Savage Lands Novels & Stories

Or was this some new, insidious tactic, a deliberate silence meant to break me, to chip away at my resolve with the slow torture of uncertainty? I slammed my fist against the table, rattling the papers that clustered my desk. The dim glow of the office lights cast flickering shadows on the maps spread across the surface. They depicted the desolate stretches of the Deadlands, a wasteland carved by unforgiving winds and littered with the bleached bones of past conflicts. The Jared rogue camp, a festering wound upon the land, sat like a viper ready to strike at the heart of the kingdom.

Hours passed. I raced past streams and over ridges, letting the wind blow through my fur. When I finally stopped, the land around me was unfamiliar. Greener, richer. The trees here were taller, their trunks older and knotted like ancient sentinels. I had crossed beyond Greenwood’s borders. I had entered The rouge land. Popularly known as the no-man’s land. Not a single trace of pack scent remained here. It was just wildness. Untamed and raw.

Lily said proudly, and I nodded my head absently as I watched Savage ruffle a little kid’s head after he accepted a bottle of water and the boy grinned at him, happy with the praising looks his alpha gave him. Savage stretched a little, then he stared at what they have built appraisingly. I held my breath as I watched him take off his sweaty shirt and used it to wipe his face and chest. This was the first time I had taken a good look at the male, who was supposed to be my mate now and again. It hit me. He was huge. His back was so broad, and his muscles rippled as he moved. His blonde hair was cut short in what looked like a military cut.

Raven Steele was her masterpiece—clean background, tragic story, exactly the kind of person who could infiltrate a motorcycle club seeking revenge. The bar's door swung open, spilling amber light and the stench of whiskey and cigarettes onto the wet pavement. A man filled the doorway, his massive frame blocking most of the light. Even in shadow, there was no mistaking who he was: Jax Savage, president of the Savage Saints MC, the most feared motorcycle club in three states. Six-foot-four of muscle and menace, with hazel eyes that missed nothing and hands that had spilled more blood than most soldiers. "You lost, princess?" His voice rumbled like distant thunder, each syllable carrying the we

Fix all the broken things around the pack lands and removing all the rubble and broken trees. More importantly we spent it helping the families that had lost someone and supporting those that had lost their mate as that was one of the hardest things to ever having to deal with, literally loosing the other part of your soul, no one could ever fully recover from that and most chose not to stay in this world.

Ahead lay the Untamed Territories, a sprawling expanse of jagged mountains, dense, lawless forests, and ruins of a civilization that had collapsed before the first pack-bonds were ever etched into the earth. Levi’s Blood-Trackers would be hours behind her, their noses tuned to the scent of a Blackridge Omega. By the time they reached the border, they would find nothing but the acrid, chemical sting of wolfsbane and a dead trail. She was effectively erasing herself from the world.

Bright red blood seeps out of the long wound in his side. A ferocious growl echoes across the battlefield, ripped from my throat. Wolves pause a glance around, but I'm already jumping forward. I shift midair, my body transforming into that of my large black wolf. My paws hit the ground with a thud, muffled by the blood pounding in my ears. I feel Enar's rage mixing with my own, threatening to overtake both of us.

"And eleven traditional packs are actively implementing Spectrum reforms. That's twenty-nine packs total aligned with our principles." "Savage's defeat proved reform works practically, not just ideologically," Catherine added. "Hard to argue that Coalition techniques are weak when they defeated eighty-four fanatics." "What about Savage himself?" Vincent asked. "Any word on him?" "Dead," Elena said bluntly. "One of his own wolves killed him during the retreat. Apparently, he blamed him for the catastrophic losses. The wolf who killed him is requesting Coalition asylum." "Another defector wanting to join the side that beat him?" Marcus's voice was skeptical.

his hoarse voice demands gently, his large hands rubbing my shivering back. "The rogue traps blew our vehicle skyward at Moonhollow Ridge," I choke out through my tears, recalling the horrific timeline where his body shielded my skin from the burning metal. "Someone dragged my fur out of the wreckage while the flames roared into the clouds, but I couldn't see your face through the thick black smoke." "My wolf is right here, Zafira," his chest rumbles deeply against my ear, trying to soothe my panic. "No fire will take my life from your paws."

I can see how much he wants me, the tip of his cock poking out the top of the band of his shorts already glistening with pre cum. “Did you like me acting like a savage?” I breathe his eyes glinting amber as he nods, unable to voice a response. “I like you being a savage as well … alpha,” I purr and I see him snap whatever control he had. He grips my ankle tight pulling my leg taught whilst his other hand unleashes his claws he trails them from my mouth, down my neck before he adds more pressure splitting the fabric of my sports bra so my breasts bounce freely my nipples already peaked as I gasp for air. Fuck.