Roy Mustang Gif Novels & Stories

Ditto buddy! “What? You can fly over the river as a wolf?” I shot. “Almost, I am one of the fastest wolves in Astoria,” Kent said. Not bragging but just like it was a fact. “Why don’t you transform and I hop on your back? I can hold on pretty tight.” I suggested. Kent turned to me slowly. He looked beyond angry. “How dare you!” “What?” I asked, confused. “How dare you ask an Alpha to be your mule? I have never, will never, let anyone ride my back.” He explained further.

This one growls, deeper and rougher, hence, I squint, and that’s when I see it. A black Mustang glides into view, its surface gleaming under the dying light like a piece of obsidian. It pulls up to the base of the steps, the low growl of the engine fading as the door opens, and for a heartbeat, the scene feels like something out of a movie. A man steps out, tall, dressed in a black leather jacket and dark jeans, the kind of look that says he doesn’t care to fit in. My stomach twists when I recognize him. It’s Rhys.

I stopped. The next and final car was sitting in a darkened corner. Remington flipped a light on and it was like a spotlight for a superstar. I think I gasped. I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Remington saw me staring. “Yep she’s a beauty huh. I custom painted her….as you can see.” He said. It was a new Shelby Mustang, white and red with racing stripes… I walked around it and saw that on the back he had painted a wolf head …

"You drive like you fight, and we’re going to have a very long night when this is over." "If I wanted a cheerleader, I'd hire a professional," Madison muttered. She slid into the cockpit. The seat molded to her spine, a tight, claustrophobic embrace. She flicked the ignition toggle. The engine behind her head didn't just roar; it barked, a guttural, predatory sound that vibrated through her teeth. Austin’s tuned Mustang pulled up beside her. He revved the engine, the sound tinny and desperate compared to the Lykan. He glared through the tinted glass, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Behind him, the starting girl raised a checkered flag.

Zach came running toward the car and the Jeep rattled and groaned its way to the rink, the sky still that pale winter gray that made it impossible to tell what time it was. When they pulled into the lot, the cold hit harder. Ryder groaned as he climbed out, legs stiff, knees aching. Friday. Just survive Friday. He slung his bag over his shoulder and started for the doors. He wasn’t fast, his body wasn’t capable of fast right now, but he was determined to beat Calloway here for once. Then he heard it. That familiar low purr of an engine. A dark-gray Mustang rolled smoothly into the next space. Jackson Calloway behind the wheel, hair perfect, coffee in hand. The bastard even smiled faintly whe

he announced. Inside, six stunning cars gleamed. "A midnight black Rolls Royce Wraith," “You recognize this cars?” Ethan asked. I nodded pointing each of them out. "White Audi R8." "Black Lamborghini Urus." "Blue Mansory Rolls Royce Specter." "Red Lamborghini Aventador." "And a gray Ford Mustang." I whistled. "You're a true car enthusiast." Ethan grinned. "Guilty." We walked back to the main house. Feeling more at ease.