The Scars That Made Me Book Novels & Stories

But I couldn’t feel any of it. I stood at the center of their praise, hollow and numb. The head in my hands felt unreal, like a prop from a nightmare I hadn’t yet awakened from. Everyone else saw triumph, but all I felt was the phantom touch of the rogue’s claws, the coppery scent of blood, and the roar of survival thundering in my ears. On the main stage, Jayson stared down at me with an unreadable look, but it quickly twisted into scorn. “Well, would you look at that,” he drawled. “Some random girl did it.” His mocking laughter followed, sharp and grating, as if my victory had personally offended him.

I looked up at the stars, silently thanking the Moon Goddess. Then I looked back at my mate. My home. My forever. And together, hand in hand, we stepped into the future we had fought so hard to claim. END OF BOOK TWO!! BOOK THREE INTRODUCTION : TITLE : THE SCARRED LUNA AND HER THREE ALPHA MATES. BLURB: As Luna of the powerful Shadow Fang Pack, she endured years of ridicule for the scars that ruined her face. Hated by the very people she sacrificed everything to protect, she clung to one hope—her fated mate, the Alpha she loved.

I reached for my oversized, cotton shirt, the one I used as a shield, a comfortable cocoon, but my gaze snagged on my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back wasn’t the girl who used to cower beneath the weight of her father’s harsh words and Lisa and Chloe's physical assaults. My shoulders were broader now, my posture straighter, a testament to the disciplined workouts I had adopted. My arms, once thin and perpetually bruised, held a quiet strength. The faint ghost of old bruises, once a vibrant tapestry of purple and green, had faded to pale shadows on my skin. They were silent reminders of the torment I had endured, a constant whisper of life I struggled to leave behind. All exce

Tonight feels like a new chapter, one where I’m not defined by the scars of what happened. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I pause in front of the mirror. My reflection stares back at me, unfamiliar in some ways. My hands press against the cool countertop, steadying me, before they move to my chest. The scars are stark, a permanent reminder of the hell I endured. As I lose myself in thought, soft hands slide around my waist, and I feel her lips press against my shoulder. Her touch pulls me back, grounding me. A smile tugs at my lips as I meet her gaze in the mirror.

" - suzangill ... Wear your battle scars, not as a flaw but an ornament. And see them shine even brighter than gold and diamonds. Mold your weaknesses into your strength, To become the best version of the scarred beauty of yourself. .... The End .... Thank you so much for being with me on this beautiful journey. Your love, comments and votes on this book have meant the world to me. I wish you all nothing but happiness and success in life. Take care! Love you all. Your dear author, Suzan❤️

I assumed Skylar sucked out all the niceness in him through one of their many public kisses but he proved me wrong by coming to my aide and patching me up. “These will scar.” He sounded disturbed. Scars were nothing new to me. Scars decorated my back in their numbers, a map of whips, belts, canes, and everything else I’d been beaten with. The scars on my back were nothing; the scars on my mind were a telling of the pain that would never fade. I could cover my back and pretend I had nothing but smooth skin behind me but my mind lay bare to me, a constant agonizing torture. “It doesn’t matter.” I pulled away from his lingering touch.

We stayed there, sitting in silence with nothing but the sound of rain outside the car. Her fingers slipped under my shirt, the damp fabric parting as she undid the top few buttons, as if she was unwrapping something she’d been dying to get her hands on. My breathing stuttered when her fingertips brushed against my skin, tracing over the ridges and valleys of old burns. I stiffened. I always did. Those scars were a part of me for as long as I could remember. No one touched them. No one ever fucking touched them. That’s why I inked over them, turned them into something else.

"I'll find her. And when I do. I'll beg. Beg on bended knee. Go where she goes. But show Harrison Blackwood is not the devil Maya portrayed him to be. Be the man Leya needs." Alone, finally, in her life, the therapist cocked her head to one side. "That is your promise. Now hold on." And as Harrison left that office that night, his chest aching but his heart seething once more, there was one thing echoing in his ears above the rest: He had scars that would haunt him for a lifetime. And out of those scars had been driven home a promise — a promise that would be the refrain of his years.

Layla scrambled back in terror, but it was too late. My claws ripped her dress, revealing the pale skin of her back. It was smooth. Flawless. There was no scar. And Myrna... Myrna had a hideous scar running from her left shoulder to her right hip. The scar I had touched a thousand times, but never once asked where it came from. "Moon Goddess," I collapsed. "What have I done?" "You regret it now?" Layla sat on the floor, her eyes filled with malicious glee. "It's too late, Clark. It's far too late."

One cruel message from Jace lit up the screen: “We’re done. I can’t be with you when you’re like this anymore.” His words cut deeper than the cold. My fingers shook as I gazed at the illuminated text. The girl I’d been — the one who laughed, who believed — felt buried under layers of shame and doubt. The rain blurred the surroundings, but I could feel the needles that stung my flesh with each sharp raindrop.