X Scars Novels & Stories

"If Damien is still out there... will he try to find me again?" Elena didn’t lie. "He might. But he won’t win this time. I promise you." Rose looked to Sophie, who held her hand tightly. "Then take him down. For all of us." **** That Night – Elena’s Quarters The room was dimly lit, scattered with evidence boards, encrypted tablets, and scattered documents. Grayson sat in a chair near the fireplace, shirtless, wrapping a fresh bandage around his torso. Elena entered, her eyes catching on the scar that crossed his ribs.

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.

The doctor leaves and Vivian couldn't help, throw aside the comforter and rush towards a mirror in the corner. The throbbing in her head, no longer bothering her. As a new fear has shaken her insides. Her eyes widen as she stared at herself. Her fingers trembling as they traced her reflection in the mirror. The scar It was looking like new, raw and visible without any veils of foundation. She couldn't stop the tears, that leave her eyes. Closing them, she couldn't hide it any longer now.

I couldn't even see a soul around and the rain was continuously pouring down. "The Scars are on the haunt." She said and I sighed. "So, what's new about it? I don't understand why people are so scared of them. They never really harmed anyone." I said and she let out a frustrated sigh. "They are behind someone." She said,

His t-shirt was torn, bruises and cuts all over his body. Tears carelessly rolled down Elena's cheeks as she look at Luke. She screamed and cried, Luke not responding. "You would not do anything, Conor!" the woman yelled, walking towards Conor. She looked at Elena and then shook her head. "Enough." "Oh, Rose," he smirked. "Don't get into this. Just stay out of it." Oh, she was Rose. Elena immediately felt the urge to hate her. "I will not!" She yelled. "Just stop it. It's been years, Conor."

She asked curiously but something doesn't add up. I mean I have asked him about the scars and he insinuated that it was BDSM gone wrong and honestly I didn't think much of it because that was when we just lost our parents and he was a little rebellious at that point but I still think she got the wrong guy... I mean now I understand why she fled immediately she saw him shirtless but anyone could have a similar scar, right?

Each scar held a story—a story of struggle, survival, and triumph. Deep admired these marks, not with regret or sorrow, but with a sense of reverence. They were reminders of his journey—a journey that tested his strength and perseverance. They symbolized moments of challenge and resilience, etched into his skin like chapters in a book. With every faded line, he saw a testament to his body's remarkable ability to heal, a silent declaration of overcoming adversity. These scars were symbols of battles fought and won, of hurdles crossed and lessons learned. They were not just marks on his skin; they were emblems of resilience and courage.

Her soft skin felt so good agents mine and the way her soft moans sounded in my ear as her breath fanned my face as I slid in and out of her where fucking perfect and left me addicted and wanting more. I'm laying on my side watching Sasha sleep like some kind of creep when I see a small scar that runs the length of her left side from her hip to just right under her armpit and it looks fresh like the scab feel off not to long ago. The scar has me wondering what its from and I can't stop myself from reaching out a running my fingers along it making her move some in her sleep. "I got that the night I was attacked" she whispers with a yawn then turns her face to look at me.

Willa suddenly yelped, frozen in shock. Oops. I sighed with a chuckle. Willa's eyes trailed down my body, following my hand. I was about to laugh at her when she tilted his head and fixed her eyes on my back. She noticed my scar. I had a two inches long scar under my left shoulder blade. Werewolves normally wouldn't have scars on their bodies. Unless their wolf couldn't heal them with soul power in time, leaving them to heal in the human way. The human way leaves scars.

She had grown into a breathtaking woman, more stunning than even he could have imagined her. And he had done just that. For years after he did what he did, he had kept away from her, while simultaneously fighting the urge to see her again. Curiosity was a painful thing to endure, and he kept wondering what she would look like now, and whether anything would change over the years. Time healed all wounds, and he had hoped that the scar he left on her would have healed by then. Wounds heal, but scars remain with us for life. "Look at you," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "You look even more beautiful than I remember."