Made Of Scars Novels & Stories

I crawled quietly out of the bag and rushed up to my room and got my makeup kit, I returned downstairs and they were still sleeping. I started first with Erick, I painted his cheeks with mascara and added lipstick on his lips messing up his face. I did same with Jack and Jace. And for Stacey creamy cheese on both her palms. I giggled and went to the kitchen. I filled a bucket with cold water and went back to them.

Not again. A loud clattering sound filled the air, and I pressed my hands to my ears immediately. A sharp pain spread through my leg and I figured a piece of the broken ceramic vase had sliced through my skin. Oh goddess. Not only had I broken this, now Sabrina and Xander would know that…

Lotus demanded and the question hit me hard. I released a shaky breath as I glared at him with furrowed brows. I wanted the poison out of my system badly. I could feel that I was not myself and my wolf had to constantly fight it. Whatever was inside of me was alive and I knew that it was slowly turning me into someone or something else. It was almost as if I was developing inner scars. The elimination of my physical scars was just a charade to hide the true scars that the poison was slowly giving me.

I laid my arm on the table. The scar ran from two inches below the elbow toward the wrist, not thin, not the thin line of a clean cut but the wider, raised record of broken glass, of a jagged edge, of something that had torn rather than cut. It was old. It was white now, the specific white of very old scar tissue, the color of something that had healed entirely on the surface and left its evidence beneath. I had not looked at it directly in a long time. I looked at it now. She looked at it.

Still hers. She trailed her fingertips his arm, as the morning light danced over the bruises and healing wounds as if trying to make sense of the pain etched into his skin. Battle scars. Every one of them earned in the fight to get Sophie back. The war might have been over, but peace hadn't yet settled down in her heart. Grayson stirred beside her. "You ever going to stop watching me sleep like a serial killer?" She smiled faintly. "Probably not." He cracked one eye open. "Creepy and sexy. That's very on-brand for you."

The girl in the mirror standing opposite me was a girl broken and recombined with the improper pieces. "Pathetic," I muttered to myself. And I grinned. Cold, empty thing that it was, with no regard for the girl that once was me. Because what I discovered, Jake and Cassandra didn't kill me. Victoria didn't, either. They just provided justification for waking the hell up. I removed my makeup and cotton brushes wiped away like discarding the old me. I looked again and caught sight of something new in my eyes. Peace of anger. Hunger. "No more tears," I told myself. "Time they're sorry for all of this."

Maybe because I don’t know what else to say. Maria lets out a quiet laugh. It’s not amused. It’s empty. “Scars don’t fade,” she says. Her voice is calm. Too calm. “The marks might clear from my skin… but not from inside.” She looks at me then. Not fully. Not directly. Just enough. “Not with the pain that was inflicted,” she adds quietly. “The scars can never be erased from one’s memory.” Something in my chest breaks a little. I don’t know what to say to that.

These scars had been with her for so long that she'd literally forgotten about their existence or cared about their existence, as if they were already part of her skin. Scars caused by cigarette butts and other hot burning metals. It hadn't occurred to her that Enzo would never see these scars and think she was born with them or something. Fuck, the scars didn't even come to mind. "I'm asking you something, Gypsy!" By now Enzo was breathing hard, his jaw ticking furiously. He shifted her breasts around to see more scars and shot to his feet, glaring down at her. "Who the fuck did these things to you, Gypsy? And don't fucking tell me that it's no one. Because unless you have some kind of self

Intensifying my desire and causing me to throb with anticipation; my arousal growing even more intense and my longing becoming increasingly evident. ‘She is ready to mate with us!’ Spartacus urges. ‘No, she is not prepared to take us yet. We need her relaxed and stretched out. So we don't hurt her when we finally get to knot her.” I groan. As I explore every inch of her skin, I tenderly kiss and caress each of her scars, proving to her that they do not define her. Instead, they are a testament to her strength and resilience. With each gentle touch, I am reminding her that she is beautiful and worthy of love, regardless of what battles she has faced. These scars are a part of her story, and I

KHA She traced the scar with her finger. "It didn't look like this after the injury when he shifted and tore my skin. When I tore the cast off while high... I... I guess it somehow created this." The healer nodded. "Scars can be strange that way. Sometimes they form patterns that are significant to us." "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you," I whispered. She took my hand. "It's okay. It's a part of our story now."