Romans & histoires Ww2

As they enjoyed their food, they discussed the upcoming war. The second werewolves war, between the packs of the north and the south. Eve murmured while Sophie sipped her tea. "When the first treaty reached its end in the Cold War, the pack of the south was perceived to have attacked one of the pack members of the north, such an act breaking the treaty," Eve said with a spoon in her hands oozing with delicious-looking sauce Raymond was stewing in the kitchen.

With so little strength of numbers and power to protect November had to make herself stronger to protect the pups left in her care. They could stand any form of battle but they’re always outnumbered by other packs. The territorial wars between wolf packs had intensified throughout the years since World War II had ended in 1945. World War II where full humans had taken the wolf shifters for slaves and killer machines against the enemy countries and when the war ended a new world have been born, a new generation had started.

“I know you’re her mate, but you want to take her back to Snow Creek so soon?” Jaedon nodded. “I fear a war is starting.” My mother looked down at her hands, where she was turning her wedding ring on her finger. “You’re right.” I was confused. Mother continued. “When your father and I married, there were many threats made to us. However, Alpha of Snow Creek and Alphas of many other packs were our allies or just indifferent. This was the first marriage they had seen of an Alpha and an original. No one was as upset as they are now. When we married, there weren’t too many daughters of Alphas that your father could choose and I was his destined mate for a reason. People were angry, but it was wh

There was a kind of respect in the way he let the question dangle. My father nodded once, a crisp downward dip of the chin. “For now.” Another pause, its duration just long enough to reestablish the hierarchy. Then he leaned back slightly, a posture less of relaxation than of disengagement. “There is a difference,” he continued, “between a war that begins by accident….” His gaze found Alexander again. “…and one that begins by design.” The implication hung between us. Someone wanted this war. It was no longer just a matter of pride or territory or even Gabriel; it was a matter of design, and my father intended to be its architect, not its victim.