Gnawsher Lair Novels & Stories

Forensic teams had moved in to gather evidence and process everything while soldiers flushed out any fugitives trying to run like rats abandoning a sinking ship. Lucas was relieved to have Nathaniel off his hands. Never had he met anyone he hated more than that vile and pathetic excuse for a werewolf. It had been a long night but it was far from over and Lucas had no doubt in his mind that it would be a few more long hours before he could even try and sleep.

I pecked her cheek hurriedly left the room, the pack and lurched in the wild. ***** The trails I followed led to an abandoned lair strewn with dark carcasses, skulls, ruins and body decays of rodents and people who met wild beasts. The sick smell of decay permeated the air, my nose scrunched in disgust and disapproval. Did Fiona make these confusing trails and if she did, she knew I was coming but what purpose does it serve? Someone was standing in the middle of the lair close to a cave the shape is that of a woman covered under a black veil.

A scream echoed through the cold, damp air of the underground chamber beneath Alpha Valen’s mansion. The walls seemed to shiver with the sound, the agony piercing through the stillness like a blade. Gwen, the proud councilwoman from Shadowclaw, was bound to a chair, her face twisted in pain and defiance.

Liam’s boots crunched against the frost-bitten metal grating as he descended into the bowels of the abandoned facility. The air smelled of ozone and decay, a mix that made his stomach churn and his claws twitch with barely contained fury. Somewhere deep inside, a machine hummed, pulsing like the heartbeat of a predator, and Liam could feel it vibrating through his bones. He moved carefully, shadows stretching like claws along the walls, every corner threatening an ambush. He knew this facility—he’d heard the whispers of what Stain and his Purist scientists were capable of—but nothing in his worst imaginings had prepared him for the horrors awaiting below.

The silence of Istanbul’s underground tunnels was deceptive. What appeared to be abandoned, damp stone corridors whispered with secrets—every drip of water echoing like a warning. The deeper the team went, the clearer it became: Lazarus had carved his lair into the very underbelly of the ancient city.

Clutching their heads as their own enchantments turned against them. Ligon roared and leapt into the fray, silver green energy erupting around him. He cut through them like a storm, each motion savage, precise, and breathtakingly brutal. When the last Siren fell, the entrance was painted in light and blood, the echoes of song dissolving into silence. They walked in further, till they reached the heart of the lair. The chamber stretched vast and circular, its ceiling lost to the night. A pool of glassy water lay at its center, glowing faintly with light that seemed to come from within the earth itself. The air smelled of the perfume of salt and decay.

There was scar tissue there which looked like it had not been allowed to heal properly. "Don't you care if he gets an infection?" I wondered, looking at the open wounds. Hearing my voice, the alpha's eyes opened as he moved slightly into the eyes. His eyes glowed with the ocean blue color as his eyes darted from Dr. Dawson to my scared eyes. He suddenly bared his teeth and growled low into the back of his throat, it was a warning sound that made me flinch, but I was aware so I didn't take the step behind Dr. Dawson like I dearly wanted to.

I nodded in acknowledgment even though I’d never been here before. Well… not consciously. Maybe a childhood memory lurked. Maybe I’d forgotten. Maybe Valentina erased it. The gates creaked open. Inside the Garden… …was a graveyard. A labyrinth of metal trees, each one hung with shifter parts, claws, pelts, teeth, fur, like macabre decorations. Wolves. Panthers. Boar-shifters. Bear-shifters. Even rare avian talons. A museum of extinction. And beneath them, cages.

Jason’s jaw learned a new way to set itself so pain could ride without driving. At the far edge of the north line, where the ground sloped toward the old quarry and human men liked to pretend the moonlight was theirs to rent, we found the night’s worst argument. Six lures in a grid. Two cameras camouflaged in moss. A meat hook hammered into a trunk at wolf-head height. And, nailed beside it, a square of tin painted with the ash eye and a sentence in white: WE SEE WHAT YOU ARE. Lyra went very still, which is how I know she’s about to be loud.

Garth is behind them and Lard sits on his shoulder. The captain slams her back on the left side of the door in a soft manner to try not to catch any attention from the workers inside. Though the speech that she hears wavering through the air makes her sick. The first mate renders his backside on the left, his eyes peer to the direction of the shed in which the guards went with Romera as well as the gap that separates the bank and the fur stall. Garth stands at the edge of the steps in front of the door. He kneels down so that Lard can jump off safely. Both of his small hands reap through his long hair. Quickly, as time is of the essence, he pulls out two metal hair clips, and those dark lock