Cowboy Hunter Novels & Stories

’ I take the victims closer to the house. As we approach the house, I see that it is more of a cabin type. Like the ones that blend into the environment but much homier. The exterior had weathering steel and the roof had a natural canopy. We get to the porch and I knock three times. I strained listening, but heard absolutely nothing. Hmm must be soundproof walls. After a few minutes I go to knock again when….. “Its my house just go inside.” We all jump looking for the mans voice. ‘Behind the tree closest to the house to your left human’ Soteria instructed. I look over there and the same man that helped distract the traffickers appeared, only this time he had on a hunter outfit on. A cowboy h

That was until the loud sound of a bullet erupted, forcing the birds out of their homes to flee somewhere safe. At the edge of the property, a man clad in hunting attire, his perfect physique and muscles fighting against the fabric that covered him, lowered his gun and looked into the distance in wait. His name? Leonard Whitaker, a distinguished figure in his late thirties, with silver hair that complements his sharp, commanding features. His eyes, a piercing blue, reflect both intelligence and a certain steely gaze sure to still your breath away. Leonard placed the finely crafted hunting rifle over his shoulder, the barrel still warm from recent use.

I told him. " My son was killed by a hunter a few months ago. They disagreed, and he got killed for it. I killed my wife the night the hunters killed Malachi because she attacked us." He said, weeping seriously. I had heard enough. We carried him back to the pack with us.

Craig offered, drawing Antoine’s attention to himself. "Who the fuck are you?" Antoine demanded, going on defense. "I’m Craig Hamilton." Craig began, holding up his hands in an I’m innocent gesture. "I don’t give a damn about what your name is." Antoine snapped, stepping between Craig and me. I want to know what the hell you are!" "I’m a hunter." Craig responded slowly. "Hunter?" Antoine repeated. "I thought hunters were all disbanded a long time ago." "They were." Craig agreed. "However, I’m not from your time."

"What can I do? This is my personality. Anyway, we need to act cool in the human world." "No! We need to be just an ordinary man. Besides, you act so cool that time, and guess what, the hunter found you," Kasper said. Then, he looks at him when he doesn't respond. "I've been thinking about that... 'Cause I make sure that my identity won't be questioned, I was a son of a billionaire. But how come the hunter still finds my location?" They both stay quiet for a few minutes while thinking. "What if there's a spy?" they both asked each other. Then, Kasper just shook his head. "That can't be. We all know the werewolves inside the village. It might just be a coincidence."

He staggers for a moment and then slowly sways and falls down. I take this opportunity to shift back and grab a pair of basketball shorts in a nearby storage bin. I keep my eye on the hunter since she looks like she’s on her own. I don’t know if she can drag him on her bike or pack him back. We’re actually pretty far from where they’re based so I want to make sure she’s not gonna need my help. I watch her get off the bike and take a second to admire the view. She’s wearing some tight jeans, boots, and a black tank top. The perfect outfit to allow me to see all of her curves, even from all the way over here. I don’t want to look like a creeper so I make a sound so she knows I’m here. She take

A swift kick disarmed the man, and Kane's blade—a silver-edged knife he'd pulled from his boot—ended the fight with a single, efficient strike. From the opposite side of the clearing came a sharp, ear-piercing howl. Gunnar, Xander's hulking cousin, had taken down a hunter armed with a semi-automatic rifle. His wolf form was massive, his fur almost black with streaks of deep auburn. He growled low and deep, standing over the fallen man as his jaws dripped with blood. Gunnar's presence alone seemed to unnerve the remaining hunters, who faltered in their attacks, their formation breaking as panic set in.

The scars my mate made damn sure would never heal, tattooed into each side of my inner thighs. Did the man see those? Humiliation tore at my chest. The sob heaved deep in my throat, but no sound came. I sucked in the pain. Plucked out the noise. I wrapped the towel around my body and pressed another to my damp hair. I opened the door and there the hunter stood, holding clothes out. Women’s clothes. My brow tipped. “My wife’s. My late wife. She died… years ago. She wasn’t nearly as small as you but at least you’ll have something to wear,” he said, avoiding my gaze. I took the clothes from his hand and retreated back to the bathroom.

“12 out of 21 deer have been killed by this hunter.” Holding my spear, I am trying to catch my breath while paying my whole attention to the keeper. Keepers are the one who has the information of how many kills a hunter has in an hour. “None other than, Raffi of the Ambrose’s!” I saw my father fixing his hunter’s robe while wearing his huge smile. The whole tribe is excited especially the women of which gender I belong to. I started to walk to the wooden stage created by the tribe for this kind of ceremony. Everybody is happy and I hope this will last forever.

She made a mental note to watch where she stepped. Hunter was just coming out of the barn as she pulled up to the house. She took a moment to appreciate his tall, solid physique. He was again neatly dressed in dark jeans over worn cowboy boots. His neat chambray shirt was tucked in behind an oval silver belt buckle. The long sleeves were rolled up to the middle of his strong forearms. And once again, the black hat was back in place. I thought only bad guys wore black hats, she smiled to herself.