No More Dead Dogs Novels & Stories

What the bloody hell is going on? There are no more red wolves. The last one of them died several decades ago. I don’t need a wolf anymore. At the rate this one is going, I choose to remain wolfless. I don’t want this… I am a creep. They were all right about me. I am a fvcking creep. The moon is gone… why am I having my first shift on a moonless night and in my bedroom at such an odd hour?

The Federation had no success at taking much less keeping one alive and whenever they tried, humans died. Six months before the end of the war-maybe I should call it the first war since the hounds are returning-a hellhound broke into the underground compound where I worked. It killed twenty-three people. Twenty-one of them were heavily armed. Three of my co-workers and I made it to a reinforced steel closet and closed the door with the hellhound inches from destroying us. I've had nightmares about them ever since. Now King is saying he can take me to see a hellhound.

We are surrounded by dead people that's why. "Yes, and that's because those black dogs were doing their job once again. Killing people, last year in the same month they started killing innocents and sending them here. We are just lucky our town doesn't pique their interest, because if yes, we can be the ones having burials right now." "Black dogs?" I asked him. "Yes, we haven't really seen them but many said they were killing innocents in exchange for money. In other words, that's their job. I just don't know how many they are in their group.

“Trust me when I say you’re never too old to be orphaned. We learned that lesson the hard way. There was a group of us. When we were all together we were stronger than steel and that was enough.” Emily smiled as they both wiped down Mr. Mabry’s chest and stomach area. “That sounds nice. Are the other people in the group going to come and visit?” “They’re all dead.” “Oh, I’m so sorry. That was silly of me to say.” “What can you do? It happens to us all. There’s no fighting it. They were all infected except me.”

Burning a hole between my shoulder blades. My hand is on the door handle when turn back. "Your boys," I start. "You had three of them. Where's the third one?" Tristan's face goes blank. Then something flickers across it. Something raw. "Dead." The word slams into me. The hounds sense it too. They whine. Low. Mournful. Press closer to Tristan. He rubs their heads affectionately like they're all that's keeping him from falling apart. A pack.

DAWN’S POV I was seated in the throne room, watching as the elders and gammas of my pack whispered among themselves, unable to believe that their alpha was dead. I assured them that he was dead, but they demanded to see his body. "I want to see his body! How can we believe he is dead without seeing his body?" one of the gammas said, with a tinge of desperation in his voice. "You don't need to see his body. Trust me, he's dead," I replied with a cold tone, trying to hide my smile.

He asked her “I recently talked to your mom. Her wolf is dying and wanted to talk to her.” Rhiannon said, stopping to give Keyne a minute to allow her words to sink in. “Wait, I didn’t think wolves could die.” He said sounding a little confused. “That isn’t true, a wolf can die but it is very rare. The last wolf to pass was 3 goddesses ago. A wolf only truly dies when its spirit becomes broken beyond all repairs.” “What does this have to do with me?” He asked.

Unlike before, the door was now wide open. Perhaps out of guilt for killing my pup with his own hands, Owen had replaced everything in the room with things related to me. But this act of remorse just made me sick. I gathered up everything in the study and carried it to the garden, then set it all on fire. With that fire, I burned away everything from the past three years. … Owen's POV I was still with poor Ashley when suddenly, a searing pain tore through my chest. My wolf howled in anguish. The sensation was the unmistakable sensation of the mate bond being broken.

Something Maya has no useful word for. The word would have to describe a man aiming twelve bodies the way she would aim one rifle, and English, having spent centuries finding twelve ways to describe uncomfortable chairs, apparently never prepared for this. Marcus turns the pack. Points it. The dead come over the west fence and meet a thing already there to meet them. One animal with thirty heads.

I didn’t know what I was nervous about. Miss Lowell told everyone to take a short break, to calm themselves down for the stage an hour later. I went outside to get some air. At that moment, my phone rang sharply, the sound piercing and jarring. I answered without thinking, only to realize it was Soren calling. His voice on the other end was very light. "Sloane, if I die, will you be sad? There’s an hour left." The first two deaths had both happened before his birthday, sudden and without warning. Only the third time did he discover something wrong on the day itself, giving me at least a little time to say goodbye.