The bakery was a blur of snarls, claws, and fangs as Bruce and Ryker fought to the death, their primal instincts driving them into a vicious and unrelenting battle. The small space seemed to shrink under the weight of their ferocity, the clash of their massive forms shaking the very walls. Display cases shattered as Bruce’s powerful swipe sent shards of glass flying across the room. Chairs splintered and tables crashed to the ground under the weight of their blows, the destruction a chaotic testament to their raw power.
Bruce fought with the singular goal to destroy and kill, his claws tearing through the air with relentless malice. Ryker countered, every strike driven by a desperate need to protect, his movements precise yet fierce. Each blow they exchanged left the bakery further ravaged, the once-cozy shop now a battleground stained with blood and chaos.
Bruce’s savage attacks bore the unmistakable signature of Malrik’s dark influence. His light br
Sarai pressed herself into the farthest corner of the back room, her knees drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around them. The commotion outside was deafening—the snarls, the crashing of furniture, and the sickening sound of breaking glass filled the air, each noise sending a fresh wave of terror through her. Her heart pounded erratically, her breaths shallow and quick as if she couldn’t get enough air.The growls outside grew louder, more vicious, and with each one, her sense of vulnerability deepened. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, but the act brought little comfort. "Why can’t I do anything?" she whispered to herself, the words trembling on her lips. She felt small, powerless—a fragile human surrounded by forces she couldn’t hope to match. Her eyes darted to the locked door, the barrier between her and the chaos feeling both too thin and suffocatingly thick at the same time.Her thoughts turned to
The rain fell in relentless sheets, turning the earth into a sodden, muddy expanse. The pack grounds were eerily quiet, save for the occasional roll of thunder that echoed across the skies. The air was heavy with grief, the kind that seeped into every corner of Ocean Crest’s territory. The loss of so many pack members weighed heavily on everyone, but none more so than Hugo.He stood in the center of the pack’s clearing, drenched from the rain, his sea-green eyes dark with sorrow. Around him, the wolves gathered, their heads bowed, their spirits broken. The howls of mourning pierced the air, a haunting symphony of shared pain and loss. Each cry carried the weight of a name, a memory, a life taken too soon.Hugo’s shoulders sagged under the burden of leadership, the responsibility of protecting the family that looked to him for strength. Ryker’s death was a wound that cut deeper than any physical injury. He could still see it—his loyal frien
The tension between them had been building for weeks—silent, unspoken, but undeniable. Sarai could feel it every time she entered a room, every time their gazes met and then quickly darted away. It was as if the loss of Ryker had carved a chasm between them, one neither of them knew how to cross.Sarai stood at the edge of the training grounds, watching the wolves spar. Their movements were fluid, graceful, powerful. She had always admired them from a distance, knowing her place—knowing she was just a human, unable to ever truly belong to the pack. But that had changed, hadn’t it? The war was coming, and as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t sit on the sidelines any longer. The thought of being useless, of being a burden, was becoming unbearable.“Hugo,” she called out, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. He turned, his eyes darkened with a mixture of grief and guilt. She could see the hesitation in his stance b
CopyrightThis is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to any person/s living or dead or event is purely coincidental.All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or any means, including photocopying or recording without written permission by the author except for the use of quotations in book reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.Cover Photo: For more on S. BharuthInstagram: @s. bharuth_writes_official© S.Bharuth 2019
Welcome to Rockshore Bay, a picturesque coastal city cradled by jagged cliffs and the restless expanse of the ocean. Its cobblestone streets wind between quaint storefronts and pastel cottages, the salty tang of the sea mingling with the scent of wildflowers carried on the breeze. Every morning, the soft hum of the waves is joined by the warm aroma of freshly baked bread from the corner bakery, and the townsfolk greet one another with easy smiles. To an outsider, Rockshore Bay seems like a haven—a place untouched by the chaos of the outside world. But beneath this serene facade, the city guards its secrets.Here, the ordinary and the extraordinary coexist in a delicate balance. Flickering streetlights reveal fleeting shadows that don’t belong, and the whispers of the waves carry more than the call of the ocean. This is a place where ancient powers stir, where the supernatural thrives in the cracks between the mundane. Rockshore Bay is not what it seems. Beneath its quiet charm lies a b
