Therian Wolf Mask Novels & Stories

"Anyway, the White Wolf's soldiers assigned for the operation later are Team, Simon, Seth, his girlfriend Rose Brandon and her brother, Ash Brandon." "I'm guessing the gay Wolf soldier you're talking about is this Ash?" Alexander said as he went through this Ash profile. White skin and red lips. What a perfect combination! Plus this man had an amazing muscles, abs, and well-built perfectly for him. Not to mention his name is incredibly sexy in his lips. Oh, after five years, he is so going to have so much fun later.

Two Warrior Attendants seized me, ignoring my struggles, and dragged me toward the stone cottage flanking the keep. Pack Healer Lyra rushed to meet us, speaking rapidly. "Hurry! Wash her up and change her clothes! The ceremony must start!" She smelled of herbs and antiseptic. I was forced into a chair by Omega Caretakers. They scrubbed me down and stuffed me into an oversized white dress emblazoned with the Sterling wolf crest. Finally, a rough, heavy dark wooden mask lined with wolf fangs and bone shards was clamped over my face, blocking my vision.

I commanded, standing on my feet. My she-wolves savants stepped outside, and immediately Mogan sprang into action. He rummaged through my wardrobe and retrieved my favorite long black robe with a large wolf head imprint on the right side. He also brought out a new, shiny gold mask and my animal skin-made shoes. Within minutes, I was dressed and looking incredibly handsome. The mask covered the left side of my face, which was burnt, while leaving my flawless right side exposed. The mask had been my confidence; without it, I was vulnerable.

Their clothing marked them as outsiders, travelers, wolves who had spent their lives on the margins of pack politics. A tall wolf with silver fur stepped forward, his eyes ancient and knowing. Aria Nightshade. I am Theron of the Frost River Pack. We have come to pledge our loyalty to you. Aria studied him, searching for deception, for hidden motives, for the lies that had so often been offered as truth. She found none. Why? she asked simply.

Eyes on me. Across the room, leaning against a wall like he owned the place, was a wolf. Tall. Broad. His fur wasn’t cheap-looking like some of the others. It was sleek, dark, with silver running through it, the muzzle sharp, the ears pricked like he could hear every heartbeat in the room. And his gaze—fuck, even through a mask, I felt it. Heavy. Pinning me where I stood. I swallowed, heat crawling up my chest, and for no good reason, I smiled under my rabbit mask. Like he could see me.

She unwrapped it and held it up and the last light of the day caught on it and threw shadows across her face. A mask. Dark wood, carved smooth, with narrow eye slits and no mouth and a surface that had been rubbed with ash until it was the color of charcoal. It covered the face from the forehead to the jaw and left nothing showing except the eyes. "I made this while you were training," she said. "The wood is willow and the ash is mixed with a binding that will hide your scent from any wolf who comes close. They'll smell smoke and old wood and nothing else. No pack, no bloodline, no name."

Iris stood at the front, her hands clasped, her eyes wet, her dark hair braided with silver ribbons that caught the sunlight and sparkled like stars. Theron stood beside Cassian, his gold eyes soft, the scars on his throat silver in the morning light. He wore a jacket of dark green, and his claws were retracted. He was smiling—a real smile, rare and warm, the smile of a wolf who had stopped being angry and started being loved, the smile of a wolf who had finally found peace.

“It wasn’t my choice.” Following his line of sight, someone in a black cloak standing in the distance facing the wolf. They wore a neon fox mask, curves that danced wildly to enhance the cunningness. It glowed an electric pink and white that was hypnotizing, intricate patterns running alongside the glowing lines. The last component was the large eyes, utterly captivating in a gold glow. The aura of mystery plagued by a sense of familiarity. Echo roared that it thundered throughout the silent crowd, everyone on the edge of their seats especially at the appearance of The Werewolf King.

The blade cut through something solid. A body dropped. But no sound followed it that should have. No scent release. No biological reaction my wolf should recognize. That alone told me everything I needed to know. This was not a normal pack. Thor was already engaged with three of them, moving with controlled brutality, but even he hesitated for a fraction of a second when his claws tore into one and received nothing in return from instinct recognition. “They’re masked,” he said sharply. “Something is suppressing their scent.” That explained the silence.

His voice carried: “Take the masks off.” The Veiled Ones froze. As if the words were forbidden. As if a door cracked where none should be. The pulse struck—sharp, rattling porcelain masks. Cracks spidered from cheek to temple. Fragments glittered as they fell. A face showed. Wolf-born. Scarred. Eyes hollow, wet, furious. A gasp rolled through Blackthorn’s wolves. More masks split midair. Shards rained. Faces appeared—men and women, old and young. Wolves thought lost to chains, swallowed generations ago.