Painted Scars Neva Altaj Novels & Stories

"Rozralas, believe me when I say I am not hiding anything from you. You are my half, you complete me so why would I hide anything from you. We are in this together. The powers from the bloody moon on the Equinox day is all I need and with it I could use it to take my hideous scars away." Rozralas sighs as Nevera brings up his scars. She has told him countless times that he was perfect just for her. "Stop calling yourself that, you're perfect for me." She reminded him, kissing the other side of his scars briefly to smile at him. Nevera smiled back and kissed her possessively on her lips, pulling her in, as he sank/ disappeared from the bed. Soon, the bed was empty and so was the room.

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.

The thin lines seem to extend in a beautiful planned pattern. “You would think I’d learn by the third time of being caught, saved and punished but I didn’t. The last time I tried he thought I needed to be reminded of who I was.” Althea feels slightly anxious observing Harley take his shirt off, completely taken by surprise when the older turns around to show her two long scars on the centre of his back. The healed skin extends into two long ovals on his shoulder blades. “He nicknamed me Hope. Someone who prevails when they are about to die,” Harley says.

The silver star on his forehead was gone, leaving only a faint, pale scar that looked like a kiss from the moon. Nevan, sitting in the driver’s seat, looked at me through the rearview mirror. He looked younger. The haunted hollows of the "Shield" had filled out, his skin tanned by a year of outdoor labor. He wore a simple linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal scars that no longer felt like battle honors, but like old stories. "Almost, little lion," Nevan said, his voice a warm, human rumble. "Just over the next ridge."

“ What is this scar? “ Slowly, he grazed his fingers across the scar. Jeane gasped, instantly frigid by his touch. “ How did you get this scar? “ Jeane felt his sudden masculine energy, strong and heavy masking behind her. “ I got scratched by the doorknob, trying to get in. “ She lied. It was actually an injury she recovered from trying to get into the forest bunker on one occasion of fleeing from loan sharks. “ What kind of doorknob would scar you this way? “ As he touched her scar, his touch got heavier. Jeane just hoped that he hadn't discovered that she told a lie. “ Why did it heal into a burnt mark? “ “ That is how my skin works, one of the negative traits I inherited from my father.

And now that we had seen the scars that covered her body, it was obvious that Lena had plenty of reasons to be fearful of Alphas. I mean, although she had never come out and said it, but seeing those scars she had, well, it explained her fear the day we had told her our father wanted to meet her. I would be willing to bet that an Alpha had given her those scars. I got to work doing Lena’s makeup, and I watched in amazement as I set about enhancing Lena’s features, without making her look like a call girl or a floozy. Lena had a natural elegance about her, and her features didn’t take much to enhance and make her natural good looks shine through.

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

Maize was proud of herself for not reacting to the scars covering just about every inch of her friend. Even so, just like the night she first saw them, Maize couldn’t help but notice how graceful and delicate the scars were. She knew now that it was Misty’s mom, known for being amongst the finest artists in the territory, who made a point of turning the scars into something beautiful. Almost like tattoos, they flowed across her body like a beautiful painting. Thankfully Ayla was put to sleep while the work was done. What would’ve otherwise been a collection of horror, was instead very pleasing to the eye once the initial shock and revulsion was overcome. “Ayla, just lay there and relax for a

Now I am a threat to her. “No, I want to leave it,” I said, laying back down. “Are you sure?” he said. “Yes, how did you do that, by the way? I thought she could do it because she was a witch,” I said. “Well, demons hate having scars or any beautification on their body because it makes them feel unattractive, so we have the power to clear the scars that bother us,” he said. No wonder Alma is so full of herself. The first day I met her, I low key admired her skin. She has such clear and gorgeous skin and I thought she was beautiful, but obviously she is very rotten to the core.

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.