Hugo ran through the dense forest, the moonlight casting silver shadows on the ground and painting the foliage in shades of grey. The sharp scent of pine filled his lungs with each ragged breath, mingling with the coppery tang of his own blood. Branches clawed at his arms like skeletal fingers, leaving thin, stinging scratches, and the damp earth squelched beneath his pounding footsteps. The distant hoot of an owl cut through the stillness, an eerie reminder of how alive the forest was, even in the dead of night. Fear twisted in his chest, tightening like a vice, as every nerve in his body screamed at him to keep running. Behind him, the bushes rustled, though the night was unnervingly still. He turned, heart pounding, to see a pair of glowing red eyes watching him from the darkness.A low growl echoed, freezing him in place. The sound was guttural, primal, resonating deep within the hollow of his chest. He tried to run, but his legs felt like lead, as though the earth itself conspired
Across the city, Sarai Carter’s morning began with the shrill ring of her phone. The sound pierced the quiet stillness of her room, jarring her awake from a restless sleep. She blinked up at the ceiling, the pale light filtering through her curtains casting faint geometric patterns on the walls. For a moment, she lay still, her body heavy with exhaustion, her mind clouded by fatigue and the weight of everything she had endured.The phone rang again, sharper this time, breaking through her haze. With a heavy sigh, she reached for it, her hand fumbling on the cluttered nightstand. Her fingers brushed past an empty glass, a crumpled receipt, and finally closed around the device. “Hello?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.Even before she heard the slurred words on the other end, her chest tightened with dread. She knew who it was. Bruce. His voice, dripping with contempt and the familiar edge of inebriation, sent a wave of cold nausea through her. Her grip on the phone faltered slig
Far from Rockshore Bay, in the shadows of a crumbling estate deep within the woods, a figure watched a burning fire. The flames crackled and hissed, casting eerie, flickering light across the stone walls, which were streaked with the grime of neglect. The air inside was thick with the acrid scent of burning wood and the faint metallic tang of blood, remnants of Malrik's latest hunt. Shadows danced wildly, giving the illusion of movement where none existed.The rogue werewolf sat motionless in a decrepit armchair, its fabric torn and spilling stuffing like wounds left untreated. His amber eyes burned with intensity as he stared into the fire, his mind calculating his next move. The walls around him were lined with faded tapestries depicting long-forgotten battles and shelves cluttered with dusty tomes and cracked vials. A map lay open on a table nearby, illuminated by the firelight, its surface scarred with knife marks and smudged ink. Malrik’s finger hovered over Rockshore Bay before p
The tension between them had been building for weeks—silent, unspoken, but undeniable. Sarai could feel it every time she entered a room, every time their gazes met and then quickly darted away. It was as if the loss of Ryker had carved a chasm between them, one neither of them knew how to cross.Sarai stood at the edge of the training grounds, watching the wolves spar. Their movements were fluid, graceful, powerful. She had always admired them from a distance, knowing her place—knowing she was just a human, unable to ever truly belong to the pack. But that had changed, hadn’t it? The war was coming, and as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t sit on the sidelines any longer. The thought of being useless, of being a burden, was becoming unbearable.“Hugo,” she called out, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. He turned, his eyes darkened with a mixture of grief and guilt. She could see the hesitation in his stance b
The rain fell in relentless sheets, turning the earth into a sodden, muddy expanse. The pack grounds were eerily quiet, save for the occasional roll of thunder that echoed across the skies. The air was heavy with grief, the kind that seeped into every corner of Ocean Crest’s territory. The loss of so many pack members weighed heavily on everyone, but none more so than Hugo.He stood in the center of the pack’s clearing, drenched from the rain, his sea-green eyes dark with sorrow. Around him, the wolves gathered, their heads bowed, their spirits broken. The howls of mourning pierced the air, a haunting symphony of shared pain and loss. Each cry carried the weight of a name, a memory, a life taken too soon.Hugo’s shoulders sagged under the burden of leadership, the responsibility of protecting the family that looked to him for strength. Ryker’s death was a wound that cut deeper than any physical injury. He could still see it—his loyal frien
Sarai pressed herself into the farthest corner of the back room, her knees drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around them. The commotion outside was deafening—the snarls, the crashing of furniture, and the sickening sound of breaking glass filled the air, each noise sending a fresh wave of terror through her. Her heart pounded erratically, her breaths shallow and quick as if she couldn’t get enough air.The growls outside grew louder, more vicious, and with each one, her sense of vulnerability deepened. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, but the act brought little comfort. "Why can’t I do anything?" she whispered to herself, the words trembling on her lips. She felt small, powerless—a fragile human surrounded by forces she couldn’t hope to match. Her eyes darted to the locked door, the barrier between her and the chaos feeling both too thin and suffocatingly thick at the same time.Her thoughts turned to
