Literary Stray Dogs Novels & Stories

But for me, it was still hell. Scarlett walked in, a short silver whip in her hand. "Look at this," she said, staring down at me. "The legendary fox who seduced my man, now groveling at my feet like a dog." She raised the whip and brought it down hard on my back. Crack! The silver hissed as it met my skin. A bloody gash tore open on my back. "Why would an old hag like you seduce my Corvus?" Scarlett roared, striking me again. "What makes you think a wrinkled bitch like you deserves his gifts?"

Carla froze for a moment, then quickly rushed downstairs to open the door. As expected, an elderly man with a refined aura stood outside, slowly shaking his head with a sigh. Carla stared at him in shock. The fortune teller walked inside and said, "Give me the straw." Amanda quickly handed it over. He took one look and said calmly, "The soul belonging to the long straw is no longer in that body. He may be dead, or he may be asleep. Either way, he is gone."

There was a moment of joy, but even Jane knew there was work to do. "I guess we need to go see . . ." Jane couldn't bring herself to say it . . . to talk about those members of the Strays that had died the previous night. The Strays were a group of lycanthropes and humans with magical abilities (called Talents) who lived together in secret, stealing to survive but keeping the forces of darkness at bay . . . most of the time. The previous night, a group of demons called Hellspawn had come down into the Stray's underground lair (called the Den) and had attacked the Strays. A number of friends and potential friends had died defending the Den before the Hellspawn were driven back due in no small

I blinked my eyes repeatedly, confused as to where my headaches come from; my wound or my annoyance, or both. He nodded, seemingly knowing the answer to my unspoken question. "But not dwellers of the sacred lands. They are strays, a lone wolf they call it. These creatures are travelling without a pack or a tribe - they had either ran off from their family or simply have made the mistake of choosing a lone path, thinking they could do it - and a wolf alone in the world would sooner see themselves lose to insanity and madness. Eventually, the Rots fosters inside their body. And there are drives them even feral."

He holds out his hand for Desmond to shake, and he does. "Clowder, but I thought this was a pack?" He asks, and I give Connor a worried glance. "It is." Lily says, walking over to Desmond. "It's just a little different, you know, us being cats and all. A Clowder is a group of cats. "So, are all of the women in this pack big cats?" He asks her, to which she nods. "So far at least." Trish walks in, probably having heard us. She leans against the wall, staring at the couple. "I'm Trish, Lily's other half." Is she jealous?

‘Now that's my type of rhythm. The ride continued for another couple minutes before I reached my destination. By the time I pulled up, the air had already soured. I could smell them before I saw them. Sweaty, impatient, entitled in all the worst ways. Strays and Rogues usually had that distinct stench to them. Not because of poor hygiene, but because of their nature, it was simply off… and filled with desperation. They were milling around like thugs at a poorly organized protest. About twenty of them on sight. Most were mid shift and the rest fully shifted. Revealing fangs, claws, glowing eyes. You name it, all as a show of power.

“You’ll want the left wall. The right’s colder.” I step inside, and the floor crunches underfoot—salt, scattered thick as if to keep something from growing. I kneel, run my fingers through it, and find bits of fur, old nail, the flecks of whatever happened to the last wolf who lived here. He follows me in, glances at the wall, then at the blank stretch of stone above the cot. Tacked there with a rusted spike is a parchment, written in a precise, formal hand: CONTAINMENT PROTOCOL, STRAY MOON:

But I noticed the tear falling down her cheeks. “Attention everyone! It’s time for our annual tradition. The Stray Welcome!” The room erupted into cheers and laughter and my stomach churned as Lila looked at me fearfully and I gave her a warm smile of reassurance. I glanced around, my chest tightening as I realized what was happening. The Silverwood wolves were completely surrounded by the Ravens, closed in like a pack of wolves circling their prey. “What’s the stray welcome?” I asked softly as Mary, one of our pack members answered under her breath.

“Most of the crimes pinned on rogues…murder, robbery, attacks…do you want to know the truth?” I nodded breathlessly, because I suddenly needed to know. “It’s not us,” he said simply. “Most of those horrors are the work of strays… the truly wild ones. The ones without leaders. The ones who lost their minds to rage and hunger. They roam freely and commit atrocities, and the packs blame all of us along with them.” The words hit me like a physical blow. All the fear… All the distrust… All the warnings, the patrol briefings, the cautionary stories…

My boots sank into the muddy ground, a mix of dirt and who-knows-what, as I stumbled into the new town. My pack had a particular scent that bonds everyone together but not for a place like here. There were most huts with only a few houses built with bricks. Lanterns flickered, casting shadows that danced like ghosts, and the noise was everywhere—shouts, metal clanging, wild howls. This was no pack, no valley with rules and wolves. This was a chaotic place mixed with different kinds of abnormal wolves, and I was just another stray dog in it. I was still Rose, but the name felt like a bruise, like a stupid word to use in a place like this.