Marcus Coloma Novels & Stories

Her eyes were locked on the man working near the foundation of what would eventually be a neo-colonial eyesore. His name, she had discovered from the permit posted on the fence, was Marcus. He was a mountain of a man, his skin the color of dark roasted coffee, slick with a layer of sweat that made his muscles ripple like a disturbed pond under the midday sun. He wasn't wearing a shirt-only heavy work boots and denim jeans that hung low on his hips, revealing the elastic band of his boxers.

I can't help but wonder how they know each other? "When are you going to mark the whiny bitch? You can only challenge Marcos for the title with a mate. The full moon is in three days, and your brother plans to mark the sister as his chosen mate then. With as much work as you've put in, I thought you'd rather earn the Alpha title than just be a beta."

A message from Marcus. *We have a problem. Colombo's daughter was spotted at the club last night. She was asking questions about you.* I close my eyes, already feeling the headache forming. Elena Colombo. Franco's only daughter, notorious in our circles for being as ruthless as she is beautiful. If she's sniffing around my operations, it means Franco hasn't truly accepted his defeat. I slip out of bed, pulling on clothes as quietly as possible. Amanda stirs but doesn't wake. I press a kiss to her forehead, then head downstairs to my study.

Lukas: I sat at the head of the mahogany table, my fingers tapping against the cold surface rhythmically in a conference room full of humans. While a presentation was being held before me and the executives, my mind was far away. I have had several consecutive meetings since that morning without a chance to rest and it was all because of one thing. A damn scandal. One of the company's brand ambassadors, a popular actor, was caught having an affair and it blew up the internet.

He was recently married, his wife was a nice woman, whom I've only spoken to or seen a few times. "And this must be Elijah Camorra, Camila has told me quite a lot about you,Marcel Clair"Marcel says outstretching his hand. "Is that so?" Elijah asks looking down at me in amazement. "Lower your ego, just a tad bit"I offered, closing my index finger to my thumb. "It's an honor to meet you Sir, I've heard nothing but great things about you"Elijah says trying to get Marcel to let go of his hand.

The business in Colombia had been a total success, Maria De La Cruz, continued to keep out of justice, and to tell the truth the power felt quite good to the Mexican. On the part of Emiliano Romero, love sprouted between them, they never left each other's side for a second, that is to say, where Maria was, Emiliano was, they were inseparable, although the important business was always handled by the Mexican.

He was the shortest of the group, and also probably the most reserved. The Hispanic was Carlos. His parents had immigrated from Spain before he was born, and he was now a bail bondsman. He looked the part too. He had one too many buttons on his short undone, lots of chest hair, and gallons of hair product. Marcus sat all the way down at the end on the left. He was very tall and extremely muscular. He had been in the army and then become a SWAT officer when he returned back. His dark eyes felt like they could pierce a soul, so it wasn't surprising at all to think of any criminal running scared from him.

Then a hand went up. “It’s y equals mx plus b.” I turned toward the voice. The guy sitting next to me was Hispanic. Sharp jawline. Curly hair. Blue eyes. Arms like tree trunks. “That’s correct,” Mrs. Payne said. “And your name?” “Marcelo,” he replied. “My name is Marcelo.”

I'm sure I like him but let's just wait and see where this will take us. I just can't believe that I, Carmela Thompson is dating Cyrus Steele!

he spat, voice low, dangerous, every syllable cutting through the room. Marcus’s gaze snapped to Colin’s, dark and unflinching, wolf instincts coiling beneath his skin. He let the hands grip him for a heartbeat, then leaned forward, voice low, fierce, and unyielding. “I’m a wolf, Colin. You know very well that the topic of fated mates is serious. So I will not—will not—fucking lie about that just because of my spoiledness.” Colin’s hands flexed, tightening briefly before he let go, still glaring but now silent, the weight of Marcus’s words settling between them.