Fenrir Greyback Werewolf Novels & Stories

It was a deep, pulsing crimson. The key flew straight into Fenris’s chest, sinking into his skin. Fenris screamed as his body began to bloat and twist. His blonde hair fell out in clumps, replaced by oily black scales. His amber eyes turned into pits of fire. "The key didn't melt," I whispered in horror. "It changed owners." Fenris stood up, but he wasn't a man or a wolf anymore. He was a monster—a twisted hybrid of a werewolf and a Blight-dragon. He looked at his new claws and let out a laugh that sounded like a saw cutting through bone.

Cheryl muttered in complete disbelief. All the tales; the legends; the stories her parents told her about as a child were real. The animal snarled, raising its right paw as it tried to claw Cheryl's face. Its chest rose and fell rapidly as its breath released warm vapour into the cold air. The cracking of bones jolted Cheryl from her thoughts. Her eyes widened once more. Now, instead of a beast, she stared at the frame of a muscular naked man. “You — you really are a werewolf,” she spoke through trembling teeth. The man glared up at her with his abnormal green-coloured eyes. He could tell she was fascinated, and he hated the way she watched him like he was some zoo animal.

of his mind his wolf, his other half, spoke up, his concern evident in is tone as he spoke to Alpha Lane through their bond "Alpha," the wolf's voice echoed in Alpha Lane's mind, its tone tinged with concern. "You're treading a dangerous path. If you continue down this road, you will fail. You will die." Alpha Lane said to his wolf, his expression resolute. "I appreciate your concern, old friend, but I can not turn back now. I have to win. I have to claim Adriana as my own." The wolf's voice filled with agitation. "Adriana is not yours to claim. She is a free person, a wildflower that can not be tethered by the likes of you. And your obsession with her will only lead to your downfall."

But it makes sense to us. I am Fenrir, the God of Hell, the Harbinger of Death. My werewolf abilities are not limited to one form, as I can shift into a Lycan or a combination of the two, making me a powerful force to be reckoned with. Like my sister, I have magical abilities. “Do you fancy going on a brief trip to see our niece?” I ask, and Theo chuckles.

As they fixed their wild eyes upon each other, I felt an even stronger sense of responsibility weighing down on me—the fate of my people now rested solely in the outcome of this fight. Fenrir, a massive werewolf with fur as black as night and eyes that burned like red-hot coals, let out a warning snarl that shook the foundations of the land. Lucian, his silver fur bristling, and a fierce defiance in his eyes, stood tall in preparation for battle.

Her pendant—two wolfsbane branches circling opposed helms—snapped and skittered across the gravel, spinning to a stop in a coppery smear. They dragged. She changed. The growl rose first—wet, subterranean—before the body followed. Bones unzipped and reset; sinew braided and surged; fur erupted through skin. In a breath, where Sara had been, a towering brown werewolf stood, eyes molten gold. Her left arm tore free. The blond didn’t even scream as her claws opened him face to gut, a red curtain dropping in one stroke. “The—fuck—RUN!” the big one choked. Three bolted, boots collapsing into slapstick panic. She didn’t chase.

My pulse quickened, but Beki made excited barks as though she was meeting an old friend. “Don’t tell me Fenrir’s the size of a blue whale,” I whispered. Griff rubbed his chin. “He once told me he couldn’t shift without destroying the village, but I didn’t completely understand what he meant until now.” Chunks of land rolled off the massive wolf as it rose onto four legs and raised his head toward the pale sky. Despite having remained underground for goodness knows how long, his fur was as pristine as Beki’s. The only difference between them apart from size was that Fenrir’s wolf had turquoise eyes, while Beki’s irises were cerulean blue.

With a blink of an eye, he was at the entrance of the den, he entered and walked through the walls covered in cobwebs and flickering candles, casting his reflection across the stale air. Thick red velvet curtains adorn the windows and fluttered with the wind, Pascal stepped forward and stood before four vampires. His gaze was cold as he studied them, and the colours of their eyes changed to a deep scarlet, a sign of impending violence. "A werewolf in our den?" one of them growled in annoyance. Pascal darted at them with a speed faster than sound, low groans and moans escaped their mouths, and they fell making flesh thuds. Pascal moved swiftly, killing all the vampires he saw on his way until

that could be their weapon, power to dominate. “That is what other werewolves believe,” he threw light on me when he said that, of course, like humans, we have different beliefs. But, for a werewolf to say this, for the creature who killed my mother to say this? “I don’t know what you’re getting at but I loathe your kind,” I calmly said. “Too fearless of you to say that.” He calmly stepped back. My eyes widened when he shifted into a werewolf, his eyes remained the same but he became huge and his fur is a mix of grey and silver which I haven’t seen before. Due to my instinct, even without weapons, I used my fighting stance in case he attacks.