Scars And Stripes Novels & Stories

This man almost doubled his muscle mass. His dark brown hair had subtle streaks of red throughout. His eyes were green with hints of gold. They were the most amazing things I had ever seen. Looking at him made my heart pound. His eyes were focused on mine as he held my gaze. The scar on the left side of his neck was faded, the sight of it enraged me. I didn’t know why I was so upset about him being hurt. I felt myself begin to get lost in his eyes when my mind snapped me out of it.

We keep each other safe. I touch the scars on his arms and count them. Like the stripes of a tiger, they go all the way up to his shoulders on both arms. Some are deeper than others. They are like braille on his skin. Even a blind man could tell there is a story of pain that burns upon his epidermis. I touch his scars and feel them on his shoulders. These scars are everywhere on his body. Even his mid-section probably has scars everywhere. He has marked himself for life with these man-made scar tattoos.

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.

And as she stared into his icy eyes, Scar knew that whatever it was would be a torment unlike anything she'd ever known. Stanley extended a hand to her, showing off the green tattoo on his hand and wrist that was identical to Scar's. The only difference was that parts of it were black, others an angry red. She hadn't realized that Stanley had a mark, too. Shit. That must have been how he tracked her. Scar whimpered, feeling the hot sting of tears in her eyes. She had nowhere left to run. The goblins who held her were merciless and hateful, full of lust for violence and blood.

Scar kissed her neck softly as she traced every line of the ink as if she was re-inking them herself. A large skull was surrounded by an array of roses. A Christian cross in the back, behind the skull, stuck out to Lani because of the dove perched on it so innocently. Scar's tattoos were a mixture of dark and light, they described him perfectly. The same happened on his arms, one was decorated with the ideas of Satan, the other those of holy angels.

I can’t help but ask, as the marks that seemed to be welted on her skin were so visible, and too severe to be ignored. Scar turned to look down at her body before looking right back at me. “Maybe you should worry about yours first,” she says, her hand motioning towards my body. My brows creased tighter. What was she talking about? I thought when I drop my gaze down my stomach and thighs, I let out a gasp. Shocked, I couldn’t move or say anything until Scar broke her silence. “Those are infidelity marks,” she says, and I look up, blinking at her. “They occur when your mate is being unfaithful. More will appear in the future,”

I glanced down, and saw more than I'd bargained for. First, my hands. It wasn't just the sticky, droopy feel of blood to them. And the sting wasn't just from underneath me. I could feel it bloom from my shoulders. Striped. Aching. Scars covered them. Scars I've seen and felt before. The scars from my back. Like tattoos interwoven into my flesh, the moment I realised what they were, it felt like someone set my skin on fire. They cut and dipped, tracing paths like chains wrapped around a body and pulled the moment the were right enough.

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.

Grace nearly dropped the soap. Scars, large and small, crossed his torso. She'd seen bullet scars before. There were two right next to each other under his left arm. She was so focused on the terrible scars that she barely noticed the black, abstract, curvilinear tattoos on his chest and shoulders. They were fierce, with what looked like stylized talons interwoven with curving, concentric whiplash curves. He was bruised almost black on his right side. More tattoos covered his wrists and elbows in precise, flowing patterns made up of repeating geometric shapes. The burn scar on his left hand was part of a larger burn that marred the tattoo right up to his elbow.

It made my skin tingle all over again. I spotted another group of fighters—four strong men this time. Their bodies gleamed with oil from the morning's fights. Sweat mixed with it, running down their muscled chests and arms. One guy had a long scar across his chest, red and raised like a mark of pride from past battles. Another had dark tattoos snaking up his arms, thick lines that looked like twisting ropes. The other two were just as built, one with short blond hair matted to his head, the other with a shaved scalp that showed off his thick neck.