Marked By Novels & Stories

It seems like I am the only one but the idea of getting marked by Dom tonight makes me feel so giddy and excited, like a teenager. “Don’t worry. At first, it’s painful but then it will explode into this amazing pleasure.” Rowena explains, she has just been marked recently by Red and her mate mark is a beautiful butterfly, I think that symbolizes peace or something, I am really not that current in mate marks and their meanings.

And for the first time, I find myself truly appreciating its beauty and significance. Each mate mark is a distinctive symbol, representative of the individual wolf it belongs to. It’s a badge of honour that we all wear proudly on our necks, displaying to the world our bond with another. Though I’m sure if I were to flaunt mine, Jaden would throw a fit. As I peer closer to the glass, squinting against the bright bathroom lights, I realise I’ll need a hand mirror to make out the intricate black lines forming my mark. A low, menacing growl rumbles behind me, startling me out of my thoughts and reminding me that the water has stopped running in the shower behind me.

But nothing came. The silence stretched. Then Rafe whispered, “Maddox… your neck.” My hand lifted automatically. I touched it. Blood. Warm and fresh. The tiny cut the woman gave me earlier… was bleeding again. But wounds don’t reopen on their own. I stared at the smear of red on my fingertips, heartbeat thundering. Jaxon’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s a mark. She marked you.” My wolf snarled, teeth snapping. “She marked me to get to her.” I snarled.

Each symbol pulsed with a strange energy, making my heart race as I whispered the words aloud, one by one, my voice low and careful. The syllables felt heavy, like they carried the weight of centuries, but when I finished, nothing happened. Just silence, thick and heavy, pressing down on the clearing.I shifted my weight, dirt crunching under my boots, and that’s when I saw it—right at my feet, half-hidden in the earth, a single marking, different from the rest. It was smaller, almost delicate, but it thrummed with a quiet power, like a heartbeat trapped in the ground.

“Are yours the same?” “Yes,” they reply simultaneously. “And you should stand up and look at your feet,” Axel says. I do as he says and gasp softly when I look at the ground. The symbol on our wrists is also edged into the ground. I gently rub my foot over the markings, but it does not disappear. “Everything is so obvious, and yet, I have a million questions,” I mutter. “I feel it too,” Kane says, taking my hand. “But I think we should keep this quiet. At least until we can comprehend this ourselves.”

Damian replied, his desire to mark Elara again until his teeth left their imprint on her skin. "Among their kind, lycans and werewolves alike, the most profound mark signifies the unbreakable bond between mates. It also serves as a warning to any other he-wolf that Elara is claimed, the profound mark a symbol of his devotion to his fated mate. "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.

Marcus stood frozen. Breathing hard. Eyes wide. Because the only thing left behind— Was a single mark burned into the floor. A symbol. Ancient. Terrifying. And he knew exactly what it meant. His voice came out as a whisper. “…impossible.” Because that symbol— Belonged to something that should have died— Years ago.

Cold sweat instantly broke out across Marcus's forehead. So the signs had been there all along. An Alpha having his mate bond severed was a major event for any pack. Overnight, Marcus was pushed straight into the center of public scrutiny. Even his mother called him, insisting that both families sit down together to discuss the fallout from the broken bond. The atmosphere at home was stifling. Marcus's parents were visibly unhappy. My own parents were no better, hurling curses my way. They called me shameless, saying I was dead weight.

The transition was so sudden it made my stomach drop. "There was another gray wolf I fought with," Rhaziel said, his voice cold. "He wasn't a rogue. He was a trained soldier. And he was wearing a mark. A very strange mark I never expected to see after so many years.” "A mark? Like a tattoo?" "A brand," he corrected. "You wouldn’t know what that is, but…” “Just tell me.” He nodded and continued. “It was on the back of his neck. It was a sun being eclipsed by a black spot.”

She turned. The mark was on her forehead, directly above the bridge of her nose, the size of a coin. Deep red, the particular shade of something that didn’t come from a birthmark or an injury. Symmetrical, deliberate, the edges clean in a way that skin doesn’t produce on its own.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​