روايات وقصص ضمن Marked By The

~080 The Voidmark The storm came quietly. Not with bombs or sirens. But with whispers. Rumors. Symbols painted on alley walls. A silent protest rippling through forgotten towns and fractured cities. A circle inside a triangle - crude, often smudged, but unmistakable. The Voidmark. --- Bella stood at the edge of the Cathedral's balcony, watching the sunrise paint the sky in amber and bruised gold. She held Hope close to her chest, the baby nestled peacefully against her heartbeat.

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.

he whispers, voice thready, “come here.” I don’t move. My heartbeat hurts. “What mark?” I whisper. Ezra steps toward me, hands trembling. “Aiden—just—come here.” “Ezra, what mark?” His face crumples as if I’ve stabbed him. “Please.” I lift my shirt slightly, breath held— And freeze. There, over my heart, faintly glowing beneath the skin, is a shape. A black sigil. Thin, delicate lines spiraling inward like a brand left by something not human.

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.

After a moment, he straightened and looked at me. He shook his head. “No mark.” No mark? Silence settled over me. I didn’t react immediately. I simply studied her. If there is one thing I am certain of, it is the mark. Every one of Frederick’s children carries it — a bold ‘F’ branded into their skin at birth. A permanent declaration of ownership. Of legacy. A narcissist’s signature. Frederick was many things. Subtle was not one of them. No mark meant no blood.

Amelia slowed when she reached a row of doors she recognized. Or thought she recognized. Room 317 waited halfway down the hall. Relief loosened something in her chest. Then she saw the mark. It had been burned into the center of her door. Not painted. Not scratched. Burned. The symbol was crude but deliberate: a small human outline surrounded by a broken circle, with a slash through the middle. The edges were blackened, though the wood around it remained untouched. No smoke. No lingering heat. Just the mark, ugly and sure of itself.

The smile on its face was mine. The malice wasn’t. My eyes—new, aching, overwhelmed by too much light and too much truth—snapped to my mother’s throat. There, half-hidden beneath the iron collar and the shadows thrown by the seal, was a mark I had not noticed before. Not a bruise. Not a wound. A brand. Crescent-shaped, ringed with old silver scarring and lines that looked less like injury and more like writing forced into flesh.

The Marked One. ​As I reached them, Noah placed a hand on the small of my back. It was a gesture of protection, but my heart told me otherwise. ​"Tonight, you the neighbors," Cassian whispered, leaning in as I stood between them. "Try not to look so much like a rabbit, little wolf." ​"Why am I here?" I hissed, my hand instinctively going to the collar of my gown to hide the mark. ​"It’s a celebration of strength, Aria," Noah answered, his voice smooth as silk but hard as the marble beneath us. "The Blackthorne Gala". Our allies have traveled far to witness the stability of the Blackthorne territory. Don’t embarrass us."

she wiggled her brows suggestively. “Shit, we are late.” I stepped out of the car just as she did the same. We both held hands as we hurried to class together after realising we spent a long time chattering away. Macy pulled the door open and we both stepped in. My world tilted the moment I walked in. The chatters of the students faded into a dull hum as the recognition hit me like a physical blow.

Abigail's heart pounded violently against her chest. A wave of deep fear and overwhelming anxiety suddenly swept through her. That mark... That birthmark is exactly the same! Could Mark... be the very same man from that night?! Her mind screamed in terror. Memories of the dark incident seven years ago came flooding back, replaying vividly in her mind. She could still picture the broad-shouldered man lying face down, his upper body exposed, revealing a faint birthmark clearly etched just above his right hip.