Painted Scars By Neva Altaj Novels & Stories

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?

But they weren't wounds anymore. They were— Scars. They were beautiful. They were a network of faint, thin, silvery-white lines. They didn't pucker. They didn't pull. They weren't angry. They were like threads of moonlight had been stitched into my skin. Like a map of a river delta, drawn in silver ink. I reached back, over my shoulder, and touched one. The skin was smooth. Soft. It wasn't even tender. The balm. The Alpha's-Grade, private-stock, near-magical balm. It hadn't just healed me. It had remade me. It had taken the proof of my torture and turned it into—

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.

I shut the door with a flick of my wrist, turned the lock, and shut out the prying eyes. "Don Romano, I'm Elena," I announced. "Here's a token from the Deluca family." The wheelchair turned slowly to face me. Even prepared, I caught my breath for a split second at the sight. His face was a study in contrasts. The left side was chiseled perfection, but the right was hidden behind a silver mask, with burn scars creeping out like red, twisted centipedes. It was truly a horrifying sight, a mix of the divine and the monstrous.

High-tier Alphas bore thousands of scars from the northern hockey tournaments and border skirmishes; a bite mark on the right shoulder was nothing more than a common battle trace. It couldn't be him. The universe wasn't that cruel. I forced myself into the adjoining stone washroom, turning the cold brass taps until the freezing mountain water washed the scent of his cedar and ozone from my skin. I changed into a clean, simple wool shift, carefully re-wrapping the linen bandages around my torn knee before forcing my features into a mask of absolute neutrality. Upstairs, Kaelen remained seated on the edge of the furs, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose as his internal monologue fought

That girl who cried at the piano… how much pain had she endured? I closed my eyes, and her clear, stubborn eyes appeared in my mind. I had dismissed her as just another pawn in a marriage of convenience, and I had treated her with coldness and warnings. But now, a mix of rage, pity, and guilt tore through me. I wanted to protect her, to hide her under my wing, and make the people who hurt her pay a thousand times over. (Alessia's POV) After the ball, the atmosphere at the estate seemed to change.

“You told me once you were addicted to my face. Said it was your drug. Well… it’s gone now. Just scars. So please—go find someone whole.” “I’m so sorry, Jake…” Ariana choked out. “Sorry?” I laughed bitterly, my head shaking. “I wish sorry could fix it.” And then—something warm touched me. A hand. Small. Soft. Real. It was Liz. I knew how her hands felt. “Jake…” Her voice was soft, trembling. Her eyes were dripping with tears, but she didn’t look away. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t disgusted. She was just… there. She touched my scars like they were nothing, tracing them without being disgusted.

[ALINA’S POV] As I stood in front of the mirror, the reflection staring back at me was one I had long since accepted but still couldn't quite get used to. My face was scarred, the marks running across my skin a reminder of my past—of what I had endured and survived. I ran a finger lightly over the jagged edges, tracing them with a quiet reverence, because despite everything, I didn’t regret the incident that had caused them. The pain had led me to Rowan, my fated mate, and for that, I would never wish it away.

This was the worst-case scenario. Nerina screamed again, her body twisting in Elora’s arms. Elora cried out, “Aria, she’s burning, her skin is burning again….” Aria touched Nerina’s forehead; she was ice-cold, but the air around her was blisteringly hot. A contradiction. A sign of dark magic tearing through her core. Aleron staggered toward her. “Please, please stay with me, Nerina..” Nerina looked up at him, her vision blurred. “Aleron… I can’t..hold…”