Wild Robot Novels & Stories

The moonlit night embraced us, and the woods beckoned. With each step, I revelled in the primal connection with the earth and the wilderness. The moon, a silent witness to our escapade, cast its ethereal glow upon the forest floor. My wolf body moved effortlessly through the shadows, guided by instincts that were too often suppressed in our human lives.

Wilder was in his apartment, feeling bored and restless. It was the weekend and he badly wished there was either work or school. He wanted to see those triplets or Olivia. He was checking out channels on the television when his phone beeped and he grabbed it. “Rogues are attacking us” It was a brief message and his eyes blazed with fury as he rushed out, he went to grab his keeps and raced out of the house to the woods. He reached and dashed out, forgetting about the car as he shifted when no one was in sight and raced in. He reached the back house to see everywhere disorganized and his people running around.

The pair read over the reports live on the air, but tension seemed to fill the time on the video. Walter spoke up, his tone void of any emotions. “This just in… Random rogue attacks on packs are breaking out all around the states. Alphas all over, have been reporting rogues are suddenly appearing inside their pack grounds. A purple mist covering the territories allows rogues to infiltrate without warning. Their leader, a female, has the ability to multi-shift into any animal before she attacks and destroys the pack. One captured rogue claimed she is “The Dark Alpha’s Pet” and is unstoppable.”

**The Wild Wolves** Aria meandered through the lush, vibrant forest, a world alive with an intricate tapestry of sights, sounds, and scents. Each step enveloped her in the rich aroma of damp earth and blooming wildflowers, the vibrant hues of greens and browns intertwining like an artist's brushstrokes across the landscape. Having spent the past few weeks in this enchanted new home amidst the towering, ancient trees and dappled sunlight, she had cultivated a deep affection for the tranquility and solace the wilderness offered—a cherished escape from the chaotic clamor of her former life.

The Killground is the site of the annual Wilder Games, a thirty day event where condemned humans are loosed into the wild to survive, or be hunted. Each of the five chosen Warlords receives a hunting token. If they catch a tribute, they may claim them, body, blood, and soul, or kill them. If a tribute survives all thirty days, they win their freedom and are marked by the Wilds as untouchable. Those who win become legends. Few ever do. MAGIC, BLOODLINES & BREEDING RITES In the Wilds, magic is sacred and bloodlines are power. The beast kings and their Warlords rely on witches and wildborn females to continue their bloodlines. Some females are chosen as sacred mates, bound by blood and spirit.

It was Doubt. Jeweled bent low, his golden gaze fixed on her as the scene unfolded. The old wolf had stumbled into view, its ribs were sharp beneath its fur, fully gray with age. It wasn't a threat it was just another wolf trying to survive in a world that was too cruel for the weak. Garrick raised his hands, barking for the girl to take the shot. Jeweled body tensed, ready to leap, to tear through them both if she obeyed. His body vibrated with anger, and claws dug deep into the soil.

The once human shifting rogue turned completely feral and started to attack not just those of us who had spoken to him, but also to everyone that was standing around. Pulling him back into the city, though, didn’t take the madness. He was lost and eventually I had to kill him. Reese wanted to try again, but I said no. At least not with a rogue who still had their mind in-tacked. It was impossible to catch a rogue that already lost their humanity. They were willing to fight to the death, and they wouldn’t allow themselves to get captured.

I close my eyes, grip the glass tighter, and exhale shakily. “This is hell,” I whisper. “You’re making my life hell.” “And you’re making mine worse,” he murmurs. It almost sounds like a confession. I hate that my body reacts to that. I open my eyes, glare at the robot’s blinking blue light. “I’m not a puppet,” I spit out. “You don’t get to control everything.” “I control what’s mine.” “And who says I am?!” A beat of silence. Then Hardin’s voice drops to a level that makes my knees weaken.

The violet sun had completely set, and the city was illuminated by millions of glowing, neon-green moss spores floating in the humid air. Thousands of feet below, hidden beneath the thick mist, the Savage Wilds chittered and roared. Mwajuma looked down into the dark. "I am not coming back," she whispered to the abyss. She pictured the burning remains of her village. She pictured the colonial mortars tearing through the thatched roofs. And finally, she pictured her twin brother, Mwanamalundi. Ressi. The boy who commanded the sky.

"Most artificial werewolves become Rogues because they're wild and dangerous, so no pack will take them in or recognize them." "Rogue? Isn't that the term for a werewolf who's been banished from the pack for a mistake?" Noreen asked. "I've read about that." "Yes. Rogues are a group of punished and wild werewolves," Ariel replied. "They live outside the pack, usually in groups of two or three. In the human world, they're the same as what you'd call homeless." As Ariel taught Noreen and Jonathan, Thiery didn't interrupt at all, simply following along quietly.