The Scars That Made Me Book Novels & Stories

Your encouragement gave me strength, motivation, and purpose. Scarred Under Moonlight became more than just a novel. It became a shared experience, one built on emotion, connection, and trust. Together, we explored love, loss, resilience, and healing. Together, we watched as characters grew, stumbled, rose, and finally found peace. That shared experience is something I will always treasure.

I slowly pushed my sleeves up. And I froze. The scars… they weren’t just scars anymore. They were glowing. Faint, like tiny streams of light running across my skin. And the lines—God, the lines weren’t still. They were moving. I gasped, stumbling back, my chair scraping against the floor. The scars… were shaping themselves into something. Not random marks. They were making symbols, letters—like they were alive. “No. No, no, no,” I whispered, my chest heaving.

Michele's voice pulled me back to reality. "If she hadn't left all those years ago, the woman at my side would be a gambler. How could it be an angel like you? Tomorrow is our 99th day together, and I'm putting the most profitable strip club in Vallasia under your name." Michele looked at Barbara with complete indulgence and pinched her cheek playfully. Barbara laughed softly and leaned in to kiss him. A sudden, stabbing pain tore through my side, forcing a sharp gasp from me. It was the scar I had carried for five years, left behind when I sold a kidney just to stay alive after I failed to repay my loan.

It is just want, stripped of everything else, months of denial flooding back all at once as his commands arrive and my body answers them without consulting the part of me that knows better. I lay on the mattress with my face wet and my thighs slick and the scar on my belly pulsing like a second heartbeat, and I think about Drake's wings folding around me in the dark. I think about my mother, fierce and destroyed by the same hunger I am lying here feeding and then I think about the irresistible stranger. I remember the reason why I had this scar was because I was almost caught the night I went to steal from my boss. Drake had used his scale to heal me and it was turned into a scar that seemed

One was in the bathtub and the others were assisting her in her bath. Agnes silently let them scrub her back and wash her body. She sat in the bathtub without moving and letting them do their work. After a while, they made her stand and dressed her up. She felt like she was in an 80's movie that features the life of royalty. Agnes watched her bare self in the reflection of the mirror. The scars that fade away was now replaced by a new and fresh one. Her eyes wandered around her body until they found the oldest one near her stomach.

A smile appeared on her face as she slowly picked it up again. Bestiee❤: Still up? Her smiling face immediately changed. She dropped her phone, promising herself not to pick it again. She sighed, opening her textbook. Chapter 22.

Lauren gazed into the mirror as she peeled off her clothes, not wanting to miss a single sight of it. The once white bandages that had been wrapped on her back now had a hue of red. She sighed and even when she knew it would earn her scolding from Malcolm, she slowly peeled the bandage off her back closing her eyes at the gory sight that greeted her. Her eyes teared. She didn’t believe it was this bad. And Bryan had seen it too? It made her sob more. She didn’t want him to end up having trauma because of her. She was used to it after all.

, I came out of my car and I wasn’t surprised when Scarlett came out wearing a long face. “You bitch!” She said as she walked towards me. “Can we do this later, I got work. Thank you” I said dryly and made to enter my car but she was fast to touch me by my hand. I quickly removed her hand from my body like it was a plague and looked at her angrily. “Never in your life, I repeat, never touch me with that hand you uses to give my dad a hand job” Scarlett looked pretty embarrassed as I said that but she was quick to cover it up with a scoff.

I passed out naked, bloody, and alone but free; after ten years, I was free. I had just done the unthinkable. I completed the rejection ritual marking myself as a mate rejecter, a pariah in my community. I not only rejected my mate but my old pack. My whole identity to that point – was gone. I was now scarred, no longer marked. Now, I carry the black scar created by the silver blade, and I reject the mate made just for me by the goddess. The cursed life of a "Scarred One" is what I must look forward to now. The sense of loss was foreboding. Was what I lost the only cost for my freedom from my mate bond?

I guess that’s why I have my scar, a reminder of the fact that I’ll never be as strong as I need to be. As strong as I want to be. Maybe I deserve the scar…. I-i know I deserve my scar it’s all my fault. I… I need to search the body. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, collected the supplies and got to my feet, stumbling backwards as my backpack settled on my shoulders.