Dog Man Age Novels & Stories

I growl. “Of course you don’t.” She mocks me, dusting an invisible speck from my shoulder. “But I’ll tell you this for free. He’s older than you think.” “Fifty years?” It’s sick to think he’s that old, the man doesn't have a single white hair. “Try again.” She shakes her head. “A hundred?” I almost laugh. Lycans barely live that long, though the stronger they are, the longer they last. “Again.”

His figure flashed and he reappeared next to the Two-Tailed Gunner Dog and struck it cleanly on the head. *Bang* *Whelp* Along with a loud bang and a whelp of pain, the massive dog was sent flying back a few metres. “Fast and strong,” Dan nodded as he acknowledged Mane’s prowess. “But that is hardly enough,” Dan added. Sure enough, the dog was up in no time. It gazed at Mane with a bit of hesitation and wariness. It wasn’t smart, but it knew whom to pick a fight with. But soon a loud scream forced its way into its ears and its hesitation was washed away. All that was left was rage and malice, and that was directed at Mane.

Talia (Age 30) “Ugh! Adina, you need to hurry up! You’ll be late!” I shout at my pup. She is 10 years old now and will be going to a shared human and wolf school in town for 5th grade. She is always running late. I must make my meeting in time if I don’t want to hear my brother scorn me again.

I wasn't Rose. "Quiet Bella, bad dog!" Gebhard shouted. He turned on the light as he entered the hallway holding a leash. There was a young man at the other end of the leash. He was naked on all fours...the other dog. I guessed he was older than me, maybe late twenties. He had short brown hair. 'He was not a soldier' I hoped. He was very skinny, probably taller than me. He had a tail sticking out of his ass. The 'dog' proceeded right for me and snarled.

then I returned the heat to where it belonged as I made him the center of attention once more, "what do you mean ten? Your wolf shouldn't have emerged so early unless something..." A growl that had my soul levitating from my body extinguished any chance I had of completing my sentence, "Twenty-eight. That's how old I am. That's how old we are." "That's still far too old for me," I muttered begrudgingly. Could my father not find someone closer to my age? "Eight years isn't that big of a difference, Red wolf," he was now amused. Was he only a stoic bastard when his brother was around? "You'd be surprised exactly how much eight years is," my retort only had smile lines bracketing a scary grin,

What? “Marissa, oh Goddess, I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you.” She pats my back as I gasp for breath and cough. “How, you are my age.” I choke out my voice hoarse. “No, I’m actually 50 years old. You know, use wolves age a lot slower than humans.” Well, I honestly thought she was my age. How wrong I am. She laughs at my reaction and I can’t say I blame her. I don’t even know what to say to this.

I glared at him and he shrugged as he continued to laugh. “He gets excited at times,” The old lady was referring to the dog. “And I think he likes you.” She smiled at me and I looked at the animal. “He’s very handsome. What’s his name?” I tried to play with the dog even though I was a little tentative. I was bitten by a dog once, but that was when I was a kid. Since then I have been terrified of dogs. But the dog that the old lady was holding looked so harmless. “He’s called Milo.” The old lady replied at the same time that the elevator stopped. “He is five years old.” She informed John and me. It was surprising.

He was, according to one source Stefan trusted, the kind of person who made you feel like an idea was yours when actually he'd planted it three conversations earlier and let it grow on its own. Jasmina asked how old he was and Stefan said the estimates ranged from sixty to ninety, which was a wide enough range to suggest nobody actually knew, and that itself told her something. A man whose age was a mystery to people who lived in a community of long-lived wolves had been deliberately staying out of records for a long time.

Such a random question. “I want to know, or do you prefer we sit and wait for your meal in silence?” “Twenty-one. You’re over three hundred years old, right?” Every human had a different age for him, as we didn’t know the exact one, but it was certainly over one hundred. “No, I’m way younger than that. Two hundred and five.” “Whoa! Yeah, you’re definitely younger.” He grinned at my sarcastic reply, looking more attractive, with a peek of his fangs showing.

Male wolves thirty and above should accept that their mates are probably dead or human, just like my mate. I growl as I stand to my feet. I stomp my way out of my office and down to the kitchen. I need a drink. I constantly battle myself on whether or not I should give up hope. At the age of 31, I am old for being unmated. Most males my age have already given up and accepted that their mates didn't survive the war. You could say I have given up, but I haven't. I still refuse to sink my teeth into anyone that isn't my mate. But that doesn't mean I don't have a Luna.