Star Scars Novels & Stories

But he didn't falter, his gaze unwavering as he reached out to gently cup my face in his hands, his touch sending a wave of warmth flooding through me. "Star," he murmured softly, his voice filled with tenderness and understanding. "You are beautiful, scars and all. They are a testament to your strength and resilience, not a mark of shame." “And besides I have terrible scars too, so I'm in no position to judge anyone. I was too ashamed of mine so I tattooed all over them.” He said raising his arms as I saw a scar but tattoos scattered all over.

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.

My skin, luminous and as pale as the moon. His fingers skim my collarbone, leaving a flutter of sparks as he moves my hair to hang down my back. I see it. two black puncture scars with beautiful and intricate black vines, with flowers and what looks like ivy leaves. It trails from the punctures down my side and over my new and improved curves. It weaves around my leg like a snake and stops on my foot.

And here was Danzel Parker, staring directly at my dirty past on full display. Scars. Yes, there were scars on my body. Some were small, scattered here and there, but there was a specific, deep one running from just below my left breast, across my stomach, and ending at my right hip bone. It was deep, nasty, and heavily stitched. My hands instinctively moved to cover my stomach, but Danzel caught my wrists. "Angelina, tell me what happened," he demanded, his gaze shifting between my eyes and the jagged scar.

“It was rude of me to stare. But yes, I am here for work.” Elara’s expression softened, and she nodded. “You may be surprised to learn that my scars are a symbol of my strength, Miss Rogers.” She ran a finger along the length of her neck, staring into space. “This scar is a reminder of everything I’ve overcome to get to where I am today.” I swallowed hard.

I never liked people getting too close to me. It might have been my survival instincts and trust issues, but I'm used to people being cruel. With both my parents gone, years of surviving as a lone wolf taught me to expect only the worst in humans. Kindness isn't something I see every day. Scar watches me as I wrap up the cuts around my hand with a white cloth. As his name says, he has quite a glaring scar that runs from his left eye to the side of his jaw. His bare chest shows numerous tattoos and battle marks. A leather belt hangs on his waist, securing a pair of cargo pants.

Powerful. “You’ll do,” he said evenly. Gabriel yanked her toward the door. The asymmetrical straps of her silver dress hung unevenly on her shoulders, apparently threatening to fall at any moment to reveal her amazing breasts. He knew it was only a cunning artifice of design, but as they walked towards the guests, and he heard the sound of her six-inch-high silver stiletto heels beside him, Gabriel watched men get whiplash from turning their heads to gawk at her.

What the actual hell am I’m seeing right now? Why is our mate’s torso covered in scars. Her stomach covered with what must have been deep gashes, some look like they might have been sewn up by Grace herself. Her back. Oh Goddess, her back. Are those whipping marks? Then tally marks covering her arms. Tally marks? For what? My mind can’t even be excited about seeing my mate in only her bra.

he queried, sweeping his hand on the scrapes on my stomach. I absentmindedly recoiled a little from his grasp with fear patent in my voice. Alpha Damon didn't protest or get a hold of me. He threw the bed sheet on me and sat up on the bed with the atmosphere of sexual tension earlier replaced with awkward silence. There are a lot of scars on my body since as a wolf, I only get healed but the wound always remains. The burn on my stomach was given to me by Karen, that was last year. I was pushed from the pavement of my uncle's house and I fell hard on my stomach, unfortunately, there were glasses on the floor that injured my stomach deeply.

That's when I noticed the mark. It was old, faded, but unmistakable. A burn scar, perfectly shaped like a star, just below the bend of his elbow. The skin around it was puckered and pale, like it had healed badly a long time ago. I stared at it too long. Lucas noticed. He released my arm and stepped back, pulling his sleeve down. "Again," he said. "Try the wrist lock." I didn't move. "Lucas, what's that scar?" His expression flickered—just for a second, too fast to read. Then it was gone, replaced by that calm, unreadable mask he wore so well. "An old injury. Nothing important."