Marked By The Mob Novels & Stories

It was why she hated him so much to this day. I refused to be humiliated again, especially not after the stunt Kael had pulled in front of the entire pack. “Your mate?” His brows furrowed sharply, his expression darkening. “This isn’t a fucking mate mark,” he snapped. “This is a curse.” Before I could react, his hand slammed against the wall beside me, pinning me there. His grey eyes bored into mine, intense, wild, filled with something dangerous I couldn’t quite name. My mind spun, completely overwhelmed.

And not for how they looked at us. They didn’t even hide it. The cityfolk stared as we walked through the marketplace, Lior's scarf pulled high over his ears to hide the marks that branded us Moirea. My cloak was enough to dull the glow in my eyes, but it didn’t stop the sneers. "Filthy things." "Shouldn't be allowed past the wall." "Watch your coin, that one's got thieving hands." Lior kept his head down. Moved fast. Knew which stalls wouldn’t overcharge too much.

Their howls died into silence, leaving only the rasp of our breathing, the stink of blood, and the broken bodies around us. Marek appeared at the treeline, flanked by his hunters. His grin was wide, proud, almost admiring. “You bleed well, rogue,” he said. “You fight well. Maybe too well.” His eyes gleamed as they fixed on me. “Let’s see how long that lasts.” And I knew — this was only the beginning.

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.

I drop the paint brush on the ground; I went ahead, already facing the door, Immediately I met the door back to Its normal look; not even a grain of paint is seen. "Okay! What the fuck; is it magic?" I spoke with a question. Mom laughs, she grabs my hand and we both walk away from the door, we stand at the gate and from there, I saw strange makings at the door. That’s!” I say but did not know how to finish my statement; that is when mom helped me out! "That's the called an enchantment mark, it forbids werewolves or anything supernatural to come Into an apartment without being invited," Mom walk back to the door.

That would help with the rogue situation, too. “Look at this,” I said, holding my phone out to Mac. “Someone zoomed in on the mark on my neck and wrote a whole theory about how it’s a cult brand. A cult, Mac!” Cindy smirked. “You are kind of starting one. They’re calling themselves the ‘Moonmarkers.’ And they are getting neck tattoos.” Mac snorted. “Sounds like a biker gang.”

“His… his body was maimed. Torn apart. There were claw marks, deep ones, and his… his throat was slashed. A symbol was carved into his chest. Malrik’s mark.” The room fell deathly silent. The scout’s voice trembled as he continued. “It was unmistakable—a wolf’s paw, but twisted. The claws extended unnaturally long, curling into jagged edges like talons. The center of the paw held a crescent moon encased in flames, the lines precise and deliberate. Blood was smeared over the carving, making it all the more grotesque.” Gasps and murmurs erupted, but Zeke silenced them with a sharp look. “He’s marking his territory,” Zeke growled. “He wants us to know this was no random attack. This was persona

She spun, knife up, searching the dark. “The next one won’t be,” she warned. “I hope not,” I murmured, stepping easily over her trap. “I’d hate to be disappointed in my future mate.” Her knife flashed through the air. I caught it by the handle, the blade halting inches from my cheek. The silence let me enjoy the weight of it in my hand... well-balanced, sharp, wrapped in weathered leather. Mara’s mark was carved near the base: a crescent moon and three lines. Old rebellion. Old blood. She’d likely never told Maeve what it meant.

My ragged appearance clashed with the elegant surroundings, drawing sidelong glances and whispers. A shrill, venomous voice echoed from behind me. "Well, if it isn't our tireless delivery dynamo, Noah Lane." Turning around, I saw Mark and his cronies standing there. I pressed on without pause, lugging my gear deeper into the lobby, but Mark had no intention of letting me slip away. He and his entourage encircled me, gawking as if I were a circus freak. "Check this out." Mark theatrically pinched his nostrils, feigning offense at some imagined odor. "A grubby schmuck waltzing into Regal International? Security! What's this place coming to, letting in street scum? It's revolting!"

I said, trying to rationalize the horror. "No, they have the Mafia signature on them," he replied. His tone was grave, and I felt a chill run down my spine. Cassius had a reputation, one that sent shivers through even the most hardened criminals. Anyone he killed bore his signature—a stark letter M etched into their foreheads. It was as if he wanted the world to know who was behind the violence, taunting the authorities who had failed to catch him for five years and counting.