Elder Scrolls Mara Novels & Stories

So I set my small bundle down, and I stayed. Elder Mara was seventy-three years old, stood four foot eleven in her work boots, and was entirely unbothered by my silences. She didn't offer pity or careful curiosity or the overcautious gentleness well-meaning people deployed around me lately — the kind that made me feel like something broken being handled so it didn't crack further. She pointed at a shelf of unmarked clay jars and said: Lavender from the willow-wood grove smells sweeter than highland lavender. Learn to tell them apart. Start there.

I stepped out of Maren’s house with my heart still racing. The conversation had left me raw in the best and worst ways. Maren followed me outside, wiping her hands on her apron. She wanted to see me off. She looked at the three people waiting for me. “And who are these beautiful people?” she asked, smiling warmly. I cleared my throat. “This is Elara. She’s… my friend. She’s been helping me with Mara.” Maren nodded kindly. “It’s nice to meet you, Elara.”

Ancient halls, cloaked figures in ceremonial robes, and faces bearing the same bloodline—hers—flashed before her eyes. Mara appeared then, stepping lightly into the room, her presence calm and dangerous all at once. She carried her usual arsenal: scrolls, ritual tools, and a quiet certainty that commanded respect. Her sharp gaze took in the pulsing shards, the shimmer of visions dancing across Zaria’s face.

Once again thanks for following, find out what happens next on chapter 5 of MARRED. Hey guys 😁, thanks for reading, I hope you have really enjoyed the book so far, chapter 5 and other subsequent chapter are premium chapters, but don't worry, you can open them by purchasing coins or participating in rewarding activities like adding books to your library and many more like that, looking forward to your reactions on the remaining scenes, have a great time and don't forget to drop a review .

"ERIKKA, I don't think I can do this." Erikka Villanueva, Ara's best friend in the whole world, gave her a narrowing look as she squeezed her arm tightly. "We are not going on about this again, Ara. We've been planning this for a long time and I will not have you back-out on me now."

Her expression was a blend of questions, amazement, and excitement. "It's incredible," Elara replied. "I've never seen a pack that includes mortals. Usually, if a pack member has a mortal mate, they're cast out to keep our lycan and werewolf secrets. But here, they all live together." Elara couldn't help but marvel at the idea of being part of a pack without discrimination or barriers, where all beings coexisted harmoniously.

The Elara I knew would’ve snapped by now, thrown something, snarled at the injustice. But this Elara… she was quiet. As if she was afraid. Mara was the first to step forward. Her expression was calm, smug. She knew exactly how to play the room. “I saw her with the herbs myself,” she began. “She wasn’t trying to do anything good. She was in the kitchen alone when no one was watching.” Rhea followed, voice smooth as oil. “And we all remember that we were all about to eat the food before she suddenly stepped in.”

I asked her. "We still need more werewolves. Some ranks are lacking," she said. At this point I had walked into the bar where Mason and his pack and clansmen were having the bachelor party. As I approached the room, I heard voices inside and paused. "Diane, you are back just in time. Mason is about to marry some beta," I heard someone say. This voice was familiar. It was one of Mason's clansmen. "Mason had stalled bonding with her for years but she still stayed. The moment he agreed, you returned. You are back for Mason, right?" He said and my body went cold.

It was crisp, detailed, and utterly terrifying. Below the image, a message blinked, the characters appearing one by one as if typed by a ghost: “The glass is thinner than you think, Mara. Elias is a dead man walking, and he’s taking you into the grave with him. You have twenty-four hours. Leave him, or you will be the next thing he buries.”

She dropped the ribbon and ground it into the mud with the heel of her boot. “If I see you outside the communal hut again tonight, I’ll have you whipped for trespassing,” she leaned in, her scent of scorched lemon and sulfur filling my lungs. “You’re not a wolf anymore. You’re a ghost. And ghosts should stay in the dark.” One of the handmaidens—Mara, a girl who had called me her best friend since we were six—stepped forward and kicked my bundle, scattering my journals into a puddle. “Go on, Elara,” Mara whispered, her eyes full of a terrified, sycophantic greed. “Go before she gets angry.”