Marked By Novels & Stories

“Yeah.” We move slower. Hazel points with her chin. Ahead of us a scrap of cloth hangs from a twig where a sapling meets the path. It’s weathered gray, nothing to it, until the moon catches a smear on the weave. Red-brown, three strokes, clawed downward and splayed. Redmaw’s mark. It’s fresh. Wet where the threads bunch. We both stand there looking at it like it might start talking. “They’re inside the fence line,” Hazel whispers.

Alone. Marked.

A wolf mark was imprinted on it… with a message scrawled underneath: Stay out of our way.

Branded. Take that, Mark

Ezra gritted his teeth but didn’t flinch. Then something changed. The blood that trickled out wasn’t just red—it shimmered, faintly, like starlight caught in motion. A glow, subtle and gold, lit under his skin for a heartbeat. And then… the mark appeared. Not a fresh wound. Not the cut. Something older. Like it had always been there, waiting. A circle, ancient-looking, burned just beneath the surface. Gasps rose around him. Alric froze. Even the scarred wolf looked shaken.

We barely got visitors in the house. “I’ll go get the door.” Dad said, practically jumping out of his seat before I could even think of moving a muscle. “Welcome Elders. Come in.” I heard him say from the door. Elders? I casually turned my neck to see, my blood freezing when my eyes landed on a mark I knew all too well. The steak suddenly soured in my mouth, and my stomach churned with acid. I tightened my jaw, trying to control the puke that threatened to escape.

Dalton called trying to get my mother's attention I don't think it working. "Do you want to know how you got that mark on your back"? She asked me still boiling in annoyance. The mark on my back, it looks cool so I don't know why she is bringing it up. When I asked her about the mark she told me it was a birth mark, I found it so cool because it looks like a dog foot print and my friends finds it cool, and looks exactly like a tattoos. So I don't understand how my birth mark relate with my father.

Stamped on the front: the crescent and three slashes. My stomach tightened. That mark is pack ink. It doesn’t belong in human soil. “That’s not supposed to be here,” I said, and I meant it in every way. A twig snapped behind the fence line, too close. A voice drifted over, amused. “Found something, witness?”

"Trust me, Arya. I just came back to handle a work emergency.” I wanted to believe him but the look on Marco's face told me that he was hiding something big. “If you caught the red flags, comment 👀”