Bill Werewolf Novels & Stories

As I dried the remaining water from his fur, I said, "This is the first time I've ever had a family. I'm an orphan, and now I have a lovely daughter like Lia and such a strong mate. I'm so happy." I could've sworn the wolf's temperature rose, like he was getting shy. After I finished drying the wolf, I leaned my entire body against his smooth, fluffy fur, my voice muffled, "I still don't know your name." He seemed to think of something unpleasant and quickly shifted back to his tall human form. "The Werewolf Council stripped me of my name, declaring me a cursed being." He paused, then added, "Maybe you could give me one. A name that belongs only to you."

But look how far I got. I am a werewolf, the Luna of a Pack. And most importantly, my boss is a werewolf! THE END

With every fiber of her being, she focused on embracing her werewolf side, allowing it to become the dominant force. As the transformation neared completion, Chloe opened her eyes, revealing a gaze that held both human compassion and the primal instincts of a wolf. She had become something extraordinary—a harmonious blend of human and beast, embracing her true self without fear. In a final surge of determination, Chloe let out a primal roar, breaking free from the reaper's grasp. Her transformation was complete, and she stood before them as a fully realized werewolf. Her eyes sparkled with newfound clarity, and her posture exuded confidence.

One of his men took the initiative as he wrapped Vladimir's body with a blanket. "And that was my deepest secret, ladies. I am a werewolf. Half-human and half-wolf. Alpha to be specific. And I have managed to live three hundred years in this cruel world," he confessed but even made our brains freeze. We haven't gotten the chance to move on from what we just witnessed right in front of our eyes. Now, he's confessing another thing. "Then tell us what to do next, Vladimir," one of us eagerly asked. As far as I could remember, her name was Rachell, she's a lesbian, and the most aggressive one among us when it comes to killing a person.

“Yes, I meant it. I meant every word. And it worked, I’m sure of it. I’m pregnant with your baby, Lars.” “What?!” I took his hand and brought it to place it open-palmed against my stomach. “Can you feel that? Three heartbeats now.” “WHAT?!” He looked nothing short of motherfucking thunderstruck. I smiled, not unkindly. “Now I’m carrying your baby, Lars. Werewolf law dictates, your will belongs to me now. And Werewolf Law is Werewolf Magick.” I said, in a voice not quite my own. More clear, harder. Powerful. I felt POWERFUL.

If he succeeded, he would be unstoppable… … but he didn’t, because in her reality in Fairbanks, Vak Smallchief is still known as the first werewolf in history and the only werewolf ancestor who receives 7 salutation howls on the nights of the Full Moon Feasts. Where did that leave Nikjin? “You are a beautiful sight to behold in wasteland such as this,” he said, appearing in front of her like an apparition.

Zayden. He was a titan among them. He didn't just fight; he dominated. With a single, powerful snap of his jaws, he sent the grey wolf tumbling across the clearing. But the other two wolves didn't retreat. They circled him, their eyes glowing with a feral, subordinate hunger. "Enough!" a voice boomed—not from a mouth, but seemingly from the very air. Kaelira watched, her knees knocking together, as the three attacking wolves began to... change.

For now, she’d have to be the werewolf’s assistant. The End!

Brown fur glossed in the glow, matted with dirt and old blood; gold eyes fixed on them with a terrible focus, head low, nostrils testing heat and fear. Tom lurched up, wobbling on the bad leg, snatched the silver steak knife from his tray. “Leslie—behind me.” “Don’t be stupid,” she hissed, backing anyway. The werewolf crept forward, shoulders rolling, breath fogging in the cold. Tom threw. The knife flew clean and buried to the hilt in the creature’s right hip. It screamed—rage and pain braided—staggered back, clawing at the silver, then whirled and limped into the tent maze, swallowed by canvas and shadow.