Sanctuary Fang Novels & Stories

The sanctuary was quiet in the late afternoon, the kind of peaceful stillness that felt almost unnatural after years of constant war. Most of the guards had settled into the outer buildings, keeping watch in shifts but staying out of the main house like Ronan had ordered. One of the younger werewolves, a seventeen-year-old boy named Finn, had taken the first watch near the edge of the woods. He sat on a fallen log at the tree line, back against a thick oak, trying to look more experienced than he felt.

Richard sat behind the desk, staring at the token. "The Silent Fang," Richard whispered. "I haven’t heard that name in 15 years. I thought your father wiped them out, Damian." "My father thought so too," Damian said, voice smooth but sharp. He turned from the window. "We killed their leaders and burned their bases. But a sickness like the Silent Fang doesn’t die. It hides. Then it strikes when the body is weak." Sarah frowned, confused. "Who are they? Another rogue pack?" "Worse," Damian said, stepping closer to her chair. Firelight hit his sharp face. "Rogues fight to survive. The Silent Fang is an organized group,Mercenaries, Ex-elders, shadow killers. No pack crest."

Earlier tonight, after I’d saved the little girl, she had returned with two men who unlocked the storage room and pulled me out. Japheth Williams and Seth Williams, the two famous brothers of Williams Film Productions, had stood before me as I struggled to get up. The little girl I had saved happened to be their family. Everyone in the city knew Japheth Williams was disabled, but I couldn’t tell which of the brothers had stood before me. They kept their identities hidden so carefully that only their names were known. “I saved Angel because she was an adorable girl I couldn’t ignore,” I remembered telling them when they asked what reward I wanted.

Clara paused for a moment before turning to Mason, her voice clear and cruel. "You like to play games, don't you, Mr. Sanders? You think it's fun to watch people struggle in cages, don't you?" Mason shuddered and shook his head frantically. "No, no! Rebecca made me do all of that! She forced me! I never wanted to!" "Hush." Clara raised a finger to her lips and cut him off. "Mr. White spent five years in the underground fighting ring. He broke seven ribs, lost four teeth, was injected with drugs, and was displayed like a zoo animal while people bet on him."

Then the four seconds were over. Black fire. Not along my forearms the way it had in the training yard. Not contained to my palms. From my *entire body* — a full eruption that lit the temple from floor to rafters in absolute dark-fire, and the sound it made was not cracking or roaring but something between a note of music and a word in a language I didn't speak yet. The temple exploded. People ran. Screaming — high and genuine, not performative, the real sound of real fear in a stone room. The crash of overturned ceremonial stands. The rapid authoritative shouts of the hunters moving from their positions.

“Especially if he’s not bright.” “I’m not stupid,” I growl. I hear a collective gasp and the forest goes quiet. “Kieran’s wolf Samson has been going feral. He’s a bit short-tempered, but I assure you that he’s not slow. He’s just never met any of the fae before. So, will you introduce your group Firo?” Reagan says. A small little ...sprite flits forward. “I am Firo,” he says formally as if he’s some sort of royal. Maybe he is. How the hell would I know? He crosses his arm over his body and bows.

From the doorway, Ember’s voice answered low, “They’re quiet because they feel it too.” The war room had become a place of constant tension. Link stood over the stone table, palms flat, while Ember, Micah, and four regional Alphas argued over lines on the map. “No,” one of them snapped. “This isn’t Umbra. This is older.” “We all know the stories,” Ember said coldly. “But if it’s what we fear—if the Forgotten Fang is real—we’re not just dealing with war. We’re dealing with corruption. This thing doesn't fight in battles. It hollows you out from the inside.”

I looked away, my face was on fire. Kyle laughed, low and dirty. “See what you’re missing? Touch it once, angel. That’s all it’ll take.” I bolted up. “Get behind me, Satan! I’m marrying Jesus!” He just laughed again, deeper this time. ---