Bête Novels & Stories

Even though he didn't have to go calling him in respectful terms the other ordinary wolves needed to call him with, he still did his part to respect the hierarchy set before them. "Kane," Zane said, his voice low. Baritone male, deep and heavily British accented voice, a voice that was the vocalization of smooth silk. "Yes, brother. I have news." "Speak." Zane said, then threw his cloak back on. "Well, tonight is a full moon." "Much like any other?" Zane asked, turning fully to Kane. His blood red eyes thinned a little. "No, brother. Your wolf will be taken tonight." Kane said, his voice small, as if he hated to break it to Zane.

Of course Christopher Henry Jameson—also known as Beast- wasn't the average man. He stood 6'5" and weighed three hundred and two pounds. He didn't like the extra three pounds. He rather liked being in the two hundred weight range even if it was by just one or two pounds. Regardless, there wasn't an ounce of fat on his perfect body. Beast was muscles on top of muscles, yet not hulking like some of the others that worked in the Marine Corps division assigned to The Department of Home Land Security, or better known as DHS. Too big made you slow. He'd seen guys bigger than him hospitalized during the CRUCIBLE training.

In that split second he hesitates, whatever it was that made that noise knocks Everest off me. I catch a whiff of its scent, and I gasp. No goddess, not him. Anyone here but him. I struggle to roll on my aching side and try to catch the fight. I rest in my blood, panting, and spot who I hoped never to see in a place like this. He has Everest pinned under him. The BloodFang Beta wriggles so viciously that I nearly feel sorry for him. Nearly. My heart fills with dread as the wolf over Everest snaps into Everest’s neck without hesitation.

They will do anything to get to keep their mates for themselves. But I won't leave my family for any man. The brown one completely shifts his behavior now. He starts gently licking my wound, poking me with his nose, but I'm not having this shit. I growl, my lips baring sharp canines, ordering him to step the hell away from me. He seems not to care at all ant pokes me with his nose again. Like hell I am coming with you, stupid mutt. Seeing my stubbornness, he steps back and shifts to his human form. He is tall, really tall, with ivory hair and icy, wild eyes. A viking, my first thought was. ''Shift'' he orders me with a strange accent. No emotion in his voice.

He whined, clinging to Neal. Well...that's the whole point of punishment, he thought, but didn't said out loud. Neal let out a small laugh shaking his head. He looked at Beau who slept half of the day before decided to play. The little thing was observing a beetle on the grass with his curious eyes, his little head tilted slightly to left. Neal smiled at Beau's adorableness and tapped Ricky's head which rested on his shoulder, "Let's go inside. We are sitting here for hours."

Screams tore through the air, flesh ripped apart like paper, blood splattering in thick, crimson pools. Heratte leaned against the wall, watching with a satisfied sigh. The massacre, the scent of iron, the unrelenting destruction—this was what she was meant for. Her smile widened. “Damn… I almost forgot how good this feels.” Her fingers flexed, dark mist curling around them. “This power. This darkness.” She inhaled deeply. “Finally… my wait is over.” Then— A sudden pained howl cut through the carnage. One of her beasts staggered, its massive body convulsing before crashing onto its knees. A high-pitched whine escaped its throat, and Heratte’s smirk vanished.

Taurus turned his massive bull head toward her, nostrils flaring in anger at being addressed by a woman. "You will be silent, wench!" he bellowed, spittle flying from his bovine mouth. "Know that your place is beneath my hooves!" His eyes, small and mean, narrowed as he looked her up and down with contempt. "You are nothing but an appetizer to me."

That fucking bitch. ***

After that, I'm not sure what to do. "The Beast Oracle is only a legend...Not a real being...right," she whispers, and I growl as the disrespectful term leaves her beautiful lips. Hurt and betrayal whip through my mind. My mate is just like all of them. We fight and die so they can live in peace and safety, but we are called beasts.

All the monster talk seemed terrible, and he wanted to get out of the woods this instant. “Lesions caused by animal attacks may be evaluated and misinterpreted as antemortem lesions such as ligature marks, firearm wounds, or stab wounds during the postmortem period. Which would make it more troublesome to determine if our suspect is a human or animal.” Melvin notified his teammates, and their faces became full of terror after his news.