Rust Wolves Novels & Stories

Three. Three wolves stepped out from the brush. They weren't like the sleek, well-fed wolves of the Crescent Moon Pack. These were thin, their fur matted with dried mud and burrs. Their skin was covered in jagged white scars, and their eyes glowed with a sickly, hungry yellow light. Rogues. They circled me, their lips pulled back to show yellowed teeth. They didn't growl. They hissed, a sound of pure malice. "Well, well," a voice rasped.

A rustle of snow. A shadow moved. Then— A lone wolf stepped out of the darkness. Massive. Black fur. Eyes glowing silver. Rylan stiffened instantly. “Not possible.” Kade swore. “That can’t be—” Lyra’s heartbeat tripped. The wolf lowered its head… in a bow. “What is that?” she whispered. Rylan’s voice was barely human. “A sentinel.” Lyra’s breath caught. Sentinels were ancient wolves said to serve only one bloodline—one house. A house believed extinct.

Jake said in anger. "She is here because she belongs to be here. Nobody has a fucking right to claim her as theirs," Raf’s voice boomed again, and with that, his clan members shifted into their wolves. Jake and the other rogue wolves who came with him also shifted into their wolves. However, there was a massive difference between the wolves belonging to the Royal Clan and the rogue wolves. The wolves of the Royal Clan were giant and muscular, while the rogue wolves were looking like tiny goats in front of them.

Ryder order his pack to step outside allowing the wolf into they territory. Rohan, the cunning leader of the rogue wolves, stood in the cover of the dense forest, hidden from prying eyes. Joy surged within him as he watched his pack members skillfully infiltrate the boundaries of the Moonstone Pack. It had taken months of careful planning and covert maneuvers, but they had finally succeeded in their mission.

The wind whistled through the jagged pines like a low, mournful flute, carrying with it the scent of wet fur and iron. Three wolves crouched in the dense undergrowth of the western ridge, their forms nearly invisible against the grey shale and rotting moss. These weren't the sleek, well-fed guardians of Alex’s pack. These were North Scouts—leathery, scarred, and driven by a hunger that went beyond the stomach.

Even from this distance, I could feel the chill emanating from those ancient stones, a stark reminder of the harsh world I was entering. The Ice Wolves were legendary among our kind, known for their fierce independence and mastery over the cold. Unlike other packs, they were said to draw their power directly from the frozen landscape they called home. Rumors spoke of their ability to blend seamlessly with the snow, to summon blizzards with a howl, and to traverse glaciers that would spell death for any other wolf.

She was restless for the last hour. I reached the middle of the forest when suddenly a white wolf came out of the trees and stood in front of me. The wolf was large, his fur was shining under the moonlight and his aura was powerful. He didn't seem like a rogue as his eyes weren't red. Usually rogues have red eyes while he had grey. Red eyes is a sign that their wolves have complete control over them. Maybe he wasn't a rogue for too long or he was just a wolf that got lost. What is certain is that the color of his fur is very rare! This color was not prevalent around here.

"Steel Serpents have the high ground here. Twenty wolves, three snipers. They're dug in with heavy weapons." He shifts to the eastern valley. "Crimson Riders are here. Thirty wolves, mostly close-combat specialists. They're the muscle." South highway shows next. "Black Chain controls the road. Twenty-five wolves. They've got bikes and trucks for rapid response." Finally, the western creek. "Devil's Bones are the smallest group. Fifteen wolves, but they're sadistic bastards and are torture specialists." "That's ninety wolves accounted for." Cass does the math. "Where are the other hundred and ten?"

This is mainly done during the Moon Festival, when packs all over the world meet for the Moon Annual Ball. Rogue wolves are wolves that have given up their humanity. They decide to live more like beasts than humans, meaning they have no sense of right or wrong. These kinds of wolves are usually killed on the spot by packs. They cause nothing but chaos and mayhem. They are recognized by a rotting smell that clings to them.

SMACK! The door swings open and slams against the wall. Three large wolves fill up the doorway. I can smell sweat and fouler things perfuming their clothing as if they have been stewing in their own filth for several days. These wolves look like a few of the truck drivers, which means they are likely rogues. Rogues are used for transporting goods across borders because their lack of affiliation makes it easier for them to leave home. Curling up my nose I start to growl as if I have a wolf that I can use to defend myself.