Marlowe Review Novels & Stories

The man looked angry and seemed ready to explode. "How sneaky, Liam, bravo. Congratulations, looks like you've got a new partner to back you up," Reeves gritted his teeth, staring at Liam with a burning gaze. Then he stood up angrily and trotted out of the room. Vida noticed how Maeve looked at Reeves with a sad look. When the man just passed her without turning his head, she couldn't help but exclaim and called out to him, "Reeves!" her voice was hoarse and beautiful, as beautiful as her appearance. But apparently that didn't make Reeves turn his head, the man kept walking, out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

"Set up the meeting. I want to watch Vince Moretti kneel and beg before the DeLuca princess." Dante stood up. "I'll go with you." "You don't have to—" "I'm your husband," he cut me off. "And this is Costello business, too. Vince is our common enemy." Marco looked between us, a knowing look in his eyes. "Alright," I agreed. "We'll go together." When Dante was leaving, I walked him to the door. "Thank you for tonight," I said. "At the auction, and for… everything else."

Two of my warriors—Blaze and Rowan—step out of the trees behind me. They freeze. They look at me. Then at her. Then back at me. Blaze mouths silently, Did our Alpha just propose to a human? Rowan whispers, “Is he sick? Cursed? Should we call the healer?” I want the ground to swallow me. My mate stares at me like I’m completely insane. Then she says the words that shatter my pride in the dumbest way possible: “No. I don’t marry kidnappers or shirtless men!” She turns to run.

It moves too fast for me, making my stomach lurch and my ears pop from all the anxiety, and before I can even take a calming breath, the doors slide open. The top floor is… Intimidating, cold and completely unwelcoming. All glass and steel and silence, like I’ve stepped into a throne room, where you don’t speak unless you’re told. I step out slowly, and at he end of a long conference table sit two people I don’t need introductions for. It's them, the people I've been reading about... Mr and Mrs Valentino.

Marlo, standing at my side like the giant pillar he had always been, gave a small huff of disapproval. “This is a mistake,” he muttered. I didn’t take my eyes off the car as it eased to a stop in the circular drive. “Why’s that?” “Because Archer Graves is unstable,” Marlo said flatly. “Don’t let his smile fool you. Don’t let the young CEO perfect hair and that polite smile convince you otherwise. We have seen him lose it before.” The car door opened, and Archer stepped out. He was exactly as Marlo had described: calm, composed, exuding a sort of magnetic self-assurance that was hard to look away from.

Makil felt the old, familiar walls inside him rise, higher and thicker, their stones mortared with the memory of his brother’s broken eyes. “A fair audience,” he said, standing. “Of course, Father. I shall be the very picture of chivalry.” He left before the King could see the ice forming in his soul.---The Sun Parlor was a misnomer today. Late afternoon light, weak and diluted by high, thin cloud, strained through the tall leaded windows, doing little to lift the room’s oppressive grandeur. Gilt edged everything. Tapestries depicting mercifully bloodless victories hung between shelves of leather-bound books no one ever read. It was a room for show, and today’s show was a farce.

"You're not offering to save him. You're offering to be paid whether we save him or not." Silence in the hall. Forty wolves looking at a blond man in a suit who had just been caught by a waitress. Then Marlowe laughed. Delighted. Actually delighted. "Oh, she's good," he said to Sloane. "Where did he find her?" "Get out," Sloane said. "Of course." He didn't hurry. That was the worst of it. He stood, and buttoned his jacket, and smiled around the room like a man leaving a dinner party he'd enjoyed.

We ordered too much food and ate it on the couch in varying configurations, Marlowe on the floor with his back against the coffee table the way I suspected he'd always sat in this house, Aaron at one end of the sofa, me somewhere in the middle, close enough that his shoulder was a constant warm presence without either of us making a thing of it. Marlowe put on something I didn't recognize that turned out to be a documentary about competitive dog grooming, which he defended with a seriousness that suggested he had strong prior opinions about the subject. Aaron was vocally unconvinced and then visibly absorbed within approximately twelve minutes, which Marlowe clocked with the satisfaction of

Ryan: Me neither. Eugene: Me too. It was just you. Slater: Whoa, look at that. Abandoning friends for love. Ryan: Is it the first time this has happened? Why are you more excited than the groom? Slater: Who's excited? You are the excited one. Eugene: Whatever helps you sleep at night. Slater: Doc, why are you so free today? Did your patients run away after seeing your cold face? Eugene: By the way, Klaus, does your old man know about your marriage?

When they spoke, it was short and cold, strictly about the merger and the new distribution lines. "The North is stabilized," Noah said, his voice flat. "Good," Max replied, not looking up from his steak. "Keep it that way." That was it. Business. No "how are you," no mention of the mess they had left behind. Maeve sat beside Noah, looking perfectly polished. She kept trying to break the silence, leaning toward me with a sharp smile. "So, Aria," Maeve started, her eyes scanning my face. "How is married life treating you? It’s different, isn't it? Being a wife instead of... well, whatever you were before."