Cursed Dogs Novels & Stories

Cyrus twisted the throttle and surged forward. He had no desire to clash with them. Provoking one person could mean provoking an entire village. The snowmobile sped across the ice as the eight dogs chased after them, tongues lolling wildly. The moment the dogs locked onto Cyrus, their eyes turned red. The feral savagery in their gaze was enough to chill anyone to the bone. Dogs had descended from wolves. During Frostfall, they had endured countless struggles between life and death. Some had even eaten human flesh when driven by hunger. Dogs that had tasted human flesh developed blood-red eyes and became exceptionally brutal.

Ariel ordered, referring to the hefty guards at the door. The ferocious hounds were let in. Their huge tongues were out as saliva dripped out. They had a scar on their face, similar to the one on Curtis' face. The hounds shared one huge body, with three separate, large heads. They ran their tongue on their enormous, deadly fangs. Curtis stood up, walking towards the hounds and kneeling before them. The whole place went silent, as they watched him. He patted their heads gently, and their gazes softened as they leaned onto his palm.

He blushes a bit and looks forward again. “Anyway,” she sighs, adjusting the blue velvet hood of her cape over her head, “hellhounds are often people cursed into the forms of animals–beasts. Wolves, bears, mountain lions… whatever the witch that cursed them feels is best. They are controlled by the witches, like an extension of their magic. And over time, they lose all sense of who they used to be before, turning… rancid. I don’t know how else to describe them, but they’re awful.”

And another. From the shadows, three wolves stepped into view—tall, broad-shouldered, and wrong. Their fur was patchy, their eyes glassy with that unnatural sheen that came from being marked by the curse. Bloodbound. Elena inhaled sharply. “I thought they were just stories.” “They were,” I said grimly. “Until the curse started feeding again.” The largest of the cursed wolves stepped forward. Its voice came through the bond, twisted and gnarled. She’s waking. The bond is forming.

She felt it was her responsibility, but she also knew she couldn't fight them alone, but she needed help from others, she thought. She used her curse which was "cursed speech". She was able to make something happen with just a word. If she was to say die to anyone they would die instantly, but that depends on how strong the soul of the person was. She used her cursed speech to curse three swords, that can be used to kill anyone that was cursed, with a stab in the chest. She wanted to do more but she couldn't, the cursed energy was too heavy for her mortal body to behold. The three she did take a toll on her body and she lost her voice. She wasn't able to speak or talk again since that day.

I had never thought that Octavia could even charm even wolves. "Aaaghhhhh!" one of the vampires screamed and crumbled to the ground as one of the beasts lunged at him. The other tried to kick the animals and backing away. "Kill them!" one of them yelled at the other one. "Are you crazy? There are too many wolves!" His sidekick protested. Now, if they thought their fangs were nasty enough, they would have to meet these canine nightmares. "Vivienne, go," Octavia turned to me.

"It is quite a shame. You want me to break a curse on you when I didn't place one on you?" "Excuse me? I'm confused. You didn't have a curse on me?" Tristan questioned. "Yes," she replied. "You didn't place a curse on me? Does that mean I am no longer hated?" He asked. "No," she replied curtly. "No, I am no longer hated or no I am still hated, which is it?" He asked for clarification. "You are still hated by your pack members and still known as the worst werewolf alive," she answered him. The skin between Tristan brows creased in confusion. "What do you mean moon goddess? You said you didn't place a curse on me yet I am hated? How? Do you mind explaining to me?"

James's jaw tightened, some understanding visibly clicking into place behind his eyes. "A curse," Damon repeated slowly, like the word itself refused to make sense no matter how many times he turned it over. "On a bloodline. Aria's bloodline?" "White wolves are exceptionally rare," the doctor said. "Rare enough that very few packs even remember curses like this exist, let alone how to recognize or reverse one. Whoever placed this understood exactly what they were doing, and understood it would likely go undetected for years, mistaken for something far more mundane."

“There was a Great War fought between the two packs in a final showdown. The Bloodhound took down the wolves but in spilling the blood of the Alpha he cursed him and his pack. The Bloodhound didn’t kill the heir to the pack but he was not fully aware of this at the time. He returned back across the ocean and what was left of the Eclipse remained here until a plague took them west to the land where the Bloodhound had come from. The Bloodhound is said to be locked and frozen in time. Cursed into a life of damnation by the witch who placed the curse on him.” And that was where the story ended. I couldn’t understand how someone could be so cruel.

The words erupted from my chest in an intense, predatory roar. But her scent had vanished. Rain began to pour, interfering with any chance of tracking her trail. When I caught the smell of danger nearby, my fur bristled. I closed my eyes and heightened my Lupine instincts. There were rogue wolves lurking within the forest. More than that—there was a dangerous creature, one of Nocturnus’s lackeys, his guardian who hunted whenever his master unleashed him: a three-headed Cerberus, better known among humans as a hellhound.