Mark Of The Outsider Novels & Stories

Happy smiles on their lips, so bright that it is impossible to look straight. Everything is like the past has changed. The other woman took her mother's life, and the other girl took hers. Her father, it seemed, was no longer her father. Aurora feels like falling into a fog, everything becomes blurry, and there is no way out. Suddenly, a loud voice rang in her ear, pulling her out of her own world: - Hello, an outcast of time. Aurora widened her eyes in surprise, she turned her head to look at the voice. There was a clock floating in the white mist. The other watch even makes a body with dew, just like a human.

“I will… I will…” She hugged me again, even tighter. As she held me, the mark on my chest suddenly grew hot. It was so hot that I flinched.Then, without warning, a bright light burst from my chest and filled the entire court. Gasps filled the room. Everyone shielded their eyes as the light grew stronger until the whole hall glittered. The darkness outside even faded as if the sun had returned. “What is happening?” someone whispered. “She’s glowing!” another elder shouted. Then someone cried out, “She’s the Marked Luna!”

Elara, I want to deepen my mark on you, as if I could bite into your very soul to ensure no one else dares to claim you," Damian replied, flushing Elara's cheeks with embarrassment. For other she-wolves, such a mark might instill fear of their own fated mates, as the meaning of a marking for a she-wolf signifies possession and dominance by her mate. "Hahaha, mark me again if you wish," Elara retorted, slipping off her cardigan to reveal the string strap of her blouse and the mark on her fair shoulder to Damian. "Sorry, this might hurt a bit," Damian murmured, kissing Elara's skin before tracing his mark on her shoulder with his tongue and then sinking his fangs into her flesh.

They don’t believe in the destined mate bond. “Uhm, he claims he has marked you.” Ben’s eyes grow wide when he looks at my shoulder. When my eyes follow his gaze, I note that the strap from my top has removed some of the cover-up and the mark is now clear as day. “Dammit!” It doesn’t even help to try and hide it now. The strap is covered in make-up, and the mark is visible. In one stupid move, my entire life is changed as I make my way past the onlookers before walking out to the border.

Each word is a blade carving into the walls I’ve tried so hard to keep standing. I can feel Cain’s presence at my back, the heat of him, the heavy weight of his gaze as he listens to every humiliating second. It makes me want to crawl out of my own skin, to vanish into the cracks in the floor, to scream. Because Mark knew what I was. What I am. A supernatural. A hybrid. A deserter of Blackthorn.

I asked quietly. Genaro ignored my question. Instead, he stepped directly in front of me. Shielding me. The simple gesture made my stomach tighten. The stranger noticed it too. A slow sneer spread across his face. "What now?" he mocked. "Don't tell me you actually marked the outsider." His eyes dropped to my neck. The moment he saw the mark, disgust filled his face. "I still can't believe you became Alpha," he said bitterly. "Your father would be ashamed." His words landed like a slap.

“There are… whispers, Alpha. Reports that she’s been seen meeting with outsiders.” My head snapped up. “Outsiders?” “Yes, Alpha. Travelers. Rogues. Some say… one of them bears a mark, a silver scar shaped like a fang.” The words hit me like a blade to the ribs. I froze. Fenric growled deep in my mind. Impossible. “Say that again,” I said softly. The scout’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “They say the woman with Lyra bears the mark of the Silver Fang.”

“Louder this time. The walls listen.” I swallowed. “Our bodies are vessels,” I recited, voice obedient, familiar words scraping my throat. “Our blood is borrowed. Our breaths are offerings. We are the chosen keepers of the Mark, the last gate between this world and the hunger beneath it.” “And the Mark?” she prompted. The skin on my left shoulder prickled as if it heard her. “The Mark is not a curse,” I said. “The Mark is the seal.” Mother Elara’s gaze softened, but not with affection. With reverence. With fear.

The screams that ripped from their throats weren't just about physical pain—though the shadow-ink burned like liquid silver—it was the sound of their souls being stripped of their status. "The Mark of the Outcast," Silas announced, his voice booming like a funeral bell. "Etched not just into the skin, but into the spirit. You will never shift again. You will never hear the call of the moon. To every wolf you encounter, you will smell like rot and betrayal." On their foreheads, a jagged, broken-moon symbol began to glow a sickly, bruised purple before settling into an indelible black. It was the ultimate "face-slap" in wolf culture—a brand that could never be hidden, never healed, and never i

“And still you should have honored that mark.” Nausea and disgust climb my throat; my mouth goes dry. I spit on his face. He does not relent. He tosses me aside by the chin. I land on my injured ribs and gasp. He hauls me up again . “Where is that forsaken wolf that dares to mark and defile me?” he roars. He tosses me again. “Let him come and protect you. Isn’t that what being marked entails? Or did you spread your thighs for him on a platter of some trivial feeling?”