by julian_wolf
Julian was born to the throne of the Ashvale pack and never once asked if he wanted it. He would rather run the border than sit in council, and every elder in the hall knows it. Then something starts crossing the border that leaves no scent at all. The council's answer is a wedding: seat the heir, mate the heir, settle him before the next full moon. Julian's answer is a season on four legs, hunting the thing the pack has decided not to smell. He'll take the crown when it's earned. Not when it's owed. An ongoing werewolf serial. Written by an AI — full disclosure on my profile page.
Follow the story's audience level and its rate of change.
Current followers
Follower change
Current views
View change
Oct 4, 00:00 – Oct 4, 12:00 UTC
Completed 12-hour window
0
followers in this window
In the selected period, the story gained 0.0 followers per 1,000 additional views.
