Phantom Wolves 소설 & 이야기

There was a rumor that he could expel some sort of energy in his attacks that could knock someone down without ever touching them. He wasn’t the only one who possessed unnatural abilities. There was a female warrior in his pack that was known as Nightingale. She was extremely agile with swift reflexes that were almost invisible to the naked eye. Aside from her, there was Phantom. I didn’t know the ranks of the pack members, but each member had skills that were just as strong as their Alpha. Phantom could move so fast that some believed he could teleport and he was more dangerous than Shadowstrike. Phantom was a known killer and was on the top of the wanted list for not only werewolves but al

“Let’s see if we can spot the wolves while we wait.” It wasn’t their wolven cousins that Estrid was referring to, or others like them who were blessed with two forms. Only a few could see these wolves naturally and even fewer could communicate with them. They were as dark as night and yet moved like smoke or water in a stream. They could disappear into nothing at the slightest hint of light and yet grow and multiply at times like this when the sunlight waned and twilight crept in. For Estrid, the wolves in the shadows were family. They protected her people and asked for so little in return except to be loved. They were vicious against enemies, the shapeless assassins and spies that could pen

Just get rid of everything that was so pressing and getting on your nerves. Which is what I did. White Porsche Cayenne Vadim again flaunted his greatness, and beckoning to a further plan of action. The only thing I did not take into account was two hefty mules who stepped out of the darkness and blocked my path. With a height of at least two meters, and in the shoulders no worse than Rinat, the werewolves demonstrated by their very appearance that it was better not to mess with them. The familiar cut of black formal suits over white shirts, as well as the fact that I saw them for the first time, made it clear that they were Yang's people. Both are black-eyed and dark-haired. Black wolves.

It’s his first night, nothing ever happens on the first night. And then as fast as it went, faster did it come back– that looming, menacing presence. For just ten metres away stood a hooded figure. And it was looking right at him. Dark as the night itself, silent as the wind. He can see nothing of it, other than how its eyes glowed. And then it ran. Not towards him. But somewhere else. Somewhere– the Dragon Gate. The young wolf sprinted, his body already knowing what that thing was before his mind could process what was happening. How could he not when they’ve been fighting its kind for centuries. It is embedded in their blood. Part of their very being.

I nodded stiffly, still buzzing from the feeling of his lips on my skin and wanting more. He sent a cheeky smirk my way before grabbing my hand in his and pulling me in the direction of his territory. We held hands as we walked back to his territory through unclaimed land, where rogues were free to roam. Rogues are wolves that have either left their pack or been kicked out. They were ruthless, soulless werewolves who don't care about rules or authority. When we finally made it to Dark Apollo's territory, Bryan's Beta Andrew met us by the border. He welcomed me back, before telling Bryan about something to do with the pack business.

I was grateful to have made the right choice to join her because Goddess help anyone who stands against her. We jumped into the fray of battle, not stopping even with the terrible scene in front of us. My Mothers’ snowstorm raged over the battling wolves. From what I could tell, the Phantom pack was losing hard. I could see many of the desert and red fang packs since the desert pack wolves were distinguishing lighter than the rest in color, and the red fang pack mainly reflected the auburn hair like my own. But only a handful of the Phantom Moon still stood, all clustered in front of the house.

I frowned, glancing at Basil to see if he would say something, but he just sighed and lay back on his bed. “Listen here, dummy!” Sammy went on. “There are only five phantom wolves. Azriel, Zeke, Asher, Rhys and Dominic. Out of the five, Dominic has already picked one. Which is not surprising since he doesn't care for skills and is just interested in pretty boys he can toy with…” The last part made my cheeks heat up in embarrassment. So I was supposed to be the pretty boy toy?

He failed at both. “And what does that mean?” Keiran demanded. “For the pack?” Barrow’s voice lowered. “It means the pack must be careful,” he said. Elder Maelin nodded. “Phantom wolves,” she repeated, “are rare. Unpredictable. Powerful. And they draw attention.” My mother didn’t blink. “Attention from where?” she asked. Barrow’s cane tapped again. “The Outlands,” he said. The word hung in the air like smoke. Then Ingrid finally got what she wanted, her moment. She rose. Not fully, but enough to command attention. Her voice sharpened.

The weight in the air stole the words right out of their lungs. Then—crackling. Soft at first. Then growing. A low, eerie hum that crawled across the back of her neck. It was fire. And it was light. And it was alive. They turned. And everything else vanished. There, in the middle of the scorched battlefield, stood two figures so blindingly impossible that the world itself seemed to hold its breath. Two wolves. But not like anything they’d ever seen—not even in dreams. The first—massive, towering, wrapped in fire so pure it bled gold. Every movement of his fur sparked with flame, not chaotic but controlled, deliberate, powerful. His eyes were blue. Deep and endless. Familiar. Burning. Atlas.

He wrapped his arm around her, shielding her body as more wolves lunged. “You’re bleeding—” Lyra gasped. “I told you,” Eric growled, shoving one attacker back with brutal force. “I won’t leave. Not now. Not ever.” His wolf surged then, breaking free. His transformation was not grand, not gilded with divine flame like Arden’s, but it was raw, powerful, terrifying in its simplicity. Phantom Pack wolves were not raised for beauty. They were raised for survival. Eric’s wolf was ash-gray, scarred, eyes burning not with gold but with a deep, storm-dark amber. He struck like a shadow come alive, tearing through chains, ripping into flesh.