Book 1
Ranked #1 in badboys: May 2018
(Unedited)
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The Wulf family is infamous in the werewolf community. Their family was the first. The origins of their kind. They are more aggressive and beastly. Their wolves more ruthless and blood thirsty. Th...
Please note: this story will have A LOT of ADULT CONTENT, and would be rated R so please read with discretion. There is A LOT of cursing in this chapter and will be A LOT in future chapters.
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"Please calm down, Rage,"
"I will not fucken ' calm down'," Rage stood, glaring at his mother across the desk, the same one that not long ago belonged to his father.
"Rage, it's what your father wanted," her calm voice did nothing for the anger brewing within him. He leaned forward, gripping the edge of the desk, growing claws digging into the old wood.
"Hunter doesn't deserve the position, mother!" He growled through gritted teeth.
"Rage," the small woman came around the desk slowly, she knew what he son was capable of, and placed a hand on his shoulder, "this is how it has been for generations, the eldest..." she froze as she noticed his grip on the desk.
The edging was splintering sharply, and blood pooled in the crevices of the wood, overfilling them and streaming down to the floor.
"Hunter is weak," he growled deeply, his body shaking with anger, fury, rage. His mother looked at him sadly. She knew he should be the one taking over, not Hunter, even his father had known that. To them, a tradition was tradition, no matter who was stronger.
"I won't follow him, mother, I can't," stepping closer, she reached for his chin, intending to make him look at her.
"If you stand by his side," the muscles in his neck tightened, not budging, "he will be a great leader, a great Alpha,"
She jumped back at the growl he let out. It was deep, ruthless and cold, rumbling through the room like an earthquake.
The desk before them flew across the room as he flipped it. Items scattered like mice across the floor as it landed on its side.
"Rage, please," her plea was ignored as she stood, staring at her son, her strong, powerful son. Her stubborn, hardheaded son.
"No mother," he turned, avoiding her eyes, his head high, shoulders squared. The only indication of his anger was in the blood that flowed from his clenched fist.
