The Marlow Novels & Stories

They were already in too deep. A soft voice broke through her storm of thoughts. “You shouldn’t be seen with him.” Selene turned sharply to see Marlowe, one of Alaric’s closest advisors, standing in the shadows. His pale eyes glittered with something dark—curiosity, suspicion, maybe even amusement. She straightened her spine, forcing her face into a neutral mask. "Is there a reason you’re lurking in corners, Marlowe?" His lips twitched in a smirk. "Perhaps I enjoy watching little rebels plot their downfall."

Adela lying unconscious, Herbie barely clinging to life. This was only the beginning. As rain poured down outside, thunder cracking through the sky, Marah lifted her wine glass to her lips, taking a slow sip. She loved storms. They made everything feel more… dramatic.

She chewed thoughtfully, then added, "This bread is actually pretty good. Try yours." Marl just stared at her, his mouth hanging open slightly. His friend, the hunchback he'd thought was just a skilled tattoo artist with a mysterious past, had just broken a fairy's nose without even standing up from her chair. Who the hell was Thra, really? And why did Marl have the feeling he was only seeing the very tip of a very dangerous iceberg?

Marvis POV The moon hung low in the inky sky, casting a pale glow over the narrow alleyways as I navigated them, my every step echoing the weight of the hidden documents pressed against my chest. The secrets I bore felt palpable, their weight driving me forward into the silent night. Shadows danced around me, mirroring the conflict within. "Are you sure about this, Marvis?" Chris's voice cut through the quiet, his concern etched on his face. His presence offered both solace and a reminder of the gravity of my decision.

Chloe asked. “Yeah!” Blake replied. “Sebastian had lost the two important women in his life; I feel his pain and his reclusiveness.” He added. Chloe went mute, thinking about the conspiracy that must have went on in both their deaths. This only proved George’s statement right. “I guess the Marlowes don’t do divorce. They love their women to death.” She mumbled as fear swept her over. For all she knew, she was going to be the first divorcee from the Marlowes, and she was already beginning to fear for her life.

Their heads and lives on the line, they can't just throw in their towel because, according to Flan, "a man's footsteps stop on the road." They fan out, all of the men, alongside, rather, leading the search is a man named Marlow who fancies himself the brains because he once drove a client to an airport without bumping anyone's rear or cursing on the road. The early evening rain has turned the rest of the road into mud that grips their boots. Flan watches them go from under the weak light in the doorway, cigarette pinched between his fingers, the smoke making his face look older.

An erosion of restraint. Storm pressure. You feel it in your bones before the sky changes. When it hits, he’s going to need anchors. Not chains. Chains make men fight. Anchors hold them steady without making a spectacle of it. People who don’t flinch when the edges show. People who don’t confuse darkness with damnation. Marlowe was one of those anchors. Whether he liked that or not.

“Fine. Maybe I’ll stop by her place tomorrow.” Mara squealed in victory. Then she added, with a wiggle of her brows: “And maybe you’ll get lucky at this wedding.” Lena turned bright red. “Mara!” “What?” Mara asked innocently. “It’s been a while!” “Shut up,” Lena hissed. The group of college boys at the next table glanced over. One winked. Lena groaned. “I’m too old for this whole scene.” “No,” Mara said firmly. “You’re too comfortable being miserable. You’re Lena Marloweone of the funniest, snarkiest, most capable women alive. You have survived Damian Freaking Pike. If he didn’t break you, nothing can.”

Caleb stood at the doorway of the bathroom, his eyes were cold he stared down at Fidelia and Betty, who stood like stone in their places, beads of sweat starting to form on their foreheads. "Mr. Marlowe's pet is not for you to bully. His orders were clear." His voice was deep and commanding, making them flinch. Then, his gaze flicked between the two of them with judgment. "Both of you will have your legs broken and be sent to the underground casino."

His tone was vicious. “Don’t get clever on me now. It will only make our time in the bed longer.” She could remember seeing the tilted chimney across the bowl, the cottage almost hidden inside a corpse of trees on the edge. Was this the place where Neville had remained out of sight for days? With Lord Billington’s permission? “Lift your clumsy feet now,” Marlow ordered.” We are going inside somewhere. Won’t be long before you are flat on your back on the bed. You looking forward to it? It will be the last time that you will be with a man after all!!”