Novel & Cerita Winged Wolf

It travels with wings like that of the devil, its eyes are as black as night, and on two feet it walks, but on four it runs when it's time to hunt. It's a werewolf the myths say, but how can a werewolf be born with wings as sharp as shards, wings that can slice through its prey and feet with nails longer than the city's tallest building? Surely not an ordinary one, right? Then what to call it? The mythical, wing having beast of death? Perhaps so, but no matter how scary its name became, Verya was determined she'd kill it in this century. She was born with the blood of her father; the blood of an alpha, and though many did not, and still don't believe in her, she'd prove that she's worthy of

The wolves surrounded him, ready to take his life as they were commanded not to leave any survivors except the Alpha's daughter. Then, two wolves burst from the shadows and suddenly started attacking the rogues. One was a huge black wolf, twice the size of all the other wolves, and the other was a brown wolf. The huge black wolf’s eyes gleamed red, symbolizing that he was an Alpha, but that wasn't what made the rogues fear him—the mark on the wolf's face made them recognize him as Alpha Kayden and without waiting, they all took to their heels.

Valeria I watch the ravens fly together as if they were a source of power at Grimm’s command. After they slam into the first rogue, a flock breaks off from formation and rushes the stunned wolf. They swarm him, covering him completely. I can’t see a single hair of the werewolf. When they finally fly off, the wolf is dead. Its eyes pecked out, body covered in bleeding lacerations, entrails spilling. I stumble in shock and fall to the ground.

"But it’s a better death than I deserve." Ariyah didn't argue. She knew the strength of the Nightfang Alpha. If anyone could hold back a tide of Wraiths, it was him. She closed her eyes, her bones popping and elongating in a practiced, fluid motion. A silver-white wolf, lean and scarred but undeniably noble, emerged from the human skin. Aeron climbed onto her back, his small fingers burying into her thick rur. "Be careful, Great Wolf," he whispered to Kael.

“Your wolf is nothing like the ones the rest of us carry. She is the legendary White Wolf—a creature as breathtakingly beautiful as she is rare. However, her nature is a complex one; she is deeply shy, a trait she has carried through the ages,” Valerius explained, his voice resonant with the weight of his experience.

However, his progress was halted when a massive wolf leapt in front of him, its jaws gaping and its eyes flashing with deadly intent. Alister's mind raced as he assessed the situation. The wolf was clearly a beta, but that didn't mean it wasn't a formidable opponent. Its black coat was mottled with patches of fiery red fur, which seemed to glow in the light of the moon. Alister could sense the raw power emanating from the creature, and he knew he would have to be quick and decisive if he wanted to take it down.

Which made it confusing how she had done so much damage to the rogues. One of the rogues had claimed that the she-wolf had half shifted and held that half shift while fighting them. Half shift is a learned skill that few master. For an underage she-wolf to do that and inflict damage on rogues, it was impressive. I smiled. Maybe the she-wolf would be worth the trouble of an unauthorized visit to her pack.

Far larger than any wolf, larger than any Alpha. Silver scales covered portions of its body, massive wings folded against its back, golden eyes glowed in the darkness. Its claws alone were longer than my forearm. The beast towered above me. Ancient. Terrifying. Impossible. A Dragon Wolf. My heart stopped, every story I had ever heard claimed they were extinct, dead, gone for thousands of years yet one stood before me alive and watching. My body locked in place. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

The weight in the air stole the words right out of their lungs. Then—crackling. Soft at first. Then growing. A low, eerie hum that crawled across the back of her neck. It was fire. And it was light. And it was alive. They turned. And everything else vanished. There, in the middle of the scorched battlefield, stood two figures so blindingly impossible that the world itself seemed to hold its breath. Two wolves. But not like anything they’d ever seen—not even in dreams. The first—massive, towering, wrapped in fire so pure it bled gold. Every movement of his fur sparked with flame, not chaotic but controlled, deliberate, powerful. His eyes were blue. Deep and endless. Familiar. Burning. Atlas.