Hit The Mark Novels & Stories

“Come on, we need to talk to her.” We found Elder Morrigan in her chambers, as if she had been expecting us. “You found the old records,” she said before we could speak. “Good, you are ready to hear the rest.” “The rest of what?” I asked. “The truth about Midnight's Mark.” “The mark does not appear randomly. It appears when a pack faces a threat so large that normal pack bonds will not be enough to survive. The Moon Goddess marks two wolves, one who can fight physically, one who can unite emotionally. Together, they become the pack's salvation.”

“Can somebody please explain what is going on?” Celeste turns to look at me, looking alarmingly defeated. Luca leans closer, examining the dust. “That’s marking powder, Hailstorm. Hunters use it to tag their targets. Once it sticks, they can track you anywhere.” I step back, feeling sick. “So what—you’re saying someone marked us?” No one answers. “Well, not sure if all of us were the intended target. But yes, we have been marked by hunters now too.” Celeste wipes her fingers clean on her sleeve. “We need to tell someone.”

The words on the screen stunned her, "You didn’t inform me that she was such a tough cookie. She even managed to land a hit on me." What? Could Christine have really hit Markus, the notorious hitman known for his lethal efficiency? Could such a thing be even remotely possible? Elenora felt a cold wave of shock wash over her, causing her to stand still, almost paralyzed for a few moments before she managed to gather her wits.

He unleashed his full power, targeting Mark's vulnerability that now lay exposed before him. "No!" Mark shouted, and a shiver of fear coursed through him. He attempted to dodge but to no avail and was struck mercilessly. He was shocked, unable to comprehend how Adrian's attack had landed so precisely.

Because it would be empty and only workers would be there preparing for the opening, he thought it would be safe. “Where are we going?” Mark usually didn’t ask but he needed to because he need to keep a good eye on Grace. “Getting breakfast. Are you not coming?” “Of course, I will. You need to tell me the place first,” Mark replied. He looked expectant at Cayne who was holding Grace in his arms. “My bar, my brother will also be there along with his wife.” Mark nodded, satisfied with his answer.

That was a whole other ball game. Mark came over and offered me a hand up from the bench. I took it, grateful as my chest was incredibly sore. But as soon as he had me on my feet, he pulled my hand up above my head and landed a punch straight into my gut, knocking the wind out of me. I didn’t fall to my knees, bless the Goddess, but I stumbled back several steps. “What the hell?” I choked out, weezing to regain my breath. Mark just smiled. “See you in the ring in ten. Looks like I have a few more things to teach you.”

A quarter later, Mark and you stood in the mini pit, his hard stare fixed on me. Beads of sweat cascaded down my face as I trained with Mark who wouldn't go soft not even for a second. “Is that the best you've got? Is that how you want to win against Kade?” He yelled. That was all the motivation I needed. I went harder, all my force going against him. My breath became hard and ragged but I didn't back down. Not an inch. Mark wouldn't either. He caught all my attacks right before they landed.

After experiencing such a shock, Mark Susan n was almost completely sober. The people in the room watched Duncan Ryder being beaten, but no one dared to speak again. After all, Mark Susan had struck first, and didn't pay attention and didn't say anything, but they still teased everyone about beating someone can't stand people. The old tiger's butt can't be touched, who knows how this kid Mark Susan suddenly has a fit, hitting someone is not good, hitting Allen Old's brother-in-law over and over again, this is all because he is looking for something to eat.

Suddenly, Mark was gone. Literally gone. One second his hands were on me, the next he was yanked backward so hard he stumbled. “What the—” he started. Carson didn’t wait for him to finish. His fist connected with Mark’s jaw in a sharp, sickening crack. The sound cut through the music, through everything. Mark hit the floor, stunned, clutching his face. Gasps rippled around us. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I shouted, grabbing Carson’s arm.

Mark offered safety, respect, and unconditional support. ​"Thank you, Mark," I whispered, forcing a small, fragile smile. "Really." ​"Always," he grinned, his dimples showing as he tapped his stick against the ice. "Now, come on. Show me what you've got on those tactical sheets. If we’re going to beat Westbridge in twelve days, I need to know every single gap in their defensive pairings." ​My blood instantly ran cold. ​If we beat Westbridge, the files go live.