Owl House Novels & Stories

"It's an observation, supposedly from you." Ralph snatched the paper, his face darkening as he studied. "I failed to write this," he growled. "The antique cottage," Olivia said. "That's where she must have long past." Without every other phrase, Ralph shifted into his large black wolf. Olivia accompanied fit, her russet fur glowing in the moonlight. Together, they raced through the forest, the rest of the quest party struggling to keep up. At the cottage, Hera drifted in and out of attention. Through the haze, she heard voices arguing.

It was the Armitage pack house, and we were home. There wasn’t anyone around, and it was nearly silent: no howling, shouts, alarms going off, or anything, even though the Armitage pack council had to be chewing their own claws off by now, with no word from Matthew or Ian. The only sound was the squawking and hooting of an unusually annoying owl in the cluster of pines to our left. “Ian,” I said quietly, “this is why you need wards. The owl’s the only one who noticed a powerful sorcerer and a master vampire just materialized inside your territory carrying the unconscious pack leader like a sack of potatoes.”

"I'll make sure you have everything you need, Amelia. I'll make sure your cage is always clean and comfortable, I’ll also try to bring you fresh berries every morning, and maybe some mealworms if you like those? I've heard owls love mealworms. “Oh you better don’t. What happened to chicken?” I spat, “you better let her know I don’t eat worms if you don’t want vomit on your important documents.” I hoot at Kealen. “I’m beginning to think you’ll be fine in my tummy after all…” “What’s that supposed to mean?” I sneered at him. “It means, I can dispose of you whenever I want, so behave yourself and stay away from any papers. I’ll tell her not to feed you worms but if you dare act like a spoilt pr

David was the first back, or so he claimed; Derick rolled his eyes and said nothing, and Darrel tackled both into mud, so the end was a tangle of all three, not one, which Lizzy said was the only right way anyway. The house was already alight, windowpanes golden with meat-laden air and the hot undertow of fresh dough. Wolves in their finest—coats brushed to wet shine, jaws perfumed with stolen rosemary, some splashed with actual cologne—elbowed and yapped through the porch. The youngest cubs practiced their best howls, little teeth bared in wineglass-shattering glee, while the elders growled good-natured warnings about tradition.

The feared ancestor of thousands of shadow organizations. Chloe pressed the accept button. The holographic screen projected the marble figure of an old, dignified man sitting in his wheelchair. Oswald's eyes were sharp as a hawk's, although the wrinkles of old age had covered half of his glory. His long white hair was neatly styled. Even though he was paralyzed, his pressure could suffocate an entire room if he wanted to. "My beloved grandson," Oswald's voice was hoarse and deep, like thunder echoing from inside a dark cave. "I heard that last night you burned down a fifth of the east pier just because that street dog from the North tried to steal your silver toy."

We walked past a lane with houses on either side, the side of Valeras where normal wolven families lived. Somehow, we’d avoided the guards that patrolled the grounds by this time. Dragging the dead weight on my back, we stopped in front of a small house with just one window beside a wooden door. It resembled a small hut, just like most of the houses on this side of Valeras. I lifted my fists to the door and knocked on it. “Are you sure Oliver?” Keyleth reached for my arm, dragging my eyes to hers. My lips parted to speak when a rattle came from behind the door and the handle twisted, revealing a male that looked to be in his late twenties.

Olivia stood there for a moment, watching him, her heart swelling with love and protectiveness. "Sweet dreams, my little wolf," she whispered, brushing a kiss against his forehead. Her own room was at the back of the house, secluded and quiet. The window opened out towards the forest, a thick blanket of trees that stretched endlessly into the night. It was perfect. Close enough to civilisation to provide a sense of normalcy, yet near enough to the wilderness where she could let her true self roam free.

Gerard . . I turned to the doorknob, and we stepped in. The floor creaked beneath our feet as we strode into the living room. Foxen swept his gaze across the living room, his eyes lingering on the furniture for a moment before moving on to the next. “This isn’t your place, is it?” “Why do you say so?” I asked. “I mean, the furniture looked like it was picked up from a dumpster,” he said, “even if it’s a hideout, you could have gotten new furniture.”

Sylvette chimed, bouncing in my arms. “Mom,” Oliver said, eyes lighting up with hope, “please make us chicken soup tonight.” I laughed. “Okay. But you’re helping me in the kitchen.” “Yes!” He sprinted into the house, shouting victory as if we were preparing for a cooking championship. I followed them inside, taking in the home I built from a place of peace instead of escape. A wide living room, tall glass windows, a staircase that curved elegantly upward. Staff handled the daily upkeep: a house manager, two maids, a gardener. A security man outside, always alert. Everything quiet, orderly, safe.

By the moon, it was fate. The woman nodded and moved forward into the room, making a move to speak. She stopped at the sound of a loud growl reverberating through the house. A second later a large male appeared in the doorway, stepping in front of the woman and shielding her from her view. “I told you to tell me as soon as she woke up,” He told the woman. Adelaide watched the exchange between the two. She images the woman’s hands to be fisted in the male’s t-shirt as she looked around him. His gaze did not leave her own as he assessed her. There was no doubt he was a wolf.