Scarred Book Characters Novels & Stories

Marvin I flipped through several pages, my curiosity and confusion pushing me to search for something that might make sense of everything. The memory from the previous day suddenly returned to me. After Beta Raymond had left, I had picked up this very book from the desk because he had forgotten to place it back on the shelves. My fingers moved faster now as I turned the pages until I reached the particular section near the middle of the enormous book he had left behind. There it was, the same scar that met my eyes. My eyes widened as I stared right back at the replica of the scar on Becky's stomach.

In her final moments of life, Lara came across Carla and in the nick of time, turned her. Turning in vampiric terms was yet another profound matter. Lara took Carla’s memories and wiped them from her mind, leaving within her, a new soul. Carla was Lara’s trusted assistant, her right-hand man and bodyguard. But even without her memories, Carla retained the purity of her soul. She was kind and innocent, and that part of her alone made me fill up with remorse for not being able to reciprocate her love.

And gradually, like a flower wilting, her mother had distanced herself from her second daughter until they barely ever saw each other anymore except on special occasions and even then, her mother never looked her in the eyes. Scar had lost not only a sister and a mother to the Lauchair clan that night fourteen years, but she had also lost herself. And till she took her last breath, she would never forgive everyone of that despicable pack. Talk about the scar, the nature of the two clans.

In seconds, he had brutally taken down both thugs with his bare hands. Caspian turned, his icy gaze falling on Bianca, who was paralyzed with fear on the floor. He walked toward her, his leather shoes crunching on my shattered phone. "I'll let you live," Caspian's voice was low and raspy, a death sentence from hell itself. "But you will spend the rest of your life regretting today's stupidity." Bianca trembled violently, unable to even beg for mercy. Caspian didn't spare her another glance. He took off his blood-stained jacket, wrapped it tightly around my shaking body, and lifted me into his arms, walking away without looking back.

“And I regret it to this day! I hate being that friend, the one who paints her friend badly,“ Eloise says breathlessly. She screams in pain. “Don’t,” I interrupted. “Did you think I would forget? Not only did you lie to me back then, but you are lying to me now. Old habits die hard, I guess! I got up on my feet and turned to Scar, who leaned against the wall, arms folded across his broad chest. His face was a mess of scars; just like his name implied, he looked deadly and ready to deal with her. “Scar?” “Yes, ma'am!”

he said and we went inside the mansion into his room. He made me sit on the bed and removed his t-shirt, he stood in front of me. he grabbed my hand pressed it against his naked chest. “Look,” he said, I did, as I look closely, I noticed a scar on his skin. “It’s a scar,” I whispered. As Nikolai has a scar on his body, I have a scar in my mind. The memory of Greyson’s death. Scars are what make us who we are. Everyone has scars…some are etched into skin, and some are burned into memory. Nobody moves through life without a scar slicing them in half.

I never liked people getting too close to me. It might have been my survival instincts and trust issues, but I'm used to people being cruel. With both my parents gone, years of surviving as a lone wolf taught me to expect only the worst in humans. Kindness isn't something I see every day. Scar watches me as I wrap up the cuts around my hand with a white cloth. As his name says, he has quite a glaring scar that runs from his left eye to the side of his jaw. His bare chest shows numerous tattoos and battle marks. A leather belt hangs on his waist, securing a pair of cargo pants.

Amara stared back, trying to project a semblance of stillness, refusing to betray the sheer terror gripping her. ​Emiliano stared at her for a long, silent moment, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be assessing her, her fear, her presence in his bed. He slowly walked around the bed, stopping on his side. ​He reached up, pulling his undershirt over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it onto a nearby chair. Amara couldn't breathe. Her gaze involuntarily dropped, taking in the powerful breadth of his chest, the taut lines of his abdomen, and the faint, intricate scars—silent trophies of a violent life—that crisscrossed his left shoulder.

Ryan raised the chair in his hands, and with a swift motion, brought it down on me, his eyes cold as they met mine. I was paralyzed by the fear in my eyes, unable to move. "Ah!" The pain shot through me like a jolt of electricity, and I couldn't contain the blood-curdling scream that escaped my lips. My fingers were crushed instantly, mangled and bleeding, as I stared at them in disbelief. The physical pain, sharp and intense, barely compared to the crushing weight in my chest.

Lauren gazed into the mirror as she peeled off her clothes, not wanting to miss a single sight of it. The once white bandages that had been wrapped on her back now had a hue of red. She sighed and even when she knew it would earn her scolding from Malcolm, she slowly peeled the bandage off her back closing her eyes at the gory sight that greeted her. Her eyes teared. She didn’t believe it was this bad. And Bryan had seen it too? It made her sob more. She didn’t want him to end up having trauma because of her. She was used to it after all.