Daryl Walking Dead Novels & Stories

“I have a blood moon wolf in my custody. I want to.” “Sacrifice her and save our dying race?” Bryan chuckled softly as he dropped the magazine. “We don't have a dying race, we have a dying pack and there's no plague, this is something different.” Bryan muffled in disgust before walking away. “Bring the blood moon wolf at noon as directed.” She repeated before walking out as well. This was the only chance I had and I was not going to miss out on this one. I had returned as instructed as I ordered Marcus (head pack warrior) and fourteen guards to bring Snow Darcy later that evening, exactly by 8:30p.m.

Cheesy sat restlessly on the back porch of the mansion. Her face was pale, her eyes puffy from lack of sleep. She kept staring at her phone screen, hoping for news from Daryl. But there were no messages or calls. Suddenly, her phone rang. Daryl's name appeared on the screen. Cheesy answered immediately. “Daryl! Where are you?!” The voice on the other end sounded faint. “At the clinic. I had an accident last night.”

Checking the road for any cars similar to that of Raya's but I found none until I actually arrived at Howls and Growls. My eyes scanned round the tables. No Raya. I held onto a server with a tray of drinks. I yanked his free hand, but not enough to ruin the drinks he had balanced in his hand. A scowl creased his brows. “Where's Daryl?” He freed himself from my grip, he rolled his eyes up and down my body before walking away. “Excuse me miss,” someone else's voice broke behind me. “Any problem?” “I'm looking for Daryl.”

Daryl is moving with a limp, his left side hampered by the deep wound from the crash, yet he matches Glenn blow for blow, his movements fueled by a terrifying, burning necessity. "You think you’re a hero?" Daryl snarls, his teeth bared in a snarl that reveals more wolf than man. He shoves Glenn back, a move of pure, concentrated kinetic force. "You’re a puppet, Ashwalker. And when the elders are done with their theater, they’ll cut your strings just like they’ll cut the girl’s throat." Glenn says nothing. He doesn't need to. He lunges again, his footwork precise, his blade seeking the soft gaps in Daryl’s armor. He is relentless, a machine of violence, his eyes locked onto the kill.