D Gray Man Cross Marian Novels & Stories

We all replied with a loud yes as Mikael continued his word, "Just now, with the help of Liliane, we're able to crack the code that I gain in China, Dex must have known at least one or two of what I'm talking about. It's about Lost Eden. Their unusual structure and operation put us at a disadvantage and it seems that they decided to target us first. We can't afford to lose our ground since Grey Howl is still on our back. They might be quiet these days but it doesn't mean they took off their fangs. From this code, we find three names which are Kevin Berrow, Freed Dilton, and Bryan Knell." Mark raised up his hand the moment Mikael mention those three names. "I'm familiar with one of them. I kn

"Maradeiris is under the control of the southern syndicates, Damien. We don't have the trading chips to buy a donor profile from their council without Tristan noticing the transaction." "We don't need Tristan's credits, Lyra," Damien insisted, a genuine, rare smile breaking through his hardened enforcer exterior as he sat down on the stool beside my table. "I personally reached out to Professor David Miller at the elite institution over there. He owes the Cross family an old blood-debt from the winter wars. He’s already preparing the transport protocols to move the marrow match through the Ironfang Airfield under a medical waiver."

The car was waiting outside—a vintage Rolls Royce convertible, the top down, trailing the obligatory tin cans and ‘Just Married’ sign that Damien had insisted on. We ran through the tunnel of sparklers held by our guests. The air smelled of sulfur and joy. “Bye! We love you!” “Have fun in Paris!” We reached the car. Christian opened the door for Eliana. “Mrs. Grayson,” he nodded, a rare genuine smile on his face. “Be safe.” “Thank you, Christian,” she hugged him quickly. “Watch out for Katherine. She’s armed with flowers.” “I can handle her,” Christian promised.

Good. I will do what I’ve promised her. If money indeed buys happiness, I will buy her from him. Derrick is a gambling addict, unknown to Minerva. It just takes a little pull of string for her to be mine, through my half-brother. I, Darwin Dennis Gray, had promised Minerva Miriam Miller that I will take her hand for marriage—and I indeed will, come hell or high water.

James just ignored his friend, dropping all the formalities before gesturing his hand and pointed it to the crest Maric was holding. Maric immediately snapped back from his grumblings and looked at that black with slight grey colored crest. Dahan-dahang lumaki ang mga mata nito ng titigan nya ito ng mabuti. ‘It is really a crest from the Goddess of Death!!!’ Maric thought loudly in his head. Agad itong bumaling kay James na naka-upo na sa isang kanang upuan at nakapatong ang paa sa coffee table. “James paano mo agad nalaman? Akala ko atheist ka?” Maric probed,

Everything inside me screams in protest but then… I can’t. “So brothers,” Rylan begins, his voice smooth like silk but sounding like a dagger piercing my chest. “Meet Marielle Cross—my ex-mate and personal whore.“

The rain had stopped by the time Elias crossed the bridge, leaving a thick, industrial mist that clung to the salt marshes and the rusted iron girders of the harbor gates like grease. He didn’t use the main entrance to the Pillar 42 terminal. He kept the silver sports car low in the shadow of the container crane tracks, killing the headlights and sliding the gear stick into second until the tires clicked silently against the wet timber of the secondary pier. Beside him, Damien hadn't spoken since they fled the Greenwich estate. His large hand was still curved around the leather grip of the door handle, his knuckles white, his piercing silver-gray eyes fixed on the horizon where the Atlantic

Dorian I opened the blue folder for the third time that day. The name Mara stared back at me from the blank page. No last name. No middle name. Just five letters. "You have been looking at that same page for two hours," Garrett said, walking into my study. He set a stack of printed security logs on the corner of my wooden desk. "Look at this," I said, pointing at the paper. "She is registered as coming from an eastern village. But the person who vouched for her is from a pack in the southeast. Why would someone from the southeast care about a kitchen maid from the east?"

"Hello, Naomi. Maria never introduced us properly." I turned around, and Darian Wolfe sat there, his face calm in the dim light. His grey eyes locked on mine, his dark hair tousled. He's in a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, scars faint on his arms. My breath catches. "I'm Darian Wolfe," he says. "I know who the fuck you are," I snap, my voice sharp. Anger flares hot in my chest. "Where is Maria? She's been a mess because of you."

Tonight, patience had found them. Mariana froze at the corner of an alley, hand raised. A figure lingered by the chalk mark scrawled across a crumbling wall. The symbol should have meant safety—three intersecting lines, denoting a path free of watchers. But the man’s stance was wrong: shoulders stiff, head tilted too precisely toward the mark. Diego’s voice was a whisper, rough against the rain. “He’s not ours.” Before Mariana could answer, the man turned, eyes catching the faint glow of a lattice implant beneath his skin. His hand twitched toward his collar.