Romans & histoires Commander Wolffe

A cancer on the Covenant’s order to be excised. Now, I was breathing their exhaust. "This is wrong." The words vibrated in my chest before they left my mouth. "We are sleeping with the disease." Wolfy didn't look up. He sat cross-legged on the concrete, dismantled radio parts spread over a rag. His fingers moved with terrifying precision, stripping copper wire from a coil. "We are the disease, Commander," he said. His voice was flat, clinical. "I just intercepted the Citadel broadcast on the emergency band."

Where they'd decided to hunt wolves for generations. The commander gestured to a chair. "Sit." I sat, hands folded to hide their trembling. Cole was placed across from me. Our eyes met in shared understanding. The commander settled at the head of the table, flanked by two officers—a sharp-eyed woman and a younger man with rigid bearing. "I am Commander Garrett. Second in command of the Order. These are Captain Reyna and Lieutenant Marks." I nodded to each. Garrett was neutral. Reyna skeptical but open. Marks openly hostile.

He takes down two attackers in seconds, moving with precision I’ve trusted for years. “Alpha!” he shouts between breaths. “They’re forcing separation!” Another wolf slams into me from behind and I roll, letting my claws rip through his skin. He yelps for help, but then another from behind hits. But exhaustion creeps in. Seconds later, a massive gray wolf steps forward from the shadows. One I can tell is the commander of these damn wolves. Scarred muzzle. Experienced fighter. With a smile creasing on his face, he circles us slowly.

"Is it an order?" The corner of his lips rose slightly, something cold flickering in his gaze. "My words are your command. Here, I don't order. I say. You take it as my command." "Roger that." His expression turned cold soon after as he walked toward the military base. A few soldiers rushed to him and saluted before explaining, "The Commander of the Rainfall Wolf Pack is here. And with a good number of warriors." "How did they kill my people?" he asked, his voice icy.

"It's not like they're trying to hide it, seems like they are about to attack us." "Knock it off… I think that's enough." Norton said. He looked at the wolves. "Who's the boss here?” Nobody moved at first. Then, an older wolf with gray hair walked forward and turned into a man. It was Xavier. I remembered him. He was Weston's second in command. I had seen him with Weston a few times. "Wow," I said to Norton. "You were right. You knew more than you said. I owe you a thousand bucks."

"As you're aware, there's a lot of operations going on here. Are you going to be able to handle this one, or am I going to have to send your team in without you?" Wolfe swallowed. Sending his squad in without their commander would be as good as him resigning his commission. "No, sir. I'll go." "Good. Your SP time is 0900," Donato said. Wolfe recognized the military lingo for Starting Point time. "You'll be escorted by a squad of infantry there and back, but you'll be in command. I want you to roll in with a show of force and remind them who their allies are. Be careful, but don't let your history with this 'Actor' to cloud your judgment. You're dismissed so you can get your squad ready."

"Do not worry, Hamilton, my wolf is not that fragile. I am real grateful to Jerome for bringing my name to the elders and giving me this big chance. How could I mind his rough tongue?" Hamilton smiles big and runs up the stone steps to catch up with Jerome's long legs. Carllo links his arm right through mine, leaning his head close to my ear to whisper real low. "To tell you the truth, Lanka, I never saw any wolf who can kill a happy mood fast like that badass Andrew Wolfe, except for the big leader of the Madden Group. He is Andrew's biggest arch-enemy in the north woods." I look at Carllo, feeling real surprised. "An arch-enemy?"

"Whoever sent this knows exactly where the Dead Zone ends and the real world begins." A figure emerged from the pressurized cabin. It wasn't a soldier or a suit. It was an elderly man, frail and leaning heavily on a cane carved from dark, unpolished wood. He wore a simple cardigan and spectacles that seemed too large for his weathered face. "Marcus?" I breathed, my heart stuttering. The last Wolfe. The man who had given us the iron key in the hospital, the man we thought had been "decommissioned" by a tranquilizer dart and a falling empire.

Only the strongest and the best warrior can work as a Quill warrior. We are in Quilluet Pack, the strongest, biggest, and oldest pack in the world. There are about 12.000 werewolves living in Quilluet's teritory. There are so many strong warriors from this pack, including our Alpha, Alpha Eaton Flynn. He is known as the strongest alpha in the world now. He took over this pack when he was only 16 years old. He is very attractive too......well at least that's what i heard.

The heavy canvas flap of the command tent was violently thrown open, admitting a furious swirl of mountain snow and three hulking northern wolves. At the head of the trio was Commander Vorn, a scarred, nine-foot veteran whose grey fur bristled with undisguised contempt. He wore heavy iron plate armor, his hand resting aggressively on the pommel of his massive two-handed greatsword. Flanking him were his two chief lieutenants, their amber eyes blazing with the predatory, mutinous rage of warriors who realized they had been sold a phantom empire.