The Rogue Warrior Novels & Stories

As a rogue, there was never a luxury of time to heal. Time was spent on self-teaching through trial-and-error of which territories belonged to other rogues; which rivers were shared and which were not; and most importantly, how to run past packs in large numbers without being detected. It was a cold, dark world. What Tate is giving her now merely through his words and presence was an assurance that she hadn’t felt since she was casted out, and that was a very long time ago.

Lincoln’s POV What the hell did she mean that I was a rogue? That question lingered in my mind until someone came to get me. He stood tall, and the red of his hair was like the dying embers of a fire. “You,” I began. “I’m Ruby’s brother, Garnett,” he answered like he was bored as the bars slid open. “Move along. We have no time to waste.” The chains on my wrists were opened, and I was tempted to launch myself against this person, to fight him—to get out of here. But something in his stature and the vast sword strapped on his waist made me stop.

I send the DM just before I answer the call and connect her to my conversation with Javelin. “Give me some eyes, Hijack!” Javelin growls. “Four corners – northeast, northwest, southeast, southwest,” I say. “Human or wolf?” “Human.” I hear her quietly getting her team into position, then watch on the monitor while the four people who thought they were sneaking up on them get taken down quickly. “What have you got, Javelin?” I ask when they overpower their attackers. “A bunch of shitty warriors. Too bad there weren’t any Alpha in this batch.”

They had barely urged the horses forward when the wind shifted… and with it, something primal settled over the land. We all felt it. A growl, low and thunderous, rumbled through the air like a storm on the horizon. Every warrior froze. I turned in my saddle, already tensing, and then I saw him. A rogue stepped out from the edge of the brush. No, not just any rogue. He was massive. Towering, muscle stacked on muscle, with scars crisscrossing his body like war tattoos. His fur was a deep rust color, almost black in places, and his eyes—cold, ancient, soulless—locked onto Thorne.

The young man's strength was no match to his, and in a matter of a few seconds the he was on the floor bleeding from his mouth. The rogue was so quick, it was almost hard to follow his movements. I was unsure if the young warrior was dead or alive, but it didn't bother me. I was more intrigued by the rogue's ability to fight. "Send in another one." I whispered to Iris. ... One by one the rogue fought my warrior students, they were either being pulled out dead or severely injured. I wasn't going to lie, I was becoming impressed by the rogue's ambition. It's been a while since I've seen someone fight like this and it got me excited.

Adrik even had to ask to have them separated as fighting the Fae back-to-back was draining on him and his magick. “Three more warriors, Adrik. Do you need a break?” I asked him as the last shifter was helped off the field by a few of his buddies. “Three more should not be a problem, but I will say that this is one of the best and worst days for me.” He said with a huge smile on his face. The next warrior up was this small little girl, who came in with the Rogue camp. “What is your name sweetheart?” Adrik asked her as she came up to shake his hand.

Ryan smashed his way through the Rogues, His presence seemed to attract their attention as most of the rogues gave up climbing, and charged straight to attack him. Ryan growled loudly and attacked head-on, bursting to the side of the wolf, throwing it out of his way, his huge jaws clamping down on the wolf nearby and crushing it in an instant. Another Rogue tried to jump on his back, he turned midway and caught one of its legs a shook his head vigorously, the body of the rogues bounced around like a rag doll before Ryan threw him away. His paws scratched and tore through the flesh of the approaching wolves, one by one. Within minutes, seven of the rogue wolves were dead. Ryan looked around t

As Tom would take me from behind, the warm water running down my back as one hand firmly gripped my hip and the other my shoulder. Don't think of him, whatever you do, don't think of him. Tom Bradley was the Alpha of the Rogues, a pack made up of wolves that had been banished from their packs for various reasons. Some valid, but mostly because they were traitors, vicious and untrustworthy. Which made the pack volatile and unruly, and that chaos suited their leader, whose wolf was becoming more and more unhinged. Not the type of wolf the daughter of the alpha of the prestigious Red Crescent Pack should be in company with. But I just couldn’t stay away, I was drawn to his badness like a moth t

He said, his eyes locked on the rogue, “But a good warrior doesn’t abandon his team. A real warrior dies with honor, not in cowardice.” The rogue’s eyes widened in terror as Alpha Czar lifted his hand, his claws slowly elongating, turning into deadly weapons. The rogue barely had time to comprehend what was happening before he struck. With lightning speed, Alpha Czar’s claws slashed through the rogue’s neck, severing veins and spilling blood onto the floor. The rogue gasped for breath, his hands flying to his throat, but it was too late. He collapsed in a lifeless heap at his Alpha's feet.

Seven threateningly huge Rogues had walked into the camp and they were walking straight to my warriors. They looked like the seven Rogue leaders I had described before and they radiated strength with their every stride. But they didn’t scare me. Size didn’t matter in the Werewolf games. I looked back at the Chicken Rogue and he was still smiling. “Look.” He directed my gaze back to the seven muscly Rogues. Two of my warriors were dashing towards the Rogues now but then one of the Rogues caught them and within some dreadful seconds, my warriors were thrown stiffly to the ground, blood-stained, bones fractured and maimed.