Wreck-it Ralph Markowski Novels & Stories

“So, we’re doing it.” “Ariel’s in Atalaxia, Juniper’s in the freaking underworld, both of them facing death and negotiating wolf and cosmic power matches,” Mark mutters, scuffing the toe of his boot. “And we’re here saying hi to a delinquent.” “Oh, be polite,” Rafe says, unable to help laughing a little as he gives Mark a little shove. “I’m sure even you can take a little human delinquent on. She can’t be that tough.”

You don't move on from the person who holds half your soul. Marcus found me when I was sixteen, after my parents died in another attack. He took me in, trained me, taught me how to control the wolf inside me, how to fight, how to survive in a world that wanted us dead or enslaved. He was a good mentor, patient and skilled. But he never understood my obsession with finding Ava. "She's gone, Roger," he'd tell me, over and over. "Her family went deep into hiding. Even if you found her, approaching her would put her in danger. The hunters are still looking for you both. Your connection makes you targets."

He licked his overly plump lips, revealing brown stained, crooked teeth, and I wanted to vomit. “Why does Marco hate werewolves so much?” I asked, trying to take his mind and attention off of whatever lewd thoughts ran through his head. “How the fuck would I know? The guy is more sick in his head than half of Bedlam, but he pays well so who am I to judge?” He stepped closer, backing me up against the back wall of the shed. I was lodged between the wall and the ancient lawnmower, with nowhere to go and no way of getting around Wilson and his gun.

"I'm so sorry dear, for the troubles. Marco attacked you guys." So there's a new Villian to the story huh? "Who's Marco?" "Marco runs a Mafia gang in Russia. We used to be partners until, he found out I had something he also wanted. He is too greedy, thats his only problem, and might also be his downfall. So I think coming after you guys was his own way of starting a fight" "By f-ff-fight you mean? I stammered already scared of what was going to come next.

Moments like these made me feel old when I desperately crawled into my memory, and then something triggered my brain because in an instant, Ralph’s face flashed before my eyes, and I froze. Ralph has this exact birthmark on his left arm, amidst a canvas of scars he acquired as a result of his glorious career as the right-hand man of a mafia kingpin. The birthmark always stood out, a little prominent on his sun-kissed skin, and I knew deep in my bones that the information I had was earth-shattering.

The pack has faced a lot of confrontation from neighboring packs for its resources, weapons that were made from Lycan blood by Alpha Fenwick, one of which was modified by Marco’s father solely to kill a Lycan—and that weapon was used against Lowell by Marco. “The bodies we found have the Nightowl mark,” Stephen confirms, straightening as Marco shoves on his jacket. “Damian’s broken the damn deal. Guess he’s forgotten who he’s dealing with.” Marco’s voice drips with menace, and he doesn’t waste another second. “Let’s go remind him.”

And now they’re standing here, ready to tear me apart. At the center of them stands Markus Vale, Xaden’s right-hand man. They fled the pack together. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a scar carving a brutal line from his temple down to his jaw. He lifts his chin when he sees me, a slow, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So,” he drawls, voice booming so loud, “the fake Alpha finally shows.” A few wolves growl in agreement. Others lower their heads.

Our team combed the forest countless times, took statements and returned more and more sullen. - Yes, as much as possible, - Rok wearily collapsed in a chair. - Did you find something? Mark asked, he and my grandfather were just in the office to replace the window, and I, anticipating the imminent return of the team, followed them. "Nothing," Derek shook his head. Reid walked silently to the restroom. The door was left open, and I saw him wash his face and then lean over the sink wearily. She glanced at Alex, who sighed and shook his head. Things are bad.

He wasn’t special. A page of notes—Marco’s handwriting, neat and upright. Borrowed five grand on Tuesday from Rizzo. Paid it back Friday with interest he shouldn’t have had. Brother’s markers resurfacing. Photocopies of text logs: You good? Always. Rent’s late. Handle it. There was a cheap, stamped receipt for a pawned chain; there was an envelope with scotch-tape residue that had clearly been re-used. The folder smelled faintly of coffee and the kind of mistakes that build careers if you survive them.

Only three people knew of his true identity, the girl witnessing what was happening now, his dad, who was still being taken care of after he was left badly hurt by Gunther and Noah years ago, and Wesley Slate, his mentor, and most trusted friend. Wesley was the man who found young Brandon. He was being mistreated by a group of rogues, who were treating him like a slave. They tortured him and made him do all kinds of insane requests like cleaning the excrement from the dungeons they used to incarcerate all of Noah and Alpha Swan's victims. Who were the supposed leaders of the underground sell of rogue girls to filthy men to use as personal slaves.