Marked By The Novels & Stories

ZAIA. A Mark. An imprint that will strengthen your bond with your fated. Where your mate marks you, it forms a design that is unique to each mated couple. When I mark Sebastian again, his will match mine. The mark is invisible to the naked eye, and only when the body is going through intense emotion or pain does the mark become visible on the skin. I now stare at my neck in the mirror, the bite wound has healed over but there is still an angry bruise.

I felt a slight sting as she Marked me. The Mark was two hearts connected at their tip as to make an hourglass shape. Her mark on me had a larger heart at the top, signaling that I belonged to an Alpha. My Mark on her would have the smaller heart on top, signaling she belonged to a member of her pack. While the Mark started as a laceration of the skin, it healed as a tattoo. Soon, the Mark would look like it was inked at the same time as my Promise Mark. "Would you like yours in the same place?" I asked elongating a fingernail.

And there was certainly no reference to a ring of blood. I read the captions on the map, and still couldn’t find anything. Then, I saw it. There, at the bottom of the map, was a footnote. Beneath the caption for the Old State House. It read: “At the base of the building, on the street, stands the spot commemorating where the Boston massacre occurred.” “Here,” I said excitedly, pointing. “The Boston Massacre. There’s nothing about a ring, but that certainly qualifies for blood.”

As my hand touched her forehead, I froze—her skin was burning. “Why are you this hot?” I muttered, my voice rough with concern. “My… my head is pounding. I… I can’t… help me,” she whispered, her hands clawing at her throat as though she were about to strangle herself. I quickly grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands away. That was when I saw it—the mark on her neck. It glowed faintly, unnaturally, as if alive. For a split second, fear jolted through me. I almost pushed her away. Almost.

Lillianna cried out unable to help herself. He just imprinted his initials onto her body… He pressed it so hard holding her arm hard so she could not go anywhere. He kept it pressed for a few minutes before he pulled it off her. She was in tears. AJ assessed the result before he turned her around roughly and showed the mark to Tristan. “What does that say?” He asked. “It says AJ… AJ… She is now marked. I have branded her as my own. Is that enough for you to understand that she belongs to me!”

I have to know if she's starting to remember. Then I see her reach for her shoulder, and I know. The mark. The one from her dream. It's real, and it's hurting her. My fault. Everything is my fault. "Does it hurt?" I ask before I can stop myself. The fear in her eyes when she realizes I know about it nearly breaks me. I've scared her. The last thing I ever wanted to do was scare her. I leave before I can make it worse, but not before telling her I'll see her tonight. At the party. Because Marcus is right—contact means consequences. But I've already made contact. The damage is done.

Made her believe her life started with him. She listened. Crying. The corruption fought—I could see it in her eyes. The way she flinched. The way pain flashed across her face every time I spoke truth. But she pushed through it. Held onto the photograph. Held onto what was real. "The mark." She touched her shoulder. Where my bite was. Faint but there. "In the accident. You—you marked me." "Yes. I'm sorry. I should have asked. Should have explained. But I was desperate. The mark—it's a mate mark. It creates a connection. A crack in the corruption. It's why you've been having dreams. Why the bond has been reaching you."

And deep inside my chest, the mark pulsed again, louder now, echoing like a heartbeat from something waiting just beyond the veil. The war had ended. But the story of the marked had only just begun.

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.