True Blood Marcus の小説・ストーリー

We broke apart instantly. I ran with Mia back to the gate. What we saw on the other side stopped every heartbeat in my chest. It wasn’t just a scout. It was an entire hunting party. Half-dead. Covered in blood. And tied to a post behind them— Was Marcus. Barely conscious. Carved into his chest was the symbol of the hidden clan Varin had spoken of. And burned into the post above him: "One blood must fall.”

“When my brother found out about us, he forced me to continue the relationship. He commanded me to mark you, Janet. He said that if our bloodlines mixed, our child would give the Blackwood clan power over the Rivers. I had no choice.” “You always had a choice,” I snapped, my voice breaking. “You could’ve told me the truth. You could’ve trusted me, but you didn’t. You wanted the power just as much as your brother did.” Marcus stepped forward again, desperation in his eyes. “No, Janet, you have to believe me. I love you. That’s why I marked you, because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

And maybe fate was cruel, because how could someone hold such beauty and not fall? I stayed calm, but inside I was torn. “Get off me,” I said firmly, pushing him back. His grip tightened. “Not until you tell me everything about yourself.” “Oh God. Fine, what do you want to know?” I sighed, staring into the darkness of his eyes, his gaze impossible to read. This Marcus was different—gentle, almost innocent. Hours ago he had been drenched in blood. But now? My heart skipped. He was dangerous, intoxicating. I almost wished he would stay drunk forever.

Another question I need to answer, if I don’t, he will be on my back the whole time. “Maria has given it a year if that before she walks. She said she loves me, but at the same time, she doesn’t want to be with me. She left this morning before I got up, ignored the phone and didn’t even want to say goodbye. As for Rebecca, all sorted, she took me back with open restraints.” Winking at him, he laughs. He knows exactly what I mean. “Thank you, Marcus.” I turn and look at him, confused.

The anger was evident in his deep husky voice. “To know if you would care.” “Huh…so that's why you speared me… You are a coward! If Marcus doesn’t make it I would make sure—” “Make sure what, Your Highness.” Marcus’ voice cut Dax off. “O-oh you’ve finally recognised that the bastard rogue is our one and only Oscar.” Marcus attempted to laugh but he started coughing and spitting out blood. Oscar went over to where Marcus was bending. “Easy there lad, you still haven’t recovered fully.” Oscar kept his arms around Marcus’ shoulders to support him as he tried to sit on the ground.

“Just exhausted from helping me with some… urgent estate matters. Say hi, Ava.” He lifted his hand just enough. I forced my voice out, broken and breathy. “H-hey Soph… I’m okay. Really. Just… busy.” Marcus stood frozen, tablet forgotten in his hand. His professional mask had cracked completely—eyes dark with raw hunger as he stared at my spread legs, my swollen, leaking cunt stretched obscenely around Damien’s thick cock. The bulge in his slacks was obvious, straining hard. Damien noticed. A cruel, satisfied smirk curved his lips.

He stayed buried deep for a long moment, breathing heavy against my neck. “God damn,” he said finally, slowly pulling out. I could feel some of his cum start to drip down my thigh. Before I could even catch my breath or straighten up, Marcus stepped forward. He gripped my hair firmly but not too rough, turning my head so I looked up at him. A dangerous smirk played on his lips. “My turn already,” he asked, “or are you going to make us play another round of truths first?”

​Ten minutes later, the heavy oak door of my study swung open. ​Marcus stepped inside. He was covered in mud, and a fresh cut bled freely down the side of his cheek, but his beta-yellow eyes were wide with a mixture of exhaustion and profound disbelief. ​"Report," I demanded, turning away from the window. I braced myself against the edge of my mahogany desk, ignoring the sharp stab of pain in my collarbone. ​Marcus walked over to the side table, pouring himself a glass of whiskey with a shaking hand. He downed it in one swallow before looking at me.

Then the gate clicked open. Marcus. He moved through the crowd like gravity bent around him—six-three, broad shoulders filling out a charcoal polo, sleeves rolled to reveal forearms corded with muscle and dusted with dark hair. Silver threaded his temples now, giving the impression of a man who’d earned every line on his face. Forty-five, still dangerous in the way older men sometimes are when they stop caring what people think. He carried a bottle of expensive bourbon as a gift, shook hands, clapped shoulders. When his gaze finally found her, it didn’t slide away politely.

"Marcus's blood magic works because we share more than just the mate bond. We share origin." James was frantically checking genealogies on his phone. "It's true. Hidden, buried, but true. The Primordial line split millennia ago, but certain branches..." He looked up, pale. "You're not just having a divine heir. You're reuniting the original bloodline." "Which is exactly what Richard Blackthorne wanted," I said. "Where is he now?" "Dead," Sarah said, returning from a Bridge-walk. "Marcus killed him three years ago. Said his father had served his purpose."