Painted Scars By Neva Altaj Novels & Stories

The only people missing were Dux and Drake Keeler and Briley Cross: she’d had the babies four days before, so travel was out for them. And then Scars turned around to look at her too, and suddenly all of her attention was on him: everyone else just disappeared as she met his gaze. Those eyes blazed out of his hard, scarred face and they held her whole and complete; they always had. For about the millionth time, she mused at those little patches of perfect blue in a heart-achingly damaged face, and she realized that his eyes were the exact color of the horizon over the mountains. It was like a piece of sky had just fallen to earth, and landed on Scars’ face, as bright and beautiful as the vie

She was draped in heavy linens, her arms and shoulders encased in thick bandages soaked in a pungent mixture of aloe, coal-tar, and medicinal oils. The pain was no longer a sharp scream; it had settled into a rhythmic, pulsing throb that felt as if her bones were trying to vibrate out of her skin. The "Light-Burns" were unlike any injury the doctors had ever seen. They didn't char the flesh; they crystallized it. Beneath the bandages, her skin bore patterns of translucent, violet-white scarring that looked like the delicate frost-feathers on a winter windowpane.

I looked over his shoulder at the scene in front. Alexei had Alessandro on his knees, the latter clutching his arm tightly where the bullet hit him as his hatred-filled eyes glared at Alexei. Alexei stood towering over him without any gun but a small pocket blade in his hand yet he looked maliciously evil. Eyes fuming flames, chest rising up and down with lips turned in a cruel smirk. Who said the devil was an evil, ugly monster, with scars all around? The blood that she’d from those scars many uncanny paintings. And now when I arranged those paintings, like pieces of a puzzle, I saw a beautiful, broken man, hidden behind those ugly scars.

“These aren’t marks of shame. They’re proof you fought back. Proof you chose freedom over power.” “They’re ugly.” “They’re honest.” Alina traced one of the scars with her finger. “I have scars too. From childbirth. From battles. From the grey wolf that nearly killed me. They’re all ugly. And they’re all part of who I am.” “Do you wish they weren’t there?” “Sometimes. But they remind me I survived. That’s worth keeping.” Lena wanted to believe her. Wanted to see the scars as badges instead of failures. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

Liziwe said not a word, but continued to stare unblinkingly, her mouth set in a firm, downward line. The month of confinement had not been kind. Her face had grown sallow and drawn; her bright eyes dull. The blow to her cheek had only begun to heal, leaving a shining, ripe scar in its place. It drew the eye, and made Susan cringe to look at it. And though one day it might fade, it could never be erased entirely: for there, upon her face, she would carry the reminder of that day, forever and always.

I forgot. Miss, whoever she is, looked at me shockingly but there's a hint of familiarity and sadness in her eyes. As I stared at her, I realized she really looked so weird and no offense, ugly. There's a huge birthmark that covered her left forehead, down to her eye and her ear. There's also a huge mole on the lower right side of her mouth. To top everything off, she has a lot of pimples, acne scars and blackheads. This girl needs help.

The natural waist dropped into a sheer fabric with flowers stitched into it. The scars have relaxed and really created a pretty chain-link pattern. Although our wolves really worked on healing me, they are just now calming down and looking like regular scars. I have grown accustom to them to the point that I want to get them tattooed. As a symbol of my strength and determination to not let evil win. Soft music was playing as I paced around this tent. The only thing I knew about this event was the smell of lilacs. “Ready?” Colt lifted the side and stepped in.

I guess that’s why I have my scar, a reminder of the fact that I’ll never be as strong as I need to be. As strong as I want to be. Maybe I deserve the scar…. I-i know I deserve my scar it’s all my fault. I… I need to search the body. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, collected the supplies and got to my feet, stumbling backwards as my backpack settled on my shoulders.

I passed out naked, bloody, and alone but free; after ten years, I was free. I had just done the unthinkable. I completed the rejection ritual marking myself as a mate rejecter, a pariah in my community. I not only rejected my mate but my old pack. My whole identity to that point – was gone. I was now scarred, no longer marked. Now, I carry the black scar created by the silver blade, and I reject the mate made just for me by the goddess. The cursed life of a "Scarred One" is what I must look forward to now. The sense of loss was foreboding. Was what I lost the only cost for my freedom from my mate bond?

Tessa’s POV After I was shot by Silas Vale’s rival gang, I dragged myself to his casino, desperate and half‑bleeding out, hoping he’d help me. Instead, I walked straight into Silas as he was hurrying out with his childhood sweetheart, Amy Calloway, in his arms. He barely looked at me, “Get this bloody mess out of my casino. Don’t let my Amy see her—she’s scared of blood.” So I was dumped in the back alley by his men like trash.