Rust Wolves Novels & Stories

With that, Allen turned and walked back through the double doors to the offices. Amerie smiled at Everett and walked over to the wolf. It was as tall as her at the shoulder and stood with its front paws atop a rock. Its facial expression was alert yet calm. The placard in front of the animal stated that wolves had primarily been gone from the region for several decades, but there had been occasional sightings of gray wolves.

"Rosh, how many packs of werewolves are living in our area?" I asked Rosh out of my curiosity. "Why?" Rosh asked. "I am just wondering if there is another pack that caused the incident in the amusement park." I replied. "Well, I am sure some Rogues are responsible for this." Rosh replied. "Rogues?" I asked him. "Rogues are wolves that were exiled by the pack." Rosh replied. "Exiled? How?" I was really curious to learn more.

This time I flew to Russia to check on how the clan of gray and white wolves is doing. Once upon a time, the latter were quite numerous and more developed than the former, but during a fire twenty years ago, almost half of the population died in a flock of whites, including the alpha and his family. It came as a big shock to everyone. No one really could tell anything about what happened, and how it happened. The official version spoke of an accident with fireworks during the holiday, which caused several houses to catch fire at once. The fire was not extinguished in time. The panic began.

the mainlanders called it, not wanting to acknowledge what it really was. Before Vukasin, werewolves ran rampant seven nights each month, through the streets, the countryside, and the forests of every nation on the planet. Eurasia and North America had their grey werewolves—dominant on Vukasin now. Australia had weredingos. The colder climates had Arctic werewolves, rare and beautiful, like my lost Bianca with her snowy fur. Eastern Africa had golden werejackals. the African plains had Serengeti werewolves. The forests of Canada and parts of the northern U.S. were home to timber werewolves, and the southwestern U.S. was, in those days, infested with werecoyotes.

He would come back to her, after he took his revenge on Gary. Steve was shocked at the mayhem he saw going on in front of him. The Baxter pack normally hunted only adult animals. They never killed pregnant or nursing females. The rogues were indiscriminate in their massacre of every animal they came upon. If they were allowed to remain here for much longer there would be no game for anyone to hunt. He watched, dumbstruck, as the wolf he assumed was Gary crossed paths with a Grizzly Bear. He wouldn't confront the bear would he?

A woman, with wings like that of a sparrow, was busy tending to the nearest one. I couldn’t tell if the person on the cot was male or female, as they were laying on their back, but that was the least of our problems. Their flesh was torn in several places, ripped open into horrifying gashes that could’ve come from only one thing. They had been whipped. “Solana’s sentries have been punishing those who act against her. Most of the wounded are wolves.” Katya confessed; her eyes glossy. I flinched hard at her words. They opened up that part of me that was connected to every wolf, and as I pinpointed the injured, I felt their pain cascade through my veins.

Nayssa began to read and Kyria leaned her head on her shoulder to see better. "They hated the species that came after them and envied them. The attention that Mother gave to the new children, angered them and they went on to hate her. After the werewolves' betrayal of the Mother Goddess, the ancestral wolves had a mixture of hatred and happiness for having been "avenged". But the hatred for werewolves continued. Making the ancestral wolves the most dangerous to them." Nayssa looked at Kyria, worried. " There are few who rival such beings. The elemental eagles are one of them, but they are elusive creatures that remain hidden in the lands of the north. A thousand years ago a werewolf found on

she asked looking to her side as if she had been enjoying the carnival. “I can’t say for sure now but I think they are rogue wolves,” Alastor said, making her brows come together and look up at him. “Rogues, what are those?” she asked and stopping by a balloon seller he bought her a balloon as he talked to her. “Rogues are werewolves who don’t belong to a pack and remember what I told you about packs?” he asked, making her nod, “Yes so they are under no leader and are therefore free to roam and do whatever they want. Most rogues are criminals and outcasts that refuse to behave in a manner that protects other wolves but not all are bad, some of them are good too.”

I found myself outside before I could think, drawn to the trees like a moth to a pyre. The cold kissed my skin. The snow pulled at my boots. I followed the sound, deeper into the forest—past the training fields, beyond the scent borders. Until I found him. Ronan Thorn not in his human form. But his wolf. Huge. Black as the void. Eyes glowing with torment. He stood at the edge of the clearing, head low, growling softly... at nothing. Then his head snapped toward me. We stared at each other across the white silence.

It was excruciating. Most wolves could easily take a deer or a rabbit, but I had to rely on snares and archery. Rogues spent the winters as wolves, relying on their thick winter coats for warmth and protection from the elements. My fur, like that of most runts, had never developed thickness. I only wore my soft undercoat and several clothes, which did thicken up a little and warmed me during the winter season. It was comfortable as long as there was no strong wind and I didn't get wet.