For The Wolf Series Novels & Stories

"What's that?" "What's what? Oh, the wolf?"

Kassandra's POV: It has been four years of hell since my parents passed away and people are astonished that I am still alive without my wolf. They think i am weak. Today is my 18th birthday and I am hoping I can find my mate and since highschool is almost over I am debating if I want to run away and live as a lone wolf in the human city. For the past four years I have snuck out of the pack house everynight to let my wolf out and train so I am not weak. I also learned recently that alphas commands don't work on me which has me puzzled.

“So what does your wolf want to talk about?” I barked out a laugh. “We don’t talk. She harasses me and I ignore her.” He studied my face, like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. “Why?” he asked. I shrugged. “It’s just what works.” He nodded. “My wolf can get annoying, too. He’s quite the talker. His name is Adair.” I cocked my head. “They have names?” I asked. “Of course,” he said. “All you have to do is ask.”

Part 3 "King Andre Bastion Smith, a figure of regal authority and grace, stands as the revered Wolf King, the supreme leader of all wolf packs spread across the vast and diverse expanse of the United States. With deep-set, piercing eyes and a commanding presence, he carries the burden of leadership at the age of thirty-three, though whispers circulate in the shadows about his ongoing quest to find his fated mate. The grand castle they call home, a magnificent structure steeped in history and surrounded by sprawling forests, is not only a residence but also a symbol of their lineage and power. Within its walls, the Royal Smith family continues to live, each member bearing their own legacy of

About twenty meters away I spot them, or more to the point I spot him. Clayton Blackridge Alpha of the Lobo Sombra pack in his huge gun metal grey wolf. Standing to his right is a brown and grey wolf slightly smaller in height and not as muscular, possibly his Beta. My wolf starts stalking towards them and even though I am protesting she wants him. As I get closer he shifts back then the other wolf turns I realise he is giving us some privacy.

Every texture was shocking. “You are struggling,” Sera said. It was not a question. “Yes. Being human again is harder than we expected. Harder than fighting the Voids. Harder than becoming the seal.” I pushed the food away. “We do not know how to do this. Do not know how to be separate. How to be small. How to be limited.” “Then we find you help. Someone who understands.” She thought for a moment. “There is a wolf. Very old. She lived before the curse. Before the First Ones created the bloodlines. She might know something about merging and separation. About consciousness and transformation.”

River answers didn't happen to me, I just remember the pain and then blacking out. "I never felt as free as I did when I went wolf, I don't remember what my colour was, I should have looked at my paws," Kyler whines, they went wolf and were conscious are they lying? "Yeah me neither, I didn't think of it," River answers him with a shrug before turning to me. "Who got your wolf to come out?" River asks me. "Uhh...alpha Rowan I think," I answer him, he sweet-talked my wolf, and things went dark before I went wolf, I can't remember shit.

I looked at him in surprise, no one had ever told me that my father had a couple. “It turned out that she was thirty-two then, and she was ill with wolf fever,” he stopped, poured more glasses, drank, turned away, looking somewhere into the distance, beyond the trees of the forest. Yeah, wolf fever is a piece of crap. In the age of high technology, they still cannot cure it, they only help to prolong life for a year or five to seven. Who cares. Scientists have long found this muck, it lives in every body of werewolves, only for someone it is dead in an inactive state, and for someone ... Yeah.

Leah and Lance. The wolves had completely different fighting styles than their human counterparts. They lunged for the Collectors. Leah’s terrifying black wolf went straight for the throat of a particularly large Collector. He was a darker-skinned man with matted brown hair. His eyes were filled with that swirling white vacancy all Collectors possessed. The entire right side of his face had rotted away, revealing damaged teeth and a dingy grey skull. Leah’s wolf clamped its jaws around the large man’s neck. There was an audible pop as his throat shut in on itself. He let out a gurgled cry. The wolf shook its dark muzzle until the head was hanging on by the thinnest layer of skin. Only then d