Female Deathclaw Novels & Stories

The claw tore through the floor. Stone exploded upward. Warriors were thrown backward. Ancient pillars collapsed. The entire First Path shook as though the mountain itself were screaming. For several seconds, nobody moved. Nobody breathed. The claw alone was larger than Dreadfang. Black scales covered its surface. Ancient runes burned beneath the scales like molten silver. Power rolled from it in waves. Raw. Ancient. Terrifying. The First King's face had gone completely pale. Althea noticed immediately.

Petra and Ferdie tried to calm him down but to no avail. The front door of the mansion suddenly opened though it was heavily locked up. A person wearing a black cloak enters the mansion. The person removed the cloak and a stunning angelic figure was revealed. “I am Deadrei,” the woman spoke as she walks towards them, she takes off her clothes in front of the sigma as if trying to offer herself to the beast. She too transformed herself into an enormous white wolf, this is not an ordinary wolf, this is a spirit. A sacred wolf finally finding her mate, her destiny, her soulmate, for thee shall find whatever their heart desires.

Three jagged claws tore through the black cloak, ripping the fabric apart as they carved deep, brutal wounds across her back. Blood sprayed onto the ground as a heart-wrenching cry escaped her lips. "Ahhh!" "No!" Everything happened within seconds. Craig finally reached the beast. With one savage motion, his claws sliced cleanly across its throat.The Feral's head snapped backward before its body collapsed lifelessly into the dirt. The woman staggered in my arms as her knees buckled. I caught her before she could hit the ground. She trembled violently in my arms. I carefully adjusted my grip, making sure not to place any pressure against her injured back.

He never gets the chance. Kieran appears between us without warning or ceremony. The men do not see a man. They see Death. Not a figure they can name. Not something human. Something final. This is what Death looks like when tenderness has been withdrawn. Kieran’s hand closes around the first man’s throat. Not to kill the body. To claim the soul. The scream cuts off as something essential is pulled free of him, taken cleanly away. The second man turns to run. Kieran turns his head.

I was kneeling at the center of a circle. In my hand was a cold blade, made from obsidian bone. It had been sharpened from the spine of a creature that hadn’t walked this earth in over three thousand years. The handle fit perfectly in my grip, like it was always meant for me. Like this moment—this purpose—was written in my fate from the start. The elder witches of the Thirteenth Claw stood around me. Thirteen of them. They were ooded, faceless. They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to. Their presence alone made the air feel like it had been poisoned.

“Give it back.” Daniela’s voice cracked. “You stole my body.” “I want it back.” “Now.” “You can’t even open that door.” The creature gestured lazily toward the pulsing wall behind her. “You’re barely more than a whisper.” “A soul without claws.” Daniela clenched her fists. “I don’t need claws.” “I need control.” The creature’s black eyes gleamed. “Control?” Its smile deepened. “You died.” “You surrendered that the moment your heart stopped beating.”

“That entitled brat is Ghost’s only child and daughter, raised and trained by him. I lost to her because I made one grave mistake. I underestimated her abilities. I knew she could fight, but I never saw the other side to her skills. I only saw her win fights with some clever tricks and defense. But when I faced off to her in a real battle of winner and prisoner back at the border…” Chloe shook her head slightly. “I was exposed to one of the most lethal fighting styles in the world. The Dance of Death. She had perfected that, and could have killed me. And she did not even have to use her Lycan advantage to transform.” She gave him an accusing side glance. “So, you should even be praising me f

Diva rolls her eyes, still swiping at her phone with an unconcerned look. I stretch my hand, I should probably be on my bed considering it is already night, but I am here, working. “No, you don’t get it.” Kai’s shoulders tenses a bit, the line between his forehead deepening. “They didn’t just die by killing themselves; they had marks and claws over their body. And, those claws were not from a werewolf. It seemed bigger.” What the hell? Seriously? Worry starts to churn my stomach, the news does not make me happy, instead it feels like something terrible is wrong, rogues dying? Whatever is going on has to end right now.

Lucas counter-questioned. "You… you!!!" As one of the Holy Defenders of the Fire Praying Tribe, no one had ever dared comment about her ugliness. This made her so infuriated that she began stuttering. "I want you dead!" The vixen screeched and shouted in Lucas’ direction. The vixen's hands were claw shaped and enveloped with a powerful aura; it was just like the Skeleton Claw of Nine Yin from martial art novels. Lucas shook his head. 'Weaklings will always be weaklings. They will never know how high the sky is, or how vast the land is.'

Bloodtooth wolves, their bodies marked with their pack's totem. They didn't care about exposing themselves—their brutality was pure vengeance. By the time I got back, all I found were my mom and grandmother's bodies. Now Frostfang's down to me, the only unmarked she-wolf left. To the hyena-like tribal elders, rebuilding Frostfang's glory was just a joke. To them, an unmated female's just a breathing ornament. But Velda? She was different. She just tore through a northern tribe's leader, becoming the first female commander to earn the Bloodclaw Medal.