Deku Arm Scars Novels & Stories

LORD REVANDREL. I should be avoiding a face-to-face with this female. Hell, I was trying to, that was why we started in the position we did. But now I am beginning to realize…I did not mind it. I should, but I didn’t. What I did mind were the scars on her back. Urekai healed fast and fully. It was hard to leave a scar on us, no matter how deep the bruises were. It took a lot for our healing abilities to malfunction and fail to heal completely, leaving a scar. Yet Baevera’s back was littered with them.

Willa suddenly yelped, frozen in shock. Oops. I sighed with a chuckle. Willa's eyes trailed down my body, following my hand. I was about to laugh at her when she tilted his head and fixed her eyes on my back. She noticed my scar. I had a two inches long scar under my left shoulder blade. Werewolves normally wouldn't have scars on their bodies. Unless their wolf couldn't heal them with soul power in time, leaving them to heal in the human way. The human way leaves scars.

The young girl looked at him with swollen eyes. “Charisa? What happened?" Skandar could not believe what he saw now. "I am injured," said Charisa, she was wincing in painful. "I know, what happened until you got injured like this?" asked Skandar again, the man had been moved closer to the bed and bent over staring at the wound which was owned by his wife. Charisa's left arm was bandaged with gauze, and the outer part was still visible red bruises. While her feet have some plaster stuck to them, Skandar recognized them as the scars that you often got when you fell on the asphalt road.

“Anyway, how’s your arm?” I instinctively pressed my hand tighter over the small scratch on my forearm. It was just a shallow line from when we’d walked into the arena earlier – my arm had caught on some sharp metal edge sticking out from a barricade. I hadn’t even noticed it at first. Only when Dex pointed out the thin trail of blood did I realize. It wasn’t deep or long, just a minor scrape that was still oozing a little. “Still bleeding a bit,” I replied quietly, keeping my palm pressed over it. “But it’s not that much. Just a scratch.”

A squeak echoes through the silence, and as arms wrap around me, I realize the sound came from me. “I’ve got you,” Lucas says, pulling me to his chest. “No, your injuries—” “Are fine,” he interrupts. He reaches up, grabs the back of his collar, and tugs his ruined shirt over his head. “See?” I don’t want to look at the faint pink scars slice across his torso, a stark contrast to his regularly tanned skin. They’ve healed mostly, but there will always be marks to remind me that he nearly died today. Reaching for my hand, Lucas takes my hand in his and carefully runs my fingers over the marks.

She'd tried to prepare herself, but she had not done such a good job. His face would be unattractive to most, but Kenzie had never been one for conventional handsomeness. To her he was, in a rugged sort of way, but what had her gasping was the several scars that adorned it. Some she could tell where older than others. However, they weren’t jagged. They were smooth, like they had been treated, but not enough for them to disappear and not leave scars. His eyes were a jade green, set against tan skin. She had not been able to tell since everything but his back and claws were covered what his ethnicity was. She still didn’t really know because his kind could have looked at that differently.

“Not just good – amazing.” “One hundred percent amazing,” Jo said solemnly. “Thought so.” Scars held out a huge hand and she took it, felt the raised skin there. Without even looking, Jo knew that he had more scars on his hands and briefly wondered what he must look like under his jeans and blue t-shirt and cut: she’d heard from Jinx that the fire had burned Scars so badly, he’d needed reconstructive skin grafting on his back and legs. “It’s a pleasure, Jo.”

At the place where the sleeve had pulled back. I looked at my arm. The scar was visible, the particular and specific one on the inner wrist, the long and thin quality of it, the specific and silver color of an old scar, old enough to have lost the pink and raised quality of recent damage and become the particular and smooth and permanent color of something that had happened long enough ago that the body had finished its work on it. The body finishes its work. The scar stays. I looked at it. I looked at him.

And then she tore them into several pieces. "I want to give this marriage a chance to work, Kyle. Let's see tonight what are your thoughts on this." At night, Kyle woke up with a puckered face. His arm had mostly healed. Most of his skin was smooth light pink but the skin, in some spots, was stretched taut and rough due to heavy scab formation. It itched a lot too. His doctor had strictly told him not to play with it or the healing may slow down. So here he was, glaring indignantly at his itching arm.