Romans & histoires Fantasy Werewolf Art

Maya and Vishous were madly in love with each other. Mostly because of the satisfaction they received from their various s*x adventures. Both of them were werewolves. Maya was a beautiful nineteen year old girl, turning twenty in a week. She was going to find her mate then. Everyone in werewolf world was supposed to find their mate once they were twenty years old. Maya was a little shy but adventurous when it came to sex. She was is personal s*x doll. A toy that he could lick and f**k however and whenever he wanted and she would still beg him for more.

How could anyone keep stealing for fun without thinking of the consequences? He ripped one photograph off the board and tore it into little pieces. The anger made his arms start to grow bigger and clawy but he steeled himself and willed his anger back inside where it needed to stay for now. If he were to let the beast out, it would go straight to Gina and Liana, then tear both of them apart. It had taken all his willpower not to destroy them on that night. Killing them would mean less suffering for them but he needed them to suffer more than he had.

Dione looked at the folder she was holding and closed it and handed it to Peter. “Peter… that wolf in the picture. Is that taken by Dr. Conrad?” Dione asked as he was about to turn his back on her. Without looking back, Peter answered her, “Yes.” And he walked to the cabin. While Dione was left still amazed at what she saw. And while thinking about that, a thought suddenly crossed her mind. Her eyes got widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Don’t tell me… that was an actual werewolf?!” she said to herself. And now, she can’t stop herself from convincing that, that was really a werewolf. She immediately wanted to get the folder from Peter to continue reading it.

He told her. “Downworlder hunter.” She corrected him. “I’m not just a vampire hunter, I also hunt werewolves but sure, I’ll just change clothes.” Cassadie agreed as she decided to wear her yesterday’s clothes. “Should I buy you new clothes?” Yomiel asked as he went on wearing his usual suit. “Nah, no need. We can wear this for a week.” Cassadie told him. “Eh, what about the underwear?” He wondered as he tilted his head as he looked at her.

I suddenly felt a big hammer pounding my head, causing me to hold on to the bed frame and close my eyes because of dizziness. A sudden scene crossed my mind. Inside, the cell with a red werewolf facing Alarick and Convel. “A sanguis.” Both Alarick and Convel said as they were staring at a two-tailed red werewolf. In return, the red werewolf gave them a low growl. Instead of being scared, Alarick and Convel looked fascinated by the sight. The bloody color of the werewolf is shining as well as the two tails it keeps on swaying.

Chief Wolfpaw uses magic to make a flame in his claws. He holds it like a tiny heartbeat, precious and guiding us along the green gem pathway. The cave has cave paintings of human and werewolf battles. There are other cave paintings of Wolf Clan hunts, weddings, and other ceremonies in honor of their great people. A living history living among the walls like a timeline of chalk art.

She couldn't help but open her eyes and saw that the small cat had stopped the enormous werewolf! At this moment, countless amber rays of light and intricate glowing patterns emanated from the weak kitten, resembling a fabric that bound the werewolf, preventing him from reaching them. All the cat's fur stood on end, and its green eyes fearlessly stared at the werewolf. The werewolf's arms were bound, and after a while, he let out a sinister smile: "Just a circus trick." A flash of purple light appeared in his eyes, and his fingers grew sharp claws, slashing through the amber light rays with a "swish swish" sound!

Forty: Roman Eliot Even though Roman was a werewolf, magic was something that he had never truly understood. Werewolves were about nature and instinct. Some aspects of their life were magic---like Endymion, the god of the moon that gave them their powers. But using magic itself wasn’t something that Roman had any clue about. That was why he went to Glinda. She was the one that could find lost things, or make a potion to cure a common cold, or enchant someone who was annoying him to get turned into a garden gnome or something else equally annoying.

But no—each cry was different, desperate, raw. We turned a corner, and I saw the source. A werewolf—massive, silver-furred, twice the size of Kaid in wolf form was strapped to a tilted metal slab. A thick collar crackled with blue lightning around his neck. Every time he snarled or tried to move, electricity surged through his body. His fur singed. His claws scraped helplessly against the restraints. His eyes met mine—wild, terrified, begging. I swallowed hard. “Kira… what is this?”

The trees seemed to huddle close, their branches twisting like fingers. But it was the paintings that really held me. He had paintings hung up on his walls. Pictures of werewolves They were everywhere, spaced carefully along the walls. Each one was different, from Alphas to Betaa to Gammas. I could tell by their images from my intense research on them. Landscapes drenched in moonlight. Wolves hidden in the shadows, their eyes glinting like stars through the dark. And the portraits... those were the ones that made me pause.