Peerless Scarred の小説・ストーリー

Saadiya had suffered a cut to her left arm but it wasn't anything serious, Parvina was attending to her. She looked at Omar and tried to steady her heavy breathing, he had ripped off his throbe and now left with a loose and very transparent under shirt which was no longer white but red and it perfectly outlined his very built muscles, his perspiration having soaked through them, Mariam stared at him for a while until he gave her a thumbs up and she blinked rapidly to clear her head. Focus Mariam, she told herself. He smiled at her and she smiled back but he couldn't clearly see her smile from the distance between them because of the cloth that hid her lower face so she nodded.

This man almost doubled his muscle mass. His dark brown hair had subtle streaks of red throughout. His eyes were green with hints of gold. They were the most amazing things I had ever seen. Looking at him made my heart pound. His eyes were focused on mine as he held my gaze. The scar on the left side of his neck was faded, the sight of it enraged me. I didn’t know why I was so upset about him being hurt. I felt myself begin to get lost in his eyes when my mind snapped me out of it.

The kind that happens when something enters a room that nobody was prepared for. I go still. I don’t look at anyone. I stare at the wall directly in front of me and I breathe, slowly, through my nose, and I feel the air on my back and I know exactly what they can see and I don’t move a single muscle. The scars don’t lie. They never have. They’re not the clean, faded kind that can be explained away as childhood accidents or a medical procedure. They’re the kind that have a story, and the story is ugly, and every woman in this room is currently reading it whether they want to or not.

“I’ve been in your shoes before. I was naive, stupid—delusional, and it didn’t end well, Liz. It didn’t end well.” I stared at her. “Wait—what?” She nodded, eyes glossing over again. I knew the Blackwells wouldn’t accept me overnight. I knew it’d be hard. But the fear in Hazel’s voice? It shook me. “Haze… I get it, I do. But…” I grabbed her hand. “I still wanna try. I love him. Please, support me on this. I need you on my side.” She looked away. Ran a hand through her hair. And that’s when I saw it—again. The scar—the one on her neck. The one I’d always seen but never had the courage to ask her about it.

No, scratch that, breathtaking. Honestly, I wasn't sure the word used to describe how pretty I looked had been invented yet. And yes, maybe that sounds a little too much but I really never thought I could see myself look this good. Ever. Alongside my makeup, she had done my hair too, and added a few touches to it. A huge chunk of my hair was intricately held back by a huge claw clip that apparently held the seal of the pack’s insignia, with the rest flowing on my back. Some intentional stray strands dangled and framed my cheeks.

I smiled, “I didn’t think a tracker would be one to play the victim card.” He took the hoodie off his head, revealing a nasty scar on his cheek to me. He was completely bald, with a dagger shaped tattoo on his mountain-built neck. His nose was like a hawk’s beak and his cold, beady eyes were deeply sunken into his skull. He looked even bigger without the hoodie now and far more intimidating. He could have passed for an assassin rather than a tracker, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he had such qualifications on his resume. “I don’t know who you want me to find, Alpha Malric, but it is going to cost you a fortune.”

But it’s enough. I reach out to grab a spool of black thread, my eyes falling on the exposed skin beneath the tape. My hand stops dead in mid-air. It’s a scar. But it isn't an injury from the pool, and it isn't a surgical mark. It is a brand. The scarred, raised flesh is shaped into a perfectly distinct, moon shaped crestent with three jagged, interlocking peaks that look like a mountain range, surrounded by a thick, circular border. It looks like it was burned into her skin with hot iron.

He didn't look up immediately, leaving Amara standing awkwardly, a pawn awaiting her move. This time, Amara noticed something she hadn't seen in the shadows of their first encounter. As he shifted slightly, turning a page, the light caught the side of his neck, just below his ear, before disappearing beneath his collar. A prominent scar. It was a jagged, uneven line, deep and old, the kind of scar that bespoke a brutal, desperate struggle. It wasn't the thin line above his eyebrow; this was far more significant, almost certainly from a knife or a bullet.

Scarlett gazed at the striking man before her, his soul-piercing emerald eyes drawing her in. With midnight hair, a chiseled jawline, and sensuous thin lips, his appearance was nearly flawless. The only thing that marred his perfection was a scar above his left brow that trailed down to his cheekbone. But even that added to his devilish beauty, giving him a somewhat intimidating, yet sexy, allure.