Werewolf Order Novels & Stories

Glancing over his shoulder to meet Mason ’s gaze, he asked, “Why do you ask? Do you wish to go there?” Mason twitched his lips in thought. “I guess,” he said. “What’s it like? Is it like here?” Ste-phen continued cooking as he answered. “It’s nothing like here. In the werewolf world, everything is bound by instinct, strength, and bloodlines. There’s no democracy. Packs follow a strict hierarchy: Alpha at the top, then Beta, Delta, and Omegas at the bottom.” Mason felt awe settle in his chest. Ste-phen continued, the sound of steaks sizzling blending with his deep voice. “Our land is vast—forests, mountains so high they seem to touch the sky. It’s like another world entirely. The rules are st

"But that would mean—" "They're planning something big," Carson finished. "Like they said, a complete takeover." I flipped to the page he indicated, scanning it quickly. "This is insane. They want to create a world where werewolves rule through fear and chemical control." "The Pure Blood Order living up to its name," Hunter growled. "Pure blood supremacy over all other species." A chill ran down my spine as I continued reading. "According to this, they're planning to trigger the signal during the full moon, when wolves are naturally more aggressive and harder to control."

The younger Werewolves see how the higher classes live at much closer quarters on a daily basis. And the fight has gone out of the older generation. Alpha Tam, our alpha, belongs to the older generation. There is an obvious split between the older and the younger generations. Despite the current divide within the pack, if any member of my pack so much as gets a whiff that I’m sheltering the princess, I’ll be banished. And what is a werewolf without his pack? Banishment is the worst thing that can happen to a pack animal. It is worse than death for a Werewolf. When a Werewolf is forced to give up his pack and live alone, he gradually devolves until he’s more beast than man. He turns into a de

She asked whilst jerking me out of my reverie. "No where, you were saying?" I asked her still pondering about some of the events of that day. "Well, I heard that it was Alpha Grey who ordered for Sasha and her minions to be stripped out of their ranks and made Omegas in their various Packs and any Alpha who refused to comply to his orders was threatened with the prospects of war between their Pack and Whitefang Pack." "Really, why would he do that?" I asked, doing a little happy dance in mind for what happened to her and her friends.

As a member of the Red Crest Pack, her pack’s survival depended on playing both sides, and as long as Juno was winning, she was his most loyal asset. Juno was the most formidable rival Travis and the Argentum Order had ever faced. More than two decades ago, the Order was established as a secret organization designed to maintain the balance between the powerful werewolf clans and the human world. At the center of this world-altering group were the elites: Travis (Alpha): The undisputed leader. Silent, strategic, and absolute. Nyx (Acting Head): The Pillar of Strength. Travis's closest confidant. Storm (Beta): The enforcer and tactical hammer.

That was, however, not the case for his little band of idiots who, for the first time in forever, said something that was actually sensible. "Calm down, Gary. We can't fight right now. The meeting is in a few hours and we have to supervise the upcoming rotation." Each of them reared back at Gary's glare before averting their gazes from him. I couldn't blame them for their meek and cowardly response to his usual empty threats and glares. Their reactions were part of the natural order of things. Werewolves who were part of the three main classifications in our world; Alpha, Beta and Gamma beheld another level of power and dominance than pack members born of ordinary werewolves. The goddess had

I knew the moment I saw him move, the moment I saw the unnatural way his wolf tore through flesh, the way he fought like something unhinged. Raymond was losing himself. My stomach twisted. I needed to stop him before there was nothing left of the man I loved. But the Order was still coming. And I had a choice to make. Save him. Or run. Third-Person POV The declaration of war came at dawn. Across every werewolf pack, the message arrived the same way—black-cloaked figures appearing at the borders, their voices cold and emotionless as they delivered the same warning: “The Abyssal Order rises. The Moonborn must be surrendered. Or the world will burn.”

Her ears were longer than those of any other species, but too short for an elf. “Apologies for making you wait. There was…” she stared behind her at her companions “-mishap along the way.” She nodded to one of the guys with shining black hair. He nodded back in acknowledgment but didn’t take off the hood like the lady. His skin was pale, making him look like one of the night crawlers. But he was out in the sun... “This is Mikhael, he represents the vampires in The Order,” she gestured to the hooded guy who gave me a curt not, “and Cesar; the wolves’ representatives.” The one on the left gave a curt nod.

“We need to know what forces we’re working with. How many wolves can you muster?” Rhea leaned back and crossed her arms. “Two hundred, battle-trained. Fifty more in scouting or support roles. But that won’t be enough to face the Order if what Dorian says is true.” Dorian nodded with a grim expression. “It is. That magic of The Order gives them an advantage. They’ve perverted wolves into something unnatural. We’ll be fighting monsters instead of men.” Mark sits propped back with his boots on the table and lets out a dry laugh. “Great. As if regular murderous wolves weren’t bad enough.”

But the most important of all, is the new message that his sister, Rylie, got. Rylie is a special case of a werewolf, with its special role of being an oracle. They’ve discovered about this when an 8 year old Rylie suddenly talked about having a dream of a creature which she can’t see, and its message that has been passed to Rylie. ‘The true bloodline shall prevail. 8 years from now, the throne will be back to its roots. And shall not be dethroned again by a stained blood line. ’