The bakery was a blur of snarls, claws, and fangs as Bruce and Ryker fought to the death, their primal instincts driving them into a vicious and unrelenting battle. The small space seemed to shrink under the weight of their ferocity, the clash of their massive forms shaking the very walls. Display cases shattered as Bruce’s powerful swipe sent shards of glass flying across the room. Chairs splintered and tables crashed to the ground under the weight of their blows, the destruction a chaotic testament to their raw power.Bruce fought with the singular goal to destroy and kill, his claws tearing through the air with relentless malice. Ryker countered, every strike driven by a desperate need to protect, his movements precise yet fierce. Each blow they exchanged left the bakery further ravaged, the once-cozy shop now a battleground stained with blood and chaos.Bruce’s savage attacks bore the unmistakable signature of Malrik’s dark influence. His light br
In the dimly lit back room of the bakery, Sarai paced, her heart pounding against her ribcage. The sound of the wind outside seemed louder in the silence, its howls echoing her growing fear. She glanced toward the locked door, her fingers trembling as she hugged herself tightly. "Hugo," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I wish you were here."Her mind raced with thoughts of him—his calming presence, his unwavering strength, and the way he always reassured her that everything would be alright. She closed her eyes, willing herself to stay strong, but the sense of isolation and vulnerability gnawed at her. Outside, the tension in the air felt like a storm about to break, and she could only hope Ryker would keep his promise to protect her and that he would be alright.In the bakery itself, Ryker’s grip on his knife tightened as Malrik took another step forward. For a moment, their eyes met, and an unspoken history passed between them. Once, they had bee
The bakery stood quiet under the cold night sky, its warm interior now dim as Sarai cleaned the counters and arranged trays for the next morning. Outside, Ryker stood watch, his sharp hazel eyes scanning the empty street. The wind howled through the narrow alleys, carrying a biting chill that made him pull his coat tighter. But the cold wasn’t what unsettled him—it was the oppressive tension hanging in the air, thick and foreboding, as if the night itself whispered of danger.Inside, Sarai glanced toward the door, her hands stilling on a tray of pastries. "You feel it too, don’t you?" she asked softly, her sapphire eyes flickering with worry. Ryker didn’t turn, his body tense. "Something’s off," he admitted, his voice low. "Stay close, Sarai."A sudden gust of wind rattled the shop’s windows, and Ryker’s nostrils flared. A foul stench drifted on the breeze, acrid and unnatural—a sickening combination of rotting flesh and
Bruce paced the length of the crumbling hall, his amber eyes flickering with a mix of rage and curiosity. His gaze shifted to Malrik, seated with an air of brooding menace on his fractured throne. For a moment, his attention lingered on the jagged scar slashing across Malrik’s face, a cruel reminder of a violent past."That scar," Bruce said, his voice low but firm. "How did you get it?"Malrik’s lips curved into a sardonic smile as he leaned back in his throne. "Ah, this," he said, brushing his claws lightly over the disfigured flesh. "A question most don’t dare ask."Bruce didn’t waver, his claws flexing impatiently. "I’m not most."Malrik chuckled darkly, the sound echoing through the ruins. "No, you’re not. Very well." He rose from his seat, his movements slow and deliberate as he began to pace. "This scar is a reminder. Not just of pain, but of a vow. After Damien exiled me, I swore I’d return. Not to beg for
Bruce’s claws scraped against the stone floor as he approached Malrik’s throne the following night, his amber eyes still glowing with the remnants of the beast’s fury. But a question burned in the back of his mind, refusing to be silenced even in his rage."Why do you hate him so much?" Bruce growled, his voice guttural yet sharp, cutting through the stillness of the ruined hall. "Why do you want Hugo destroyed?"Malrik tilted his head, studying Bruce with a predator’s amusement. "Ah, the curiosity of the broken," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "I wondered when you’d ask me this question again."Bruce’s claws flexed impatiently. "Answer me," he demanded, his anger barely contained.The smirk on Malrik’s face faltered slightly, replaced by a shadow of something darker, more personal. He rose from his throne, his movements calculated as he began to pace. "Hugo was never supposed to exist," he began,
Bruce stormed through the dilapidated gates of the rogue pack’s estate, his chest heaving with anger that simmered just beneath the surface. The building loomed before him, its crumbling walls and shattered windows a stark reflection of the chaos brewing within him. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, and his claws threatened to extend with every step he took.Malrik, perched on a broken throne in the estate’s grand hall, noticed Bruce’s arrival immediately. The rogue Alpha’s amber eyes glinted with predatory interest as he took in Bruce’s seething form. "Ah, you’re back," Malrik drawled, his tone laced with mockery. "I take it your little field trip wasn’t as fulfilling as you’d hoped."Bruce didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he stood before Malrik. The memories of Sarai’s laughter, her closeness with Hugo, and Ryker’s constant presence replayed in his mind like a tormenting loop. His bitt