Wolves Books Fiction Novels & Stories

After finishing that mythology book about wolves, I had researched online and found an entire collection of dirty, smutty romance novels about werewolves, especially alpha wolves and I might have… touched myself while reading a few of them. A few tense, silent moments passed between us. Heat built between my legs as I thought back to those books the violent, vicious nature of a man who grew claws and canines during a full moon, the possessive claiming and marking of another, the pure aggression every wolf carried. Fuck. They were all made-up stories, yet I could not stop thinking about them. The truth was I kind of wished Professor Vance would snap, show me his canines, sink them into my nec

As we walked, the soft thud of our footsteps echoed through the solemn space. Jeremiah, a wise and weathered wolf with a graying muzzle, carried an ancient book in his hands. Its leather cover was worn, its pages yellowed with age. We reached a magnificent wooden table, carved with the same designs, and Jeremiah gently placed the book upon it. "Lyra," he began, his voice deep and resonant, "this book holds the secrets of our pack's legacy, and within its pages lies the tale of the Silver Werewolf." My curiosity piqued, I leaned in closer, my eyes fixed on the book. "Tell me, Jeremiah," I said, my voice filled with anticipation. "What is the story of the Silver Werewolf?"

It's a shame the pickup didn't run him over on the highway. In their wolf forms, nearly everyone loped out into the winter scene where the upper crust of snow was crisp and enormous snowflakes floated earthward. On deep-crusted snow, wolves had an edge over larger animals, but Ravena assumed Sheridan wouldn't slide through the snow like a moose or elk, slowing him down despite his greater size. She could always hope.

Verina’s wolves fanned out on either side of her, all of them large, dark, with glowing red eyes, crouching down, ready to hurl themselves at my pack. My wolves were equally prepared, stooping low, finding their centers of gravity so they could launch off of the ground and meet any attack midair. Or be the first to strike.

I couldn’t stay there and continue to face the disgrace of that day. My wolf is still weak. From time to time, he would groan within me, maybe to tell me he was still there or a sign of mourning. With every movement on the ground, my body still burned with pain. Whenever my body brushed against a tree or hit a rock, the pain would multiply. However, my will prompted me to continue to move on. If this will be my end, so be it. it was better than staying in the clan where no one cared anymore.

“It won’t attack, but we should get going.” I remembered my mother telling me about the dead girl they’d found in the reserve. “How do you know that it won’t attack?” “Wolves don’t attack when they’re by themselves. They’re a pack animal. It’s probably just as nervous to see us as we are to see it. I doubt many people use that trail.” “How do you know so much about wolves?” She looked at me and smiled. “I’ve moved in with a bunch of men who grew up in the country. I listen.”

This time I flew to Russia to check on how the clan of gray and white wolves is doing. Once upon a time, the latter were quite numerous and more developed than the former, but during a fire twenty years ago, almost half of the population died in a flock of whites, including the alpha and his family. It came as a big shock to everyone. No one really could tell anything about what happened, and how it happened. The official version spoke of an accident with fireworks during the holiday, which caused several houses to catch fire at once. The fire was not extinguished in time. The panic began.

I will be remembered in history as the first Luna who was not the Alpha’s mate, but the Alpha’s most beloved wife. Flavian escorted me out of the House and suggested I ride one of the wolves that will ensure I return to the palace in the quickest possible time. Of course. Werewolves are the shadows of the moon and hence they are quick, stealthy, and ride the night breeze. However… I have never ridden a wolf before.

- I don't know why I felt in my heart that my mother wanted to say more than she did. This wasn't the first time in my life, but since my father died this has gotten worse. - Mom? You didn't even seem too shocked by the location of the guy's house! - It's just that you finally have your breakfast Beck! We're leaving in thirty minutes to fix our hair for tonight. My mother didn't like to answer questions. I was used to it enough by then, so I didn't question anything anymore. I didn't question my father's obsession with wolf artifacts and legends, I didn't question why she wore a protective necklace against something that only existed in my books.

Books lay open across the desk, and papers covered almost every available surface. I reached for another old book that had been tucked away at the very back of one of the shelves. Unlike the others, it was noticeably thinner, its leather cover faded with age. As I brushed away the dust that had settled over it, three words slowly came into view. The White Wolves. My heartbeat quickened as I stared at the title for a brief moment before opening the book without wasting another second. “Finally.” The first few pages were filled with handwritten accounts describing the White Wolves as though they had truly existed.