Scarred Novels & Stories

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...

BRIDGET The pair of blue eyes staring back at me from the mirror was glassy with shock and grief. Tears slid down my cheeks, tracing the long scar that ran from beneath my right eye to the edge of my jaw. I didn’t bother to wipe them away anymore. My trembling hand brushed against the matching wound along my back. Stitched, yes, but the doctor’s work couldn’t erase the evidence. What Gabe had done to me would never fade. The marks of his fury were carved into my skin, branded into me, etched there for eternity by the man I loved.

They’re not gone. I can feel them, out there in the wounded dark. The Consensus, a flickering, troubled diamond, its perfect logic still scratching at the unsolvable paradox we fed it, licking its wounds. The Wild Gardener, a tangle of broken thorns and muted fury, coiled back in the chaotic edges, nursing its rage. The escaped concepts, scattered like shrapnel, embedding themselves in the fabric of distant realities, little seeds of future trouble. The Scar… the Scar just is. A quiet, hungry mouth. They are wounded. Humbled. But not defeated. Never defeated.

Not with the pieces of my heart scattered at my feet. Jake Lawson has taken away everything: my child, my dignity, and my hope, and cast away like trash.

“Sorry, I get nervous.” “It’s okay, darling. I know you can’t help it.” She takes my arms and turns them over. “Now, what happened here?” “I… I was in a really dark place and I lost hope.” Admitting to what I did, without actually saying it. She runs her thumb lightly over my scar, then looks at me solemnly. “You know, Zara. In our pack, scars are not a sign of weakness. They are a sign of strength. It means you survived something your wolf couldn’t help you through. So, who helped you through this?”

A few Months Ago. Scarlett. Beta David dragged me across the floor by my hair. The pain on my scalp was incredible. My eyes stung with tears. I tried to blink them away; I tried very hard, but they won and started flowing freely. My skin scraped the ground, and the harsh stony sand scraped my bare skin. I wasn't even allowed to mourn my father's death when they were ready to do away with me.

The mirror showed her all the bruising over her shoulder. It was a mottled pattern of purples and green, unsightly for any party let alone a ball when she was one of the three wolves being honoured. At the centre of it all was the jagged scar that curved over the arch of her shoulder and disappeared behind her. Maddie eyed it and rolled the joint, testing its movement. The pain was almost gone, leaving her with a simple stiffness that she would gladly put up with.

she announced. I furrowed my brows at her. I knew that I had no scars on my shoulder. I would prove her wrong. "I'll show you that I'm not your Issa because I do not have that scar!" I exclaimed and pulled the long jacket I was wearing off my shoulder so that the world would see. The crowd exclaimed and this made me actually look down at my arm. I gasped when I realised that there was a scar there. My heart skipped a beat. Queen Nineveh smiled as she approached me. "You have a burnt scar on your ankle too," she added.

But as I looked down at my reflection in the water, I froze, my ears perked up in shock. My wolf's face stared back at me, its eyes gleaming in the moonlight. But it was the scar that caught my attention, a strong, jagged line that ran across my wolf's face, from the forehead to the jaw. I stared at it in awe, my mind reeling with the implications. The scar was a sign of my wolf's instability, a physical manifestation of the turmoil that lay within me. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I realized the truth.

"He started tearing at my clothes, using a silver-coated knife to cut the fabric while I struggled to keep his hands off me." My free hand moved unconsciously to brush the hair away from my neck, revealing the silvered scar that ran from just below my ear down toward my collarbone. "When I fought back, the knife sliced my neck. That's why the scar never fully healed, silver damage doesn't heal like normal wounds for us." Carson's eyes fixed on the mark, his jaw clenching so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.