Red Wolf Novel Novels & Stories

She was certain he had to be a large wolf, and he must be a lot more ferocious looking than that stupid Rider. Finding it odd that she was thinking about which wolf was the most handsome, Everly shook her head to clear it and then returned her attention to her book. She was almost three-fourths of the way through the book now, and she still hadn’t found anything, but she thought that the book might be getting to a part that included something useful because it was talking about wolf shifters interacting with humans and how it was important for wolf shifters to keep their abilities secret from those who were not able to shift into wolves.

Having the red wolf compound also brought those who were just interested in living this close to werewolf history. When my mom, Raina, shifted into a red wolf for the first time over 20 years ago, she was the first red wolf to shift in over 200 years. The red wolf was profoundly significant for all werewolves. In addition to having special abilities related to the manipulation of emotions and behaviors in others, the red wolf also serves as a beacon of peace. Just having a red wolf alive was enough to bring a period of peace to all werewolves.

When my ancestors settled here and began to build their pack of wolves, they named the pack after the birds that had already made their homes in these parts. Those beautiful, winged creatures hadn’t been seen in decades. Along with the war and the destruction of the atmosphere, wildlife began to disappear. Either migrating or dying off. As a little girl, my mother used to tell me that one day the Ravens would return to these parts. When the true Alpha of wolves walked amongst us. That the land would flourish and werefolk would begin to find their mates again. Maybe someday my mother's stories will come true, and the Ravens will return. I skip down the last step and round the corner landing o

Lucian promised he'd tie her to the bed and keep her there until he found Freya's killer. Ravena could normally see She was in the dark, but the snow was blinding her. She wandered towards the direction of the smoke from a chimney. She tripped knee-deep in snowdrifts more than half the time, and even though she attempted to keep her bare hands in her pockets, she had to support herself continually to keep from falling. She'd been at it for at least an hour and wasn't sure whether she was getting any closer to discovering the town. Autumn was unquestionably her season. Winter was the season for Arctic wolves and polar bears. Sheesh.

In the center of the room sat a single book, its cover worn, its pages yellow with age. "This is the unfinished story," the Observer said. "Read it. Complete it." I approached the book with trembling paws. I opened it and began to read. The story was about a wolf named Mira. Not the Mira I knew. A different Mira. A wolf who had lived long ago, in a time before the bridge, before the cradles, before everything I had built. She had been a weaver, like me. She had woven stories of hope and healing, of love and transformation. But she had not been able to complete her final story.

Her sky-blue eyes drilled holes behind Hakan’s head, flashing the three muscular men a smirk whenever their eyes would wander over to where she was. “Then, I’ll be leaving Richard in charge while I go out to the city. Check the borders, I’ve been hearing talks about rogue wolves roaming around the forest from our hunters.” The man called Richard stepped up before bowing his head, as he received orders from his alpha. The three burly men left immediately when Hakan dismissed the group, turning around to face Skye with her arms crossed and looking bored.

So what was going on? I slipped out of my bed and went to the bookshelf on the other side of the wall. I reached for the nook which my father gave me a few weeks ago and opened it, flipping hurriedly through the pages. Caine joined me on my bed, but I ignored his presence and steeled my focus on the book. I got to the page I was searching for and stopped, pining my index on the drawing. My fears subsided. I wasn’t wrong. The book mapped out the colors of the wolves. The red wolf was the seeker wolf, and the white was the normal wolf.

“I’m not a total idiot when it comes to the wild. I’ve just never had the opportunity to enjoy it like this. It’s all new. That’s all.” “I see,” he said as his mesmerizing eyes studied me. After an uncomfortable silence that felt like hours, but I guessed were only seconds, he added, “This is Snow. He lives in these parts. Since you’ve ventured into his territory and he’s now aware of you, you might as well get acquainted.” As he moved toward me, the wolf did the same. With a renewed panic, I quickly stepped back. “Stand still and let him smell you,” Noah practically barked. “This can go good or bad. The choice is yours.”

Neither option comforted me, but being the White Wolf wasn't about comfort. I would have to speak with Axton first to hear what he has to say about it. His perspective had a way of grounding me, even when I didn't want to admit it. Once I got home, I grabbed the books Axton had brought me and carefully went through them one after another. The pages were old and smelled faintly like dust and pine, probably a result of being kept in the library for decades. I read slowly at first, scanning for anything that caught my attention, then faster when the information became repetitive.

As I took small bites of my meal, my mind wandered back to the book's descriptions. When breakfast was finally over, I excused myself politely and headed back to the garden. I retrieved the book from its hiding place and found a secluded spot where I could read in peace. The more I read, the more I realized how much had been lost to history. The white wolves were not the monsters they had been made out to be. They were beings of incredible power and kindness, who had only sought to live in harmony with others.