Hell Hounds Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Hellhounds?” I ask, slowly, not sure if my hearing is working correctly. “What exactly are – I thought they were stories. I mean, aren’t they just myths?” I can hear the sounds of ripping flesh behind me and despite my identity as a wolf shifter along with the darker impulses it brings, the vicious tearing sounds from behind me make my blood curl. “Myths?” Their leader studies me. “Hellhounds are not myths. They are dangerous beasts. Intelligent and blood thirsty. They are also the best demonic trackers.”

The large gray wolf snarled once again: "DAMON NEEDS MOTUS ALIVE...FOR NOW. CATCH HIM!" Ahead of the group, almost a few meters away was Motus. He ran in his black and white husky form; laughing away at their attempt to catch him. "You'll never get your filthy paws on me! Hahaha we've done this hunt every night and you've had no luck! Just give up already!"

The hellhounds compound. I keep to the top of the well sized tunnels that are made of a mixture of rough stones and dirt that are lined with small fires for lighting and effect. I think I must be in some sort of housing as I zip past many wooden doors. They’re old and faded, the wood is cracked and burnt in places. I spot a few shifters in their human forms. I catch glimpses inside the doors, confirming my suspicions that these are indeed homes. I make it further through the tunnels, where they split in different directions and I pick one at random, winding past more doors until the tunnel like space opens up further, becoming wider and taller. Then I’m spat out into a large open space. Bits

When the beach gets sad I decide to go to the shelter. There's something about being in the presence of animals that lifts your spirit. I have always been a fun of dogs but never had the chance to get one. After playing with them for almost two hours I decide to get two huskies. They are gorgeous and as someone who doesn't believe in love at first sight that is the closest that I ever came to it. The ride from the shelter is different. I am anxious about my rash decision. I really need someone to stop me from making rash decisions in the future.

They snarl, bark, and snap their jaws, feeling the icy bite of death as they circle the group. “What the fuck are they?” Brody asks and I try not to laugh. “Hellhounds.” I say when they drop to their knees. A loud growl causes the ones that are circling to whine and submit. I smile as I look up as she steps forward. She snaps her jaws at her pups, teeth barred, lips pulled back as she gets closer to me. I look at her. Her eyes clear as she sniffs my face, and I giggle when she licks my face.

The dark hair on his chest was matted with the dirt of the ridge, his claws extending from his knuckles with a wet, heavy click. From the dense spruce forest behind the split boundary stone, the first of the invaders appeared. They were massive, twice the size of Silas’s timber wolves, their bodies wrapped in thick plates of dark iron that had been bolted directly into their flesh. These were the Iron Hounds, the selective breed of the Southern Council, raised in dark caves and fed on nothing but raw meat and sulfur to make them hate their own kind. Their eyes were bloodshot and wild, their jaws fitted with steel muzzle guards that had been sharpened to razor edges.