Marked By Novels & Stories

My heart was beating faster with every breath I was inhaling. Then, he turned around and walked away. I exhaled a breath, I didn't realise I was holding. But the moment he disappeared into the forest, the mark started burning, it was not the usual itching, it felt like someone was burning my skin from the inside. I held it with my other hand and closed my eyes. I opened my eyes when the pain was gone, but stared at my mark in horror. My mark was bright red.

they said, “we have updates.” Rin huffed. Of course, they opened with that. “First: the mark you sent from the first outpost matches one we found painted on the back wall of a meeting shed in the south quarter. No fire there—just the symbol. Same distortions. Same hand, or same training.” Jax swore under his breath.

I sat up abruptly, breath catching as I scanned the room. White walls. Dark wood. A single window set too high to reach. Not a cell. Not freedom either. My hand flew to my left shoulder. The bandage was gone. Bare skin greeted my fingers—and beneath it, the Mark. I didn’t need a mirror to know it was there. My body remembered. The symbol lived under my skin like a second pulse, faint but undeniable. A slow throb answered my touch. I pulled my hand away sharply. “No,” I whispered, more plea than command.

Like someone had lived here… and left suddenly. On the wall was a mark. A symbol. My chest tightened. “I’ve seen this before,” I said. He turned sharply. “Where?” “At the house. In the west wing. Carved into the wood.” His face went pale. “That wasn’t supposed to be visible.” “What does it mean?” “It means she was marked.” “Marked for what?” He swallowed. “For removal.” I felt sick. “You mean death?” “Not always,” he said. “Sometimes worse.”

Another memory claws up from where I tried to bury it. My wedding night. The room was dark, shadows everywhere. Agora took his time, stripping me down like I was something to carve, not love. His hands, his mouth, all cold. No warmth. No kindness. Then his teeth. He marked me fast. His canines were tearing in while he whispered against my skin, blood running hot. “Now you’ll never escape me.” My wolf shrieked, fighting, but his mark slammed the door on her, quieted her down to nothing.

But she was silent for a minute, before answering, "Not as well as I know you. I have been waiting for this moment since you were sixteen.” My stomach tightened. “Sixteen? I will remember that.” Right? “Would you?” she asked, tilting her head. Her gaze drifted to my sleeve, to the place where the mark hid beneath fabric. “Does the scar still hurt?” she asked. I instinctively touched the mark hidden beneath my sleeve. “Sometimes,” My pulse quickened. How does she know? I whispered, hesitating before blurting, “But… how do you know about it? Have we met before?"

We followed the sound to the far edge of the field where the oldest practice dummies stood — reinforced stone and wood constructs etched with pack markings. Or what used to be pack markings. The dummy lay shredded. Not smashed. Not broken. Torn apart. Deep claw marks gouged through reinforced stone. Wood splintered outward as if ripped by something that knew exactly where to strike. And carved into the chest, precise and deliberate, was a symbol burned into the surface. Blackridge. Not defaced. Claimed. Silence fell heavy around us. Liora crouched beside it, fingers hovering just above the markings. “This wasn’t rage,” she said quietly. “This was demonstration.”

She is allowed to rest. I stand. I bow to her, formally, the way my father taught me to bow at the Memorial Drifts. I turn to leave the chamber. And on the floor of the chamber, beneath where her body had been lying, I see a glyph carved into the stone. Three concentric circles. A black mark in the inner circle. A silver mark in the second. And in the third — the outermost — a red mark. The red mark is glowing. Faintly. Like an ember through ash.

Faelon growled threateningly and Atlas grunted. "I'm just curious about what you find interesting about her. I can see her ex did a number on her and she has a mark on her inner left thigh. Looks like a demon bite," Atlas exclaimed in fascination. Faelon's brow rose as he recalled Lucifer saying she was demon marked. "What does a demon mark mean? Do you know, reaper?" He asked. Atlas shrugged and told him he had no idea but Rai may know. Sophia went to the sink and got a glass of water. They both watched her take a pill and sigh.