Marcus Deadly Class Novelas e Histórias

"This works. You get Damon. I distract Silas. The strike team takes out their leadership before the army can mobilize. It's clean." "Nothing about this is clean." "No. But it's necessary." A knock at the door interrupted us. Darius entered without waiting for permission, his expression urgent. "We have a problem," he said. Of course we did. Because nothing could ever be simple. "What kind of problem?" Caelan asked. "Marcus is dead." The words hit like a physical blow. "What?" "Found in his cell an hour ago. Throat slit. Clean kill." Darius's voice was tight. "Someone got to him before he could tell us anything else about Damon or Silas's plans."

I couldn't—i just couldn't do that to her. Then the phone rang. Marco's name flashed across the screen. I swiped to answer. “This better be important.” “Boss.” Marco's voice was tight. “We have a problem. Marcus is dead.” I stilled. “What?” “Our men found him in an alley near the docks. Two bullets to the back of the head. It was a clean job.” My fingers tightened around the phone. Marcus—the weasel who'd been snapping photos of Lena for Evelyn. “When did you find out?”

Marcus Hale was standing in Dominic Cross’s living room with a dead man’s switch in his hand and nothing left to lose.He looked wrong. Not the Marcus from the restaurant smooth, rehearsed, a man who wore charm like cologne. Not the Marcus from the underground club broken, desperate, watching his world rearrange. This Marcus was something else entirely. His suit was torn at the shoulder. His forehead was bleeding from a cut that had dried into a dark line down his temple. His eyes were too wide and too bright and moving too fast, jumping between Dominic and Sophia and the armed men behind him like a man counting the seconds until something exploded.Because something would explode. The device

The temperature in the bunker seemed to drop to absolute zero. I stared at the screen, my jaw clenching until my teeth ached. Marcus had been with Thorne Industries for ten years. He was a man I had trusted, a man I had given millions in stock options. And he had sold my life to Victoria Vance for a percentage of a dying syndicate. "He is dead," I growled, the raw, savage dominance of my bloodline taking over.

“And if I refuse?” Marcus’s expression hardened. “Then you die with them when we strike. We’ve developed a weapon that can kill any werewolf regardless of their power level or bloodline. Silver nitrate compound that attacks werewolf DNA at the cellular level. One shot, complete system shutdown within minutes. We’re ready to deploy it against every major pack territory simultaneously.” Hart felt sick. “You’re talking about genocide.” “I’m talking about survival,” Marcus said. “Humans versus monsters, Hart. You get to choose which side you’re on. You have three days to decide.”

Marcus was already there, his rifle slung over his shoulder, peering into the abyss with a look of grim desperation I’d never seen on his face. "I can't see them," Marcus grunted, his hand hovering over a flare. "The energy down there is still too high. My HUD is just showing static." "Move!" I barked, shoving past him. "They aren't dead," I said, my voice shaking with a mixture of fury and relief. I could feel it—a faint, rhythmic thrum in the air that matched the beat of Aella's heart. "The marks. They’re still active. If they were gone, the sky would have turned black. The Highland blood is still singing."

It wasn't the empty void of the curse he had felt earlier; it was the terrifying sensation of her life force rapidly destabilizing, burning away like paper in a furnace. Without a shred of hesitation, Marcus clamped his jaws shut, ending the second-in-command's life in a single click of his teeth. He shifted back into his human form mid-stride, entirely ignoring the blood dripping from the deep claw marks on his own chest. He turned his back on the retreating remnants of the enemy army and sprinted frantically toward the castle doors.

Power rolled off him in waves that made the air feel heavy. This was the Rex that legends were built on. The Alpha whose reputation made other packs whisper his name like a curse. The killer. Marcus barely had time to scream. Rex moved with impossible speed. One moment, ten feet away. The next, jaws locked around Marcus's throat, shaking him like a rag doll. Blood sprayed across the forest floor—hot and red and everywhere. I couldn't look away. Marcus's body hit the ground with a wet, final thud. His eyes were still open. Still wide with shock and terror. Still very, very dead.

Black liquid, blood, soaked the dirty carpet; some of them had splashed onto her face and her khaki coat. “He’s so hot, even in death,” Marc said from her side. His name was Marcus, but everyone called him Marc. “It’s an incubus. Of course, it’s good-looking. Stop talking like that about a dead body. Disgusting.” Danica shut him up. Her coat stripped off, she wiped the smelly blood off of her face with it.

“And when it’s over, Shadowveil will return Elena to me. This rotten world will finally be cleansed… and my mate will live again.” A chill swept through the courtyard. Every face drained of color. Marcus looked at Lara one final time. “You are everything I hate. The chosen one. The blessed one. The symbol of a broken world.” Dark symbols suddenly spread across his skin like cracks in reality. The platform trembled violently. The ground beneath the entire territory began to shake, a low rumble that vibrated up through my bones. And then Marcus smiled—that smile so terrifying it turned my blood to ice. He threw back his head and laughed. “The sacrifice was the packs themselves.”