Marked By Scars, Claimed By The Lycan Novels & Stories

he voiced as he flew towards the battlefield. As he arrived, he paused at a distance and gaped at the scene before him. Beth had completely transformed into an ancient Lycan with black fur that blended with the night sky. Her eyes glowed red from rage, and on her forehead and at her back appeared a new insignia with a crescent moon dripping blood—a mark that dictates the power of the ancient race as true hunters of the night.

"And I don't share my toys. Now get out of my room before I report this violation to the High Council." Julian stared at them for a long, agonizing minute. He knew his sister was hiding something, but the "Mark" was undeniable. To the Lycan world, a marked man was a finished man—a submissive animal tied to a master. He couldn't imagine the proud Caleb Blackwood ever submitting to such a thing. "Keep your stray," Julian finally sneered, turning on his heel. "But remember, Scarlett—a marked dog is still a dog. And eventually, they all have to be put down."

Sebastian guides my hand, super-duper burst where his skin touches mine, but I focus on the reflection in the mirror as it lowers. Breath hitches in my throat, my eyes widen. Someone has robbed the breath from my lungs and the life from my limbs. There, at the junction of my neck and shoulder, a puncture wound has faded, leaving behind something disturbingly well known. A mark. When a Lycanthrope is marked, his wolf isn't just living for himself, but also for his mate. Legends and stories tell over and over again the tales of Lycanthropes surviving what would've been fatal wounds because of the presence of their mates.

Lyra knelt beside its head, her fingers brushing the fur as a strange chill ran up her spine. “It doesn’t feel... natural,” she murmured. One of the warriors, a seasoned fighter named Garrick, nodded grimly. “It’s not. This isn’t a normal Lycan. It’s been... corrupted.” Kane crouched beside her, his brow furrowed. “Corrupted how?” Garrick hesitated, then pointed to a strange mark seared into the beast’s chest. It was faint now, almost obscured by blood, but its jagged lines formed a symbol that seemed to radiate malevolence.

She asked circling him, admiring him. "No!" - He answered her. "It's a Lycan. I thought they went extinct during the first war. They were known for the ruthless predatory ways they were fearless and deadly. Also very territorial." Explained Alexa. "Yes, I can feel it, the need to mate, to mark you once again in this form. The need to protect you." He told her gazing into her eyes.

It was one of his many features that sent a tingling sensation down my spine. His scars didn't scare me. They drew me in. They were captivating. Always making me wonder how he got them. Ares was a powerful Lycan. Not just a powerful one, he was an ancient Lycan. Some sort of tribal Lycan as Madam Yelena had put it.

The mutilated body, human blood, and his brother barely survived this attack. “Who could have done this?” Jasper questioned. “A Lycan,” Amor added, resting his case in favor of the presence of a Lycan. “How can you be so sure?” “I don’t talk about anything without proof.” Amor sauntered to look closely at the wolf whose neck was sliced, and he lost his life due to blood loss. “Look at the mark.” He changed his hand into claws and matched the nail marks. Even being the alpha of werewolf packs, he symbolized power and strength.

This was fire and desperation and need that bordered on madness. Leon pulled back just long enough to pull his shirt over his head, and I couldn't stop myself from staring. His body was a warrior's body—all hard muscle and pale scars that told stories of battles survived. A particularly vicious scar cut across his ribs, and without thinking, I reached out to trace it. "Ancient Lycan," Leon said quietly, catching my hand. "When I was younger. When I thought I could challenge him." The pain in his voice made my chest ache. He really was trapped, just like me. Different cage, same imprisonment.

Reed said without looking at me. “I’m not making a sound.” “You don’t have to.” I crossed my arms, staring out the window. “Is it always like this?” “Like what?” “Like the air is watching.” A pause. “Yes.” That didn’t comfort me. Stone markers began appearing along the roadside — tall black pillars carved with the royal Lycan crest. Each one spaced perfectly. Deliberate. Territory markers. Claimed land. Reed’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly as we passed the first border post. Guards stood there in dark armor, their presence commanding even from a distance.

I could not stop the moan that escaped me as his tongue expertly probed my lips for access. Breathless and left panting on his chest, my cheeks flushed as I acknowledged my own wanton behavior. “I have already marked you bunny. In my eyes, you are already mine. I have declared you as my mate to my family. You have my seal upon your neck. In my eyes, you are mine, and I am yours. The only thing left to do is for you to mark me as well.” Pierce’s tone is soft but serious. “You are a Lycan Prince, and I am literally no one. How are we even mates?” I want answers to my questions, or at least for him to realize how absurd it is that we are even having this conversation.