Were Moabites Black Novels & Stories

A half-moon with a wolf’s head nestled in its curl. I gripped it tighter. Every fiber of my being wanted to rip it in two, but I couldn’t. Instead, I just stood there. Frozen. A part of me still hoped that this wasn’t real. But it was. And that is when the reality hit me once more. I’d always believed I was a mistake. I was Maya Blackthorn, the wolfless daughter of Alpha Darius of the Ashbourne, and I was damned… damned by the Moon Goddess. I was a disgrace to the pack. That had become my name, spat as though it were poison by Lycans who had revered strength.

I scrunched my nose, trying to remember if Mother had ever mentioned survivors but the memory slipped away like mist. Then came the warrior lines: Grey Moon, Violet Moon, and the Red Moon wolves just like my father, fierce and loyal, eyes rimmed crimson when mated. White Moon wolves held the revered healer role, their pale eyes glowing softly in the dark. At the bottom were the Purple Moon wolves… servants, messengers, cooks, cleaners… eyes deep violet, lives quiet and essential. And outside of it all lurked the Black Moon wolves consisting of a group of rogues that formed a pack existing outside the traditional hierarchy as they were considered outcasts. Though not integral to our society,

Moloch walked up to his three commanders, Jahkar, Molakar, and Kut'thar. Jahkar was equal height with Moloch. They wore thin black armor that hugged their body. Their body wasn't intimidating, but their eyes were a different story. Similar to Moloch, they had black sclera eyes, the main difference was the red in their eyes being razor thin. The demon's face seemed to be stuck as a permanent smile that looked unnatural. They scratched their black hair, occasionally holding back laughter as Moloch spoke.

“Two years ago, there was a commotion on our turf caused by members of Black C. It was quite a big deal. I happened to be in Monafett at that time and personally intervened to resolve it. Anthony somewhat resembles Black C’s boss from back then. “Hm?” Mable frowned. She had heard of the organization Black C before. It was said to have started with smuggling and had grown quite influential, with a significant presence in Monafette. Rumor had it that their boss had close ties to Santaviz.

I added which just earned another laugh from the monk. The monks of the temple were characterized by their long silky black hairs and black satin dress with white linen lines, perfectly hugging their bodies. They always carry their staff that was bathed under the moonlight and prayed during the rituals in the temple of gods. Their long shiny black hairs are tinted with dark blue streaks whenever they use mahò. This represents their change. According to what I have read, often times those of goddess descent have their hair colors as their change, representation of power, but the Monks are exceptions. They have been blessed by the gods and are granted a rare change. Their representation of pow

Often very attractive with yellow eyes but need to be constantly on the go, kind of like puppies. Then there’s vampires. Pale, elegant, weirdly posh, intelligent, bloodsuckers. And who can forget high elves? Tall, beautiful, clear eyes, long lives, connections to nature, natural leaders. Self important bastards to be honest. Like most fairies, I’m on the short side with pointed ears and colourful hair. Mine’s purple actually. But otherwise, I look like my older brother, Russell, and my mother. Slender, pale, grey eyes. Russell’s just me with dark hair and a growth spurt. Normals don’t really have a “look” but if you look at my dad, a middle aged balding white man, you’d say he’s normal looki

Each of them formidable alphas from packs with unique abilities and legacies. Caius Knight Black of the Nightshade Pack was a tall man with long, sleek black hair that framed his chiseled face. His eyes were a piercing silver, sharp and calculating, often concealed under the shadow of his brow. The Nightshade Pack was known for their mastery over shadows and stealth, and Caius embodied that secrecy and quiet danger. His wolf, as dark as night itself, was a shadow among shadows, capable of blending into the darkness without a trace.

She spoke, fully aware that no one there would be able to hear her words while the music was at full volume. All lycans were taught to abhor the color red from birth. The Moon Goddess's color was only white, pure and untainted, free from discord, evil, and blood. No baby born red-haired was spared a certain amount of ostracism, and Deborah had even heard stories of wolves with red hair like hers who had even been rejected by their destined mates, just because their mates' families did not want the shame of having a wolf marked by discord in their homes.

Moha cleared his throat and responded, “I am Moha, and that woman behind me, her name is Nowo. We are from the defender’s base. It’s my pleasure to meet you.” -----“Never judge a book by its cover. Sometimes a creature with a nice appearance tends to be more evil than a creature with a scary appearance.”-----

He was dressed in rich clothing, and he had a naked servant by his side who was pouring wine into his frequently empty cup. Mordeu couldn’t help but wonder how the man would look like when he turned into a wolf, if his gut would still accompany him. The other man, Stregobor, was different. He was just like Alvitir, except his expression was hardened and he seemed angry. He was serious and stolid, and he was dressed in black. He drank no wine but held a sword at his side, which Mordeu guessed he rarely used. He seemed brutal, and the scar across his left eye helped with the creepy appearance.