Werewolf Spells Novels & Stories

The sound of the shattering plates was loud enough that, one could imagine the amount of energy the Werewolf had invested this time in his quest to take me out. I have not unfolded my hands. I was still hanging on to the spell I have made as if I knew there would be a second attack. I closed my eyes again as he charged at me. Focused my energy directly this time on him instead of the usual elements around him. It was a suicide mission but, I had no choice. I need to try and see if my powers could work directly on a Werewolf. If I fail, however, the spell I have made will be compromised. It will be too late to make another one since he might have taken hold of me by the time I'm done. That wi

You win by speaking in a language the ward is forced to respect. I lift my head. “Now. Hit the mark.” Charlie and Kaleb step forward together and let their blood fall onto the sigil. Two drops each. Four dark beads that land like punctuation. The circle hums. The temperature dips. The wooden wolf’s polished eyes seem to deepen, shadows pooling. I light the resin. The flame catches and the smoke curls low across the floor, drawn toward the wolf like it’s inhaling it. I start the words. It’s not a counter-spell. It’s a clause added to the spell currently cast on the wolf.

Others change their meaning depending on placement, one symbol could mean gift or sacrifice depending on what follows it. I scribble furiously, my handwriting messier with each passing moment. My heart pounds as the spell unfolds before me, revealing its requirements piece by piece. To perform the spell, five things are needed: — The stone that binds the curse. — The blood of a human. — The blood of a werewolf. — The blood of the gifted wolf. — A celestial event to draw power from. I pause, tapping my pen against the altar as I reread the words. My stomach sinks.

Forty: Roman Eliot Even though Roman was a werewolf, magic was something that he had never truly understood. Werewolves were about nature and instinct. Some aspects of their life were magic---like Endymion, the god of the moon that gave them their powers. But using magic itself wasn’t something that Roman had any clue about. That was why he went to Glinda. She was the one that could find lost things, or make a potion to cure a common cold, or enchant someone who was annoying him to get turned into a garden gnome or something else equally annoying.

Lola chuckled, “Magic powers?” No one laughed and Tristan responded, “All the wolves from the Fire Wolf clan were born with magical abilities. Like reading minds, hurting people by looking at them, controlling water, teleporting, speaking to animals and so much more. They said that the first Fire Wolf Agnitus was able to set anything on fire where he set his eyes on.” Lola understood by now that they were all dead serious about this, so she asked, “So what happened to them? “

I began, my voice hoarse yet steady, "your spell turned the tide. Tell us how you broke through their defenses." Her eyes, usually so bright with ancient knowledge, were clouded with fatigue. She leaned forward, the firelight dancing in her gaze. "It was not one spell, but many, woven together with the threads of sacrifice and will," she said. Her fingers traced invisible patterns in the air, remnants of the enchantments she had cast. "In the end, it was the strength of our unity that shattered their ranks. We stood together, werewolf and witch, bound by a common cause."

His words stirred memories of our past, and I couldn't help but laugh. “You suck,” i groaned as i stood upright, coughed out blood and staggered towards the balcony with all my strength then i reached out and grabbed Tamarabeho was about to fall. She swung at me, but I wrapped my arms around her waist from behind. “Listen to me, Tamara!” I shouted. “You have to fight this spell and take control!” “It’s pointless, Axel,” Ian sneered. “The death spell on werewolves, especially a weak omega, is brutal. No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop her from falling—she’s mine to command!”

This particular spell could only be used by high priestesses and only a high priestess more powerful than the one that casted the spell could see her or undo it. Elder Lazarus was not a witch, he did not have our blood and he was a full-fledged wolf. I was sure of this so how was this possible?

“A handful of the pureblood’s wolf fur and his mate should be lit up with fire. And its ashes shall transform into a white door that leads to the portals of Harte.” My eyes flickered to Bellezzza’s sleeping figure. This was supposed to be a quick and easy moment. How are we supposed to take a handful of her wolf’s fur when she’s not even conscious? ‘Whose fault is that, Daxel?’ Ace pressed, roaring in my mind. I ignored him, focusing on the matter at hand. The spell wasn’t going to wear off for a few more hours— at least for werewolves that’s how it works, but for humans, none of us were sure.

And when he saw what was inside, without hesitation, he left the treatise to himself, otherwise he probably would not have been able to obtain permission to study it. “Tome” (despite the small format, I wanted to call the book that way) bore a title in an approximate translation that sounded: “The beginnings of mind magic in all its diversity. Features of the impact on people, true werewolves and werewolves initiated, running with wolves, demons and ghosts. The full list of objects for the application of spells always plunged Lorenzo into shock. What was the difference between true and initiated werewolves remained a mystery, the possibility of mental influence on demons and ghosts seemed to