Under Your Scars: A Dark Romance Novel Reviews Novels & Stories

"You are the beauty here, Alessia, and I want to see more. His lips seized hers again before moving slowly down her body. Alessia's hands roamed his broad back, exploring his bare flesh beneath her palms - reveling in the way the muscles flexed, the hard bone under his flesh. She also felt irregular patches of scar that were much more common than she would like. They were like a map of the danger that made up his life.

She walked right up to Alexander and asked him to dance the first dance, which was usually just for couples. I did not have the energy to fight over a boy or play games. Alexander glanced at me, saw I did not care, and took Camila to the dance floor. People said they looked good together and glanced at me, as if they felt sorry for me. I just smiled a little before going home to work on my paper and study for my law test. Late that night, just as I crawled into bed, Alexander stumbled in, smelling like a brewery. He did not even say hello before he started scolding me.

‎And Kiean, I could swear that he had suits on but now the blazer was gone, glossy strands kept flying against his forehead and both sleeves of his white shirt had been rolled up. ‎Inspite of my shameless self, I couldn't help but notice the little spiralling veins in those big forearms. My gaze trailed up to his clothed biceps and as I caught sight of the muscles bulging underneath, I was suddenly ridden with the thought of how it would feel like to touch them. ‎My bet was the softness of bread. ‎Alyssa! What are you doing, you freak! ‎ I sighed heavily as if to clear my mind from my dirty thoughts as I shifted my cane to the other hand.

‘Master Mikhail’ could go to the unending inferno of hell for all I cared, but I could not tell her that. For the next twenty minutes, she worked some magic on my back, and I wondered if she would succeed in covering the hideous scars. The scars that were an ever present reminder of the hell I had been going through while my mother withered away without me. Tears stung my eyes. I knew none of this was my fault, I knew it wasn't my fault that she had died. I just couldn't help the guilt I felt. Maybe if I had fought harder. If I had tried harder to escape, if I hadn't slipped up. If I hadn't gone on that night shift.

"You need to apologize to Jake for a second chance. Cassandra was the better choice to begin with anyway. I mean she's classy, gorgeous, richer. She's everything you're not." Something within me broke but I just kept smiling. "You're right." She was shocked once, as if she didn't think I'd agree. I dodged her, went up high, and closed my door before she could speak another sentence. My room was quiet, the quiet which is comfortable, the one that resonates the instant when something fatal starts. I shifted and stood before the mirror and looked. Mascara smudged. Lipstick wiped. The girl in the mirror standing opposite me was a girl broken and recombined with the improper pieces.

Carla and Travis watched from the sidelines, hands clasped. “We did it,” Carla said, her voice steady. Travis nodded. “And we’re just getting started.” The scars remained, but they were no longer wounds. Dave, Carla, and the other victims were healing, not just surviving but thriving, their journeys a testament to resilience, love, and the unyielding power of talent reclaimed. ----- This marks the end of the Burning Embers: Scorching Tales of Desire. Compiled short story arcs now made their way to their ends.

Her fingers trembled as she undid the last button, pushing the fabric aside to reveal my skin. "Greedy little virgin," I teased, but I shrugged off my shirt, exposing my tattooed chest—rippling muscles, scars from my rough past, all symbols of the darkness she was embracing. The ink swirled in intricate patterns: a snarling wolf on my pec, vines of thorns wrapping around my abs, each one a story of conquest and pain. Her eyes widened, fingers tracing the ink, sending shivers down my spine as her nails scraped lightly over a scar. "Touch all you want. But remember, this body is your master now. Every ridge, every scar—it's yours to worship, but only because I allow it."

Undeniable. I turned slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him in the reflection of the polished glass cabinet. Damian Blackwood. Tall. Imposing. Sharp, cruelly handsome. His dark suit was perfectly tailored, stretching over broad shoulders, his white shirt crisp against tanned skin. He carried himself the way a man like him should—like the world belonged to him, and no one would dare question it. I forced myself to keep dusting, but my fingers trembled slightly. This is ridiculous. He doesn’t even know you exist.

As he leaned forward into the amber glow of the fireplace, my breath vanished. He was breathtakingly handsome, but his beauty was ruined by violence. A jagged, silver scar cut through his left eyebrow and down his cheekbone. But it was his eyes that locked me in place—glowing, luminous pools of molten gold. Alpha Dominic. The Lycan King. "Where... where am I?" I trembled. Dominic stood up, moving with the silent grace of an apex predator. "You are in the heart of Shadow Ridge," he said coldly. "You crossed my border, little wolf. My warriors do not show mercy to rogues."