Old Mark Invincible Novels & Stories

But over the last year, they promoted him to general. Second, The AD (Assassin Division) is in charge of getting rid of everyone and everything that gets in La Reu's way. The head of the AD is Mr. Stryker, a bulky guy with tanned skin that always got a knife hidden in his boot. Others might not notice, but as one of the SD's best agents, I do.

"But before we continue the celebration. There's some business. Some necessary—housekeeping. Some traitors among us who need to be dealt with. Publicly. Permanently. So everyone understands. The old order is over. The new order has begun. And betrayal will not be tolerated." Murmurs. Confusion. Fear. The targets realizing. Too late. Far too late. "Novalee," Dante said. Turning to her. Extending his hand. "My love. My wife. My weapon. Would you do the honors?" She stood. Took his hand. Stepped forward. The guests shifted. Uncertain. Afraid. The cameras still recording. Still broadcasting. This was—this was part of it. Part of the show. The demonstration. Dante gestured to Dellucci. "Marco Del

“Same area as yesterday.” A pause. Then “We found something.” Lucien’s gaze darkened. “What?” Kael hesitated. Just for a second. Then “A marking.” The word landed heavier than it should have. My stomach tightened. Not visibly. Never visibly. But I felt it. Deep. Cold. “What kind of marking?” Lucien asked. Kael’s voice lowered slightly. “An old one.” A pause. “From a pack that was supposed to be extinct.” Silence filled the room.

Before I could even get up, Noelle burst into tears and threw herself into Marcus's arms. "Dad, Mom went crazy again. She wouldn't let us eat cake!" "Yeah! We got scared and tried to hide. She was chasing us, and then she fell down the stairs by herself." "Zoey." Marcus looked as if he was about to explode, but his expression quickly settled into something cold and controlled. "I think you've been cursed. You're losing your mind. I'll call the elders and have them take you to the altar to cleanse it." He pulled out his phone, but I snatched it away. Gritting through the pain, I forced myself upright and rasped, "I'm not crazy. And I'm not cursed."

That’s what every headline said, that’s what every elder believed. But the truth was now standing in front of me, eyes glowing like embers. That roar wasn’t just powerful, it was dominant, Alpha of Alphas. No one else could’ve made assassins freeze like that. That explains why the mark on my neck glows. I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. The world tilted beneath me as he gently helped me up and guided me outside. The rain had softened into a drizzle, and the sky above us was clearing, but nothing felt calm.

Accenting the walls perfectly. Once the man stopped in front of a picture, the girl looked up at it. His face seemed to register in her mind. Though only for a moment. 5 year old Cordovia rummaging through her mothers ‘other’ labeled box. She pulled out a picture of a man holding a little baby. His face was slender and calm looking. His hair was a dark brown color, almost black looking. And his eyes, they were a medium green. And he was quite tall looking in the picture. As she flipped it around, she read ‘Marco Briarwood - age 34; with Cordovia 1 week.’ Her eyes darted to the man standing next to her, she then asked softly and with caution “Dad?” With a smile, he turned to look at her, ligh

It was said they had been exiled long before even the Broker’s time, not for weakness, but for the way they used strength as sacrifice. Nova stood at my side, eyes on the scout, but her voice was calm. “I thought the Oryx were extinct.” I shook my head, crouching beside the boy’s body and brushing the blood from the mark scrawled into his palm. The symbol wasn’t ornate, but it pulsed with intention—three downward slashes and a horizontal scar crossing through them. It wasn’t a challenge. It was a claim. A debt called in.

“Yes, Alpha Loren?” “I'd like for you to leave me and Oliver while we…spar.” Vincent’s eyes bounced from me to father, his throat bobbing. Then, he bowed once more, catching my eyes with his blue ones, before leaving. I was left with the alpha of Valeras, and a slight smirk on his face. “You should consider growing your hair out, Oliver,” Father walked past me, dropping just a bit to pick the blade Vincent had thrown earlier at me. He held the dark-steel, the blade looking ridiculous in contrast to his large hands.