Unnatural Instinct Novels & Stories

The tracks had disappeared, the acrid scent dissipating as if it had never been there at all. It didn’t sit right with me. Rogues didn’t vanish without a trace. And whatever had been out there wasn’t a rogue at all—it was something else. Something unnatural. The darkness clawed at the edges of my mind, whispering in a voice that demanded blood, chaos, and vengeance. It threatened to consume me, pulling me into a black void I had fought so hard to control. My fists clenched as I felt the familiar burn of rage coursing through me, begging for release.

Be ready… I spin around, my eyes widening at the man who is holding a large butcher’s knife, his eyes glinting. “I don’t think so,” I whisper, my eyes blazing as the very instinct that we are born with kicks in. The very instinct of our primal nature has remained dormant in me for far too long. The very instinct that Zade has pulled from the furthest depth of my mind and brought to the forefront. The instinct to kill or be killed. A low animalistic growl rumbles in my throat as I duck, his knife skimming past me. Instead, I flip my blade and swinging it with full force, slice through his neck as if it is nothing more than a warm block of butter.

Instinct screaming— Danger. Wrong. End. Zayden moved. fast. Intercepting. Blocking. standing between it and me. The system surged. Silver rising Trying to reinforce him trying to protect failing. Because it didn’t understand what it was fighting. The creature lunged. not like a wolf. not instinct. not strategy. Direct. Unnatural. zayden met it. Force against force. the impact shook the ground. not balanced. not equal. Wrong. Zayden staggered. Just slightly. but enough. enough for me to feel it through the bond.

I decide to stop beating around the bush and just come out with it. "My dad was the alpha of this pack. He started raping me when I was twelve, and he let other men in the pack rape me too. When I was sixteen, I couldn't take it anymore, so I shifted into my wolf and killed my father and the other men who had raped me. So you see, I'm not a virgin, and you probably want someone who's pure." I can't hold back my tears while I wait for him to tell me how disgusted he is with me. Why would someone as sweet as him want me? No one should be burdened with my shame. Scott tightens his hold on me. When I hear him take in an unsteady breath, I look up into his eyes and see he's crying, too.

Two beating hearts. Marco’s chest constricted. And then the thought came — sudden, fierce, almost violent in its intensity. How do I protect someone who isn’t even born yet? The question rooted itself deep inside him, awakening something primal. This wasn’t fear the way he had known fear before. It was instinct. Raw. Territorial. Uncompromising. He would fight anything. Change anything. Break anything that threatened them. But this? This was invisible. Internal. Beyond his reach.

she murmured longingly, turning her face toward the scent. “It does,” he agreed calmly. "Do all humans smell like this?” Her eyes slid closed; like a wine connoisseur inhaling the fragrance. “Yes," he said. "It's the scent of our natural prey. It triggers our hunting instinct, like the gazelle and the jaguar. But, unlike the animals, we have a higher level of thought. Our instincts are there for a reason, but we don't have to be controlled by them. You just have to expect it, so it doesn't take you by surprise."

My body shuddered with terror as it fell to the ground, a loud thud responding in my ears. "What did you think? That you could run from us?" He asked, kicking my stomach, and all I felt was the hollow ache of worthlessness, deeper than the pain in my ribs or the gash on my thigh. I wasn’t just prey—I was forgotten. Disposable. And as the first wolf lunged, I closed my eyes. But instinct is a strange, cruel thing. Something inside me snapped. Not the delicate kind of break that shattered for survival— this was different, primal, sharp, the kind that explodes outward; a spark, something powerful, snapped inside me, lunging from buried in my muscle and marrow as the rogues moved closer.

Something unnatural lingered over me like a veil. “You escaped chains meant to hold men twice your size,” he murmured as he looked at the cuffs on my wrists. “And yet you don’t recall the direction you took to get here?” Shame coiled in my stomach. “I don’t. My mind… it isn’t whole. Something else took hold of me.” He closed his eyes, as if he already knew. When he spoke, his voice was heavy. “There are instincts older than reason, Lyra. They stir when blood and fear collide. If this is what I think it is… you are walking a dangerous path.”

Hungry. Blood. I can even see it flowing through their veins. I crave it. My fingers curl as a strange heat runs down my arms. My muscles tense, like something ancient and wild just woke up inside me. However, this time, I can feel it—the instinct, the surge, the raw, desperate urge to destroy. Yet, I can't stop; actually, I don't want to. The woman who slapped me steps back. Her eyes widen, trembling as she looks at me like I am not human.

And here I was, sitting there, suddenly craving it like a madwoman. Why did I challenge him again if it's all backfiring on me? Am I stu.pid? Am I just provoking this instead of cooling things down? I mentally shook my head, feeling lost and confused. Why couldn’t he be ugly? I tried to imagine him with a fat, hairy body, but my mind betrayed me. All I could see was a handsome, strong guy with perfectly sculpted muscles. My primitive instincts found him so irresistible, I swear my brain wanted to make babies with him. What is it about our ancient instincts that drives us to choose the strongest, the best from the gene pool, and just go for it?