Marco The Phoenix Novels & Stories

Romeo looks at Skylar, nods his head to the side and yells, “RUN! SKYLAR! RUN!” Skylar jumps a little at the loud order. However, she turns and runs in the direction Romeo had indicated until she is caught in a pair of strong arms. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other covered her mouth. Skylar struggles and panics as she is pulled into the shadows. A rough voice then whispers next to her ear. “Relax Skylar. I will not hurt you. My name is Phoenix.” Skylar stops, and Phoenix loosens his tight hold on her, removing his hand from her mouth. She then looks over her shoulder and whispers,

he spat. Marco grabbed a fire poker hanging by the mantel and brought the tip to the dancing flames in the fireplace, heating it up before swinging it in his hand like a golf club. It was a threat, a very ominous threat. "Darling," Marco turned to me, with a charming smile, "Can you please make sure the Mrs. Williamson do not make a sound?"

Choking on the tears that flowed freely down her cheeks. "I won't be returning tonight, don't wait up. And don't stay up late. Go home." He hesitated at first when he saw the tear tickling down her face. His face softened a little but it turned impassive the next second. He turned back away from her, a great fog arose and he took his bat form. Marcellus flew out through the open window, finding his way to the underworld in the dark. The city lights shone brightly before he flew down into the allies, blending with the unending darkness of the night.

Anyone could’ve said it was a coincidence, but his name was scribbled under the picture, along with ‘dark phoenix’. This was, without a doubt, the man she had been falling for. And with everything she just saw, Syanna only had one question. “What the hell is going on?” *** Cole hadn’t been able to fully grasp what he had seen. If this was really him, what was he? Was he not just a phoenix like he had always thought? He always knew he was powerful, but how could he have been a higher being and not know? Did Genevieve know? Of course the witch did.

Marco shrieked in anguish, a sob leaving his throat. Xavier scoffed, ambling close once again, ignoring the way Marco's body wriggled like a leaf as he tilted his head to the side, revealing a mate mark on his neck. Xavier smirked, his calm facade not decamping. "I didn't realize you found your mate, Marco. Looks like a fresh mark, should we invite him, I'm sure he would be ecstatic to see you?" "No, no, no!" Marco shook his head repeatedly. "He knows nothing about this, don't bring him into this!"

"Ironic, isn't it? You died and came back and suddenly you're a god. Meanwhile, I'm the one who's been preparing for this my whole life. And you just—" She stops. Her eyes flicker to something behind me. I turn. The door to the bunker is opening. And a figure is stepping through. --- Marcus. He looks like shit. His face is pale. His clothes are torn. There's a fresh bandage on his chest, right where Damon shot him. He's thin. Gaunt. Like he hasn't eaten in weeks. But he's alive. "Marcus," Victoria says. "What the fuck are you doing here?" "Let her go," he says. His voice is hoarse. Weak.

Even though the document he was viewing was finished with the screen and the computer turned off, he still sat facing the thin black screen. Sometimes Marco has to travel the world to control all of his business octopuses, he is a pack leader with dozens of businesses in various parts of the world. This time he will go with Jazzy. He will do what Alpha Xander suggested to him. He intends to seduce Jazzy so badly that she gets drunk with his affection… and in the end… accepts it as a whole. Marco hopes ... after his return from Greece someday ... he can have Alpha and Luna status.

He stood, his movements fluid and predatory, and crossed the room to offer a hand. "Hello. I am Marco," he said, his deep, melodic accent hinting at his Mediterranean pack origins. His icy blue eyes held a sharp, inquisitive glint. Standing well over six feet with a powerful, corded build and a razor-sharp jawline, he was the personification of a lunar fantasy.

The man tapped on the window, asking Leonardo to open the window. Leonardo could only sigh with annoyance, he opened the window, then looked at the man on the side of his car. He looked at the man intently, his forehead furrowed as he tried to remember who the man was. His face was so familiar. When he saw the tattoo on the man's neck, Leonardo realized that the man was a member of the Phoenix Crew. That meant he was Marco's man. “I don't want to make a scene. I just wanted to hand this over on my boss's orders.” The man handed over the envelope, then hurried away after Leonardo gave it to him.

A phoenix. The memory hit me with the force of a punch, not the clear memories Cedric helped me build, but the deep, raw fragments from my five-year-old self. Fire. Screaming. And two figures, silhouetted against the flames, wearing masks marked with red and gold phoenix wings. I stumbled back, the wine stain on the cloth suddenly looking like fresh blood. Why is that here? I needed to see it closer, to be sure, but the sound of Lucian’s voice, now echoing from a distant room, snapped me out of the trance. I had to move. I ran toward the laundry, not caring about my pace, my mind repeating the image of that pendant.