Wilderness Novels & Stories

~vick~ I couldn't take it anymore. The chaos around me was suffocating. As I watched the guys attending to each other's wounds, it felt like the walls were closing in. I slipped out the door, the coolness of the night greeting me as I glanced up at the night sky.

Mira's journey through the wild had been both exhausting and liberating. For three days, she had pressed deeper into unfamiliar territory, following the winding path of a silver stream that cut through the dense forest. Each step took her farther from the only world she'd ever known but also closer to something she couldn't yet name—hope, perhaps, or simply the desperate need to survive.

The smell of wet forest after a long rain and sun heated honey, wakes me from my sleep. I don’t know how many times I’ve tried to escape by now, but nothing I do seems to work. More and more wolves are going missing, if Tam’s growing hysteria is anything to go by.

The bed slammed once, twice, and then a heavy silence fell over the house. Lena came right then. She shuddered, her body writhing against her own hand as a wave of heat crashed over her. She buried her face in the pillow to stifle her cries, her eyes wet and her heart racing at a terrifying speed. When the pulsing finally slowed, the silence that followed felt louder than any music.

“Mom, it’s just camping. I… I want to try new things. You always say I hide in my books too much, they invited me to camp with them and I agreed,ma. This is my chance to experience the woods, learn how to camp properly. Please?” My stepfather leaned against the doorway, watching me with that familiar, heavy gaze. He didn’t say much, but his eyes lingered a second too long on the way my modest sweater hugged my breasts. “Let the girl go, Helen. She’s eighteen. She needs to grow up with people her age.” Mom sighed deeply, rubbing her temples. “Fine. But promise me you’ll stay away from Winchester Forest. People go missing there. Hikers, campers… they just vanish. It’s not a joke.”

She was Lyra, a werewolf alone in the vast wilderness, forging her path, and defining her destiny on her terms. Her journey was a constant struggle for survival, but the wilderness also revealed unexpected beauty. The vibrant colors of the wildflowers, the majesty of ancient trees, the mesmerizing dance of the Northern Lights—these moments of wonder brought a glimmer of hope, a reminder that even in darkness, beauty could exist.

Why can't I seem to escape thoughts of her? The woods grow darker in the setting sun, but that is no problem for a wolf. For a human on the other hand, the woods are as dark as midnight in a moonless night. Though Crimson Hills remains one of the safest places for both werewolves and humans alike, the woods are often crawling with wild animals. A new scent wafts to my nostrils with the wind. Blood. Though faint, the smell is right there next to the combination that says Wilda to me. I need to find her fast.

Her stamina seemed inexhaustible, allowing her to run for hours on end, her lungs burning but her spirit unyielding. The forest floor, once an obstacle, had become her ally. She knew its every secret, its hidden pathways, its treacherous bogs, its sun-drenched clearings, and its deepest, darkest shadows. She could navigate by the stars, by the moss on the trees, by the very inclination of the land. She understood the behavior of its creatures, their habits, their migrations, their warnings. She knew which berries were edible, which roots could sustain her, which leaves could staunch a wound. Her knowledge of the wild was not academic; it was deeply ingrained, a part of her very being, acquir

In the Kingdom of Veridia, history was written by kings. Now, it is written by fangs. For a thousand years, the Great Prism held the balance between Man and Beast. But when the artifact shatters, the Primal Aether floods the world, unlocking the dormant, violent potential within human DNA. In a single night of blood and fur, civilization collapses. The weak become prey, and the strong become The Wild-Blooded—humans twisted into apex predators by the spirits of lions, gorillas, and dragons. Ren is a nobody—a lowly scribe with ink on his fingers and a fear of heights. When the Aether sickness hits, he falls from the Spire of Scribes to his death. But he doesn't stay dead. Awakening with t

Because right now it feels like my own wolf put me in time-out. June stays quiet. Not defensive. Just steady. The trees thin enough a little later that I finally catch sight of something unnatural through the branches. A straight line. Too straight to be forest. "Road," I breathe. Aiden follows my gaze. "Maybe." Hope is dangerous out here. We don't celebrate yet. We just keep moving. Because wilderness doesn't care if you survive. The road turns out to be little more than a narrow strip of gravel cutting through endless trees. Not paved.