Dustpelt Warriors Novels & Stories

The cold and thin hair barely affected him as he dived into the crowd of harbingers, transforming into his Paladin form just before reaching the ground. “Dance of the Paladin.” He ran past them in a flurry of movement, stepping between them quickly and slashing through their chests. They dropped to the ground, save for one, smaller than the rest. It floated in the air, as if sizing up its opponent. It stretched its hand out and an orb appeared in it, it was small and purple, pulsating softly. The orb hovered in the hands of the harbinger for a while before it swung its hands around, the orb releasing a wide arc of energy. Willow dodged effortlessly, entering the blind spot of the harbinger.

The youth’s pride was hurt more than his body, but that too was part of training. The scent of sweat, earth, and iron filled the air. The ground vibrated faintly beneath my boots as two wolves shifted mid-duel, fur bursting from skin as they crashed into each other with snarls, the sound raw and primal. The circle of warriors watching cheered them on, some calling out instructions, others laughing at missed strikes. This was what called to me. What truly gave me a sense of relaxation since that day. I didn’t know I would know what peace would be like after her. I was a little relieved to find out the emotion wasn’t lost to me.

"Be careful, son; We cannot burn bridges at this critical moment. Warriors from the Silvermere pack are the finest breeds of Warriors to ever exist, and Thorne knows this. Maybe he wants to be cuddled and begged…" "Do I look like I'm in the mood to cuddle anyone who isn't Maya?" I interrupted my grandfather. "He's your friend. You had best talk to him; otherwise, he'll pay with his blood this time. Every pack in the White Mountain Region belongs to me. I own their warriors, too; I should not be begging and cuddling to have my warriors come fight for me." The place crackled with tension until Gamma Darius broke it. "What about Maya's ritual with the captured Ferals?" Darius asked. "Is she mak

The young warriors, on the other hand, were a bit inexperienced and naive. "Alpha Daryl?" one of the warriors asked, his face lighting up with recognition. Uncle Daryl nodded curtly, his expression softening slightly. "Welcome back, Alpha. We are sorry for keeping you waiting," the warrior said, opening the gate for us to drive through. As we entered the pack's territory, I couldn't help but notice how different everything looked. The trees seemed taller, and the branches seemed to sway in unison as if they were welcoming Uncle Daryl back after a long hiatus. The air seemed fresher, and the scent of pine and cedar wafted through the car window.

The yellow spotlights from up ahead made the sand sparkle in the pit. Two warriors battled it out in the pit. Both wore only grey sweatpants. Their naked torsos shimmered from the beads of perspiration and blood oozing out of their wounds. One held a mace, and the man was built like a barrel, thick and brawny. His wide face held a visceral expression as he thumped his chest in rage. Blood oozed from a deep gash on his right cheek. “Boulder! Boulder!” The crowd echoed behind him as he raised his mace and nodded his huge head.

I immediately moved away as the second warrior came at me. He reached for me but I caught his wrist, twisted it, and used his momentum to force him to the ground. The third came from behind but I spun around, blocked his fist, and drove my knee into his stomach. He staggered, and I grabbed his shoulder before throwing him to the ground. I straightened and looked toward Kael. “Done.” He glanced at the warriors lying on the ground. “Twenty-four seconds.” A smile spread across my face. “Beat that.”

Before the speaker could even lift his staff, two massive warriors clad in the coal-black armor of the northern vanguard materialized from the shadows of the platform, locking their iron gauntlets around Tahlia’s shoulders and dragging his thrashing frame toward the backstage arches. My inner wolf tilted its head in silent calculation; I hadn't brought a singular blade or guard on this return transit from the Ashgrove Wildlands. A split second later, the heavy scent of burning pine and winter frost flooded my senses as a towering, broad-shouldered warrior cut through the remaining council elders. David Duskbane. His razor-edged, chiseled face carried the cold, lethal gravity of a warlord who

As we descended into the subterranean colosseum, the noise became overwhelming. Two thousand warriors filled the stone tiers of the cavern. These were the Shadow Warriors—the battle-scarred outcasts of the Dead Woods. They were alphas, betas, and omegas who had been rejected by their birth packs, criminals who had survived the brutal winter wilderness, and veterans of forgotten border wars. They didn't wear uniforms; they wore heavy furs, iron chains, and leather straps over bodies covered in jagged claw scars. They were savage, and radiated a volatile pressure.

They gave in on our torture just in a day and started talking. When we reached the location after a day long run, 20 rouges were waiting for us. We had walked straight into it. We were easily outnumbered. But then again it's not easy to take down warriors of Pearl moon pack. We killed them all, but the last one took out the dagger and slashed me with it deep, right above my heart. He again lifted his hand to stab my heart but his hands were ribbed off by my man.

Seething rage coursed through their bond and if looks could kill, this germ of a man would be burning to death under her gaze. “Fine,” Dainin spat as if the word was acid on his tongue. “The Werewolf Council has their own plans for you. I hope you all enjoy rotting in a cell, just like your victims,” he growled, motioning for the Warriors to move in and restrain the criminals, but in a flash, Eric shifted, attacking the closest group of Warriors in his path to freedom.