Roguish Grin Novels & Stories

Pathetic. Reed chuckled, the sound of his boots echoing as he turned back toward Grim. "Oh, don’t hurt yourself," he sneered. "It’s almost sad, watching you flail like this. All that rage, all that stubbornness—worthless." Grim’s glare could’ve melted steel. "You… won’t… win." Reed smirked. "Already have."

Haggard in appearance, his usually knife-shaven jaw sported thick bristles, his usually poised look marred by his messy braid and bloodshot eyes. Rough time? Too bad. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but under her glare, clamped it shut. She felt her arm on her other side lift, and she tilted her view to see Golden Grin holding her by the hand. Almost as ragged in appearance, he flashed her a wan smile that wilted as she blasted him with her gaze.

Another Rogue. Only that this one has no smell.

It looked cool," I shrugged. He shook his head, reached for the lighter, and lit a cigar. “Thief," he growled. "Jerk," I shot back. A slow, wolfish grin curled his lips. I didn't trust that grin, not one bit.

The question spilled out sharp, edged with suspicion I couldn’t hide. That’s when he grinned. It wasn’t a kind grin. It wasn’t even reassuring. It was the grin of someone who knew something you didn’t, who relished holding that knowledge close. The shadows curled tighter around him, shivering in amusement. This guy was weird. “The alpha can handle himself,” he said smoothly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He stopped mid-laughter, a wicked grin replaced his jokes, “But you see, I haven't. I'm still the same person you knew and I want the same thing. I want the throne and since I can't get it, you might as well make way for me and my men.” A round of applause echoed from behind him. The rouge's were cheering. They seemed gingered by what he said, impressed enough to bang their hands on their chest. “You see that? They all agree with me. Just because they are rogues, doesn't mean they should be treated like outcast in the tribe.” His wicked grin remained. I felt anger simmering inside but a quick deep breath dissolved my frustration immediately. My fingers ran through my hair as I struggled to c

Focused. A slow, chilling grin spread across his face. “Come on, boys,” he said, eyes gleaming with something dark and hungry. “I smell a prince.”

"You're... You're not bleeding." "Sorry to disappoint you, little wolf." Ragnar walks forward, his boots echoing off the stone floor like a countdown till he is right in front of me. Up close, his golden eyes are almost hypnotizing, making it feel so natural to do whatever he wants. He could have fooled me with his white coat and stethoscope, but the image of the hooded man with a scythe isn't so easy to forget. "How are you not bleeding?" I struggle for the words. "Interesting, isn't it?" He leans down, lifting my chin. "Just like how you're still alive."

A Rogue. A Rogue is a werewolf without a pack. They often kill any werewolf they encounter; may it be a member of a pack or a similar rogue, like them. They are vicious plunderers. And that same vicious plunderer is right in front of me, deviously smiling. “Others cannot dodge my attack so easily like that. You’re quite good, pup.” He praised me, but I don’t feel good that he did so at all. I’m scared. “W-who are you, Mister?” I tried to sound brave, but aside from stuttering, my voice also cracked.

That bastard. Even now, with his lips split and blood smeared across his jaw, he was still laughing—this low, bitter sound that crawled under my skin. He didn’t look remotely remorseful. In fact, he looked like he enjoyed every second of this madness. The smugness in his expression was infuriating. I wanted to knock that grin off his face permanently. But I forced myself to calm down, just for now. I took a deep breath in, and slowly let it out.