True Blood Marcus Novels & Stories

Everything he'd been proud of was a lie. Everything he'd used to hurt me was fake. His "perfect heir" belonged to another man. His "perfect mate" had betrayed him from the start. "All of this is because you're broken!" Scarlett screamed. Marcus made a choking sound. Like he couldn't breathe. Then blood came. "Pfft—" A stream of red shot from his mouth. His eyes rolled back. His knees buckled. He fell backward like a tree. His head hit the marble with a crack. "Marcus!" someone yelled.

"Confess, Kieran. Confess what you did to my son! Tell everyone here the truth!" "I did not do it—" Papa's voice cracked with emotion. "Darius, please, you have known me for years. You know I would never hurt Marcus. I would never—" "Marcus is dead!" The Alpha's roar silenced the entire room instantly. "My boy was found in the ravine with your scent all over his body! Your scent, Kieran!" My stomach dropped violently, my legs weakening until I could barely stand. Marcus—Zephyr's older brother, the kind one. The golden boy who always snuck me honey cakes from the kitchen and taught me how to skip stones across the lake.

"Because it happened to me too." The admission dropped like a bomb. Marcus's dark eyes gleamed with ancient malice. "I am not the Marcus Blackwood who grew up beside Alpha Richard Silvermoon. I am the Marcus from a parallel reality where I successfully killed Zack's father and took the Alpha position. I died in my timeline during a challenge—but instead of ending, I slid here. Into a reality where I was still just a Beta, still loyal, still weak." "Moon Goddess," Zack breathed. "How long?"

“Just thirsty… Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Dad mumbled something incoherent and shifted but didn’t wake up. Marcus set his glass down and stood up, towering over me. He was so much bigger than I remembered — muscular arms straining against his black button-up, the top few buttons undone to show a hint of chest hair. “You’re not interrupting,” he murmured, stepping closer until I could smell his cologne mixed with whiskey. “But walking around like that… you’re playing a dangerous game, little girl.”

His gaze lingered too long, dark and deliberate. Alex tried to play it cool, but every brush felt like fire. He hated how his body responded, hated the heat pooling low in his stomach. This was supposed to be work. He was supposed to be gathering intel, not fighting the urge to lean in closer to the man he was meant to destroy. At one point, Marcus leaned back, watching him with lazy interest. “You fight?” he asked suddenly. Alex blinked. “Yeah.” “Good. Because I don’t trust men who can’t bleed.”

His big hands were trembling as he leaned into the cabin. "Sweep it again!" Marcus yelled. Another message came through my bag. A loud ping. I reached for the phone on the floor. Marcus grabbed my wrist. His grip was like a trap. "I'll read it," Marcus said. He picked up the phone. His face went gray. He turned the screen toward me. MARCUS LIKES THE VINTAGE 1945 WHISKEY. SCARLETT LIKES THE TRUTH. TOO BAD THE BOTTLE IS POISONED. CHECK THE CORK, BIG MAN.

--------------------- VENOM EMPIRE That's where Marcus lives, alone to avoid suspicious eyes. He just returned home from the club with a girl by his side. Yeah, he's a typical playboy, fucking around however he wants and getting any woman with a snap of his fingers due to his handsome face and perfect body with the money he's flowing in. Marcus and the girl walk into the guest room and, before the girl even realizes it, he's already buried himself inside her, banging her like there's no tomorrow.

Marcus shakes his head. I reach out for Marcus´s hand. “It´s okay. You can tell me. You know who that was?” “It´s the same werewolf that slaughtered my fiancé.” I stare at him, astounded. “You may not have seen it, although he´s got a mark on his forehead. A twin crescent.” During all the actions I hadn´t noticed the marks on its forehead. Although it couldn´t have been the mark of the oracles, which is a solitary crescent moon.

Micardo was waiting for that precise reaction. I was too late. Micardo, agile despite his size, stopped his roll, turned, and fired from a sidearm concealed in his coat. Marcus went down. “Marcus!” I scrambled forward, dropping my own weapon for a second, hooking my hands under his collar and dragging his dead weight back toward the safety of the pillar. Blood immediately began to seep through the dark fabric of his trouser leg, staining the gravel. “I’m fine,” Marcus gritted out, his face pale with pain, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. “Just hurts like a bitch, Lorenzo.”