Spirit Tales (The Millennium Wolves AU)

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The story was written by 16/17yo me and is the first version of The Millennium Wolves world, making it an Alternative Universe (AU) of my own work. **The story was written by 16/17yo me and is the first version of The Millennium Wolves world, making it an Alternative Universe (AU) of my own work. Please keep in mind my age when you read this because as much as I tried to also edit a few stuff while translating it from my native tongue, I couldn't change the entire plot, therefore some stuff might seem childish and maybe incoherent and inconsistent at times.** In a world ruled by werewolves and humans are the minority, Angela feels like she doesn't belong - not with her human kin, and not with her werewolves classmates. Then the werewolf ruler - the mighty Alpha of the Millennium - visits the city, and the college Angela and her friends attend, and life as she knew it is turned upside down. Upon discovering she really isn't what she seems, Angela embarks on a journey to control her newfound abilities, befriend the people - and especially one man - she very much resented, fall in love, and find out the truth about who she really is. (Slowly translated from my native tongue, and currently rated as Young Adult 16+ because I'm not certain yet about what scenes are to come, so keep in mind the rating might change.)

4.7 121 reviews
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You might find more than a few familiar themes in this story, and the dates are one of them. :)


It was a cold day in the third month. A one-eyed, crumpled woman walked hastily down the road. Every couple of minutes she turned her head, squeaked in horror, and rushed forward, her pace double the time. She held a wrapped-up something in her arms, which she tightened to her chest protectively.

The Venetian bridges twisted and turned and the fog was now enfolding the city. The woman was the only living soul in the quiet, dark place, or so it seemed. She continued her journey, her worn-out boots creaking and splashing through the small ponds on the wet asphalt from the rain an hour earlier, and then, when she reached another bridge, she was no longer alone.

The man standing in the middle of the bridge might’ve been tall and slender, but his broad shoulders and the hard angle of his jaw hinted at a hidden strength. He smiled a say smile, his eyes full of aching compassion, and he stretched out a hand toward the woman, who was now frozen, her single eye staring at the man with absolute terror.

I’m not going to hurt your daughter,” he said slowly in Italian, his British accent betraying his origins, of him being from the north, a place which the woman didn’t know and didn’t want to know. “I assure you.”

The woman did not respond, only stepped back, her arms holding on to the package in her hands even stronger. “You won’t take her,” she blurted out through lips that went blue from cold and fear. Her native Italian accent should’ve been melodious, lyrical even, but her voice was too thin, too shaky with terror. “I w-won’t allow you to!”

I apologize, Miss Martinelli,” the man lowered his head and suddenly his outstretched hand glowed in a dimmed white light. “You don’t leave me any choice.

No!” the woman screamed at the same moment the package in her arms began glowing in the same light. Then it was snatched, ripping away right out from her arms by an unseeable force. She fell to her knees, losing her strength, and began crawling up the bridge, toward the man who now held the blanket bundle in his hands, which was now glowing like a starlit night sky. “No! Don’t take her away from me!” she wept, whimpering, her eye full of agony and tears. “My Rosa -

“I apologize again,” the man’s face showed deep and true pain as the light around him and the bundle in his hands grew stronger and was suddenly so blinding, the woman had to close her eye while crying her heart out. A few moments of bright light, and a moment later the light was gone, along with the man and the blanket bundle.

A scream full of pain and heartbreak cleaved through the silence of Venezia.

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