Were Moabites Black Novels & Stories

Determined to pay him back for this. My eyes snap open, and I slowly move to a sitting position before rising to my full height. The balls are still coming. Somehow, they hurt a lot less now. I barely feel them at all. Glancing down at my arms, I see they have turned black now. That must be Ares’ fur color. I didn’t pay much attention when I first saw it at blood moon that faithful night, but my fur looks… off. And only Alphas have black fur.

Moana’s POV. Marek lifted his chin toward the starlit sky. Then he slowly smoothed the front of his robes, adjusted the iron rings on his fingers, and rested both hands firmly on the carved head of his cane. He stood there for a long moment, letting the silence settle over the clearing as every eye remained fixed on him. Finally, he lowered his gaze to the gathered pack. “By the Old Laws of Blackthorn, let every wolf who believes the blood of a traitor has no place among us raise their hand before the Moon Goddess and bear witness to their judgment.”

A forbidden existence. “Who was the mother?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Who was the she-wolf involved?” Alec dropped the final file. The name on the tab read: SARAH BLACKMORE. Blackmore. The name hit me like a physical blow. The Blackmores ran the London werewolf territories. They were royalty in our world—ruthless, ancient, and pure-blooded.

"Why?! Why did Supreme King Idris prioritize your ugly, spotted flesh instead of my beautiful body?!" Hearing her scream, my mind suddenly flashes back to the wet, steamy kiss that Idris just planted on my mouth, and my tongue mumbles, "Yeah, why? Is his alpha sight completely blind?" "You—" Molly stomps her foot hard against the stone floor, her claws flexing in rage. "Don't get too full of your own pride, freak! Both Jabari and Amara’s birth mother must have been a top-notch, flawless alpha queen of the bloodline, so there is absolute zero way an ugly servant like you will ever get a permanent place inside the Blackthorne Pack Manor!"

This was the match they'd tried to bury finally catching up. We got to the battlement just as another strike lit up the sky. Below the wall Jakob stood at the front of a new line. It was bigger than before. Elders in black robes rode behind him on gray horses, hands raised, green light pouring from their palms. Twelve of them. They were the Black Council. I recognized two from old pack stories: they had withered faces, their eyes like dead moons and they had come for me. Jakob spotted me and pointed with his sword. "There she is! The half-breed whore and her Lycan dog! Take her alive if you can. Dead if you must. Either way works, I just want her brought to me. Her blood ends tonight."

Was this done on purpose so I could be with Zaire here? “Here,” she said, pulling me out of my thoughts. “It says that the great black wolf called Amoux is the most powerful wolf in the Black Moon Pack. He was not born, but cursed into a body.” she started reading, “cursed into a body. How does that happen? Aren’t wolves usually born with their humans?” “I don’t know, keep reading,” I replied, scooting to be closer to her.

Every size, every shade. But not black. “Diane,” I say, my voice cracking in the quiet space. “Why are Tola and April the only ones with midnight black fur?” Diane stops dead in her tracks. She shifts her head just enough to look at me over her shoulder, a cold, sharp smile touching her lips. “Is it not obvious, girl? They are the firsts of their race. The original blood. Of course they carry the midnight. They are the only ones who ever will.”

She really wanted to have grandchildren soon, she always said. "Mom? Are you serious? Why?" I asked, in a suspicious tone. "I... Dreamed," my mother muttered slowly. "Madam Black, she's come to me a few times lately and scolded me, for always badgering you about mate." "Madam Black?" I asked confused. Madam Black is one of the ancestral descendants of black magicians, who came from the Blue Fang pack led by my grandfather, my mother's father, Edward Moss.

Midnight black. The music of Margaux’s moment faltered. People stared. Jet black meant one thing in Pack law. Warrior. The fiercest rank. Reserved for males — for centuries. The murmurs started immediately. “A female?” “That’s… impossible.” “Not since that war…”

Mates are for daughters like Grace. Not for me. “Who?” I ask, before I can stop myself. It’s the first time I’ve spoken in this chamber. The sound of my voice echoes faintly, bouncing off the stone walls. A few elders exchange looks. One of them almost smiles. “Alpha Gaven of Blackmoor.” The name causes bile to rise in my throat. I may be nothing more than an Omega, but I know that name. Everyone does. My breath catches, and I am aware that it sounds too sharp and humiliating. Blackmoor is not just another pack, it is the pack. The largest on the continent. The most feared. Their borders stretch farther than any other, their warriors legendary, their Alpha is ruthless beyond reason.