The Marked Ones Book Novels & Stories

"You are Mine" He murmured across my skin. He inhaled my scent deeply and kissed the mark he gave me. I shuddered as he lightly nipped it. "Kirsten, you are mine and only mine, you understand?" Kirsten Saunders had a pretty rough life. After being heartbroken and betrayed by both her father and boyfriend, Kirsten moves to a small town to find the comfort of her mother.

“I can get it for you. What’s the name of the book?” I froze. I couldn’t come out and name it; the book didn’t necessarily have a title, per se. I ran a hand through my hair, leaving it standing on end. “It doesn’t have a title.” Another pause. “Your… book doesn’t have a title?” “It’s not really a book, necessarily. More of a series of historical notes.” “Ok,” Mark said, clearly unphased. “What does it look like?” “It’s dark green.” “How do you know?” Mark mused. He had a point.

Faelon growled threateningly and Atlas grunted. "I'm just curious about what you find interesting about her. I can see her ex did a number on her and she has a mark on her inner left thigh. Looks like a demon bite," Atlas exclaimed in fascination. Faelon's brow rose as he recalled Lucifer saying she was demon marked. "What does a demon mark mean? Do you know, reaper?" He asked. Atlas shrugged and told him he had no idea but Rai may know. Sophia went to the sink and got a glass of water. They both watched her take a pill and sigh.

I moved deeper into the room, fingers brushing across shelves lined with ancient books, scrolls, faded journals. Pack history. Bloodlines. Rituals. Then— Something caught my attention. A symbol. Carved into the spine of an old black book. My breath caught. Because I knew it. Or at least— Part of me did. Without thinking, I reached for it. The moment my fingers touched the cover— Pain exploded behind my eyes. Flash Fire. Screaming. Silver symbols painted across stone walls. A woman’s voice— terrified. “She has the mark!”

I extracted my canines and clamped down on my favorite visible spot on his neck, he moaned and bucked against me, i was marking him too. Mine was a full mark. I marked a vampire, I marked Orian and I made him mine. ___________

Plus this was a good chance to read the book that was currently at the floor of my wardrobe. I’m close to my class when I see Annabel rush by but there’s something wrong with her. She’s shaking and the confident she always wore was gone and in its place was despair. I was just going to mind my business until I saw something that made me freeze, by the side of her neck were two pointed marks like someone had bitten into them. It was the kind of mark those cloaked figures were bound to leave on their victim and something told me Annabel was one of them.

Chapter 18 ******* “The Curse’s Whisper” Alpha Rex’s POV I stood there, frozen, panic and confusion twisting inside me like a storm. My chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as I tried to process what was happening. One thing was painfully clear—the glowing mark on her neck, burning like the light of the world, was the problem. And I was powerless against it. “Just stay in here, Alpha,” Philip’s voice rang firm and commanding. “I’ll bring the healer.”

“And still you should have honored that mark.” Nausea and disgust climb my throat; my mouth goes dry. I spit on his face. He does not relent. He tosses me aside by the chin. I land on my injured ribs and gasp. He hauls me up again . “Where is that forsaken wolf that dares to mark and defile me?” he roars. He tosses me again. “Let him come and protect you. Isn’t that what being marked entails? Or did you spread your thighs for him on a platter of some trivial feeling?”

To our salvation. A vision hit me then her eyes in the dark, wide with recognition. The soft gasp of her breath. The press of her palm against my chest. The burn where the bond would mark us both. I stumbled back, shaking. “We meet tonight,” I murmured, chest heaving. We mark tonight, my wolf growled, savage and certain. And no force in this realm or the next will keep us from her. The wind howled around the Pack House, echoing the truth I could no longer deny.

The bookshelves, floor to ceiling, lined the far wall full, imposing, and undeniably untouched by dust. Mark closed the door behind us, the soft click resonating with an unnerving finality. I felt my heartbeat spike, a frantic, trapped bird against my ribs. He walked past me, a subtle gesture of his hand indicating the shelves. “Alphabetize. Wipe the top edges. Be thorough.” His instructions were clear, precise, utterly normal, yet everything about the situation screamed anything but. “Yes, sir.” My voice was still a whisper. I moved toward the shelves, my movements stiff, and picked up a microfiber cloth from a discreet cabinet beside them. Mark didn’t leave. Instead, he sat in a large, lea