Marked By Novels & Stories

As my hand touched her forehead, I froze—her skin was burning. “Why are you this hot?” I muttered, my voice rough with concern. “My… my head is pounding. I… I can’t… help me,” she whispered, her hands clawing at her throat as though she were about to strangle herself. I quickly grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands away. That was when I saw it—the mark on her neck. It glowed faintly, unnaturally, as if alive. For a split second, fear jolted through me. I almost pushed her away. Almost.

I don't answer. My room is exactly how I left it. Unmade bed. Half-empty coffee cup. Sketchbook open to a half-finished drawing of a wolf I don't remember drawing. I slam the door shut and press my back against it, sliding to the floor. My hands shake as I roll up my sleeve. The mark is still there. And for the first time, in the dim light, I realize It looks like a bite.

she questioned, leaving me utterly confused. What love marks?

Liora gasped softly, her body arching into Christen’s touch, as if she could sense what was about to happen. Christen’s wolf mark seared into Liora’s skin, a bond eternal and unbreakable. The sensation was both painful and exhilarating, a brand that marked Liora as his and his alone. Liora’s breath hitched, her eyes widening as she felt the heat of the mark spreading through her. Her body trembled, not in fear, but in surrender, her trust in Christen absolute. “You’re mine,” Christen murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. His lips brushed against Liora’s ear, his breath warm and inviting. “Forever.”

To our salvation. A vision hit me then her eyes in the dark, wide with recognition. The soft gasp of her breath. The press of her palm against my chest. The burn where the bond would mark us both. I stumbled back, shaking. “We meet tonight,” I murmured, chest heaving. We mark tonight, my wolf growled, savage and certain. And no force in this realm or the next will keep us from her. The wind howled around the Pack House, echoing the truth I could no longer deny.

“But why? She’s so young.” Ailm lowers her head slightly. “War is coming. I can feel it in my bones. I had no choice.” Caden reaches for her again—but freezes. On his palm, a strange mark glows: a circle with a cross inside. Ailm nuzzles it. “It’s like a current,” he says, shocked. “It’s an Ailm mark,” she explains. “We are fated. Not just mates—fated. A rare, divine connection.” Drake stiffens. “Will Baylee wear the same mark?”

"The human." Maya's stomach dropped. "I'm not—" "You are." Wilder cut her off flat. "Marked." He said it like a fact. Like weather. Like something he already owned and didn't need her to confirm. Marlowe laughed. One short, sharp sound with no humor in it. "Marked by you," he said. "Not kept by you. Yet." Then he turned the full weight of his attention on Maya, and his voice changed. Smoother. Almost kind. That was somehow worse.

“You held on to the officer's shirt stubbornly and didn't even bother to smile at the camera.” I chuckled. I knew Maxine was trying to ease the tension on my shoulders. Elspeth shuffled around in her slippers, gathering a few things that had something to do with me. “You said… I had a mark,” I reminded her softly, trying to prompt her memory. She nodded slowly, then sat across from me and leaned forward. “Yes. A crescent-shaped mark, like a half-moon… right here.” She motioned to my shoulder. “That mark is not just any birthmark, my dear. It’s a symbol.”

I slowly lowered my gown sleeve, revealing the mark on my left arm. "She's Marked," the lady stated. I smirked at the middle guy; I could see the pain and humiliation in his eyes. Among the terrible things, that was the only perk of being marked – immunity to death by any other werewolf, except the one who marked you. "I guess I will live to see another day," I said with a smile. As I turned to leave, the middle guy quickly appeared in front of me, blocking my view. "Where do you think you're going?" he snarled, revealing his sharp fangs.

Her broken stance, and shy-self reflected on my personality, and despite trying to hide it; people, often wolves, saw through me easily. Vivian was quiet for a few seconds longer, studying my expression, taunting me with a fact that she scented. It was one that I was cursed with the second I was born. A wolf who was rogued would be known on sight as they turned vicious and heartless, a rogue born, would have the scent of treason, something which an Alpha curses them with until they’ve been accepted. My mark was on my lower back, where he dug his canine on the night I was born, removing me from my mother’s arms, and yet careful not to injure or kill me as he threw me outside the pack. He gave