Artistic Outcast Novels & Stories

I have always been treated as an outcast by my father and even the lowest ranking members of my pack. My name is Skylar, I am from the Crescent pack and my father is the Alpha. I have never shifted before and this has been a major stigma in my life. People see me as weak, shameful and unworthy to be a member of my pack, and even more on worthy to be the Alpha’s daughter. I keep trying my best to prove myself but it’s never good enough. When it seems like things couldn’t get worse for me, everything spiral’s out of my control, not like I had any control over my life anyway. After a masked one night stand with the Alpha of a rival pack, who is known for being ruthless, things become more t

I grabbed the glass of water from his table and threw it across the room. It shattered against the wall, the sound slicing through the air. “You want loneliness?” I shouted. “Then live with it because from today, I’m gone…you will never hear my name again.” He stood frozen, guilt painted all over his face, but I didn’t care anymore. I turned to leave, but before I opened the door, I paused and looked back at him. “You destroyed something you’ll never find again,” I said. “And when you realize that, it’ll be too late.”

I said. He didn’t answer. Just leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Outside, dawn crept slowly across the sky casting soft light over the yard. I walked around out of habit, waiting for something to make sense. As I approached the extreme end of the fence, lightning flashed and my eyes caught an inscription written on the wall with black spray paint. A mark every man in the club knew. Cartel sigil, a serpent coiled through a blade. And be neath it, in jagged letters that dripped like blood was written:

––•–– Six months later, I stood in my sold-out gallery show, surrounded by people praising my work. Tate was serving time for fraud and embezzlement—turns out Oberin had found evidence of actual crimes, not just artistic theft. My name was cleared, my reputation restored, and I was more successful than I’d ever dreamed. But the best part was the demon standing beside me, his hand resting possessively on my lower back. “You’re being very well-behaved tonight,” I murmured to Oberin. “No inappropriate touching, no dragging me into closets.” “The night is young.” His smile was pure sin. “Besides, I’m planning something much more memorable for when we get home.”

Jenny Choi’s reputation cracked. A formal investigation was launched. Investors pulled out. Artists terminated their contracts en masse. And we? We rose. We turned our vulnerability into a platform—“Restore the Artist.” A documentary series, artist-led workshops, a traveling exhibition featuring those who had left Choi Collective and returned to us or struck out on their own. The tide shifted again. One evening, I returned to the same blank canvas I’d abandoned weeks ago. I picked up my brush. And this time, I painted. I painted a woman with lightning in her veins and roots in her fists. I painted fire and gold and steel. I painted pain. I painted triumph.

Long black nails and fangs appeared again. "I won't hesitate to crush you to dust. It will be easier for me to kill you since you're an outcast!" "Fuck you!" Adrian struggled to free himself from the man's grip. The mysterious man then threw Adrian's body to the ground. "You should be grateful for this. You should have died! Unfortunately, you became an outcast because you disrupted my ritual last night," the man grabbed Adrian's body and slammed him against the wall, "outcasts are the lowest tier of vampires. Blood and night are your life. Your body will crumble if you don't follow your desire to consume blood."

"And what's the name of your piece miss?" "Seasons, it was my final project at school and surprisingly it did really well," I said and they snapped their fingers. "But please, Laid Down and Bold Rest are extremely amazing, go check them out," I said and they left. "Professional artist? Featured here? You?" Michael asked and I cocked my head to the side. "Surprisingly I really thought you'd have tabs on me this entire time," I said crossing my arms over my chest. "Guess I was fooling myself."

Blake's face displayed a deep mix of empathy and curiosity, his eyes locked onto George as he absorbed the heart-wrenching narrative of George and Toby's separation. "After my harrowing escape from the clutches of those scientists, it was Matt who became my guiding light, helping me regain mastery over my inner beast. Those researchers had severely distorted my perception, making me believe that I was a wolf attempting to take on human form, rather than a human with the ability to harness the power of a controlled wolf."

Each word was a dagger, sharpened by years of disappointment—not just from my classmates, but from the entire pack. I wasn’t just an outcast. I was an embarrassment. I kept walking, chin up, even though my chest tightened with the familiar ache of being unwanted. It wasn’t just school— I felt it at home, too. Once, I had been someone’s world. My father had never looked at me like I was broken. He used to tuck me into his arms, brushing his calloused fingers over my hair, whispering, “It’ll come, little wolf. Some take longer.”