Fantasy Westerns Novels & Stories

Sure, it annoyed some of the other pedestrians, but out here, there wasn’t a car in sight. Fairfax was one of those small towns, with a really small town but a huge zip code. Houses were scattered all over the place, making my closest neighbor the old man living two miles down the road. Surrounded by mountains and forest, it sometimes reminded me a little of the town in the Twilight movie. Or you know--- just any horror movie! I almost grinned at that, since that used to be Grace’s go-to line. She had a thing for horror-flicks, but was terrified after watching them…

“You don't want the housemistress to hear you. I'm sure you still prefer to keep that head of yours.” “What witch?” I questioned. “Last night, I heard two of the castle's maids talking about it. Is there a witch in the Castle?” The three of us waited for the others to leave. Then we continued. “Word is the Lycans are cursed by a witch,” Anya said. “It drives them towards causing a massacre. They thrive off the bloodshed.” “Yes, Anya's right,” Sara replied. “They took me with them when they attacked the northern packs of the realm. The gory sight was enough to scar my mind forever. Even children were not spared.”

Their legs began to shuffle but one of the campers stood still, his legs couldn't move and he had pissed on himself. "Everyone... Run! John screamed and immediately they began sprinted through the dark woods, some towards the direction of the camp, others overwhelmed by fear ran in other directions heading to unknown destinations. Summer was ahead of them all while Glenn and John were behind her. She wanted to die but certainly not in the hands of a beast she was yet to believe was real.

Nor had she ever seen such an eclectic collection of oddities. She picked up a pair of boots, vinyl, with a huge, plastic zipper. A vague memory of a porn film she had accidentally flipped on one late night flashed through her mind. Dominatrix, she believed it was called. She dropped the boots and sank onto a little bench sitting against the wall across from the racks of costumes. Fantasies. She had never had a sexual fantasy. All her sexual thoughts had always centered on Steve and their quiet sex life. All she had ever wanted was his hands on her, his lips telling her the things she wanted to hear.

A well-forged pact could communicate through thought alone, lift weights impossible for ordinary beings, move swiftly enough to dodge bullets. But those gifts required more than training, they demanded that one abandon humanity entirely and allow their sub-gender instincts to take full control, becoming something closer to a true werewolf. That was why many still lived human-like lives, in sports, medicine, the military, or protective services, it gave them balance before that final leap. Leaders who could forge such a pact were rare, usually emerging from royal bloodlines like the Kanzaki family. “Our parents expect too much from us, Rei,” Dante said finally.

If he succeeded, he would be unstoppable… … but he didn’t, because in her reality in Fairbanks, Vak Smallchief is still known as the first werewolf in history and the only werewolf ancestor who receives 7 salutation howls on the nights of the Full Moon Feasts. Where did that leave Nikjin? “You are a beautiful sight to behold in wasteland such as this,” he said, appearing in front of her like an apparition.