Rogue Soldier Novels & Stories

My eyes almost popped out of their sockets. "I didn't mean to be rude but interrupting your special day and staining the dress of your beautiful bride. It's just that it's been a while since I saw you. Jackson Will Smith. The bravest and fastest. They've praised you rather frequently for being known as a rogue that made his own pack. You're notorious to us, just as we're to you." He asked with a scornful look. He shifted his gaze to mine and smiled ruefully.

The door was solid metal and rusted and the building numbers had fallen off long ago. Jason went to the door and knocked, giving me a here we go look. The door creaked open slowly. I had never understood pack members distaste for rogues until the scent of this man hit my nostrils. He smelled of rancid milk that had been left out in the sun. I didn’t understand what it was until Jason pushed himself between us to guard me from the man. “Can I help you?” The man asked. Squaring up solidly with Jason.

It burned. Dark figures slid from the trees. Rogues. Their smell was raw — smoke, sweat, and old blood. They moved with purpose, not the aimless cruelty of thieves but the precision of soldiers. “Well, well,” one said, voice sandpaper-rough. “Look what wandered into our little trap.” “Please,” I managed. “I’m just passing through. I don’t belong here.” The rogue who’d spoken laughed, teeth sharpened to points. “Raven’s territory. That’s a dangerous road for a Crescent Moon wolf.”

A loud thud makes me jump, and I spin around. One of Lucas’s warriors is pinning a man to the ground. Actually, the man on the ground looks like he couldn’t be any older than his early twenties, just older than me, maybe? I take a few steps closer to get a better view when the man on the ground, a rogue, begins pleading with the warrior. “Please!” He cries, “I’m innocent! I didn’t do anything, and I didn’t mean to trespass!” “Your lies won’t work on me, rogue,” the warrior snarls, lifting his hand. I notice his claw tipped fingers just before he swings his hand down.

Dareth had dismounted, his sword a blur of merciless arcs as he cut through the rogues pressing closest. The leader roared, rallying his horde. "Hold the line! She’s ours. Kill them all if you must!" But fear already laced their movements. For every soldier that fell, two rogues were gutted in return. The precision of Blood Moon met the chaos of ferals—and discipline carved through desperation like stone through flesh. Still, the battle was far from done. The clash grew louder, a storm of steel and fury. Blood Moon soldiers pressed forward in a tight wall, shields locking, spears thrusting with brutal rhythm. Rogues answered with chaos—lunging low, snapping teeth, striking wild. They had no

Gabi asked and Sam pulled her chair closer to him and wrapped around her to provide her support. “Sorry, Gabi. But I haven’t been able to find out anything different. I couldn’t find much about his upbringing, or anything. I talked to the Rogue elders and even they said he was a bit of a mystery. From what they said he bounced around a lot from different Rogue camps. But they all say that he was a great warrior and a great guy all around. Never broke a law. So,” Antony trailed off. “So other than what Savenia and Lucy are saying, he's clean? That doesn’t mean that he hasn’t turned. Have you heard anything since he left about his doings?” Gabi asked and I turned questioningly towards Levi, be

Arthur had felt their presence like an instinct he couldn’t explain. “I… I tried to stop them.” But it had been too late. They would never abandon their comrades to their deaths. All Arthur could do was go after them and try to kill as many rogues as he could. Didn’t know how many rogues there were, but he knew that the patrol members would be in trouble. They fought fiercely, ripping and tearing through the rogues in practiced patterns. A rogue was only at an advantage against one werewolf because rogues were fierce and irrational beasts. Against teams of three, a rogue lost the advantage of being unpredictable as the three werewolves could cooperate.

“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.”

Some soldiers called me over to the side of the tent, drinks filled their tables and they gawked at me like I was the next meal on the table. When I searched for the rogue alpha and didn't see him, I almost released a sigh in relief. I walked into the tent. There were three men inside. On a closer inspection, I realized they weren’t regular soldiers but captains or maybe generals. One had a uniform that indicated that he was of a higher rank than his friends. He seemed to have led a more dangerous war life, as a scar ran up his face, long and deep, the scar had claimed his left eye. Others would wear a patch to make their scar less grotesque, but he wore it proudly, as a trophy or whatever.

Such betrayal, but what would you expect from a rogue. Never trust a rogue.