Sinister Mark Fanart Novels & Stories

“Move.” “Wait,” I said, staring at a photo of an older wolf with the mark peeking above his collar. Beside him stood a younger man I recognized instantly: Gage. Same eyes. Same rigid posture. The collar hid most of his throat, but I could see the edge of a mark at his jaw. My pulse jumped. “That symbol is everywhere.” “It’s pack ink,” Mason said, pulling me forward. “It’s not just ink,” I muttered. “It’s a label.”

His arm tightened around her waist, hand splaying possessively over her abdomen, fingers dipping just below her navel. She shifted, the faint scent of him filling her lungs, the warmth of his thigh nudging hers. She didn't pull away, didn't question. Instead, she rested against him, the mark humming bright, drawing them closer in the silence. Malachor's lips brushed her shoulder, a feather-light touch. The faint light in the ruins began to shift, dawn's gentle glow seeping through the tangled vines and broken arches like a whispered promise, painting the ancient stone walls in hues of soft gold and shadow.

she finishes. The Advisor places her palm over the back of my palm and I start feeling this searing pain, “Clam down, the mark is almost finished,” Ariel says trying to calm me down. Once she is done, I look at my hand. The mark is fascinating and has an intricate design. It is sea waves with a siren in mermaid form with angel wings moving in between the waves.

My breasts tingle, my hands sizzle with the need to reach out and touch him. I don’t know what he reads on my face but his eyes have gone cold again and his voice is even more intimidating. “Put down the cloth.” I’m no good at following orders, never have been, especially those given by men. I have no idea why the cloth slips from my fingers and lands in the bowl. Dagger leans in and picks it up. His chest is inches from my eyes and his tats fill my vision. The ink appears prison-grade, but the artwork is intricate. A Grim Reaper stands over a crying woman holding a swaddled baby. The design weaves into swirls of flowers with branches that turn to thorns as they flow further out across his c

“And what a delicious sacrifice you present.” To his right appeared Thorne, the Prince of Shadows, with flowing silver hair that seemed to move with unseen winds, crimson eyes glowing with cunning intelligence, and a lean, predatory build covered in swirling tattoo-like marks that pulsed with dark energy. “Her scent already betrays her,” he purred, stepping closer. His clawed fingers brushed a strand of hair from my face, sending electric shivers down my spine. “Fear… and slick, sweet arousal. This one will break so beautifully.”

I said. Erica handed it over—but the moment I cut through his blood-soaked shirt, my blood froze. “Kira…” Erica whispered, her voice faltering. “Look.” The room stilled. Even the machines faded to the background. Carved into his chest, just below the collarbone, was a blackened symbol—two crescent fangs curving inward to form a spiral of shadow. The mark of the Midnight Fang Pack. Air caught painfully in my lungs. I knew that symbol—not from rumor or records, but from memory.

she said while flipping through his cards. He has a curved, arch-like, shaped like a wing, with a star inside a circle Mark on his collar bone. A Mark only Damneds or human immortals have. Even though he was dead for a moment and Azrael only saw him once in person, she remembers him to have such a big and bright smile.

And on her neck, right above the silver chain, was a small, red mark. Damian ran his thumb over the mark. “There,” he said hoarsely. “Now it’s not costume jewelry. Now it’s real.” He stepped back. He picked up the sketchbook from the counter. He put it back in his pocket. “Cover it up,” he ordered, his voice returning to cold command. “If Cassandra sees that mark, tell her you burned yourself with a curling iron. If you tell her the truth… I will release the drawings.” “You’re a monster,” Aria whispered, her hand trembling as she touched the dark mark on her neck.

“But now, we need rest.” --- Later that night, I wandered the halls. I found a corridor lined with portraits old bloodlines captured in oil and canvas. Near the end, one painting caught my eye. Two boys, nearly identical. Mark and another. Taller. Darker. Behind them stood a woman with cold silver eyes and a crown made of bone. “His name was Merek,” Mark said from behind me. Was. “He’s not the same anymore.” “Why go to him, then?” I asked, turning to face him.

They exchanged looks before turning their gazes on Aleister again. “Lord Aleister,” Mother Superior began. “I won’t lie to you. The girl you’re looking for is indeed under our care. However, these photos aren’t enough—” Aleister adjusted his coat and leaned to the side. “She has birthmarks. There’s a red half-moon-shaped mark on her nape and a black crescent moon mark on her upper left chest.” He saw how Sister Sola’s eyes widened in shock when she heard what he said about the girl. Of course, he knew about it, for it was stated in the prophecy.