers clawing at the fabric there. Heat burned under my palm. Not as strong as his.

Then I look at it. Four minutes later, there is nothing there. No redness. No tenderness. I press my thumb against the place where the burn was and feel nothing unusual, no heat, no sensitivity, just skin behaving as though nothing has happened to it at all. I stand at the sink for a long time. Then I go and get the notebook. Day 2. Dermal. Burn, second degree, approximate, contact with heated surface. Healed completely in under four minutes. No scarring. No residual inflammation. Possible explanations:

Too hot. By the time I reached my door, the pain had sharpened into something I couldn’t ignore. I pushed it open, stepped inside, and shut it quietly behind me. One breath. Two. Then it hit. I doubled over, the control slipping all at once, and stumbled into the bathroom, gripping the sink as my mark BURNED. It wasn't the steady ache from before. This was fire eating through my neck, spreading down my spine. I looked in the mirror almost reluctantly. The black veins had spread from the mark, creeping across my throat like cracks in ice. While I watched, my reflection wavered—

CHAPTER THREE – “Marked by Fire” Rowan didn’t sleep. All night, her shoulder burned. Not like a fever or a pulled muscle—this was deeper, sharper, like something was etching itself into her bones from the inside out. She kicked off the too-soft Firestone Tower sheets and padded barefoot into the dorm bathroom. The mirror was too tall, the marble too cold, everything too unfamiliar. But none mattered the second she saw what had bloomed across her skin.

I wasn’t in the habit of damaging things I meant to use. “You… burned,” she said after a moment, voice small. She glanced at my hand like it offended her. “When you touched it.” I turned my palm over, flexing my fingers. A faint, angry red circle still lingered where the symbol had seared my skin. Not a normal burn. No blister, no broken flesh. Just a mark, like the ghost of a brand that didn’t belong to me. “It’s nothing,” I said. It wasn’t nothing. Across from us, in the front passenger seat, Rian twisted slightly to look back. Dark hair, sharp eyes, jacket open; he’d been with me long enough to know when I was lying.