Wolverine Feral Novels & Stories

Just like in my nightmares. Feral werewolves are a bit like rogues, but they are more unhinged, animalistic, and bloody. They live in the dark forests where pure werewolves should never set foot into. At first, I thought they were just a myth until I started having these nightmares where they capture me and drag me away to the feet of the man that scares me the most. And weeks later, we started picking up rumors about them attacking small packs and raiding the place, killing all the pack members, dismembering the Alpha, and fucking the Luna to death.

My blood goes cold. The tree line breaks. Ferals pour out, hundreds, wrong shapes, bone spurs, split jaws, skin hanging loose. They don’t move like wolves. They move like puppets with cut strings. Caiden shouts orders, and the remaining Alphas form a line. “Protect the Luna,” he says, and I hate that I’m grateful. Draven shifts fully, massive black wolf, gold eyes blazing. He takes three ferals down before they touch me, but for every one he kills, two more climb over the bodies.

I didn't recognize their fur patterns, and the way they moved made my skin crawl and chills slide down my nape to my spine. I came to a halt when I noticed their red eyes. Wild, merciless wolves… these are feral wolves. Bloodthirsty creatures who killed animals, including other wolves, even when they are not hungry. They were the closest a wolf could get to insanity. They couldn’t even shift. Although some of their human craftiness and reasoning ability remained in their permanent wolf form, their human mind was nowhere to be found. One can never reason with a feral wolf once your head is close to its mouth. Certain feral wolves appeared to be driven to kill anything, anyone they saw, almost

“I am serious. You have nothing to worry about. Those were just some feral werewolves passing by. I just had to make sure they don’t sniff around. I don’t want to take any risk with you here.” “What are feral werewolves?” Elizabeth asked. “Just wolves without a pack. They’ve been kicked out of their packs for one reason or the other, and they now wander around trying to find food or shelter or just for the sole purpose of wandering... they are usually dangerous, but they know they are no match for a dragon, so they tucked their tails and went their way.”

“Where’d you learn that?” “High school,” Jake said, slamming it into gear. “Long story.” Tyres shrieked on torn asphalt. The W.R.X. launched. Wolves pounded after them, then one by one peeled off, howls echoing under concrete. At the head of the pack, a scarred she-wolf—taller, broader—snarled, snapping at a male that edged too close. They didn’t follow. They watched. They always watched. Jake tore a glance in the mirror. Nothing but yellow eyes and patient rage.

I won't give up. As I get my bearings straight and my vision begins to come back into focus, I see what looks like a silver bullet flying through the air and knocking the feral to the ground. The feral whimpers at the impact, but gets back up. My vision fully returns and that's when I see Avalanche. She's here. And not just Avalanche, but Donna, my mom, and Grams are here as well. The four of them are circled around the feral with the hair on the back of their scruffs standing on end. Mom's light brown wolf, Marnie, jumps first towards the ferals legs. Carmen, Donna's wolf, goes for his tail. Gram's brown and white wolf, Star, jumps on the ferals back trying to dig her claws into the ferals

She realized her mistake when Wade huffed his amusement next to her again and everyone else seemed to cough for some reason. Elder Daniels chuckled. “Luna Gemma, a rogue is purely a wolf that has no loyalties to a single pack; they choose to roam outside the boundaries of pack life to the point where they lose their humanity and go feral, which is why they get put down on sight. But from appearances, you have somehow managed to tame a feral.”

I don’t think, I move running fast as the branches snap under my boots as I break into a run, pushing through the trees until the scene bursts into view… A small body on the ground. A boy who looks to be just ten, Scrambling backward, his hands shaking, eyes wide with terror and towering over him is a rogue wolf. But not just any rogue. This one is feral, Its fur is matted with old blood, ribs barely covered by skin, eyes glowing with something wild and broken which means it’s an insane one and there’s no control there or sanity. Just hunger! The kind that doesn’t stop and the kind that kills.

she trailed off and I felt a chill run through my spine as her voice bounced off the walls of my office. If Annabeth was worried about them and she thought they were not ordinary, it had to be bad. “They are feral wolves, Darius.” “What?” I asked as I scooted closer to the edge of my seat. “Yeah, they are feral. The worst kind. One bite from them and it's game over,” she completed. Feral wolves were the worst kind of rogues that could infiltrate a territory. They were like zombies. They didn’t have a mind of their own. They were controlled like robots.

He didn't resist, his body still trembling from the transformation. Trying to comfort him as he lay there, I stroked his dark brown hair. Inwardly, I was trying to process what I had just witnessed. I've heard of werewolves with feral wolves, but I hadn't seen one until today. I had assumed they had gone extinct, but this event proved my assumption wrong. Moreover, werewolves with feral wolves are unable to control their transformations, and their wolves are violent and devoid of emotions. As a result, they pose a risk to themselves and those around them, as their wolves can cause harm to both.