The Last Hunt Novels & Stories

One day, Arsenio suddenly looked at me with a mysterious smile and said, "Tonight, I'm taking you to see the aurora." I froze for a second, then quickly came to my senses. Medhel was located in the mid-latitude. How could they possibly see an aurora here? I looked at him in confusion, my eyes full of questions. But Arsenio only smiled, his eyes shining with anticipation and excitement. "You'll see when we get there." - Night fell. Arsenio took my hand and led me to an open field. It was incredibly quiet around us, with only the occasional sounds of insects coming from the distance. I looked around curiously, still trying to figure out what exactly he was up to in my mind.

Sweeping his arms out, he stepped up to the dais. The man's voice boomed through the ballroom, rich and commanding. "Welcome, honored guests, to the 72nd annual Hunt. I am your host, Lord of Brookmire estate. Given this is all your first time, allow me to explain the rules. At midnight, our lovely does shall be released onto the grounds. They will have half an hour head start. Hunters, you will have until sunrise, or until the does reach the cabin at the back of the property. Neither party may shift or use their magic. And finally, all does who reach the cabin are deemed safe and exempt from being hunted." A trickle of laughter slipped out from beneath his mask, “Be warned, the Hunt is not w

His words hang in the air, heavy with regret. "I tied Alison's wound up, placed her in a safe spot, and then tailed Denzel and his men," Hunter continues. "We clashed, and I finally got my revenge. I burned Denzel to death like I'd planned for ages." I release a weighted sigh. "You can't make a deal with the devil and expect it to be victorious." Hunter's gaze meets mine, haunted. "A mistake I'll never forget." The doctor and healers arrive, swiftly surrounding Alison in a desperate bid to save her. With skilled hands and ancient wisdom, they employ every modern medical technique and timeless healing ritual to revive her.

She didn’t blink. She kept walking. And behind her, the army rose. The Hollowborn. The Packless. The cursed. The broken. All of them. Her pack. The ones Victor never counted on. They didn’t come to fight for peace. They came for war. Because tonight wasn’t just the night of the Last Howl. It was the beginning of the Last Hunt. And they were done running.

When we were kids, she used to get us into all kinds of trouble and I would always get blamed for it because once she flashed those big blue eyes, no one could accuse her of any wrongdoing. “To do it more often?” I laughed, thankful for the comic relief. Despite my bravado and earlier reassurances to Devon, I was still nervous. As he said, I did not like to kill animals. Werewolves were actually peaceful creatures and we didn’t hunt other animals asides from the Grant Hunt and the wolves who did it for sport. It wasn’t banned or anything so they were in their rights. It just wasn’t something I liked doing. For this reason, I was nervous. Plus, the Alpha’s arrogant son, Louis was participatin

In the continent of Elysium, magic has dried up and monsters have descended. The only way to survive is to participate in a game called "Hide and Seek." Only the winning races receive rewards and a chance to live. The Werewolf Clan drew me—a twenty-two-year-old half-blood werewolf. I was painfully thin, having been locked in a dungeon for the past fifteen years. The live chat scrolling before my eyes was filled with despair: [What the hell? This is our clan’s representative?] [A girl a strong breeze could knock over? Is she even an adult?] [I bet she bursts into tears the second she sees a monster.] [It’s over. We’re so dead. I knew we’d lose this time. Are the werewolves really going to be

She said, trying to remember the vague of memory, “I'm hunting-” “The hell misty!” “My lady should let me finish my words please?” She giggled, kinda amuse. “And what's wrong hunting if it's for the love of my life?” “How can hunting be related to love, Misty?” My mind spun to the idea, given a destructive results if relates the act to love. She shiver, and somehow a thing last night came to her mind. She murmured, “So if ever, I was hunt... for love?” Misty's eyes widened. “Are you being hunt, my lady?”

Zara pushed her bucket toward the computer lab, where tomorrow's elite students would learn advanced tactics for something called "The Final Hunt." She'd heard whispers about it, some kind of important mission that only the strongest werewolves could handle. Not that anyone would ever explain it to her. The computer lab door was already open. Strange. Professor Hayes always locked it after classes. Zara flicked on the lights and gasped. Every computer in the room was destroyed. Screens cracked, keyboards smashed, cables ripped from the walls. It looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to everything. "Great," she groaned.

Luna, her pregnancy not hindering her spirit, prepared with the pack for the essential hunt. In the Nampa forest, hunting wasn't just about the thrill of the chase; it was a sacred act, deeply rooted in the pack's respect for their enchanted home. They hunted only what they needed, ensuring the delicate balance of their realm remained undisturbed. Luna, with her keen eyes and agile movements, exemplified this reverence for the forest.

'No, no idea', I say, hoping I look convincing enough. It turns out Darwin is not much of a brooder. No, he goes on talking, mostly about his family down in Terhaven and the year's harvest. But I glean enough from his gibbering. The Hunt is rumored to be a cover for wolven genocide, the barriers of the Leftydes grow weaker, releasing creatures of sorts into northern lands, and of course, men are being recruited for the hunt for the Belkian Horns, mythical antlers belonging to the black reindeer. From what I hear, and what I've read, whoever wields them becomes the closest man can get to a god. I don't give it much thought. Frankly, I'm tired of the politics of Quindar, sick of the secret age