Roxanne Wolf X Glamrock Chica นิยาย & เรื่องราว

She was tall and lanky, with a short curly bob of blonde hair. Unlike a lot of the wolves in our pack, Rosa made herself up every day without fail: she swathed deep red lipstick across her mouth, and curled her lashes up with dark mascara. When I’d asked about her choice of lipstick colour, she said it made her feel as though she was “wearing the blood of our enemies.” I’d laughed, but she’d raised an eyebrow and her face told me that she was being deadly serious. “Thanks, Rose,” I beamed. She took the seat next to me, pulling it around so that she could straddle it.

I banged in the wall in an attempt to dodge his attacks of claws trying to scratch my body. And soon he started to strike me, a huge growl was heard from behind. As soon I saw another wolf in the room, my eyes were stuck at the wolf eyes, it was beautiful, sparkling sapphire-colored and it has a beautiful soft white fur. Noticing her eyes, I quickly glanced at the place where Debra was lying down. I was right, she had shifted and the other wolf in the room was her, my very first time to see her in her wolf. She was beautiful even in her wolf form.

Griff swaggered in, wearing a pair of jeans and holding two bottles. My wolf scrambled to her feet, having forgotten about our plan to play hard to get. My pulse still hadn’t calmed from my encounter with the blackmailing twerp, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop salivating over Griff’s wolf. Thankfully, the cacophony of Hellhounds drowned out the sounds of anxiety. “How’s my girl doing, Rocco?” he asked with a broad grin. “She’s a natural,” the kennel master answered. Griff’s amber eyes locked into mine. “I brought you sarsaparilla cider.”

Beta Garrick walked straight inside without uttering a word. “What are you doing inside Pryden, Beta Garrick?” A she-wolf asked. The wolf was beautiful, her short hair suited her well. It went well with her facial feature. Her plump lips made Beta Garrick lick his, although he judged his friend’s evilness showing, he had shown a long ago, it was only that he had been hiding it pretty well.

My wolf wants to slowly back away and bolt as soon as she’s clear of the entrance. The gray wolf smirks and wraps herself in a white cotton robe, tugging the belt tight around her taut waist, and lowers herself regally into a rocking chair. She gestures toward a low couch. She should look like a grandmother, but with the fluidity and elegance of her movements, it feels like she should be in a cocktail dress with a martini in one hand and a slim cigarette in the other.

The crystal tattoo—hidden just below her collarbone—glowed. Her breath caught. Her bones started to shift. “No…” she gasped, her voice cracking, eyes widening. Her vision burned gold. Her fingers split, twisted, grew claws. Pain tore through her spine as her muscles rippled beneath her skin. Her bones cracked, not with weakness but with power awakening. Her scream morphed into a growl as white fur broke through her skin. The assassin raised his sword high—too slow. Seraphina rose, fully transformed. A massive white wolf—no, not just a wolf. A Lycan. Her fur shimmered like snow in moonlight, her eyes now glowing a fierce yellow.

A small smile curved on my lips, she was so adorable and sexy while she was unconscious, but she should still be out cold, I’ll need to find out why she isn’t when I talk to the doctor later. Sitting in the nightclub’s security room which is filled with monitors, you could see every inch, except inside the bathrooms. Staring at the monitor we watched Rochelle walking into the club surrounded by my own warriors. Jealousy began to stir inside me and before it became a raging inferno, I told myself they weren’t touching her, their protecting their future Luna. I was fine until she sat down next to the Crestwood pack’s future Beta Jake. The way he was looking at her, his easy smile, familiar

But I didn't run. I squeezed through the collapsed entrance, my skin burning from residual silver in the air. The interior was chaos—walls crumbling, fires burning, and everywhere that silver light pulsing. And standing in the center, surrounded by broken bodies and shattered restraints, was something I barely recognized. Racheal had transformed, but not into any wolf I'd ever seen. This was from legends. The Ghost Wolf. An actual embodiment of primal werewolf power in its purest, most terrifying form. Her eyes met mine across the destruction, and I saw no recognition in them. Only rage, power, and the promise of violence.

Gabriel didn't move. The wolf general crouched slightly, ready to spring. And I braced for it when I head a crashing sound and a wall tumbling, dust and chunks of metal rained down as a figure stepped through the rubble. Not just any figure, It was Victoria Monroe, she was dragging a limp, broken werewolf body behind her by the throat, still twitching, barely alive like it was nothing more than a sack of laundry. Her long trench coat flared behind her, streaked in gore, the fingers of her metal arm clenched tight around the wolf's neck.

Rosemary's icy cedar pheromones, Sabrina's sweet but toxic floral scent, and curses mixed with wolfish howls made the packhouse air tremble. Gloria's neck gland suddenly throbbed. She clutched the check, wolf-tipped fingers leaving marks, and left, the draft lifting the wolf-head banner. In the lounge, she sat numbly. That evening, Sabrina's howls finally faded, her sugary-yet-barbed pheromones dissipating into the air. Gloria leaned on the sofa, jasmine and salty tears mixing. Her neck's moon mark tingled—the remnant of Ulrik's mark, now mocking her.