Millenium Wolves Novels & Stories

“They burned the homes. Slaughtered those who resisted. The few survivors fled into the woods, starving, hunted, desperate. Among them were children, elders, healers… people who had no place left to go.” “Did they survive?” Samantha asked. “They would have died,” Mira said. “If not for a wolf.” Samantha blinked. “A wolf?” “She came from the east,” Mira said. “From a pack called Dawncrest. A pack that followed the old ways honoring the balance of moon and earth. The Dawncrest wolves were rare. Powerful. And their Alpha… Her name is Malia.” The name shivered through Samantha like a forgotten song.

Wolves stood on the porch, on the stairs, pressed against walls, offering their silent support. This was what a good pack looked like; unified, fierce, protective. Ready to tear the world apart for one of their own. Inside, Milo remained unconscious, breathing shallowly, caught somewhere between life and the dark. But he wasn’t alone. Not while the pack stood watch.

"I’ve never heard of that kind of wolf before." Valarie’s lips curled into a knowing smile as she turned and walked toward a velvet couch placed near the fireplace. Her movements were slow and deliberate, as if each step was choreographed by wisdom and time. "Sit down," she said gently, pulling a thick, leather-bound book from a shelf. The cover was embossed with silver runes that shimmered faintly under the library’s soft lighting. "Moon Wolves are rare—rarer than Lycans, rarer than the Supreme Alphas. In fact, only two have ever existed... and both belonged to the Paleframe bloodline."

But soon enough I had all the 11 files we had compiled and filled with invaluable information through a shit ton of hard work. I quickly opened the file at the very top, which belonged to the New Moon pack in South America. They had lost the least amount of wolves out of the total 12 packs attacked. Why? because less than 32 rogues had attacked them and they all seemed like normal werewolves but on a shit ton of weed.

I was captivated by the way the wolf was portrayed—its presence commanding yet protective, a guardian of the night who watched over the land and its people. It was very far from what the werewolves believed that was in the legend. We weren't cursed. We were their saviors. The Moon Wolf led a group of ancient warriors, their forms draped in robes and armor. They knelt before the wolf, their heads bowed in reverence, as if offering their loyalty and trust. The next mural depicted the transmission of the wolf’s power to the chosen warriors—a ritual of transformation, where the spirit of the Moon Wolf merged with theirs, granting them the strength and abilities that had been passed down through