The Spartan: Book 1 of The Wolf Wars Saga

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Asenna Lupei is the last of the Spartan Werewolf Pack. She survived the massacre of her people and eight years alone in the wilderness only to be taken into the werewolf city of Varcolac against her will. It is there that she meets a handsome but rage inducing Alpha Prince who might just be her salvation.

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An Unwelcome Interruption

Lightning. Thunder. Screams and howls echoing each other through the cold night.

I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I did know that is wasn’t good. I was huddled in the corner of my room, blue eyes wide with fear. I heard the rumbling and shouting from outside and tried to tune out the high pitch that pierced my ears. Through the ringing I hear my name.


That voice. I remember that voice.


I didn’t dare look out my window. There was too much happening too quickly, too many wolves attacking each other. The door to my room flew open and the silhouette of a man rushed towards me.



My eyes opened with a sudden jerk and I looked around my latest cozy home. I slowly raised my body and yawned as I stretched out my back and front legs, letting my claws dig into the soft earth. That’s right. Claws.

It wasn’t that I hated my human side. I just didn’t particularly like it.

I spent the better part of the last eight years content in my wolf form. Don’t get me wrong, I shifted every now and then when circumstance required it- damn urbanization- but I preferred the power that came from my wolf. Not to mention the fact that a girl wandering around with silver hair wasn’t exactly normal in my usual hang outs.

Hang outs. That’s an interesting way to put it. Sure, the constant rotation of woods and mountains were very popular hang outs- at least for freakish nomadic wolves like me.

Now, before you start in about the whole fairy tale, “full moon” phasing nonsense, let me cover some crucial information for you. Yes, there are such a thing as werewolves. We also go by lycanthropes or lycans for short- though I’m not opposed to being addressed as “Badass Lycan Goddess” or “All Powerful She-Wolf.” No, werewolves are not “beholden to the moon” as the whack-jobs like to say (take a lycanthrope history course why don’t you?). Unfortunately, werewolves are susceptible to both silver and wolfsbane… at least most of them are. I am free to shift as I please and it pleases me to remain a wolf, so there’s that. Does that cover our bases? Good. Moving on.

I stepped out of the shady den and into the dim morning light. The air was cool and crisp. Thank the Moon Goddess for fall. I usually travelled north into Canada during the summer months and even then, my thick fur was a nightmare.

I let my ears swivel around to pick up any noise from the forest around me. Birds singing. Rabbits fidgeting. Squirrels scurrying. Nothing out of the ordinary. I wasn’t hungry yet, so I decided why not check out the area, see what all is going on. I walked through the trees, calmly but quietly. Last thing I needed was for a hunter to sneak up on me. Imagine what your reaction would be if a dead wolf shifted into a human right in front of you… yeah, exactly.

It didn’t take long to come up on a nearby town. It stank of humans- granted I couldn’t tell you the last time I had a shower, so I guess I’m not one to talk. My bath time usually consisted of jumping into the nearest creek, lake or pond. I sat at the edge of the forest, positioning myself at the peak of a hill that had a good vantage point. Just because I didn’t like being a human, doesn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy people watching. After all, it was the closest thing to TV for me.

I scratched at my ribs with one of my back paws as cars and pedestrians go on about their business. I rolled my eyes at girls giggling and squealing as they juggled enough shopping bags to clothe the local homeless population, chuckled as a girl threw a coffee in a man’s face, and sneered as a rather robust toddler threw a fit over his now empty candy wrapper. Not to worry though, his doting mother was quick to replace the empty wrapper with a new candy bar.

It was a cute town I suppose, not much to entertain but it was quaint. I looked around for signs of where I could be, but this small town could have been anywhere along the northern Rockies. Ever since I started living as a wolf, I never paid much attention to names of places. I moved off instinct and took things as they came. Speaking of which… Instinct was telling me it was time for lunch.

With a shake of my fur I trotted back into the dense foliage of the forest. I wasn’t quite sure what I was in the mood for, but I opened my senses to my surroundings. My nose raised toward the sky and I breathed in the heavy mixture of scents: pine, dirt, birds, squirrels… ah, there it was. Deer. I followed the scent through the woods, careful not to alert my prey of my approach. The musky odor was getting stronger. I knew I was close. I crept low to the ground, skirting around the area so I was downwind. I paused at the top of a rock outcropping and saw my target. The deer grazed on the small patches of clover and grass less than thirty yards ahead with its back to me. Just as its head shot up in alarm, I sprung from my perch and within a few short bounds, launched myself onto the hapless deer. My jaws found their way to the animal’s neck and my fangs immediately sunk into the jugular. Hot, sticky blood flooded into my mouth and my wolf was filled with pride and excitement at the kill.

With the deer still twitching, I straddled the deer with my four paws and began my awkward waddle to the small cave I declared “home.” It was more cumbersome than heavy. My wolf form was large and strong, more than capable of carrying heavy loads- thank you genetics and wilderness living. My stomach was rumbling, and I was ready to get back to the den to enjoy my fresh-caught meal. But a crashing through the woods made me jump and drop my bounty. I didn’t even have time to scent the air before a mass of fur barreled into my side and sent me to the ground.

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