Stonefur Warriors Novels & Stories

I wrote furiously. I needed to get the information out as soon as possible. The Warriors needed the information. "Rogues are behind Trail Maps! There were 10 or more on the trail. Selling girls to guy named STAN Stan didn't want to come for one girl without a wolf Bosses = Jerk and Twit - I can identify them! Others are Messenger (kicked him - he hit me with shoe), Dumb (slashed him deep), Dirty (bit his dick - slashed him) - I can identify them!!!"

Sting was the absolute worst group to have access to something of this magnitude. All of Silverclaw was with me, as well as our sworn Barriers and 8 warriors that had shown the most promising growth since our retreat in Apalachicola. Draegon, Ashton, Venus, Stevie, Jeverah, Allen, Pope, and Thella. After the fiasco with her brother, Jeverah made many strides to prove herself loyal, and became stronger. Ashton, under Carlton’s wing, had gotten better since then also, and tonight, he was being tested. They all were. The evening sky was dancing with its colors, marking the end of the day. I had hoped Sting would be winding down, ending their day.

Kaiya There’s no sign of the warriors that we sent back with Stone Wood. The handful of wolves that have the courage to stand up to us are weak, inbred to an extreme degree, and feral. It is a blood bath with almost no surivors. Dripping in blood, I shift back to human and turn around to face Oswald. “Where are their warriors?” He shifts and casts his eyes to the ground so he doesn’t have to look at my nudity. “Dead, I’d wager. Killed by rogues.”

A few of the warriors cursed aloud. Redmaw. One of the oldest and most ruthless packs to ever exist beyond the Steelgrove Mountains. Their Alpha, Volgrin, was a legend soaked in slaughter. They didn’t trade. They didn’t negotiate. They claimed. And now, they were marching on Darkfang’s soil. “For what reason?” Dren snapped, his wolf barely contained under his skin. The wounded scout turned his head slowly. His eye was swollen shut, his ribs splintered. But he managed one sentence.

The Wolfstone's Call The air around the wolfstone crackled with an electric hum, its ancient runes glowing faintly in rhythm with the mark on Rollan’s tiny wrist. Aria clutched her son to her chest, his warmth a fragile anchor against the storm brewing in her heart. Beside her, Caden stood rigid, his wolf-sharp senses attuned to every rustle in the shadowed forest. His hand rested on his sword, knuckles white with tension. Lyra and her Silverfang warriors formed a tight ring around them, their eyes glinting with determination as they scanned the treeline.

Both of them were a force, unstoppable and fearless. “Stay close,” I murmured to Cora, my hand brushing hers. “Watch each other.” Her blue eyes met mine, fierce and sharp. “We’ve got this,” she said, wolf humming beneath her skin, ready to spring. The Lincoln warriors had formed the center line; Frostbite flank left and right. The rogues surged forward, fangs bared, claws flashing, and I could see their leader, a massive scarred wolf, pushing from the front, rallying his pack.

The sky shifted from gray to a metallic blue, streaked with pale veins of light. Lyra stirred but did not cry. She was calm. Too calm. A ripple passed through the forest canopy. Not wind. Pressure. Warriors at the outer wall shouted warnings. Figures emerged from the treeline—not running, not charging. Walking. Six of them. Cloaked in layered garments woven with silver thread that shimmered like frost under lightning. Each carried a staff crowned with a crystalline prism. The air around them hummed with controlled power. “They’ve brought Arbiters,” the Frostborn woman whispered.

They were vicious against enemies, the shapeless assassins and spies that could penetrate the defences of any threat whilst also providing aid to those that they obey. A faint shuddering in the shadows hinted at the appearance of the wolves. They moved cautiously, looking to avoid the last of the dappled light that fell between the pine trees. Slowly their forms took shape like watery images of beasts, their bodies floating and swirling like smoke and mist. Behind the witch, the warriors shifted uneasily, still not used to seeing these curious creatures. “Look, Signe! Do you see them?” Estrid cooed to her daughter, pointing to the first of the shadowy figures that stepped out from the roilin

“You would've seen a rival. Not a brother in grief.” The words sank deep, heavier than steel. They stood in the ruins of a legacy neither man asked for—sons of murdered fathers, shaped by loss, chained to vendettas that nearly consumed them. Behind them, healers moved through the carnage, tending the wounded. The surviving warriors of Blackpine and scattered remnants of the Stonefang line—now united under fire and fury—watched their leaders with wary eyes. Troy turned, surveying what remained of the pack. Children without parents. Warriors without purpose. Lands soaked in history and rot.

Benji began by saying, “We relate with every supernatural being in the realm and beyond but never have I seen warriors as sleek and dangerous as the ones that attacked us.” He continued, “Moon Stone Warriors aren't the best but we have been able to study every pack and know their weaknesses but just like my dad said yesterday, a lot has changed with Black Fur.” “A which is their Luna so that explains a lot,” Andrew said. Benji nodded and explained how their warriors tried to fight but couldn't draw blood from Black Fur warriors. “Nothing penetrated their skin.” “She must have fortified them and made them resistant to weapons. Physical weapons at least.” Susanna explained to us.