Silverback Werewolf Novels & Stories

“Like I told you, Amber is not an ordinary wolf. She's the silver wolf and that was why the mangalrow was interested in her. In the history of werewolves, a silver wolf was said to exist years ago, like seven to eight hundred years ago. During her existence, mangalrows lurked around everywhere. After her death, mangalrows were nowhere to be found again. That is why not many people know about mangalrows because they are ancient creatures that didn't exist for years. For them to start existing now in the werewolf world means that another silver wolf has been born, and that silver wolf is Amber.” “How do you know that Amber is the silver wolf. I mean, she doesn't have any power and her wolf is

<<<< Present >>>> Mr. Silverado and his son became uncomfortable, because they were also wolves. "Wow, what a story", Nicolas tried taunting him. "It's not a story, it's something that happened few years back", XXX reply. "And how does your involvement in this plan of ours help you achieve your goals?" Nicholas asked.. "That's because, from my finding the person behind the recent resurrection of your killed client is an alpha, who is also the descendant of the people who ended my life" he replied. "Are you in for this?" Nicholas asked. "More than ever" Mr. XXX and Mr. Silverado replied. "So how do we go about this?" Nicholas asked. "I will send you all a file, that file contains all

This one was a replica of a silver dagger that I borrowed from Uncle Aeon’s collection. Silver is fatal to werewolves, especially if it is mixed in the blood. And all silver daggers had such a high concentration that it was hard to obtain one. Cutting him deep with it would be a sure way to die. Mine was not real, but he didn’t need to know that. His forehead creased when he saw my hand, and I was sure it registered on him that I was holding a silver one.

His head was bowed down and his limbs were pinned to the wall. The shackle around his neck was now replaced with a lighter but firmer chain. The expression on his face looked pitiful; it’s as if his whole body was in pain. This misery of his was wholly attributed to his neck chain because it was made of pure silver. Silver is the metallic bane of werewolves. They get weak when the shiny metal touches their skin. Chastine hurriedly went near the fellhound’s side. She tried to see if she’d be able to find its lock, but to no avail.

Among the werewolves was Alpha Wildbreed, he was the only werewolf that wasn't from our pack. Abel Wey did not want to be claw marked. We knew he was a very special wolf. He had silver claws, and his nickname was silver claws. The man was the living werewolf nemesis. A scratch from his claws could kill a werewolf immediately. All we had to do was make his scratch more potent by lacing his claws with willow's wolfsbane, and he would be very deadly. Abel alone could kill off all the wolves, living the rest of us to face the hunters and the sorcerers if there were any.

Ivan's eyes widened with recognition as he looked at me. “You're one of them. You're fuckin one of them.” He shouted, his voice filling with rage instead of fear. He gripped his necklace and pressed it into my skin. I looked down, realizing it was silver. I let out a sadistic laugh as I watched him switch from rage to fear. The silver did nothing to my skin. Unlike regular werewolves, it could cut me, but it didn't leave marks.

I could feel the rotation of the earth beneath my feet. I looked down at the mark. It wasn't a jagged wound. It was a glowing, silver sigil of a wolf’s head, etched perfectly into my skin. The heat radiating from it was intoxicating—a constant, pulsing reminder that we were no longer two separate beings. The door to the chamber finally gave way. The first of the Pack—a massive, scarred Beta named Silas—lunged through the threshold, his eyes blood-red with the madness of the Blood Moon. He didn't see an Alpha and his mate; he saw a target.

I read the paragraph where it said about the lost pack. ...."Silver Crest is known to be the nest of every lone wolf. The werewolves lived there for years. They served their alpha, Alpha Lycus, and bowed to protect him with their lives. The werewolves, however, were just the facades of the pack. Deep inside Silver Crest hid a nightwalker, who massacred the weak wolves and were served as his meal.

He was tall—easily 6'5"—with hair so dark it swallowed the light and features so sharp they looked sculpted from granite. The air around him shimmered with suppressed power, the kind that didn't need to be displayed to be understood. ​ As I approached the table with a tray of fresh bacon, keeping my gaze locked on the tablecloth, a sudden, almost physical force slammed into me. It wasn't Kael's power, but something deeper, a jolt that went straight to my core. The bacon grease sizzled, and I nearly dropped the heavy tray. ​ I flinched, my eyes snapping up just for a second, to locate the danger. ​ And I looked right into his eyes. ​ They were a piercing, crystalline silver—the color of the m

he said finally, his voice cracking with the weight of the decision. One of Regulus’s generals, a seasoned warrior with a grizzled beard, shook his head. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, capturing her will be more difficult than you think. You may need to be prepared for the worst… She is a silver eyed werewolf, she has powers that we — regular werewolves do not have… if she was trained and seasoned well, she could take down an entire army in less than a minute, that is why silver eyed werewolves were highly coveted. They are powerful weapons of destruction. "