Young Werewolf Romane & Geschichten

WEREWOLF A werewolf or lycanthrope is a mythological or folkloric human with the ability to shapeshift into a wolf or a therianthropic hybrid wolf-like creature, either purposely or after being placed under a curse or affliction. -Wikipedia Werewolf usually lives in packs. The pack will be organized by some wolves that are stronger or have more superior abilities than the others. There will be Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Hunter, Sentinel, Elder, Scout, Guardian, Omega, and Pup. But, in this story, not all of the wolf rank will be mentioned.

I feel the impact of every blow and kick they rained on me more than I would have felt if I had gotten my wolf. I'm not a normal werewolf you see. I'm a very late bloomer. Normally, the shifting age for werewolves is fifteen years. Sixteen for late bloomers. When I didn't shift at even seventeen years, I became the omega freak who is the butt of every joke. The stress reliever for every frustrated and the punching bag for every aggressive pack member, most especially those that called themselves my family.

“I'll answer that later. First, you tell me, how old are you now?” “I'm nineteen years old.” I answered his sudden question. “Hmm… It means, you are not to be a werewolf. You are a lycanthrope, born with werewolf's blood running in your veins. And you are not late. Lycanthropes awaken their beasts around twentieth to twenty-secondth of their age. You will awaken your lycanthrope real soon.” My jaw fell on my lap as I heard the details.

"Miss Emily, your fate is bound to greatness." The tribe's elder witch spoke, her voice like cracking ice, her cloudy eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. "You were born with a sacred gift—the rare ability to bear powerful, pureblood wolf pups." Her prophecy spread like wildfire the moment I entered the world, echoing far beyond our tribe, rippling across the entire North American continent. As I neared adulthood, werewolves from every pack came to court me, each hoping to mate with the legendary she-wolf who could grant them a bloodline of unmatched strength. Among them, Leon of the Silvermoon Pack emerged victorious. Ruthless, powerful, and backed by the might of his clan, he claime

It was obvious that he wasn’t in a good mood, war was looming around the corner and he didn’t even know anything about the people that were threatening to attack. Herrick adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat and began. “Good day ladies and gentlemen,” he started and paused a little bit for the audience to respond. “The White Wolf is more than just a myth. Infact, it’s not a myth at all, it is very very real. They are a rare breed of werewolf, born with unmatched strength and abilities. Their power is said to rival even the strongest alphas in the werewolf world.” He paused for a few seconds again and allowed what he had just passed across to really digest into the audience.

The younger Werewolves see how the higher classes live at much closer quarters on a daily basis. And the fight has gone out of the older generation. Alpha Tam, our alpha, belongs to the older generation. There is an obvious split between the older and the younger generations. Despite the current divide within the pack, if any member of my pack so much as gets a whiff that I’m sheltering the princess, I’ll be banished. And what is a werewolf without his pack? Banishment is the worst thing that can happen to a pack animal. It is worse than death for a Werewolf. When a Werewolf is forced to give up his pack and live alone, he gradually devolves until he’s more beast than man. He turns into a de

The creature was unlike anything Cruella had ever seen all the days of her life around the pack. It wasn’t a typical werewolf, but something twisted, something darker and Stronger. Its fur was a sickly shade of gray, matted and filthy, and its eyes glowed with an unnatural yellow light. The creature’s fangs gleamed in the moonlight, longer and sharper than any wolf’s she had ever seen, and its claws were stained with the blood of something long dead. Liam’s eyes narrowed, the familiar fire of the Alpha flashing in them. “You’re not welcome here, Raze.”

"How do you feel?" "Are you okay?" I ignored her question with one of my own. Her eyes shifted to my figure before looking back down on her own and shrugging. "I guess it's better than a mausoleum." My eyes cast downward. "Sorry, bad joke." "Did I hurt you last night?" "No. But...has this happened before?" "When you get to a certain age as a wolf, it's a rite of passage to experience it. I guess kind of like a human's sixteenth birthday or maybe their twenty-first. They do it so we understand what it's like in case we ever encounter it."

You think I forgot how you tried to get me into trouble? I could not help the tiny whimper that escaped my lips; the cruelty in his dark eyes sent shivers down my spine. They were full of hate for me, and he had held this grudge for fourteen years; he still blamed that innocent, tiny four-year-old child. Werewolves don't age like humans; they reach maturity when they hit puberty and become full adults when they are eighteen. That is where the similarities end. Werewolves stop ageing, or at least their physical appearance does, when they reach their twenties. As their life expectancy is so much longer than a human's, they look younger for a longer period. So Reuben and the twins were, in real

Then I began to grow anxious and doubtful. As I was busy searching for a book, something finally caught my attention. It was a book recording a few names of the people who awakened their werewolf side as early as ten years old. “According to the records, there is a werewolf tribe known for their early awakening, and it normally happens at the age of ten years old. They will remain in pain for three days and nights before they awaken their wolf. However, this tribe has never shown itself to the public, so records about them are limited to just the names of the people with the most peculiar awakenings amidst them.”