Scarred Novels & Stories

The bite of the slap was still burning in their marrow — Samuel Blackwood slapping his own son in our presence. It had not been rage alone that silenced them. It was the knowledge of what they had witnessed: a chink in the armor of the man they followed. A chink that smelled of weakness. --- “Never thought I’d see it,” he muttered, Scarface, his scar pulling taut as he spat onto the concrete, but His voice was low, and in the cavernous space, even whispers traveled. “The boss bled. Like a whipped dog.” A few of the men were surprised. One, a tattooed, slouching smuggling thug, growled, "Watch your mouth."

Her gasp echoed through the silence of the room as she beheld the gruesome scars etched across her chest, disappearing beneath the shadows of her nightgown. Amani's trembling hands moved instinctively, hastily discarding the nightgown to reveal her scar-ridden body in all its disfigured glory. She stood there, vulnerable and exposed, as she stared at her own reflection in horror. Her chest and torso bore a multitude of intersecting scars, a painful reminder of the brutal attack she had endured.

My heart raced almost as much as it hurt. I pressed my eyes shut as her words rang in my head again. I thought I had grown past the threshold of being affected by mere words, but apparently, I was yet to meet Xander's mother. "What if she has any criminal records? She could be a thief for all we know. A murderer…" Her words swarmed around my head, each one causing a constant ache in my chest. She had called me trash, and even though she wasn't the first person to use derogatory remarks on me, it still hurt as hell, and I had an idea why. It was because it came from Xander's mother. My mate's mother.

Her clothes were torn and there were claw marks and bite wounds all over her, the worst of which was a claw mark that traveled from her left collarbone to her right hip. Luckily it didn’t appear too deep, and someone had soaked it with a herb poultice, as if to help it heal. " I will help you." Scar said as she muttered some words placing her hand on the wound , she looked at it but her chants weren't doing justice. She repeated again and again before Hazel told her to stop

My new life turned out to be better than I had ever imagined. When I first came back to Silver Spring Pack, Marco was heartbroken to hear that I had not only lost two bloodroots, but I was left with painful burn scars on my arm. Furious, he wanted to storm Moon Forest Pack and demand justice from Aden. After all, if I’d had even one bloodroot when I was burned, my arm wouldn’t be marred by such ugly scars. For werewolves, scars were symbols of weakness and shame, having been defeated to gain them.

Through the haze, he thought he saw her. Rhea stood still, voice like ice. "Eddie, I don't love you anymore. I'm leaving. For good." "No! Rhea! Don't go!" He jolted awake, gasping. Glenna hovered beside him, tears in her eyes. "Eddie! You're okay. You scared me... Does it still hurt?" Eddie stared at the bandages. Underneath, his skin was wrecked—bloody, blistered. The meds dulled it, but the pain still bit through.

Then he accompanied her to the hospital himself to get the wound cleaned up. She'd thought he was overreacting, but he'd just smiled and said, "Lyra, you're the most important woman in my life. I don't want any scars on you—except maybe from having our kids. Smooth skin looks best with beautiful clothes and jewelry." And now, with her face covered in blood, he'd brushed her off to take care of someone else. He once swore she'd never have to bear a scar, but he made her risk her life to donate bone marrow for another woman. Even marriage and kids—he'd planned all that with someone else behind her back.

this is wrong. I drink my whiskey, the sting making my head reel as I lean forward, wincing in the poor light. She moves, and I can see her face more clearly, my breathing hitching at seeing someone who should be dead by now, someone I sold. It's her-but it's not. She's changed now. The creases are the same, the eyes, the nose, the jaw. But there's something wrong, something I'm struggling to articulate. A scar, maybe? A changed shape to the mouth? A variation in the last five years...

The Adversary Dark Prince (POV) When people notice the jagged scar on my arm, their eyes often widen with worry, and they jump to conclusions that are far from the truth. It's a common reaction, especially in a world where scars usually hint at pain or violence. But this scar tells a different story—it's not a sign of suffering; it's a symbol of something beautiful and meaningful in my life. Each curve and line of the scar represents resilience and a deep bond that has lasted through challenges, showing that not all scars are reminders of hurt. Instead, it reminds me of love and the strength I've gained along my journey.

“Relax. She’s not worth the energy. I’m just happy you’re back, Mira.” Mira blinked, her expression softening for the first time. “You missed me?” “Like hell I did,” Scarlet said sarcastically, but her tone cracked. “The room was too damn quiet without you.” Mira chuckled ... that wicked, carefree sound Scarlet had missed so much. But then something strange happened. The bruises that painted Mira’s skin ... the ones that looked deep, fresh, painful ... began to fade. One by one, the angry welts melted away, leaving her skin smooth and flawless.