Rogue Books Novels & Stories

I told her. “I am really sorry and didn't plan to hurt you intentionally, I will go for now because I know you are angry and you need time to digest all this” with that she stood up and left too. Rogues: are werewolves that have either been kicked out of their pack or left on their own free will. Rogues don't have a set appearance apart from in their wolf form, they have long fur. They also have a bad odour radiating from their bodies. Rogues can be good or bad. In some cases they are the reason for deaths. And they can return to their pack if they are allowed.

Even the insects had fallen silent. Something was wrong. She backed away from the stream, hackles rising along her spine. Her wolf senses screamed danger, but she couldn't pinpoint the threat. Then the wind shifted, bringing with it a scent that made her blood run cold. Rogues. At least three of them, maybe more. The scent was unmistakable—unwashed bodies, madness, and the metallic tang of old blood. Rogues were wolves who'd been cast out of their packs or had chosen to leave, living without the structure and discipline of pack life. Some were harmless loners. But most descended into madness, becoming little more than feral beasts who killed for sport.

I gave out a shy smile, relieved that most pack members accepted my presence in their territory. Nix encouraged me to walk around the territory, pointing out each shop and stall and explaining what they typically sold. But my gaze was drawn to the library. I didn't read very well in my younger days and wasn’t quick at picking up the contents of a book, but I enjoyed trying until I fall asleep. And when I became a rogue, I didn't have many chances to read… I didn’t have any chances at all actually. But it never ceases to amaze me how much information is available if one simply picks up a book.

The doors pushed open and I peaked through the bookcase to have a clear view of the rogue. The rogue, looked like a savage male version of a Nymph. If he washed up, he'd be actually good looking. But every rogue, had just a few things on their mind- especially an alpha. Sex, Hunt, Kill, or Eat. Like a wild wolf with nowhere specific to run off to. He had white foam running down from his lips, a sign he was rogue. He didn't have an ink of humanity but it won't stop him from shifting freely between forms. There were only a few things that could make an alpha go rogue. My guess would be as good as any of what happened to him. He was butt naked, muscles tone and fit. He had a mirror's shard cutt

HAZEL “Rogue alpha?” I repeated. “What does that even mean?” Amy’s eyes darted around the class, as if checking to make sure no one was listening. She bit her lip and stammered, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean… I just… I read about something like that in a book. You know, old folklore. Legends about… rogue alphas.” She fumbled for an explanation, her words tumbling out in a rush. “It was about… these powerful wolves, they were… different. More aggressive. They were called ‘rogue alphas’ in the stories. It’s just… a legend.”

I deserve answers," I said. Sean looked over at Stephen, who nodded at him to tell me. "Okay, your parents were not murdered by bears. The policeman that told you that was a Rogue," Sean said "What's a Rogue?" I asked "A Rogue is a wolf without a Pack. They live alone. They normally did something bad to get kicked out of their Pack, like kill someone or betray their Alpha," Sean said "Why would a Rogue tell Jenn and me that our parents were killed in an animal attack?" I asked

I didn’t argue. We tore away from the riverbank, breath tearing from our lungs as we plunged into the trees. Branches lashed my arms and tangled in my hair, ripping free curls from their tie. The forest floor was uneven, roots clawing at my boots as if trying to drag me down. Behind us, the howl rolled again, closer still. Rogue. The word slammed through my thoughts, sharp and cold. Rogues were unpredictable, savage things—wolves without packs, without laws. They killed without reason and took pleasure in fear. Packs warned their young about them the way humans warned children about monsters.

Or which ones are opportunistic enough to take advantage of the unrest. Is it Alpha Dennis of the Ironclaw? Or is it the arrogant meathead Alpha Stefan? My fists clench into tight fists. “Who?” I demand. “Which packs attacked?” Clyde looks up from his tablet, his face tight with unease. “That’s the thing,” he says. “This wasn’t the work of packs either. The attackers… they were Rogues.” I freeze. Rogues? Rogue wolves are the scum of our kind—vagabonds stripped of pack, Alpha, and allegiance. Most of them are expelled for unforgivable crimes: murder, rape, treason. Others run to escape judgment, hoping to disappear into obscurity rather than face a sentence.

I was done for. Another sound slid through the trees. It did not sound like a normal foot step, it wasn’t from a human. A rasping, guttural growl that curled like smoke through the clearing reached their ears. Kael’s jaw tightened. “Its not the pack,” he muttered. “Rogues.” A rogue. The word licked fire down my spine. Rogues weren’t just wolves without packs. They were broken animals. Wolves who had lost their sanity, their bonds, their reason. Wolves who killed because hunger was the only command left in them.

The title interested Anthony, he nodded at Yugo in appreciation as he received the book that was handed to him. ‘Rogue, Not Rough.’ It read. “Trust me when I say, it took me many years of research to know these things. If you want to know, you would have to embrace the reality of what you are. You are not fiction. Stop reading those fictious story that tells you that you are what you aren’t. They are just figment of the human mind but you,” Yugo pointed at him then tapped his own chest, “We have seen it happen. We have felt it. So, what do you think about reading books from people who have felt it too? I think…”