Muichiro Mark Novels & Stories

For a second, I thought she might do something stupid after all. Then she straightened her shoulders under my coat and walked. Not broken. Not submissive. Just… moving forward because there was nowhere else to go. I watched until she disappeared up the stairs, the Mark on her shoulder hidden but humming at the edge of my awareness like a migraine that hadn’t fully arrived yet. Marco appeared at my side, having come in through a side door, blood still on his hands. “Well?” he asked. “Happy with your holy mess?” I exhaled slowly.

I don't answer. My room is exactly how I left it. Unmade bed. Half-empty coffee cup. Sketchbook open to a half-finished drawing of a wolf I don't remember drawing. I slam the door shut and press my back against it, sliding to the floor. My hands shake as I roll up my sleeve. The mark is still there. And for the first time, in the dim light, I realize It looks like a bite.

And that was not something that I had to end, that is, of course, if we were to keep our reign up. “We are going to have to control them, Cosimo. They keep growing stronger, and if this proceeds, then they won’t only target Italy.” Mikhail, one of my Russian partners stated. Though human, the man was stronger than his kind. It was his recessive gene that took over in his case. He couldn’t shift despite being the son of two wolves. A shame for his bloodline. “As if you need to tell me what I already know.” I stated bluntly. The man shook his head at me, and I raised an eyebrow. “You doubt my word.”

Jarred asked obviously referring to the mark on her back. “Show them.” AJ said leaning back on the sofa. Oh god. Lillianna turned around so they could see. “You imprinted her?” Max sounded a little shocked. “Yeah…” AJ nodded his head as he took a drag of his cigar. Lillianna returned to face them in her seat. She was humiliated. “Why?” Max seemed intrigued. “Why not? Just to make sure you all know who she belongs to…” “Nice…” Max nodded his head at that.

Then a hand went up. “It’s y equals mx plus b.” I turned toward the voice. The guy sitting next to me was Hispanic. Sharp jawline. Curly hair. Blue eyes. Arms like tree trunks. “That’s correct,” Mrs. Payne said. “And your name?” “Marcelo,” he replied. “My name is Marcelo.”