Do You Want To Know How I Got These Scars Novels & Stories

I needed to make sure to leave room for Lucian and me to shift without being right on him. “I’m sorry, it’s just..” he paused, pointing to his face in the spots I had my scars. “Your scars. They’re-” “What?” My eyebrows snapped together, unable to stop my wandering mind. What does he know about the scars I have? I had these when I was found in the river, it was something not even I remember. “How did you get them?” he asked, not explaining a thing. “Why do you ask?” I am not about to spill my life stories to this man, even if he does have this sense of familiarity.

The cold air hit me on the chest but it was soon replaced by the heat of Maxim’s mouth. “Oh fuck.” I arched my back, subconsciously pushing my breasts further into him. He pushed me back so I was lying down and started kissing down my body. He kissed a particular spot on my ribs. “You never told me how you got your scars.” I tensed at the question. I thought Maxim didn’t care about it. He had never brought it up. He never made it obvious that he saw them whenever I was naked. It was weird. We had never talked about it and I was hoping we never did.

I eye her suspiciously at her sudden formality, and I wonder if Liam is inside. “Well...” She falters. “You look beautiful, by the way.” I blurt out and realize that I have been looking up and down her body with a smirk. Her cheeks turn bright red, and she breaks eye contact. “Thank you,” she whispers. “But I have scars.” “I know, and they look new, but scars tell stories.” I stare at them, and I wince, while thinking about how she might have had a traumatic experience during our day and night at Carkeek Park. “And I’m curious to know how you got them.” I continue.

Dangerous. Her gaze drifted to my chest, to the scars that crisscrossed my skin. Old shrapnel wounds from the border wars. A knife scar from a duel in the barracks. I stiffened. I wanted to cover myself. I didn't want her to see the damage. I didn't want her to see the map of violence etched into me. "You have a lot of scars," she said softly. Her fingers hovered over a jagged white line near my shoulder. "I have lived a long life," I said curtly.

It's clear that it was made by something sharp, something that dug deep into her skin, scraping against her bone. The scar is raised, twisted, and gnarled, a testament to the pain and suffering she must have endured. I can see the faint outline of four claw marks, each one distinct, each one telling a story of violence and trauma. My eyes are fixed on the scar, my mind reeling with questions. So I ask. “What the hell is that?” I ask. “What I got for risking my life to save you!” She echoes. I shake my head. “That’s not possible”

He was silent for what seemed like forever, slowly I muttered, “Grandpa…” “Where did you get this scar from?” He questioned, staring at my back intensively. His words throwing me off guard, as I stared at him with a furrowed brows. “Which scar?” “The thin line at the middle of your back.” He pointed. My mouth curved into a “O” as my gaze blinked rapidly, “Its a birth mark.” I responded, sitting up straight on the ground. He nodded his head, thoughtfully. “Can I touch it?” He asked politely.

The way he looked at me as though I had slipped through his fingers, though I wasn’t sure I’d ever been in his hands to begin with. Was that even a fight? I wasn’t sure. It hadn’t been shouting or doors slamming. Just silence. Silence with an edge sharp enough to cut through bone. I sat up with a sigh, swinging my legs off the bed. My scars prickled under the moonlight, old marks etched into my skin like someone else’s handwriting. I reached for the jar on the nightstand,the cream Malrik had left without a word weeks ago. Scar removal. Expensive. Rare. I rubbed it carefully over my arms, my collarbone, down to my legs. Slow circles, like erasing an old story.

Those scars were my problem. My heart was convinced she didn't have those at the time she was captured. And I was very certain I didn't do that to her, which leaves a huge blank spot in the story of how she got such terrible scars hidden in the delicate parts of her body. “And the scars? Is there something you can tell me about those scars?” I ticked, losing patience by the second. The doctor took another long look at the scars, and another long look at me. “I'm afraid this is as a result of the witch's bane.” She says slowly, scared of my reaction.

I lifted my top so he could see the scars covering my stomach and my back “My bra is covering the scars on my breasts. I also have scars covering my arms and my legs” “Fuck me babe, please tell me you got away from the prick who did this to you”. “That’s why she is with us, we are protecting her” Ryan gave my shoulder a squeeze. “What area would you like to start on first?” “I was thinking my legs since I cannot fully feel them yet. Ease me into it” I laughed. “Any ideas on what kind of design you would like?” “I want to get something that represents each of the guys, but other than that I have no idea”.

I run my fingers through them with some hair product and let it dry naturally. I take a moment to look at my naked body in the full-length mirror. I rubbed my hand over the small scar that stretched across my lower abdomen. It’s been years, and it still hasn’t faded. My body is covered in small cut-like scars and needle pricks that I had received when I was just a small child. My back had the most scars, but once I was old enough, and when my father was out of town, I went into the human town and had them covered up with a very large full-back tattoo portrait. I still have one scar that I refuse to cover since it was a reminder of where I came from and where I will never be again. It is on t