Marked By Scars, Claimed By The Lycan Novels & Stories

Every single one of them stopped dead in their tracks, turning to stare at me, their eyes wide with disbelief. “What?” Scarface finally managed to choke out, his sneer faltering for the first time. I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. This was my chance. “I am a Lycan , just like you,” I repeated. They burst into laughter. “She probably thinks we're fools.” one of them said. "We should get rid of them," another urged, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Nah, a little entertainment before we discard them,” his companion countered, a wicked glint in his eye. My blood ran cold. Entertainment? What the hell did that even mean?

I questioned, pulling a fiery-tinted dress up to my shoulders. “Yes,” Jessica said as she adjusted the full-length mirror so I could see myself better. I zipped up the tight dress, outlining my every curve. I cringed in pain as the material stuck to my back. Jessica immediately unzipped me. “Your back is still tender,” she gently reminded me. “You’ll need to heal more before we go.” “There are more people in ShadowClaw?” I asked. “There are four big shots in the pack. Three of them are villainous and shady, Arthur being the most notorious. Then there is one who is more ethical.”

'Didn't Alexander die at the young age of 31 or 32? "What's the matter, my dear mate?" I looked at him seriously to make him feel that I am grave serious right now. "How old are you right now?" "Wow, my mate even became so interested in me." I enlarged my eyes at him. Conveying the I-am-grave-serious look. "Well, my dear mate, if you really want to know, I am 13 years old but if you are asking in human years, I am.... 26 years old. We have slower aging process in our Lycan form because of our heightened resilience. "

Leona. She is scarred and bruised, even bleeding out from the scapes on her face and arms. Those scrapes look suspiciously self-inflicted, like she threw herself on the dock and scraped herself up. She is a Lycan, isn’t she? Why isn’t her beast healing her.

It was us lycans who were taller and bigger. Shit, how would a little wolf like this be able to handle all of me? Could I be as rough and wild with her as I wanted, or did I have to go slow and gentle? Her breathing was fast, her chest rising and falling, drawing my eyes to her curves, the material of her clothing stretched over her. It was then that I noticed the scars on her chest and followed them down her left arm. What had done this to my little mate? If it was a person, who did I have to kill?

Lycan murmured, his deep, gravelly voice washing over her like a warm blanket. He dipped the cloth into the steaming water, wringing it out before gently pressing it to the scrape on her elbow. Amy winced, a sharp hiss escaping her lips. "I'm sorry. I know it stings," Lycan rumbled, his jaw clenching tightly. He blew a stream of cool air over the wound, his touch so unbelievably tender it made her heart ache. Every single scrape on her delicate skin felt like a personal failure to him. The beast inside him was thrashing against its cage, demanding to go back out into the snow and tear Lord Vance and Ava apart piece by piece for daring to lay a hand on his mate.

she said, voice steady despite the way her fingers curled into her palms. "Is the male alive?" "Yes." "Do you understand," I repeated the exact words that I have said for many years and more to come. "That once severed, this bond will not return? Not to him. Not to another. Not in the way it was first given." "Yes." She said without hesitation. With that I lifted a hand. The Lycan warriors relit the sigil and it burned underneath her feet with a flame that won't hurt her. She gasped as it climbed her legs, her spine and her chest, as though, seeking the bond and dragging it to the surface.

The guard exclaimed. The guard rushed down the dimly lit hall to the far end of the dungeon. Moments later, he returned, clutching the baneful branding iron made of pure silver. This menacing tool was known to bring unbearable pain to lycans. With just a single press against their flesh, it inflicted excruciating burns that would fester for weeks, making it agonizingly difficult for the lycan's wolf to heal. The scars left by the silver would serve as a lasting reminder of their suffering.

And that… that changed everything. She sat up suddenly, her hair falling messily over her shoulders. She staggered to the wardrobe mirror, and the reflection she saw there almost made her recoil. “No, no, no…” Her body was covered in marks. On her neck, intense hickeys. On her shoulder, the perfect imprint of his teeth, although the mark was already beginning to fade. On her hips, bruises betrayed how much he had claimed her as his. She had been marked by an Alpha. By a Lycan.

He just hummed in response. I looked around and could feel Koa “snapping pictures” for lack of better term at the moment. There had to be at least 100 people up here. We were walking up to one of the warriors who had scars all over his body. For a wolf to have scars, they had to of been wounded horribly to the brink of death, that their wolf couldn’t heal them fast enough. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what this warrior had been through to be a lycan and have all those scars.