Scars And Stripes Novels & Stories

The night stretched long and cold, the air thick with the scent of blood and damp earth. The battle had ended, but the war was far from over. Scar emerged from the shadows, his towering frame moving with deadly grace. His fur, a deep shade of charcoal, gleamed under the moonlight. Scars littered his body, marks of past battles, proof of his dominance. His golden eyes flickered with something unreadable as he stopped in front of the crumpled figure on the ground.

As long as I was on Gil's back, my aura repelled him enough to be bearable for Gil. Drix and I were not on talking terms. Scarlette returned when I was asleep so I wasn't able to help him control his temper. Scarlette had a large scar on her arm and cheek that was struggling to heal. It looked like she was burnt with flame and then strangled with something. No one would tell me what happened so I commanded Gillian to tell me what happened. My command held superiority over Drix when it came to guard-gifted so Gil confessed.

“Not just good – amazing.” “One hundred percent amazing,” Jo said solemnly. “Thought so.” Scars held out a huge hand and she took it, felt the raised skin there. Without even looking, Jo knew that he had more scars on his hands and briefly wondered what he must look like under his jeans and blue t-shirt and cut: she’d heard from Jinx that the fire had burned Scars so badly, he’d needed reconstructive skin grafting on his back and legs. “It’s a pleasure, Jo.”

His slender waist enhanced his manly appeal by emphasizing his V-shaped torso. His muscles were well-defined, and his legs were similarly impressive—long and muscular. His strong, athletic stance was attributed to his powerful calves and thick quads. His legs bore faint scars—a memory of the battles he had fought and a monument to his daring endeavors. Each scar represented a new chapter in his life's chronicle.

A look of… wonder. “You’re still here,” he said softly. His voice was rough from sleep, but clearer. Stronger. “I said I would be.” I straightened up, wincing as my muscles protested. He pushed himself up to sit against the headboard. The sheet pooled around his waist. He was still shirtless. The lines of his body were stark in the morning light—powerful, but marked with faint scars, with the evidence of a life lived hard. My gaze caught on one particularly old, silvery line across his ribs. Without thinking, I asked, “Where did you get that?”

Everything I do, every step I take, is all in a bid to make her smile; I need her, in a way I never thought I'd need someone ; My willpower must remain intact however; Never must I waver; Not even during those brief moments when she thinks I'm not looking, and I feel the hatred pouring off her in waves; Or when she cringes as I reach for her hand before deciding it's okay to trust me; It's not her fault though; I know that, and I love her for trying to make me feel loved; But I am scarred by her resentment; The curse I can never lift. "Having fun?"

She took a step as a sign to leave although paused when he talked. “You’re not going anywhere, woman." The tone of his voice was menacing. “What—” She was cut off when he pulled her towards his car. When they both went inside the vehicle, he hastily started to take her blouse off. “Don’t touch me!” she cried out, struggling to free herself from his grip. Once he completely got her shirt off, his shock worsened. Scratches and bruises were all over Annabelle’s body! The purple mark almost entirely covered her back part.

The red blood slid down slowly on her face, painting it red. The white loose shirt she was wearing is also covered in dirt and because she was wearing short shorts, her legs were covered by small wounds, old and new. She was on her bare feet but she was wearing slippers a while ago. She lost the pair in her run after realizing that it was easier to run without them. "Found you." Leon said in a low and manly voice. This kind of voice can make girls go crazy, she was no exemption. She will also squeal like a hyena and will even blush because of it.

"Look at you, all eager to please. You didn't even offer anything in return. Why would she help you out?" He then handed me a card. "I'm Daniel Jenkins. Here's a little something for our first meeting. ZenWave's beauty clinics are all part of my family business. With this card, you can enjoy unlimited visits." ZenWave was a well-known, high-end beauty clinic chain. A single visit there could cost tens of thousands of dollars. This gift was too generous. I didn't take the card, but Leon snatched it from Daniel's hand and stuffed it into mine.

I sobbed, nails scraping his scalp, body bowing taut as aftershocks rippled through me, leaving me limp and trembling. He didn't stop until I was whimpering from overstimulation, oversensitive nerves singing under his touch. Only then did he rise, licking his lips with deliberate slowness, chin glistening with my release. “One,” he counted, voice husky as he stripped off his shirt, revealing the chiseled planes of his chest—scars like silver rivers mapping battles won and lost. “But I'm far from done with you.”