Wild Rider Novels & Stories

One should note that Wildfire once resounded throughout the Southsky and was hailed as the number one rogue fighter. He was certainly not one to rely on an empty reputation. This individual not only possessed an eighth-grade spiritual treasure condensed from sky-soil energy but was also an eighth-grade alchemist. Coupled with his formidable flame technique, only then could he establish a formidable reputation in places like the Southsky, the western regions, and the eastern wilderness.

His khaki pants had dark smudges on them as though he had wiped oil on them. "What about him, in the backward baseball cap?" Caleb scanned him over with an amused look on his face. "He has potential as a friend, but I think he might be a bit too extreme. He just spent all day working on his motorcycle. He's an adrenaline junky getting ready to jump the Grand Canyon. He has little care for anything that doesn't give him an adrenaline rush. His last adventure was skydiving without a parachute, and he almost missed the net during his landing. He is too much of a wildcard. What about the redhead reading over there?"

Chase shrugged his shoulder in obviousness. “The man here was busy saving some unknown girl in the woods instead of catching the roamer.” Wilder fumed, and continued, “as your friend, I seriously think that you need to take back control of your Lycan. You dropped the hunt for a random fucking girl out of the blue today.” “Mind your words, Wilder.” “My point is, we were just a few steps away from catching something new.” Wilder seethed, “and we lost it! Now all we can do is either just hope it has disappeared, or prepare for its surprise attack.”

Damn it all to hell. He moved to stand, drawing her up by the arm. As soon as she was on her feet, he had ahold of her. There was no way she’d dare try to overpower him. It would be a losing battle, and she had to recognize that. “Walk,” he ordered, nodding in the direction of the cabin and, more importantly, Silver. He needed to get this woman subdued and back to the Missoula ranch. Savior or not, she was one of only five active Wild Eight remaining. The nefarious pack had been disbanded following the start of the war, and the Grey Wolves had been searching for the remaining few survivors ever since. Maverick wasn’t a fan of loose ends, and neither was Jeremy.

“Then, the morning of my coronation… when I was nineteen, still smelling like funeral smoke…Ariston rode up to the palace gates with his whole army…dragging a chained wolf behind him like trash.” Thomas’s eyes went wide. He knew the story, but not like this. “Tristen Ravenwood,” I said, the name tasting like rust and blood. “The Rogue King. First wolf ever banished to the Outlands. The one who started it all…who turned every exile and psycho into an army. He planned the ambush that killed my mother and drove my father mad. And Ariston delivered him. Alive. Broken. Begging.” I still remember the roar that went up from the crowds that day. People cried in the streets. For the first time in yea