Scorch Marvel Novels & Stories

The ground was scorching, and I tried to get up, but my back was broken, and I could not move. I could only watch as the sun cooked me. That kind of terror, most people could not handle it. Then, to make things worse, I saw Gavin and Jennifer eat me like I was a dried-up roast lamb. Snapping out of it, I realized my back was drenched. I put down my chips and gulped down a bottle of Earl Grey tea to calm down.

With a single shake of his head, he left the office for his own, determined to dig it out of Christian. Christian poured himself a glass of The Dalmore Constellation 1964 scotch. He chugged the expensive liquid in one gulp. He merely blinked as it burned his throat, he placed the glass on the cabinet. His thoughts drifted yet again to the girl, he cussed himself for not asking her name. He had no idea about where she lived, he didn't get her phone number either.

"Sora... the rebels... they have the dampeners." "The Shadow is compromised, Zora," a voice called out from the ruins of a nearby warehouse. I spun around, my obsidian daggers igniting with a weak, flickering violet flame. It was Mara. She was wounded, her arm tied in a makeshift sling made from a rebel flag. She wasn't alone. Six other Scrappers were with her, their faces etched with the kind of trauma that only comes from watching your world end.

Most of them choke on thin air; their knees buckle, forcing them to take steps back instinctively. “Are you insane, releasing pheromones like that?" Scar clamors, furrowing his brows while his forehand remains over his nose. And when Valen lifts his head, his face is completely unrecognizable, his dark green eyes fully bloodshot and completely wild. In a split second, before Scar can even pull the trigger, Valen launches forward, slamming his entire weight directly into Scar, knocking the older alpha flat onto the ground. Once he has the alpha pressed to the ground, he yanks out the blade hidden at the back of his boots and charges, but Scar grabs the blade before it meets his throat.

When I do, the pain returns tenfold to my wounds, and I fall in a heap on the ground. Marvel’s magic and his desire to keep me safe must have prevented the wounds from manifesting into being life-threatening. Without his magic to keep the bleeding and pain at bay, I’m now bleeding out, and the pain is unimaginable. “Harriet!” Marvel yells, reaching for me with his small hands, unsure of how to help. “Child, don’t! She is...” When Antonio reaches for him to pull him away from me, Marvel turns his glare on Antonio, growling menacingly, and his eyes glow an eerie blue, his aura unbelievably strong for a child.

She glanced at Stanley again, who was still limp beneath the weight of four goblins sitting on top of him. Then Scar, at last, looked up at Stanley. He was still naked after his shift, his perfectly sculpted body on full display. But unlike her, there was no modesty in him. His powerful muscles radiated strength and surety, all the way from his broad shoulders to his powerful thighs. While he met her gaze unflinchingly, his eyes like chips of ice. "Scar," he said, his voice dripping with venom, "why did you run?" She averted her gaze, trying hard not to look at his nakedness or even think about it. She and Hazel were in grave danger, having sorely miscalculated just how powerful and capable

Amara stared back, trying to project a semblance of stillness, refusing to betray the sheer terror gripping her. ​Emiliano stared at her for a long, silent moment, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be assessing her, her fear, her presence in his bed. He slowly walked around the bed, stopping on his side. ​He reached up, pulling his undershirt over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it onto a nearby chair. Amara couldn't breathe. Her gaze involuntarily dropped, taking in the powerful breadth of his chest, the taut lines of his abdomen, and the faint, intricate scars—silent trophies of a violent life—that crisscrossed his left shoulder.

Smoke rose from Lior’s body as he collapsed, his small frame twitching. Ava’s eyes glowed white, her hands trembling as more sparks surged. Her hair whipped around her face, her body pulsing with raw energy. “She’s going to tear the place apart!” Mark shouted over the gale, dragging another recruit to safety. “Don’t touch her!” another warrior yelled, shielding his face from a flying splinter. “She’ll kill anyone who gets close!” “I don’t care!” I roared back, forcing myself forward, step by painful step. The storm ripped at me, clawing my clothes, slicing my skin but I kept going.

She struggled, kicking and spitting, but there were too many of them, too many big. "Let me go!" I could hear her screams, her neck parched with terror and rage. A hand clamped over her mouth tightly, stifling her howls. Marcus was receiving the same treatment, his leads hanging loose, his spindly form buried under the waves of my guards. He fought with a wild madness, but it was in vain.

Mara’s voice was bright and teasing, her brown eyes glinting with mischief, her breath visible in the frigid air, the ice crunching under her boots, the path a treacherous climb, the chill a constant threat. “Jas, you better not slip and take me down with you!” Mara called, her laughter sharp and defiant, her brown eyes sparkling, the bead cord on her wrist catching the blue glow, the wind biting at her skin, the path a treacherous climb, the chill a test of their bond. “I’m not freezing my ass off in that chasm for you!” She grinned, her scarred palm gripping the icy wall for balance, the frost dusting her cloak, the wind whipping through the pass, the blue glow a distant threat, the path a