A Werewolf's Promise (Scarwood Chronicles #1)
  • Reads 829
  • Votes 148
  • Parts 26
  • Time 3h 38m
  • Reads 829
  • Votes 148
  • Parts 26
  • Time 3h 38m
Ongoing, First published Dec 15, 2022
1 new part
Sugar isn't an ordinary witch, but oh how he wishes he was. Child of the High Blood Witch, all he knows is exceedingly high expectations. 

Determined to live up to those expectations, he enters the prestigious Scarwood Academy for Aspiring Witches, his only goal: to become the Dux of the School when he graduates. However, his magic is powered by... well, salt, not blood. And it is not exactly the most powerful type of mana.

But that soon becomes the least of his worries, as he finds himself embroiled in a plot to usurp the stubborn and controversial principal, the mysterious murders of students around the school, undoubtedly at the hands of a werewolf, and the welfare of a particularly strange classmate. But Sugar has secrets of his own, resulting from his unconventional creation, and he isn't afraid to used them to his advantage

Sugar going to need every ounce of magic and wit in him (and perhaps a few tricks from his past) if he is to survive his perilous first year at Scarwood, obtain a spot on the Honour Roll, and deal with his newfound mortal enemy.

TW: language, fantasy racism, violence and blood,
All Rights Reserved
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"What the hell?" I took a step closer to the mirror, staring at my reflection in disbelief. The person looking back was still me, but at the same time it wasn't. I had the same thick, dark, curly hair. The same hazel eyes. The same olive skin with a light dusting of freckles (ugh) scattered across the bridge of my nose. But my curls were now streaked with highlights. And not the subtle, golden-brown ones that sometimes appeared during the summer. No, these were an aggressive, dazzling blond that went from the roots of my hair all the way to the tips. It looked like I had spent a full day getting my hair done in some upscale salon. Never mind that I had never set foot in such a place since the day I was born. My eyes appeared somehow wider and more luminous. The colour brighter, my eyelashes darker up against them. And, when I looked closely, my pupils seemed to be slitted almost like a cat. I looked down at my body. My skinny arms-which had always refused to gain any definition no matter how hard I exercised-were lined with flat, wiry muscles. My bony shoulders were now curved and smooth. My scrawny legs were toned like a dancer. I reached down and lifted my shirt, revealing two subtle lines running vertically down my perfectly flat stomach, hinting at the rock-hard abs underneath. My whole body was rippling with strength. Like liquid steel.