Cinderpelt Warriors Novels & Stories

And when the time came, I would meet it head-on. Blind or not, I was ready. “Everyone is ready to fight,” whispered Kiran, who came up beside me. I could sense the pack gathering around me, uneasy but determined. Their breaths came fast, their feet shifted against the dirt, and their hearts beat like war drums in my ears. The odds weren’t good. We were a fresh new pack, and while I was trained, many of these were not trained warriors. They were fighters, yes, but out of desperation from living on the street. It was not the same as being trained by a seasoned warrior.

This victory secured the western borders of the Kingdom of Helios and defeated the enemy, reclaiming Plainsgate. Aiden Cole, known as the "Thunder General," was famous for his agility and surprise attacks. In the battle at Longridge, he led an elite force in a surprise assault, completely annihilating the enemy in a stormy night, instilling fear in the enemy's land and being revered as the embodiment of heavenly wrath. Elias Dawnfire, called the "Wind and Cloud General," with his intricate strategies and excellent command, defeated the armies of two rival nations at Harmony Fortress. Elias Dawnfire used cunning tactics, luring the enemy into traps and annihilating their forces without a bloo

she retorted. “She’s right, Steven,” I interjected, acknowledging Lea’s strength and skill. “You and Harry will remain here. Cam and twenty of our elite warriors will accompany us. Alex and Sean will bring their warriors as well. We’ve also reached out to Alpha Killian, Alpha Jill of the Crawl Cat Pack, Elder Grant of the Black Vampire Coven, and Alpha Mosta of the Bear Tang Pack. They’ll be joining us with their warriors.” “I am the best archer in the freaking country. So eat and rest, Buttercup. I need to save our Luna and then kick her uncommunicative ass,” Lea murmured and walked towards the car after kissing Steven.

Harry, 20 years old, Southern United States. The shadowy figure of young Alpha slipped through the woods without making a sound. Then, when he finally heard the muffled sound of voices, he stopped walking and raised his fist in the air. The two warriors of his pack, whom he had chosen to accompany him, stopped in their turn. They were fully clothed in the black combat gear provided by the Council, evidence of the mission's sponsor. On their chests was embroidered the badge in black thread: the letter C in Gothic lettering planted by six swords.

Dolmi was the last one to teleport to the ground in front of Rainer. Dolmi was wearing similar armor except the glowing streaks were on his gauntlets. He confidently approached Rainer. “You should be proud. An opportunity has been given to you from the prestigious Coliaran empire. To be able to fight in a tournament of champions is but a dream for most.” Dolmi proudly told Rainer. Rainer continued to stare blankly at Dolmi. He quickly drew the gun from his holster and pointed it at Dolmi, only for the guards to instantaneously raise their weapons in response.

Fleishner, leader of Coulter pack, comes towards Adam, he crouches down by his side and slowly offers a drink from a clay job, besides covering his body with leaves and ointments. Warriors from Garret, Coulter and Person’s pack circle Adam and chant louder and louder. Kayden, Hunter and Connor join them and even though I don’t understand what they are saying, my instincts tell me they are calling for Adam’s vital life force. They move their bodies, shoulder by shoulder, hitting their thighs and chests, opening their hands towards Adam, in an unison, a pungent gripping force. Uncle Quinn yells with his arms stretched out to the start sky:

They would lend two additional sets of eyes and ears to those keeping watch over the most important members of the caravan, in their opinion, their daughters. The fire was dying down when Richard heard a commotion near the hunter’s tents. They were set up at the head of the caravan, a circle of small tents with men walking about, watching the forest with assessing gazes. Richard and Marcus looked toward the north side of the camp and saw a group of six tall, broad-shouldered warriors walk toward the Ellisvale warrior’s tents in the camp. The newcomers were very obviously Kreil. They had wild hair and broad shoulders. Their hair fell in locks about their ears, some grazing their shoulders. Th

He merely sighed to himself. When they finally stopped to rest, it was three. Hayden’s party did not seem to fear the witching hour. Instead of going to bed, they set up a few tents and a camp fire and then sat around the crackling flames. Sprout performed a grandiose backflip off of Cory’s shoulder. He stood about a foot away from the camp fire ensuring that he was within sight of everyone present. Sprout seemed to be preparing himself to make a speech, dusting off the tiny riding suit that had been commissioned for him. Meanwhile, Hayden stared into space and Titan introduced Cory to the other six wolf warriors. They all went by nicknames that referenced their legacies instead of their gi

“Three camps, each with 125 warriors, with an extra 50 to 75 warriors within each camp themselves.” “Why were there so many within this camp?” “Shift change, some of the warriors come into the camps for a little fun and release before having to patrol or sit in a camp where nothing happens.” As the high of the fight settles, Zaire and Alpha Ryan hear a few growls that erupt from within their group of warriors. Zaire looks around as the members of this camp slowly come out of their hiding places, the warriors that growl all slowly step forward and head over to stand in front of a few of the females and a couple of the males they all growl low at the same time,

Groups of shifters, no longer bound by an Alpha's command after Silas’s death, had turned feral or formed marauding bands. "Stay low," Leo whispered as we moved through a ravine. "There’s a patrol up ahead. They aren't wearing the Blood-Crag colors." We crouched behind a pile of jagged rocks. Below us, a group of ten warriors marched down the road. They were massive, their skin covered in charcoal-black war paint, and they carried silver-tipped pikes. But it was their sigil that made my blood run cold. It wasn't a howling wolf. It was a wolf with its throat torn open, a crown of thorns resting on its head.