Chapter Nine:The Marked Ones
982 Words
Elara woke to the scent of sandalwood and s*x clinging to the sheets.
Morning light crept through the glass walls of Zayne’s penthouse, painting golden stripes across her bare skin. Her body ached in the most delicious ways — reminders of how he’d touched her, kissed her, claimed her like she was his… or maybe like she’d always been.
She rolled over slowly, expecting him beside her.
The bed was empty.
But it wasn’t cold.
Her fingers brushed the place where he’d lain, still warm, like he’d only just left. The scent of him lingered — masculine, earthy, intoxicating. It stirred something feral inside her, a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
She stood and pulled on his black button-down shirt again, letting it fall to her thighs as she padded barefoot through the apartment.
She found him on the balcony, shirtless, cigarette burning between his fingers. His eyes were on the horizon, tense and alert like a predator waiting for a sign.
“Elara,” he said without turning.
“You knew I was coming?”
“I could feel you.”
Her heart skipped. “Is that a wolf thing?”
“It’s an our thing.”
She stepped beside him, letting the breeze tease her hair. The city below bustled like any other morning, but the silence between them felt... thick. Like something unsaid hung in the air.
“You’re worried,” she said.
Zayne exhaled smoke slowly, the sharp scent catching on the wind.
“They know.”
“Who?”
“The Blood Fangs. The rogue packs. The old ones who remember the prophecy. Word travels fast when the last Crescent rises from the dead.”
Elara hugged herself. “I don’t want to be some symbol.”
“You already are.”
He turned to her now, eyes darker than she remembered — stormy with rage, lust, and something deeper.
“They’ll come for you,” he said. “To use you. To kill you. To claim you.”
“I’m not afraid.”
He stepped closer, crowding her against the railing. “You should be.”
His lips brushed her forehead. “Because I’ll kill anyone who touches you.”
Elara tilted her face up, brushing her lips against his. “I’ll help you bury the bodies.”
Zayne growled — a low, approving sound that made heat flare low in her belly. But before he could deepen the kiss, his phone buzzed sharply.
He answered without looking. “Speak.”
A pause.
Then, a snarl. “Where?”
Another pause. Elara could hear a man’s voice on the other end — urgent, frantic.
“We’re coming,” Zayne snapped, ending the call.
“What happened?” she asked, following him back inside.
Zayne was already moving — tossing on a shirt, grabbing keys, strapping something silver beneath his jacket.
“Calder’s estate was hit.”
Her breath caught. “By who?”
“Not human. Not pack. Something else.”
She stepped in front of him, blocking the door. “Then let me come with you.”
His jaw tensed. “No.”
“I’m not some porcelain doll, Zayne. You said it yourself — I’m Crescent. I’m not running anymore.”
“You don’t even know how to shift.”
“Then teach me.”
Zayne studied her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached into a drawer and handed her a blade — black steel, curved like a fang.
“Stay close to me,” he said.
“I will.”
Calder’s estate looked like a battlefield.
The gates were torn clean off. Blood stained the cobblestones. One of the outer buildings smoldered, smoke rising into the sky like a warning.
Bodies lay broken in the grass — some human, some shifted. Wolves with silver burns across their flanks. Warriors with throats torn out.
Elara’s stomach twisted.
“What could do this?” she whispered.
Zayne knelt beside a corpse — one of Calder’s guards. His fingers brushed the wound, then his eyes narrowed.
“This wasn’t a rogue attack.”
Elara looked around. “Then what was it?”
He stood, voice tight. “An execution.”
Before she could ask what he meant, Calder emerged from the ruins — his shirt torn, one arm wrapped in bloody gauze. But his eyes burned with fury.
“They marked us,” he said.
Zayne stiffened. “Who?”
Calder tossed something at Zayne’s feet.
A sigil. Burned into a scrap of flesh. A wolf’s fang crossed with a serpent’s tongue.
Zayne’s face went white. “The Hollow Pack.”
Elara frowned. “What’s the Hollow Pack?”
Calder looked at her. “Exiles. Murderers. They were wiped out a decade ago — or so we thought. If they’re back…”
Zayne finished the thought. “They want the Crescent. And they’ll burn every pack in their path to get her.”
Elara’s fingers tightened around the blade in her jacket.
She wasn’t just the girl with six months to live anymore.
She was the reason wolves were dying.
That night, after the fires were doused and the dead buried, Zayne and Elara stood under the moon outside the estate. He wrapped her in his arms from behind, pressing his lips to her temple.
“I won’t let them take you,” he whispered.
“I know,” she said. “But we need to be ready.”
Zayne’s voice was low. “There’s a place. Deep in the woods. Sacred to our kind. It’s where Crescents used to train. It hasn’t been touched in years, but it might still be protected.”
“Then take me there,” she said.
“I will.”
Elara looked up at the moon. It was fuller tonight. Brighter.
And somewhere in her chest, her wolf stirred.
Not afraid.
Not silent.
But waiting.
- Writer
