Rogue Heroes Novels & Stories

As she got there she saw her pack warriors trying to fight about 20 rogues. Although her pack members were very skilled fighters, but rogues were known to be stronger than normal wolves and are more vicious. It would take at least two skilled warriors to fight a rogue. Snow ran towards the first rogue she saw, taking it by surprise and killing it, within half an hour Mahnoor with the help of other warriors was able to kill almost all of the rogues. As she was about to kill the last one of the he quickly shifted to his human form and surrendered.

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.

The sound of his shift was thunder in the small space. I pressed myself against the back wall of the cave, and my legs gave out. The stone bit into my back. The heat still pulsed through me, a sick rhythm that made everything blur at the edges, and I watched the fight like it was happening underwater. Bastian's wolf was a monster. Black fur, one ear torn, shoulders thick as boulders. He caught the first rogue by the throat and threw it against the cave wall hard enough that I heard bones crack. But the second rogue was already on his flank, and the third circled toward the fire, toward me.

“By hiding there.” I turn back to the window and imagine it. Sirens. Panic. Wolves forced to hold back while fear spills everywhere. “He thinks the city makes him safe,” I say. “But it makes him weak.” Lena steps closer. “And when he realizes?” “He will have nowhere to run,” I say. “Because he will not abandon them. That is his flaw.” Mark nods slowly. “And his bloodline?” I feel that old fire burn hotter. “It ends,” I say. “Right there. In the open. Where everyone can see what happens when you cross me.”

Do not let them through! Despite the chaos, we were holding. Barely. Every time we pushed the rogues back, they surged forward again, driven by some unseen force. They weren’t fighting like wolves - they were fighting like pawns, mindless and relentless. I twisted mid-air to avoid another rogue, landing on my feet and snapping my jaws around its leg. A sickening crunch followed, and the rogue yelped, scrambling away. But there was no time to celebrate the small victory. Another wave of minions was charging, their glowing eyes a horrifying reminder of Andromeda’s dark magic.

"Not one of the ones we killed, I take it?" Hunter shook his head. “No. Must’ve been the one that got away. But this one,"—he gestured at the nearly unconscious rogue—" said enough to know his look. Tall. Brown hair, a scar running from the chin down the neck.” Claw… The rogues were typically disorganized, scattered, and lesser in number. They didn't have the guts to attack established packs. But now? Now they were coordinated, working together. And for what? For who?

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.

Just as I got my balance back, another one lunged in at me, its teeth clenched at my throat. Rogues. These weren’t just any warriors fighting for Gerald. They were rogues—wolves with no pack, no loyalty, no code. Wild and vicious, they fought with a savage ferocity that set them apart from regular wolves. As I ripped through one, sending him sprawling, I realized just how many there were. I had been so focused on Gerald that I hadn’t noticed the sheer number of wolves swarming the warehouse. There were too many. Far too many. “How did you manage this, Gerald?” I snarled, my voice strained as I fought off two rogues at once.

Unlike how I found him unconscious and butt naked. "Why did you leave your pack, Peyton?" He questions, eyes never leaving mine. "Stepping foot into this land as an exiled wolf makes you nothing but a rogue. And we do kill rogues, or lock them up because they're never to be trusted." The lines on his forehead are furrowing as he makes this known to me.

Gross, this guy just does not give up. Spinning on my toes, I turn and look the rogue in the eyes. Anger is coursing through me at this point, and I am sure that my eyes are glowing silver. "I told you to get lost," I growl at him. He takes a step back from my growl and he stares at me. "Well, well, well. You don’t smell like a wolf," he says sniffing my hair.