Cheetah And Wolf Novels & Stories

Cheyenne snapped her gaze back at the men and nodded smiling. “Of course, I’d do anything for animals. Wolves are my favorite.” Both men looked at each other and back at Cheyenne. “Uh, wolf? No, no. This is a dog.” Cheyenne looked at them, confusion written all over her face. “With all do respect, sir. As a vet I think I’d know the difference between a domesticated animal and a wild one. You’re holding a wolf.” It was an intense silence between the three of them. It made Cheyenne a bit uncomfortable and she wanted nothing more than to crawl under a rock and hide.

So there was no way the Tigers would make it in time. “Do you think we could get them to rush back if we send a Cheetah after them,” one of the Elders asked. Since a war was coming, every good fighter was a supreme resource. If it was possible to send someone after them, he thought they should. Cheetahs were Predators given the title of the speedy cat because of their insane speed. They weren’t ferocious like Tigers or domineering like Lions, but when one wanted a Predator who could complete a mission on a tight time limit, Cheetahs were the best bet.

On average, a wolf of the Black must fight three or four wolves of the Gold Desert. The battle was highly fierce; It was like a miniature war. Not long after that, I was again attracted by the loud noise of a car. The car rushed into the middle of the battle like a mad buffalo, making the wolves unable to avoid being crushed on the ground. Fortunately, the werewolves of the Black reacted quickly and were not harmed.

“Where’d you learn that?” “High school,” Jake said, slamming it into gear. “Long story.” Tyres shrieked on torn asphalt. The W.R.X. launched. Wolves pounded after them, then one by one peeled off, howls echoing under concrete. At the head of the pack, a scarred she-wolf—taller, broader—snarled, snapping at a male that edged too close. They didn’t follow. They watched. They always watched. Jake tore a glance in the mirror. Nothing but yellow eyes and patient rage.

I couldn’t undermine what it was; I never found out no matter how many times she did it. … The sound of horses rolling in from several areas of the pack made me jump in excitement. The classical male wolves from noble families in their rich tuxedos, the 1960s musicians who were always there to entertain, and the elders in their roped-up attire—all here for the celebration.

Aiden’s black wolf let out a deafening snarl, his claws tearing into the earth as he launched forward. Liam’s silver wolf ran beside him, his glowing golden eyes burning with fury. Zander, his reddish-brown coat bristling with rage, snapped his jaws, his teeth gleaming under the moonlight. Matthew, the fastest of them, howled, his white wolf bolting ahead, paws pounding against the ground. They ran, their speed fueled by pure, unfiltered rage. The wind howled around them, the forest blurring as they moved like shadows in the night.

The natural enemies of the wolves were the tigers, as they rivaled each other in strength and lethality, so they tried not to cross their paths because the fights could be to the death. They did not even approach other people's territories, especially tigers, which were solitary beings, but it was not good for one to be in those areas. And Ethan knew that. He didn't know what was better, either that or savages. He growled showing all his fangs in warning to the other beast that was practically his size, although this did not make the other one stop, on the contrary, his feline eyes flashed and were focused on a certain place between his legs.

Sadly, he feared he would come to wonder how much pain and suffering he would have saved them both if he had figured out exactly what it was. Cenam gazed at the stars in the sky. "Do you know the thing about wolves?" he asked, his voice shifting into something akin to a storyteller's. "They have a hierarchy. The alpha leads. His decision is final. The rest simply follow. They ensure his safety and he ensures theirs. As far as I'm concerned, they possess the truest form of loyalty and do everything together." He smiled. "They can go for small prey individually. But they don't. They would rather work together and bring down larger prey. And their determination?" He chuckled. "They'll chase the

The brown wolf's sharp teeth passed before my eyes, its determination turning into horror and fear. As both wolves hit the ground, my white wolf pinned the brown wolf beneath, clamping its jaws around its throat. Despite the white wolf being significantly smaller than the brown one, it pressed the brown wolf firmly down. The brown wolf attempted to struggle, but the white wolf held on without letting go, blood trickling down the brown wolf's neck, staining the ground crimson.

I stared at each line, each word, the important thing was that if I missed a word, it would be like a butterfly effect. Humans are sentimental species, easy to like and hate a person's word, easy to be mentally broken because of an evaluation, also easy to believe a stranger's words and trust that through appearance, a greedy species and most brutal. Werewolves, almost all of them short-tempered and irritable, are also very sensitive; what makes them different is their sincere heart, their heart only opens once in a lifetime. If the wolf mate dies, the wolf will die too, they are not greedy like humans.