Lone Wanderer Novels & Stories

Aurora Point of View "Perhaps you don't know why you feel like this, or you've always been like this. Chasing the notion of a home, not knowing where it's supposed to be, you think you're supposed to find it in yourself, but you feel a mess. The loneliness is everywhere, even in the midst of people as they blur into one. It's a sadness that always return. A familiar grief that has made a home in your ribcage. You are lonely, torn between who you are, and who you want to be -- you want to be a Wanderer, want to fleet and drift, but you want to be loved, you want to have a home. You don't know how these two can work together."

But that’s where the similarities ended. The scent profile was off. She couldn’t know how many wolves were in her territory. That made no sense. Whoever they were, their scent told her they were a lone wolf, and not a rogue wolf. Often the names were confused by those not of the wolf persuasion. A lone wolf was a wolf without a pack. They may live with other lone wolves in a loose-knit group. A rogue wolf is a wolf who’s lost their ties to all other wolves, and loses their ability to feel compassion, guilt, or remorse. They’re the supernatural world’s monsters. The criminal elements, it’s underbelly. They will do anything for their comfort and enjoyment. Murder and mayhem are nothing to them

He always got tense when I mentioned about wanting to leave. “I've been meaning to ask you.” I spoke looking at my hands so he wouldn't see the scared look in my eye. “You have told me of packs and communities. Places people are born too. I'm born to nowhere. Is there anywhere for...” I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “For someone like me? Somewhere for abandoned wolves? Somewhere that is safe?” This was playing on my mind a lot over the last few days. Both Liam and Alice explained to me about Rogue wolves, how they live in isolation and kill and cause chaos. I didn't want to become a rogue.

Would I ever find solid ground? I tried to push the questions away, telling myself to focus on the small victories: making my own breakfast, turning the music up loud, buying flowers just because I wanted to. Yet, loneliness seeped into the cracks. --- One afternoon, walking through a crowded market, I stumbled upon a tiny antique bookstore tucked between two cafés. The faded sign read *“Fragments”*, and something about the name pulled me inside. Inside, the scent of old paper and dust wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Shelves sagged with forgotten stories and whispered secrets.

"And I hate sleeping alone now." I turned to face him, snuggling into his warmth. My bed was smaller than his, forcing us into an intimacy that made my heart race. "What did you do all day?" I asked, tracing the line of his collarbone through his shirt. "Pack business," he sighed, closing his eyes. "We had a sighting. A Rogue." "Rogue?" The word sent a shiver down my spine. "A wolf without a pack," he explained, his voice thick with exhaustion. "They go feral. The isolation drives them mad. They attack packs, hurt people. They’re dangerous, Luna."

His eyes met mine. "Did you feel that?" "Yes." The air shimmered near the window. A shape began to form, coalescing from nothing, growing solid and distinct. It was a wolf, but not like any wolf I had ever seen. Its fur was the color of deep space, speckled with points of light like distant stars. Its eyes held the depth of eternity. I rose from my chair, my body tensing for a fight I did not want. "Who are you?" The wolf inclined its head, a gesture of respect rather than submission. "I am called the Wanderer. I have traveled across the void between worlds, searching for the one who carries the bridge."

He bared his sharp teeth, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence. Rohan, a lone and ruthless rogue wolf, stood at the edge of a cliff, his eyes fixed on the night sky. The full moon illuminated his rugged features, revealing the weight of memories etched on his soul. He was lost in the past, reliving the fateful day when his family was banished from the Moonstone Pack by Ryder's father, Alpha Damien.

“You are not going to leave this world. And until you make the Transition, the power will not be released, so you will receive only a small part that will curb the essence of the werewolf. Even though you won't like this part. Sorry. - For what? “My world is too alien, it is not intended for people, but a part of it will flow into your blood, and you yourself will become a part of it,” he lowered his head. - Once upon a time, I rushed like crazy between worlds. It didn't matter to me in which world my Path ended, my only desire was to become a human again... But one day I realized that I had crossed the line of twenty-five transitions long ago. I turned into a Wanderer… Centuries have passed

It was a beautiful place to grow up, and it was going to be a terrible pain when I left. Part of me always hoped I would end up like my parents, waiting an eternity to meet my mate. I didn’t want anyone, even if they weren’t my mate, I didn’t have boyfriends. I was quite happy “flying solo”. As a female wolf, I have to follow my mate to their pack. Which meant leaving my brothers, my parents, and a town that, well, they probably wouldn’t mind. Gareth knew I was daydreaming as we walked, so he just directed me where to go. When we got to our mother’s office, he patted me on the head again.

On the day I was diagnosed with stage four cancer, Vivian Cross handed me a contract for a divorce reality show. I already knew that meant she'd lost another bet to her secretary, Miles Smith. They'd made ninety-nine bets over the years, and every time, Vivian let herself lose on purpose. She lost the house we decorated for our wedding. She lost the wedding itself. She even lost our son's body, handing him over so Miles could satisfy his twisted curiosity about the human body. Our baby had been seven months along when they donated his remains. He'd been so small. Vivian slid the contract across to me, tapping the papers. "Ethan, I lost another bet. It's just a reality show. Help me keep M