Were Moabites Black Novels & Stories

Said my father. “I’m Karme Ilithyia, pleased to meet you.” Said my mother. She smiled sweetly at Lio and her eyes seemed so much younger then. My mom’s eyes were a darker gray, sort of like an elephant’s skin. My father’s eyes were a rich, light brown. I often see people do a double take when they see us all together because being African American with our eye colors was very uncommon. “I see where Astraia gets her beauty.” Lio said, running his fingers through his dark curls. My mother and I both blushed and my father simply smiled before putting an arm around my mother’s waist.

CHAPTER 48 ~GABRIELLA'S POV~ “The Mortimer family had always been a mysterious one, even before she arrived at our door step. Our ancestors had a story they passed on from generation to generation—a story of the first Alpha of Black Moon, a story of how things never went right for him. He and his family were ridiculed by farmers and traders, and they were made to go through all sorts of torture on a daily basis. They were seen as trash in society and had to beg to be fed. The reason was because his father was accused of conspiring with an old witch to murder the king. He and his family always wore bags over their heads to hide their diseased faces from the public.

he said. "what do you mean?" my tired voice answered. He thought for a second, trying to work out the best way to explain it. "well, all the wolves in the winter moon pack. They were as white as snow and much larger than normal werewolves. Because they were one of the oldest packs of pure lines that were closely related to dire wolves." he ran his hand over my hair. "so I was surprised to see yours was jet black." I listened intently, intrigued by his words. "So what does that mean?" I asked.

This act disturbed the ladies in the cell, as they were trying to sleep. One of them named Moab, who was also the leader of the gang sat up with an angry face. “What the hell is this bitch doing?” She growled an ugly shade of red marked her already disfigured face. One side of Moab’s hair was shaved, one could see that she was an abnormal lady. She stood and walked to Madine. Without saying a word, she slammed Madine’s back. “What the hell are you doing, disrupting my sleep!” She growled, shaking the bottle of gin in her hand.

"And you know the answer to it." Something moved across Victor's face that I had never seen there before. Just for a moment. Just long enough. Fear. Not of me. Of what Maren was about to say. "The Black Moon Stone responds to true lineage," Maren said. She was not looking at Victor anymore. She was looking at me. "It has always responded to true lineage. That is not anomalous. That is the entire point of the ritual." She paused. "It cannot be fooled. It cannot be interfered with. And it has never, in three hundred years of recorded pack history, responded to the wrong person."

"You have no idea what is coming." "Who are you?" Darius demanded. "I am Moira Blackthorn. And I am the one who will destroy your precious omega rights movement. By destroying every pack that supports it." She raised her hands. The symbols on the cave entrance glowed brighter. And from the darkness behind her, a hundred shadow creatures emerged. We were surrounded. Outnumbered. And I realized—we might not survive this.

My werewolf tribe is born with black skin and natural white hair, which bears a striking resemblance to outcasts in ancient times, blessed by the moon goddess yet despised by people. At Boston Pack, we were a reminder of the tribe that once lived underground in caves, valleys and the suburbs. They called us outcasts, ill-breeds, and shadows. They didn’t know how right they were. That word. Ebonis. It always comes with a sneer, a curse disguised as curiosity. To them, it means freak, half-breed, shadow. To me, it means history. Once, long before light skinned wolves filled the cities with glass and noise, the Ebonis ruled the mountains under the moon. Dark skinned Wolf-blooded descendants of

Maven said. “Do you have pictures or anything?” Aurelian asked. “Yes, a few of the pack members sent pictures,” he said, taking another file. He dropped it on the table, and we gathered it. Maven and I gasp. “Goddess,” Felix said. The pictures are terrible; I can’t even recognise the person. Their eyes are pure white, and their skin is black. Then, with red veins all over their bodies, they look hideous. “What is this?” I asked.

said Mr Delwood, defensively. “Then who did?” asked Katleho. “We suspect a tribe,a group that calls themselves the Moikbloods. They are wolves in appearance, but really they drink blood.” said Mr Gumede. “Where do they come from?” asked Mika. “how can we stop them?” asked Katleho. “You cant stop them if you cant even see them, they are smart, they can hide their scent and walk among humans even in broad daylight. They have been here even before apartheid ended.” said Mr Delwood.

’ Vuk pressed, tone clipped. “You want to discuss that here?” ‘Yes. Either that or you’re going to show her how hard she makes you.’ I glanced down at the problem pressing against my zipper. “There’s no response from the Arabs,” I muttered under my breath, dragging my mind somewhere else. “And no black wolf sightings.” Black Wolves were extinct for a reason. They were fucking brutal—beasts bred from the demon wolf line. Whoever wanted one either planned to use them as mercenaries or to bleed them dry for their power.