Black Cat Claws Novels & Stories

All eight men turned invisible at the same time, and Wilbur was the only one left on the balcony to face the gigantic black panther as it took off charging toward him. The black panther moved incredibly fast, clawing at Wilbur viciously. Wilbur's right hand flipped over, and the thunder cleaver appeared in his grasp. Wilbur swung it at the front left paw of the panther, but the panther ended up holding the cleaver down before swiping at Wilbur's stomach.

I could feel the leash holding Emrae in place fray to barely a single thread’s width. “You creepy bastard!” I screamed, slamming my hands into his chest. Kade staggered backward, his eyes wide in surprise. If he had been a lesser being, the force would have sent him flying into the wall. I looked down at my hands. My red nails had morphed into long black claws, and I could hear my breathing change to something low and gravelly. “You stay the fuck away from my pups,” Emrae and I growled simultaneously. But Kade wasn’t having it. His eyes darkened, showing his wolf. “You killed my pup,” he growled. “You heartless bitch!”

“I don’t really know if I should be grateful for that fall or not. You seem like a whole new person. You look… different. The good kind of different. Not like how you always wore those dull clothes. I’m impressed.” Silence stretched between us. Thick. Heavy. I stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast. “Tell me something, Dimitri,” I said quietly. “Where is this? Why did that woman grow claws? I’m so confused.” He reached out, placed both hands on my shoulders. Steady. Warm. “You must have hit your head really hard.” His voice was gentle. Patient. “It’s normal for us to grow claws when we’re angry. Or about to shift.”

She was beautiful and I almost thought she was a prisoner like me in this strange place till I noticed her hands. Instead of ordinary fingernails, long black claws extended from each fingertip, sharp enough to carve through even stone. She caught me staring at them and chuckled sounding very much like the demon she was. “They frighten you?” She asked “They’re very noticeable.” She laughed quietly. “They’re useful.” Her gaze shifted toward the hidden passage behind the bookshelf. “You shouldn’t go in there.” She said “Why not?” “Because people who wander into places they aren’t invited usually disappear.” She said and flexed her claws at me

⸻ He had simply opened a door. ⸻ And now something was walking through it. ⸻ The abyss exploded. ⸻ A claw emerged. ⸻ Everyone froze. ⸻ The claw was enormous. ⸻ Covered in black crystal. ⸻ Ancient silver markings crawled across its surface. ⸻ But the markings were broken. ⸻ Corrupted. ⸻ Twisted. ⸻ Like something beautiful had rotted. ⸻ A second claw appeared.

Claws fully extended, I lunged at the nearest two… a massive black-eyed brute and its foaming companion barreling straight for Zeph’s flank. The first one never saw me coming. My hand punched through its chest, fingers closing around its still-beating heart. I ripped it free in a wet, tearing spray of blood and gore, the organ pulsing once in my palm before I crushed it. The rogue’s body crumpled, ribs splayed open like broken wings, black blood pooling beneath it.

His pupils bled to black-red until there was nothing but a bottomless void. Then came the claws. They tore through his gloves first, then through skin as if the flesh couldn’t contain them. They weren’t normal claws; they were long, curved, slick as obsidian, veined faintly red as though blood had frozen inside them. His shirt shredded, seams popping one after another until it fell in ribbons off his shoulders. I backed against the wall, my legs shaking so hard they barely held me. “Saint…” It came out in a weak whisper, but he didn’t even glance at me.

Each shift of muscle under that pelt was a landslide, a rolling threat of power contained only by skin. His hands were monstrous—long, muscled limbs ending in terrifying black claws curved like scythes. Claws capable of gutting a horse. Tearing down trees. Ripping through bone. The tips of those claws gleamed wet and dark, as if they’d already tasted a thousand hunts and remembered every single one. His chest heaved, thick with sinew and dark fur. Every inhale rattled through the clearing like a growl dragged through gravel. Frost steamed faintly where his breath hit the frozen air, curling around him like a ghostly cloak before dissipating.

Making her see Nicholas as a hideous monster. Her hand tentatively rose, timid and trembling. Reaching out to touch Nicholas' cheek. She didn't get to. Because there was a much larger one firmly wrapping around her slender wrist. Holding it so tightly. He had...claws instead of nails now. And his fingers didn't look normal anymore. They were black. As if tipped in black paint. And they ended in long, sharp and scary-looking claws. The kind that you only see in horror movies. Her breath hitched within her throat. Staring between those demon-y eyes of his with nothing but fear. Uncertainty.

Knox is on the floor. Shirtless, soaked in sweat, and something about his body is WRONG in a way that my brain tries to reject before my eyes finish processing it. The muscles under his skin are moving – MOVING, shifting and rippling like something underneath is trying to rearrange itself, and his hands are pressed flat against the hardwood and his fingers are tipped with something that isn’t fingernails. They’re longer and curved and dark and they’ve gouged lines into the floor like trenches, and the word my brain supplies is CLAWS even though that word doesn’t belong in a sentence about a human being.