How Many Chapters In Wolfenstein: The Old Blood Novels & Stories

Chapter 40 Halle Wilder ~•~ “Why do you want me dead? Is it because I don’t have a wolf?” I asked, my throat tightening and eyes burning with unshed tears. He didn’t hesitate before he responded. “I guess you’ll never know.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. My eyes grew wide in shock. So he really wanted to kill me. I didn’t even know if I should beg for my life or not. From the look in his eyes, I knew that his mind was already made up.

The city dims, like a candle turned low, and the ground ignites beneath my feet—not with light, but with meaning. Blood blooms across the stones. Layered. Counted. Cataloged. Human blood is the first thing I register—thin, pale, almost translucent. Fear-heavy. The kind spilled by people who never saw the blow coming. There isn’t much of it here, only residue tracked in by boots and panic. Bystanders. Collateral. Then the wolves. Their blood burns hotter, thicker, streaked through with silvered heat. Three distinct signatures. No—four. One was injured but escaped. Alpha-trained fighters. Not scavengers. Not young.

NB: Kindly note that this chapter comes before Rebel. This should be Chapter 59. Please accept my apology. Brody's eyes fluttered open, his mind foggy and disoriented. He was met with an unfamiliar ceiling, and his body felt heavy, as if weighed down by an invisible force. His senses were heightened, and every sound, every smell, was amplified. He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, forcing him back onto the cold, damp floor. His wolf, once a silent companion, now spoke to him in a voice that echoed in his mind.

NARC wanted to off options for those who first came. The pack still exists, somewhere to the north of the Lilac Grove. People still come hoping to learn about the once secret world of the legendary supernatural creatures. This ends Wolf’s Den Bar & Grill. Yes, the story still goes on. If you haven’t read other parts of this story. It all starts with the A Black River Pack Series: Book 1: His Brother’s Mate/A Black River Pack Yule Book 2: Hell Hounds Book 3: Serving the Alpha at His Whim

***TRIGGER WARNING: Up until now, this story has been fairly tame. From this point forward, Wolfblood takes a dark turn. For those who read the first book of the series, Wolfbane, this book is much darker and deals with more serious, real-world issues. If you prefer light-hearted romances without violence, I advise you not to continue. If, however, you enjoy thrilling werewolf romance novels, please continue with Wolfblood! I promise it's worth the ride.***

Without a second thought, the hungry, evil, red-eyed werewolves were met with William’s bravery. On his face, there was no sign of dread. Anger and loathing may be seen in his golden eyes. He was planning his vengeance. He didn’t care if he died right now as long as he could let out the rage that was building up inside him.

The wolf whimpered, and I put my hand into the wolf’s chest, grabbing his heart and ripping it out. My wounds quickly healed with all the wolf blood I’d drunk. I smiled as another wolf came out, and we battled. My bloodlust was taking over, and the monster I usually contained was coming out. I heard Nicholas and his wolves fighting now. The ones around the front must’ve figured out that they wouldn’t have the advantage here. I took off towards the building. I encountered several wolves inside the building, but I quickly killed them. Sometimes I took a few extra minutes to drain them. The energy just kept flowing through me, making me even more bloodthirsty. I’d thought this was a barn, but I

When Alex’s hand slipped trembling into mine, I clasped it, needing as much comfort as he did because Jason was aiming for full Blair Sorceres scare. Huddled in the dark of the attic, knowing that the House of Blood might not only be killers but aimed to use the Wolve Tamer as weapons in the war against all wolves, I was trapped.

The rest of the world could have burned down, and in here, it would still smell like old paper and ink. Perfect. I’d pulled three entire stacks of books around me, a fortress of leather bindings and worn pages: histories of werewolves, dense texts on Lycans, thin, brittle pamphlets about old bloodlines, even obscure case studies of wolfless wolves and the rare, desperate stories of those who’d somehow triggered their first shift late in life. None of it helped.