Short Werewolf Novels & Stories

Maya and Vishous were madly in love with each other. Mostly because of the satisfaction they received from their various s*x adventures. Both of them were werewolves. Maya was a beautiful nineteen year old girl, turning twenty in a week. She was going to find her mate then. Everyone in werewolf world was supposed to find their mate once they were twenty years old. Maya was a little shy but adventurous when it came to sex. She was is personal s*x doll. A toy that he could lick and f**k however and whenever he wanted and she would still beg him for more.

I go through the company database on the wereweb, to see who has coders and then I can go from there. The wereweb is kind of like the darkweb, you need to know how to get there, but once there it’s the same as the normal internet, just meant for the wolf/Lycan community. There's the vampweb, faeweb, superweb etc. As cool as superweb sounds it is literally just where all species can converge and interact together. The only interesting places to go there are the chats though, lots of drama, don’t need a telenovela when you have access to that site! The biggest difference is the fact that, as far as I am aware, there is very little in the way of iniquitous intentions on there.

And now that it has finally gotten out, it’s putting all its energy at pulling every part of the man. And when the wolf got satisfied at putting its anger towards the man. It immediately thought of going to the place where they were supposed to live. It was about to run, but before he can do that, Peter came who’s in a flash got to the wolf’s side. And Peter immediately stabbed the syringe he was carrying, containing sleeping pills and wolfsbane herb. A herb that can effectively weaken a werewolf. But one dose of it is not enough to put Jax’s wolf down. So Peter immediately followed with two more pricks of syringes to the body of the wolf.

For Nicholas, the barcode was a blessing in disguise when because of it, all the werewolves were prohibited to do bad things, not just for their kind but for the humans as well. For that same reason, furious and hungry wolves, who love to stain their sharp claws and fangs with drops of blood, especially those ruthless alphas and Lunas have been dormant for years similar to a puppet. And he hasn’t heard any news about those merciless killings, colonization of other packs, and those unreasonable tortures all over the city.

She paused, realizing her mistake. "Yes, the werewolf community existed. But they don't have those eight abs you mention, instead, they have a deadly stinky breath and furry bodies that will make you not want to get near them, trust me, I know, they were covered in fleas and some Sophie's eyes widened. "Stop! You are ruining it."

If that was an attempt by the previous owner to make him look a little more presentable, sellable, then it missed the mark by a mile. “First up we have Werewolf number N17M115. A rare wolf from the Northern Mountains. Born in the wild, this fighter wolf has his instincts intact. Captured when he was 5, he was trained from a young age and has been fighting ever since hitting puberty. He has only ever lost one fight…” Jackson tuned him out. He didn’t want to hear it or else he’d be purchasing more than one wolf today.

“You misunderstand me. I apologize for the rough gestures from my men. They didn’t exactly have a choice as you have been hiding too well. I’m Alpha Rowan.” His eyes widened, his mouth agape. “Rowan Hargrove? You are a werewolf?” He takes me in with genuine care and respect, “Hargroves are the longest existence of Werewolves in San Zero. I, myself believed it was a myth, I’m honored to meet you, Alpha,” He slightly bows. I waved him off, “Feel free, I’m in need of your help.” He chuckles sarcastically, “My help? I can’t possibly imagine why someone like me would be of help to you, Alpha.”

The chains clanked loudly as I struggled against them, my wrists raw and bleeding. The damp, stale air of the underground cell seeped into my lungs, suffocating me. I curled my trembling body into a corner, desperately trying to find solace in the darkness. My name is Sasha Springfield, a 21-year-old weak werewolf. It seemed fate had a cruel sense of humor, for I had yet to meet my mate. In a world where finding your destined partner was the ultimate goal, I felt like an outcast, an anomaly.

I feel the impact of every blow and kick they rained on me more than I would have felt if I had gotten my wolf. I'm not a normal werewolf you see. I'm a very late bloomer. Normally, the shifting age for werewolves is fifteen years. Sixteen for late bloomers. When I didn't shift at even seventeen years, I became the omega freak who is the butt of every joke. The stress reliever for every frustrated and the punching bag for every aggressive pack member, most especially those that called themselves my family.

For werewolves, the full moon is a sacred occasion. A werewolf pack congregates for their own rites in the same manner that humans might dress nicely and convene at a place of worship. The location where we meet for the Trialblazer pack is roughly an hour and a half northwest of Toronto. Two hundred acres of pristine territory where we can securely wander as the monsters we become every full moon were once home to a pack long before Canada was known as New France, at the time when our ancestors fled northern Europe in longboats.