Peerless Scarred Novels & Stories

She remembered being told that it wasn’t her fault. She remembered seeing a tall guy standing beside Jace’s grave, his back towards her. He was probably his younger brother whom she never had a chance to meet. She remembered everything. She looked down at the scar on her forearm, there were a few scars on her body that left marks. They reminded her of that horrible night. The one on her forehead was nearly invisible now, but the rest were the same. They didn’t hurt but the memories did, the nightmares did. Her older sister had been her support in all of this, her sister, her parents, Faith, and all her friends.

When I opened them again, my breath caught as he jerked me forward, his claws were dangerously piercing into my scalp. Another scar I knew would never fade away. Scar that would haunt me for as long as I lived. Then he released me and I crashed into the dirty muds. His gaze fixed on my collapsed form, sting with something intense… something dark. A promise that this wasn't over. This nightmare was only the beginning. But… for what exactly? I couldn’t yet tell, not until it all began to make sense.

And I was happy to be his, to be possessed by him, body and soul. I couldn't help but gasp as Dmitri removed his shirt, exposing his tanned, well-built figure. My eyes were drawn to the scar on his chest, a jagged line that seemed to mar the perfection of his skin. I knew that Dmitri hated that scar, that he saw it as a flaw, a reminder of his past. But to me, it was beautiful. It was a testament to Dmitri's strength, to his ability to overcome adversity. And I wanted to worship him, to show Dmitri that I saw him as perfect, scar and all.

Your encouragement gave me strength, motivation, and purpose. Scarred Under Moonlight became more than just a novel. It became a shared experience, one built on emotion, connection, and trust. Together, we explored love, loss, resilience, and healing. Together, we watched as characters grew, stumbled, rose, and finally found peace. That shared experience is something I will always treasure.

"If saying a couple of words to her makes me vicious, what about everything you did to Shirley? Doesn't that make you 100 times worse?" She pointed at Nicole and laughed until tears welled up in her eyes. "Look at her. She has rosy cheeks and doesn't look sick at all, yet the Shirley you call vicious was skin and bones when she died. She didn't even have enough money to cover emergency treatment when she bled out." "That's a lie!" Devin shot back without a second thought. "We never took away Shirley's cards, even when we were punishing her." He sounded completely certain, but I could see his hands shaking uncontrollably. Even a flicker of complicated emotion flashed in Scott's eyes.

A burn of pain ripped through my face as she dragged the sharp tip of the scissors down the unscarred side of my face, engraving a thick line from my hairline down to my jaw. I screamed in pain as blood began to pour down my pain. "Rest in pieces, Darcy." I lay there, feeling my life slip away, too drained to even cry. I may have lived my whole life with a horribly scarred face and been branded a monster, but that day, I realized that there were people worse than monsters.

A pair of pants lay crumpled on the floor beside a dress. “Silas, I’m hungry,” Amy said as she padded out barefoot. She was wearing one of Silas’s shirts. “Tessa! You’re back?” When Amy spotted me, she didn’t look surprised at all. She tugged her shirt collar wider, deliberately revealing fresh love bites. A moment later, Silas stepped out behind her. “Amy was having those PTSD nightmares again,” he said, dodging my eyes, “So I brought her back to our house.”

We had dreams, plans for a future that were brutally ripped away by the Rossi family. The memory of her death was still vivid, as if it happened yesterday. The way she looked at me with those wide, terrified eyes as they took her away. The blood, the screams. The feeling of helplessness that gnawed at my soul. And then, the scar. I reached up, tracing the jagged line that ran down my side, a permanent reminder of the last altercation with the Rossis. The scar was a souvenir from that night, a parting gift from the bastards who took Noelle from me.

“Rue, do not make fun of me.” “I am not making fun of you,” I said. “I am reminding you that you are still handsome even when you look awkward.” Percy looked away. His fingers moved close to the scars on his arm. I reached for his hand before he could hide them. “Do not look at them like that,” I said. He became quiet. “They are not pleasant to look at.” “They are part of you,” I said. “Some came from old injuries. Some came from the blood pact backlash. Some came because you suffered too much alone. I hate that you were hurt, but I do not hate your scars.”

Lenore whispered. She was trembling as her eyes landed on her scar scattered back. Her back was almost completely covered in scars. They were all in various stages of healing. Some are still bright pink, others the color of her skin. Her back told a story of horror. Flashes of her step mother yelling about food being overcooked or undercooked; even though they were. Items going missing and mysteriously returning. Items breaking she was not ever involved. It was all just a punishment because she never belonged there. Tears slipped out of her eyes, her mouth trembling as it tried to hold back her cry. She didn't know seeing the scars would make her feel this way. How could anyone want to look