Bathory Under The Sign Of The Black Mark Novels & Stories

You would think my father, the Gamma of the pack, would defend me. Instead, he blamed me for embarrassing the family. While they celebrated Seraphina’s mating with Liam, I slipped upstairs unnoticed. No one seemed to realise I’d been gone all night. I was exhausted. Dirty. I needed a shower. As I undressed, my breath caught. There was a bite mark on my neck. A mating mark. How could he mark me? If anyone saw it, I would be ruined. Being marked by a rogue without the Alpha’s approval was considered treason.

Then we kept reading. Every sentence felt heavier, stranger—like the scroll was unraveling something buried too deep to be touched. We read on, the words blurring together until the key lines burned into my brain: “The Mark originated on the Day of the Black Sun, when the skies over Ka’az turned to eternal night. It plunged the city into darkness, a curse born from betrayal in the highest bloodlines.” Kiyan and I locked eyes. He swallowed hard, fear evident in his eyes. “This is… bad.”

“It's way more than that. We have: Moonfeast: Once a month, the village gathers beneath the Bloodwell. Goblets overflow with mortal blood, and the air fills with haunting music played on bone flutes and silver strings and the blood is shared one by one. The Claiming: A ritual where vampires mark chosen humans as theirs, lovers, thralls, or prey. Possession is both power and devotion. The most terrifying of them all. The Eternal Silence: A law forbidding loud laughter, music, or mortal-like festivity. Joy, if it exists here, is quiet, dangerous, and always tinged with hunger. Where are we, in prison?” “Okayyyy… That's wayyyy worse than I imagined. I won't even survive one week here. How do yo

The mysterious black business cars are slowly being transformed into battle vehicles, underneath powerful armored engines appear, and the car like a scarab rushes into battle. Jennifer froze, unable to believe this was the convoy just now. It's amazing how Ivan made them after all. The cars are changed in appearance and structure, slowly running straight into the forest. The space outside was extremely dark, each sound of insects calling was extremely eerie. Jennifer involuntarily shrank back, leaning against Ivan. "Afraid of what?" Ivan looked at her leaning against him, his eyes ferocious. “Who said I was afraid? It's just that I've never experienced this before."

I scanned the destruction, searching for clues, for any sign of what they planned next. “They took something,” Wolf murmured suddenly, pointing with a shaky hand. I followed his gaze. On a crushed metal panel—half-melted—was a symbol scorched into the surface: A serpent swallowing its own tail. Red. Twisting. Almost glowing. My blood froze. “That’s Saint’s mark.” “No,” Wolf said softly. “It’s older than Saint.” He looked at me, eyes wide, frightened. “It’s a blood-oath sigil. Used only in the highest betrayals.”

The other two stylists gasped, their faces draining of all color. "What is it?" Nora asked, her heart hammering against her ribs. She turned toward the floor-length mirror, craning her neck to see the mark Deluca had left on her. Her breath hitched. The bite mark—the sacred bond that was supposed to be a healthy, vibrant crimson—was changing. Dark, veiny streaks were spider-webbing out from the center. The skin wasn't healing; it was bruising a deep, unnatural obsidian. "It’s turning black," Genevieve whispered, her voice trembling with a primal fear. "I’ve been marking Lunas for thirty years... a mark only turns black if the bond is being rejected by the wolf's soul."

My vision blurred silver, the bond thrumming like a live wire. “Ash,” I whispered. My voice was trembling. “I smell ash.” Rowan’s head snapped up. “Spellwork.” The scent filled the room, burnt cedar, charred sage. I looked down and froze. A black mark was burned into my palm, curling like smoke, a sigil drawn in ash. Damon cursed, grabbing my hand, but the mark glowed, bright and hot, and a voice slid through my mind like silk. “Bring me the willing kin… and live.”

Always red. I reached the far end of the hall, where the grand staircase had collapsed long ago. Beneath the rubble, hidden from mortal sight, was the entrance I needed. I knelt, brushing away the debris until my fingers found the sigil carved into the stone, the mark of the sealed Bathory crypt. “Ego sanguine aperio,” I whispered, pressing my palm to it. Blood welled up instantly, the seal drinking greedily from my skin. The stone trembled, splitting open with a low hiss. The stench of centuries spilled upward: decay, iron, and the faint sweetness of rot.

“So,” Rowan said, sitting back on her heels, crouched in front of our little circle on the porch, “the book says that marks, or signs, like the one we’ve been seeing are Marks of the Underworld. Sort of like a supernatural clue for anyone smart – or lucky – enough to recognise it.”

The runes ignited, threads of light weaving up her arms and into the Mark. The air thickened. The ground trembled. And from the shadows at the edge of the room, something stirred — not an Echo, but something worse. Figures began to form — twisted silhouettes of men and beasts, remnants of those the Black Moon had touched. They moved like smoke and screamed like memory. Zevran’s blade flashed. “Here we go again.” He fought without hesitation, cutting through shadows that reformed as fast as he struck them. Each one that fell fed the light around Kaelira’s spell, fueling her strength.