Scarred Villains Novels & Stories

What about Valen and Ilya? Soren tries to yank his wrist back, but even on the verge of death, Scar’s grip is like an iron shackle, his bloody fingers digging painfully into Soren’s flesh. “Let go... let go of me!” Soren chokes out, his voice cracking with pure terror as he stumbles backward, but Scar forcefully pulls him closer, dragging Soren’s weak body right against his blood-soaked chest. "I came back from hell to remind you what you did to me. I should be dead, but guess what, my obsession keeps me alive to fucking find you. As long as you live, I’m impossible to kill, Soren!" Scar hisses.

Then we crested the final rise, and my heart plummeted through the floor. The proud fortress smoldered beneath an ash-choked sky, jagged wounds gaping along broken parapets. Heaps of distorted bodies littered cracked ground surrounding the walls. And circling those soaring ruins like a vulture hovered the unmistakable blood-hued shape of Scar the Ravager. Zoya's creation and my greatest shame unleashed.

One thing I like about him is that he's always on alert, primarily for calls. We mostly converse through calls. He's my leading man for a reason. Scar was Nora's ex-lover. He loved Nora, Vincent's ex-wife, unquestioningly, so that he could lay down his life for her. But as fate would have it, Nora was mated to Vincent, and she accepted the bond, leaving Scar hurt. Scar, formally known as Scott, was ready to go to any length to harm Vincent, so I used the advantage of his rage towards this Pack to get him to work for me. "How's the search going?" I ask without delay.

He didn't just own the city; he controlled its lifeblood. Her trembling hands reached for his shirt, the first button slipping through her fingers. She fumbled with it for a few moments before finally unbuttoning it, revealing his taut muscles beneath. The scars that came on her sight were marred on his skin like they were symbols of battles fought and won, a constant reminder of who he was—a conqueror in the underworld. One particularly nasty scar ran across his ribs, the stitches still visible in the dim light.

I wasn’t wearing any bra and my boobs dangled as he struggled to bang me. His face glowed as the moon shone on his face and finally, for the first time, I saw his other side. He was a scarred wolf and a fragile wolf together. But then, the scarred wolf was a dangerous, self-centered and a killer wolf, positioned to kill and cause havoc wherever it dwells.

The tenderness between his eyebrows caused her to feel so familiar. She shook her head and covered her hot cheeks with her hands. "What are you thinking? His tenderness is just a flash in the container, and it's not worth recalling by any stretch of the imagination! Did you fail to remember how he treated you? Stop mulling over everything. Don't you understand what sort of person he is? why right." Scarlet thought There seemed to be two villains in Scarlet's heart, one to let her partake at that point's residual warmth, and the other to make her rational.

They were the snakes who had slithered into my trusted ranks, ready to spring at the master's cue. When the last chain fell into place, a guard, a man whose right cheek sports a thick, red-scrubbed scar that extends down from his temple, bent close, his own burning breath in my ear. "Damian wants you to hurt, Vincent. Slowly. He wants you to think of all the decisions you ever made. Particularly about Eleanor." He smiled coldly, knowingly, before he left for the door.

My hands shake as I stare at what used to be my back, its now a ruined mess of angry red ridges and thick, ropey scars crisscrossing like a roadmap to hell. ‘I’m sorry, Z. Because it happened before I arrived, there’s only so much I could do. The silver and wolfsbane made it worse,’ Zanthe’s voice is quiet in my mind, filled with a sadness that mirrors my own. She feels guilty, but this isn’t her fault.

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.

"In fact, it's my duty. You don't have to do this." "Besides, I'm not the only one who contributed to this operation. My wife, the scar man from Castle of Heaven Devils, and the brothers from the Polar Bear Army have all contributed a lot to it." "They are also real heroes." Hearing the praise, the scar man suddenly raised his head very proudly. For a long time, most of the scar man's characters were just gangsters. Although he didn't do many evil things, he was definitely not a good person in the eyes of others.