Scar Novels & Stories

Status: Active Assignment — HIGH RISK Appearance: Tall with a compact build and carved jaw, pale-green eyes that rarely soften. Scar that bisects his eyebrow (reminder of a close call). Moves like someone who has practiced constraint until the muscles remember it for him. He looks like a man who could kill you and also quietly hold you while you cry.

I never responded and he never said another word. I heard the car pull up outside and the mechanics side out of place on the door. As soon as it swung open, Carlos stepped through. He shut the door behind him and made his way toward me. “Well, let me see the sweet bundle.” He didn’t wait for me however and just reached out for Scarlett. I made my move.

"Drop the keys, Darcy," Malcolm Ashford growls, his massive, heavily scarred hand slamming onto the hood of the dark Blackwood Range Rover idling at the entrance of Silveroak Keep. His wolf eyes flare a dangerous, golden amber in the moonlight, dominance pulsing off his massive frame in thick, suffocating waves. "You don't get to drive pack property out of this territory. You leave the way you came—with nothing."

The way a surgeon presses on a bleeding wound on the table. Rex. Flame-scarlet armor. Hair shaved to the skull. An old, ugly scar carved across the back of his head. Passing the VIP tier, his head snaps up and that feral stare rakes over my face, my throat, then buries itself in my nape. His nostrils flare. His muddy yellow eyes narrow. The corner of his mouth hooks into a crude, wolfish angle.

Scarlet says, her eyes narrowing as she takes a much closer look at the chubby middle-aged wolf who is currently curled up into a tight, shivering ball on the frozen ground. "Does your memory folder still carry a file on my face, Mrs. Scarlet?" the bruised middle-aged wolf groans, lifting his battered head out of the slush. He uses a bloody hand to brush his messy hair off his forehead, staring straight up at her apron with clear, bloodshot eyes.

The Lycaon growled and snapped, however, Scar was tireless, driving the monster back with each strike. Sienna couldn't resist the opportunity to wonder about the sheer power of the alpha's ability. As the Lycaon vacillated, Scar quickly took advantage of the chance, his paws sinking profoundly into the animal's throat. The Lycaon shook, its gigantic body colliding with the ground with an earth-shaking crash.

GRACE I still remember the day I found my mate. The way he smelt was as fresh as the forest floor. The way his sandy blonde hair was always tied in a man bun. His blue eyes sparkled like the ripples in the ocean catching the glare of the sun. He was a pack warrior, his years of fighting took their toll on him, leaving him with a slightly crooked nose and a red scar that decorated his left cheek. The scar never healed thanks to the silver used to create it.

( Warning: 18+: this chapter contains sensitive content and some readers might find it distressing) ( The night Scarlett died) Moraine slapped her lap as she laughed out so hard, along with Ava and Zaira, overshadowing the whimpering sound of Scarlett beneath her. Moraine grabbed Scarlett's hair, causing her to yelp as she sat on her back; Scarlett, who was in a wolf position carrying Moraine on her back, felt pain seething through her veins. She felt a whip on her butt and yelped in pain.

A smug crooked smirk slipped onto his face in victory as he leaned away. "Who do you think you are?" I spat in his face. He chuckled once without humor. "Miller. Darby Miller." He then turned and sauntered off into the woods, his gun in his hand. He hollered for his men and they followed quickly. My hands were trembling in anger. I hope that they found the wolf and it ripped them apart. Him especially. I stared daggers into Darby's back until I could see it no longer. What else could I do? Chase after them and stop them? How would I do that? One guy with his army of what looked like twenty. It was just me. Even though I couldn't stop them now, maybe I could help the wolf later. I sprinted to

ACE "I'm going to kill him," I seethed, pacing the length of Gunnar's office at Astor Architecture. After I had driven Miranda home to get ready for her day, I came here. I should have stayed with her. If I had stayed with her this wouldn't have happened, "no, I'm not going to kill him," I stopped pacing and glared out the floor to ceiling window that overlooked the city in all its beauty, "I'm going to cut his dick off, blend it and then make him drink it before slowly peeling his skin from his body."