King Of Scars Mga Nobela at Kwento

Amara stared back, trying to project a semblance of stillness, refusing to betray the sheer terror gripping her. ​Emiliano stared at her for a long, silent moment, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be assessing her, her fear, her presence in his bed. He slowly walked around the bed, stopping on his side. ​He reached up, pulling his undershirt over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it onto a nearby chair. Amara couldn't breathe. Her gaze involuntarily dropped, taking in the powerful breadth of his chest, the taut lines of his abdomen, and the faint, intricate scars—silent trophies of a violent life—that crisscrossed his left shoulder.

I barely recognized the girl staring back at me in the black screen. Scars ran down my face, souvenirs from the day I ran into the fire to save the photo Axel and Gloria left behind. None of it mattered anymore. Leaving him was the only thing that did.

Shadows are my domain. I tilted the glass to my lips, savoring the bitter edge of the wine as it coated my tongue, and watched the same liquid streak across her face, down her neck, and soak through her dress. Her scar gleamed under the flickering chandeliers, bared for all to see—her hideous little truth put on display like the cheap spectacle I’d orchestrated. “Seriously? That’s the Queen?” “What did His Highness see in her?” “She’s hideous.” “She’s a disgrace to the crown.” “Imagine waking up to that face every morning. Poor King Killian.” “She looks like something dragged from the gutter.”

The scent of his cologne grows stronger as he shifts and his large hands land on my hips which is covered by the sheets. Diligently, the King’s eyes hold me. And I begin to trace the jagged map of his scars. There is one, a deep, vertical scar that runs from his collarbone to his navel. I do make sure that my touch is gentle, reverent, as if communing with the ghosts of his past.

My eyes and hair are some of my insecurities, which I inherited from my trash father. My mom is so beautiful, she wears beautiful black hair and dark eyes, which Silas inherited. My mother and brother are both dead. It still stings inside my chest, but I was trying to forget all the painful memory this past few years but every time I tries, memories will flash in my head, repeatedly hunting me.

Eros I opened my eyes and saw blood on my hands. The blood was all over my body. I looked everywhere and saw glass shards, smoke and people looking at me with shock evident on their faces, some even had worry. I looked at myself through one of the shattered glass and screamed out of shock. It was not me. Blood and wounds all over my face. My beauty….it's gone.

I could only watch them leave, my fingernails digging so deeply into my palms that the skin broke, sending warm drops of blood sliding down my wrists. “Kane! You just tried to kill our mate! I wanted to come out and tear you to pieces! Scar, my wolf, battered against the walls of my mind. With the Lycan King's suffocating aura finally gone from the territory, Scar’s strength had returned in full.He angrily questioned me.

Instead, he watched my every move with interest. My fingers followed the swirling lines, but then I realized that his skin wasn't entirely smooth. Scars. Most of those beautiful lines were there to cover his scars. My stomach churned, and my fingers froze. There were so many of them… He must have noticed what had caused my reaction because he grabbed my hand and kissed the back of it. “I'll tell you about each one of them if you ask.” A faint smile curved my lips. “I'd like that.” He dipped his head, claiming my lips once more. My hands drifted to his hair, savoring the feel of his strands tangling around my fingers. When our lips parted, he gave me one of his breathtaking smiles. “We should

"Sorry, did I scare you? I promise, you'll never see scum like that around here again." To thank him, I accepted his invitation to an art exhibition at his private estate that weekend. On Saturday night, Dorian had a gift box delivered. Inside was a deep purple velvet gown. It was exquisitely tailored, with a high neck and long sleeves that perfectly concealed the old, fading scars on my body, while still accentuating my waist. I stroked the soft fabric, my eyes welling up. Gavin had traced my scars with sadness, but he was never this thoughtful. I never dared tell him how much they bothered me. It was a weakness the Godfather’s wife wasn't allowed to have.

“He won’t come for me. Just because I’m his little plaything doesn’t mean he’ll risk everything.” The scarred man stepped closer, crouching down so we were eye level. “Then let’s start with the first reason. The Kings are working on new drugs. Do you know where their factory is?” I stared at him, jaw clenched. My arms burned behind my back, and my leg was screaming. I needed time. Any distraction. “I’m thirsty,” I said flatly. “You bitch—” The scarred man moved like he was going to hit me again, but the other one grabbed his arm, stopping him.