Scarred Novels & Stories

The elevator dings again and I am pulled out of my train of thoughts as I see a very angry mob boss on the other side of these doors. I am completely fucked.

"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.

I corrected, and let the scarf fall off my shoulder enough to remind him I know how to wear beauty and threat in the same line. The first three came dirty, which I expected, and quiet, which pleased me. Men who mouth off in the first ten minutes don’t know how to live through a second hour. Scar’s shift stuck in his hands—claws that wouldn’t fully retract so he kept cutting himself when he tried to button his jacket. Lina had an ear half-healed in a way that told me she’d ripped it in a chain-link fence and no one had taught her how to make the change slow enough to finish the repair. Hobb twitched when he heard the river, because defective wolves always think moving water is laughter when i

The moon had long since set, but Aria could not sleep. She sat curled on the edge of her bed, knees pressed tight to her chest, the shadows of the room pressing in on her like a cage. Her gaze never left the seared mark on her wrist. It pulsed faintly under the torchlight, its glow soft but unyielding, mocking her with every heartbeat. Her nails had scratched the skin raw. She had tried again and again to scrape it away, to draw blood until nothing remained but torn flesh. Yet no matter how much she clawed, the mark endured bright, damning, cruel.

Gently, slowly, he guided her hand up and down her body, ran their fingers along each and every scar. He left the largest one for last, knowing that this was the one that frightened and disgusted her the most. That asshole had sliced her from her breastbone straight down the middle of her body, all the way to her navel. The scar was thick and raised, an angry, vivid purple, and every time she looked at it, she remembered how terrified she had been at that moment. She'd truly thought he was going to gut her like a fish; she'd thought she was going to die.

"Didn't know she would murder my parents? Didn't know she would steal my entire legacy? Or didn't know she would humiliate me in front of the world?" Clark was speechless. "Or," I continued, "did you know all along and just chose to look the other way?" "No! I really didn't know—" "Then what about this?" I turned my back to him and unfastened the top of my tunic. A gruesome scar ran from my left shoulder to my right hip. The eclipse curse had turned it a sickly silver-black, and it still seemed to writhe slowly, eating away at my life force. Clark's breath hitched.

Still hers. She trailed her fingertips his arm, as the morning light danced over the bruises and healing wounds as if trying to make sense of the pain etched into his skin. Battle scars. Every one of them earned in the fight to get Sophie back. The war might have been over, but peace hadn't yet settled down in her heart. Grayson stirred beside her. "You ever going to stop watching me sleep like a serial killer?" She smiled faintly. "Probably not." He cracked one eye open. "Creepy and sexy. That's very on-brand for you."

I pulled back slowly, my palms sliding over the dense, unyielding muscle of his torso as I tried to steady my racing pulse and reclaim whatever shredded dignity I had left. That was when my eyes caught the mark. A thick, jagged scar slashed diagonally across his left ribs, pale and raised against his dark skin—a brutal mark clearly born from a lethal blade in some forgotten battlefield. I stared at it in stunned silence, completely unable to look away from the physical evidence of his mortality and lethal past.

scar laid curled in the bed the pain is much,to live is hard,to die is harder,there was a gentle knock on the door. “Come in”she said sitting up,as Aria stepped in,she sat close to her holding her hand. “How are you feeling now” she asked her voice with concern. “Fine”scar answered coldly. “Seriously fine,you are anything but fine,scar people who are fine don't lose conciousness four times in just two weeks, they don't scream and cry in their dreams,they don't constantly feel pains” Scar lips curled upwards as their eyes met concern and cold.

His muscles were hard-edged, his skin bronzed by the sun, and the thick hair on his chest tapered down into a dangerously low waistband. Then I saw it. On the left side of his chest, right over his heart, was a jagged, ugly scar. It wasn't from a claw or a blade. It was a Rejection Scar. When an Alpha rejects a fated mate, his own wolf often tries to tear the heart out of the body in grief. "Sit," I commanded, my voice cracking slightly before I regained my ice-cold composure.