Hot-blooded Youth Novels & Stories

– one of the furious souls says, advancing towards them with a knife. - Fuck, I forgot where I was. - Do you think that we can be hurt in this room? We are dead already. - Look around—heaps of shredded souls lying on the ground. It's as if the furies of Olympus were here They dodge in time to avoid the stab. - Cowards. You only know how to talk behind other people's backs and then shrink away. Other souls approach, turning their wrath on the poor lovers. They dodge as best they can, but they get trapped.

Not in that hellhole. A fleeting memory seared through my mind – me, at the age of sixteen, fists bloodied, teeth clenched, fighting older boys in grimy alleys for a handful of cash. Cash that would buy food for another night, alcohol to keep my father's rages at bay, drugs to numb my mother's despair. Fighting to survive, always fighting. The crowds were chanting now. "More!" "More!" "More!" they howled, hungering for blood like a pack of wild animals.

But the more vicious the exchange, the louder the crowd roared, feeding off the violence like a beast hungry for more. The battle was not merely a test of strength—it was a spectacle, a savage dance that held everyone captive. With each punch and every drop of blood spilled, the cheers grew wilder, the audience reveling in the raw display of power and survival. The frenzy of the pack was a testament to their love for the chaos, a deep-seated hunger that thrived in moments like this.

Everyone stared straight at me, as if to see my reaction. The Alpha of the Moonblood Pack has demanded war against the Firehearts, a pack without an Alpha. A pack that is vulnerable to onslaught from any pack, even mine. The elders had once discussed taking the fireheart pack for myself, but I destroyed and ended the idea before it could persist.

When I left his room, I quickly stopped by the office just to get the bottle of whiskey and took refuge in my room, with my mind tormented by thoughts, my body burning with recent sensations. As if all the hatred inside me wasn't enough, now I also had to deal with the possibility of being a rapist and the fact that I ardently desired a girl who was old enough to be my daughter.

Terror like I've never experienced before sinks its nasty claws into my chest, embedding a new level of fear into me and tattooing the ungodly sensation on my soul. I will set the world on fire, transforming cities into ash, and shattering bloodlines until I reunite with my wife. Someone killed my best friend and took my queen. This means war. And I’m not afraid to call upon the devil himself to walk beside me for one last dance before I go to hell.

He stared at me like I was something disgusting stuck to the buttom of his shoe. The same man I dragged to safety behind crates. The same man I gave my own blood to keep him alive. The same man I worried about while sleeping in an uncomfortable hospital chair with numb legs and an empty stomach from not eating. Now he stood in front of me, alive—but his heart full of hate. “You,” he said coldly, his dark eyes burning into mine. “Are you really the one they chose to send?”

Pack my burner, my badge, my Glock. If this is going to implode, I want to be front row. Because the whole thing’s cracking. And I just set the first match.

James asked as he looked at the wrapped package. “Open it and find out.” He smiled as James started ripping the paper off and unfolded the leather vest. “What does it say?” “That’s a phoenix rising from the ashes, same as my jacket. But below it, it says, ‘Blood of Wrath’. That means every biker that sees it will know you’re my son,” he said. James looked up at him, his eyes glistening. “Really?” “Whenever we go to events like today, you can wear it and people will know exactly who you are.” He could feel that tug of emotions in his chest and when he looked up, Jenna was smiling brightly, he could feel that in his soul too.

I grasped his chin and hissed, "Death's too merciful for you, Felix. I'm going to make sure you live until you're 100 years old. You're going to watch me take away everything that you hold dear." … I didn't see Faith again after that day. Apparently, she was beaten to death after she offended another wolf during one of her manic episodes. I felt a pang of pity when I thought about their pup, so I sent him to a welfare organisation. Unfortunately, the pup's brain was damaged during his time with Faith, so his mental age would forever remain at three years old. Meanwhile, I adopted the pup with the type-O blood, dedicating all my attention to raising him. He grew up to be a brave, strong wolf.