Were Moabites Black Novels & Stories

We wait for Caio to return and he returns with the news that the lady was a black witch. I wasn't interested in the girls, I just wanted to know if Sabrina was okay and take her home, but when I found out and soon realized that the young woman was the wanted omega, I internally condemned myself for being blind. Witches who crossed the limits of humanity invading the mortal plane were called black, they did barbarities to get more power or to practice atrocities. Knowing that Sabrina's body was at the mercy of a Witch of that rank and a hostile unknown omega didn't chill my blood one bit.

This man, the Daftmonk from India, was malnourished and sickly in appearance, complete with rough and tanned skin. Someone at the other table let out a low chuckle. He was dressed in a tuxedo and held a glass of blood-red wine in his hand. “Moloch, why didn’t you seek revenge on this guy earlier? Why must you choose to face him today? If everyone died here today, we wouldn’t have the chance to explore the God’s Tomb.” “Vampyre, cut the nonsense!” Moloch and Vampyre’s groups didn’t seem to get along very well. Someone in Moloch’s group retaliated right away.

We are the protectors of the Harvestia Monarchy, sworn to defend it with our lives if need be. And then there's the legend of our black hair, a divine gift from the Moon Goddess herself. It's said to symbolize our strength and favor, a tangible manifestation of our lineage's blessings. From our wolfen pelts to our human form, the deep ebony hue marks us as children of the Timberfang bloodline, warriors bound by an unbreakable legacy.

Cristian asked. I shook my head and Tate grabbed my hand. Surprisingly I didn't let go. I need his support. "It means 'to protect our race.' It was the motto of Black Moon. They were the wolves that fight all our battles against other kinds of supernaturals or hunters. They have no sense of submission, like you, they are fantastic fighters. And... I believe your father was the alpha." Was?

“Shabat, Iamem…I heard you don’t actually live here, but somewhere else. Through a portal.” “Yes, my lady,” they both answer, warm smiles on their dark lips. They have a different kind of beauty, and I can see it clearly in their pitch-black eyes, pale skin, and long, dark hair. “Why?” I ask. They glance at each other, then back at me. “Morbóvia wasn’t meant to exist here. This region belongs to the Land of Nothing,” Shabat explains.

Confuse what they are not telling me where they are not telling me Dominic leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Two hundred years ago, there was a bloodline. The Moirae. Violet-eyed warriors. Not just warriors living weapons. But they were very peaceful and liked to mind their business, but they were strong, Even a beta from their bloodline could overpower an average alpha. Their wolves were unlike anything ever seen larger, faster, and more vicious. But it wasn’t just their strength. It was their instinct. They didn’t need orders. They felt the rhythm of war. Some said they were born from the battle itself.”

But insane people were often way more dangerous than sane people. "I won't let you." Amos hissed between gritted teeth. He protectively placed himself in front of Azalia, his eyes turning black as his hand moved to the sword fastened to his side. The black eyes were a facial characteristic of Shachor people, dark creatures who had decimated Zahav people hundreds of years ago, and Azalia wondered if Amos used them in order to intimidate Nahash and Leor or in order to get into a battle mindset. It didn't seem to work as Nahash only sneered at Amos. "You're just a weak Zahav." He arrogantly mocked as he pulled his own sword out of its sheath. "You really think you can stop me?"

Moby said awkwardly. Moby was not blindly bragging about the demons. He really thought they were not to be trifled with. “The demons are as notorious as the humans, but relatively speaking, they are not as cunning as humans. Hence, the true gods never really targeted them and allowed them to live in the dark.”

Underneath them, something colder, more precise. "My existence," she said at last, "already compromises what some people think Blackmoon is." Kirin's eyes narrowed. "You mean the miracle talk," he said. "I mean all of it," she replied. "Miracle child. Peace‑born heir. That story says we're a people who needed a goddess to fix us. I say we're a people who clawed our way out of blood and suspicion and chose not to go back." She held his gaze. "Blackmoon identity is not built on hating Nightfang. It's built on surviving and choosing."

I believe that good things will come to me, but the truth is always cruel. As I neared Black Moon's territory, I encountered a group of ferocious people. They weren't like anyone I'd met before; their heads were shaved, and their noses and ears were pierced. They were shirtless, revealing their toned muscles, and on their chests and ears were tattooed with a black wolf sitting next to a treasure. Looking at them, I involuntarily stepped back. I don't like judging others by their appearance, but people's looks scare me. I'm sure they don't have good intentions toward me; their eyes looking at me are very vulgar.