Wolfe Of Fiction Novels & Stories

but there's another identity for me which no one knows except me. I write novels under the pen name 'phoenix' My novels are about werewolves attacking humans. Since I don't like werewolves I started writing about them in a bad way to vent out my anger on them. Recently, I've been working on a book named, 'Desire for thirst' in which werewolves attack their prey when they are in rut. My work in this genre has been gaining more exposure because I've made it very clear that I don't like werewolves. I believe people can read this as a novel but in reality the author just wants to expose their readers to the monsters they see in other worlds.

We move forward together, slow and careful, our boots disappearing into the dense fog swirling around our ankles. The walls of the maze shift beyond the mist. It is only faint outlines, only glimpses of what should be there, but the silence is so complete it feels like we’re stepping into a void with no world beyond it. My pulse thuds in my throat. ‘Violet?’ I reach for my wolf’s mind, reaching for that familiar spark, that steady, fierce heartbeat that has been there since I turned eighteen, but I am met with more silence. There is nothing in my mind but my own thoughts.

But how could she even know the story if the book is not completed? "Maybe because she is the writer of the story", my subconscious mind called out. And of course, the idea was utterly bizarre, but then again this is exactly why it's called subconscious. A part of the brain which can never be realistic or logical. Sighing, I kept the book back in my bag and went over to the wildlife section. After finally screening the whole shelf for a few minutes, I finally got the one I was looking for. 'Wonders of The Wolf.' A chronological documentary on the lupus species.

She found the section on history books first, she reached for an old book that caught her eyes, with a thick brown, worn cover and a picture of a wolf on it, one that looked quite similar to the painting of the wolf on the wall in the living room. How strange? She took it immediately, having found her next read, she skipped out of the library and back to her room. She sat curled up in bed by the window, lunch was served by a servant as promised, she ate and stuck to get book. This book, titled, 'The Wolf Within' she had never really read anything like it. It seemed more like a fictional write up, than a history book. It talked about a wolf that was embedded into the souls of 'special people'

Gonzalo nodded solemnly, his eyes reflecting the flickering light of the hearth. "Someone as special as you," he murmured. "And it is yours now." The journal became my refuge, offering glimpses into a world where myths and reality intertwined. Each entry revealed more about werewolves, about the community he belonged to, and their struggles to maintain a balance between two worlds. It was written fiction, but Gonzalo did not know that werewolves were real. Whoever owned this book encountered or spoke with a werewolf. Was it Caleb? Because of the way it was written and the descriptions, it seemed like Caleb.

The wolf had flown, message interrupted but nonetheless nailed deeply home. If you’re offering, offer well. *** “I don’t know why the three of you insist upon applying meaning to the appearance of the wolf,” Ritter said as he inserted the needle again, causing Higgins to wince in pain. “Is it because you’re writers? Is that it? The wolf’s not a foreshadow or an omen or a metaphor. It’s a wolf. A rare case, granted, but just a fucking wolf.”

feeling. I'm beginning to panic. I can't wrap my mind around how I could be a wolf! How is this possible? I ask myself out loud as I'm pacing the yard. I feel that same feeling; my eyes are burning, my heart is beating fast, and my fingers are hurting this time more than the first time, causing me to scream so loud that my sisters come running outside. I'm now at my knees, holding my eyes shut and my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. They get to my side asking what's wrong, trying to help me up in trying to hide what's happening to me, but the pain is so intense I can't fight it monaye grabs my left hand out of my pocket when I fall over in intense pain she looks at my hand and drops it qu

Sara couldn't allow Wolf to get close to Zoe after all that. Wolf wiped his face, then stepped outside. Perhaps it was true that he needed to go out to clear his head. Because right now, he just wanted to destroy anything he saw. Wolf hated lies, and Zoe had just done it. Whatever the reason, Zoe had written many lies. *** Wolf poured the contents of the whiskey bottle on his table and immediately became annoyed because the remaining amount couldn't cover half of his glass. He wanted the whiskey to fill his glass until it spilled, if necessary.

He was about to jump to eat me when I close my eyes and wait for my death sentence. A second ago when I don’t feel anything and I slowly open my eyes. I was just surprised that there was another wolf but he looked different than him. He fights with his fellow wolf. He has white fur all over his body, a little bigger than a black wolf, he has blue eyes but he also has sharp nails and fangs. The black wolf hit the white wolf with his talons that’s why the white wolf moves backward.