Shadows Clan Novels & Stories

On another night, Daddy would begin again, warning me: "Please dear, stay away from the Shadow Clan, I beg you. They can be aggressive and their unpredictable ways make them untrustworthy and dangerous. I can't lose you to them dear. Stay as far away for them as you can." "Stay away especially from the alpha of the Shadow Clan. His name is William and is greatly despised by the elders of our Clan, dear. He is popular within the clan for his bad conduct, according to rumour." "Daddy, do you know what William looks like so I can stay away from him," I had innocently asked. Daddy had only smiled in response then continued, "the Shadow Clan Alpha founded a motorcycle club called Club Casablanca,

His thumbs brushed away my tears. "Then let's do this right," he said. "No more walls. No more holding back. Just us." "Just us," I agreed. That night, the Shadow Clan attacked again. We were in the Red Moon pack house when the alarms sounded. Guards shouted. Wolves shifted and rushed toward the border. "They're here!" Beta John burst into the room. "Shadow Clan. At least twenty of them. They're targeting the healers' quarters." Gray and I ran outside. The night was dark. No moon visible through the heavy clouds.

“They won’t wait passively.” As if on cue, her phone buzzed again. Unknown number. She answered. A male voice spoke quietly. “You’ve made yourself visible.” “Who is this?” “Someone who prefers discretion.” “Another of the Twelve?” A pause. “Careful,” the voice said. “Not all of us approved of that night.” Fracture confirmed. “Then help dismantle it,” she said. The line disconnected. She looked at Alexander. “They’re splitting.” He nodded slowly. “For fifteen years they operated in shadow,” he said. “Now they’re afraid of light.”

And no one dared to cross his path. The shadow clan, he largest and fiercest clan amongst the twelve wolf clan and was hidden somewhere beyond the cold mountains, across the blue river; no one was sure of it’s exact location. If Kora had been anyone else, I would have felt bad for her. Hera yanked my arm and I cried out as pain shot through the already sore arm. “Now listen carefully, you will do as I say or I promise you, I will make sure you die a miserable death!”

Now that I thought about it, Nadia was an interesting individual I had little knowledge of. "What's with Nad?" I brought myself to ask, breaking the silence. “Nad?" he arched an eyebrow. "Nadia." "Nad," he gave a soft laugh, *You two got quite close." "Closer than you think." I rolled my eyes with a scoff. So close we were shoving guns in each other’s face. “We're here." Sinister suddenly stated and pulled into a space in the small parking lot. The place was mildly lit and the sound of laughter and music came from inside the small building ahead. It didn't seem to be a club. For some odd reason, it was a lot quieter than I had expected.

Heart racing, Vanadine sought the source of the growl, eventually picking out a shape in the gloom. The shadow of the citadel hid a great deal but enough light penetrated to allow him to see the creature that was stalking him. The syphia was one of the largest Vanadine had ever seen, roughly equivalent in height to a pony on Earth. Muscles rippled beneath its sleek, black and white fur and teeth peeled back from inch long fangs that would meet and cross in a scissoring action, rending flesh with ease. Eyes the colour of midnight skies regarded him with dispassionate hatred.

But tonight, the storm had finally cleared. Because I wasn’t just running anymore. I was building. I stood and walked toward the window, tugging the curtain back just enough to watch the street outside. My reflection hovered faintly on the glass, sharp and smug, while the world below bustled in ignorant normalcy. The club. My club. I laughed under my breath. Calling that dump a “club” was generous. When I first set foot back in that filthy hole where Rae had bent herself around poles for dollars, it had reeked of sweat and desperation. But now? Now it was mine. My empire in the making.

The morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, casting fractured patterns on the floor — much like my thoughts, splintered and jagged. I sat at the small kitchen table, clutching my cup of cold coffee, staring at the leather-bound book *Reflections of the Forgotten* open before me. The stories inside weren’t just tales — they were warnings, lessons written in sorrow and hope. Women who had lived as shadows, trapped in lives borrowed from others, fighting to reclaim their own reflections.

I said calmly. "I heard only strong boys take part in the rituals." Clara's friend—Jessica—said. She had this look in her eyes. I couldn't place it. But she looked like the typical trouble girl. "Yeah?" I asked, staring back at her. "Totally." "Hmm, I guess I'm just a princess." Ben burst out laughing, and so did Clara. "What's funny?" I asked, confused. "Look, pretty boy—we're not into cult stuff either." Clara said, making Ben laugh even more.

Never in her years of studying Wielder’s Psychology had she encountered someone whose features differed from one Wielder to the other and who survived being shadowless for about a year. A Wielder and a Shadow were like a package deal. They both existed to provide each other sufficient energy to prevent themselves from deteriorating. Shadows, though not always by the Wielders side, could be summoned and unsummoned, but it’s simply different to Z’s case. If she just unsummoned her shadow, they’d still be linked together. This means that the shadow would appear at the moment the Wielder’s threatened. That never happened, though.