Black Cat Claws Novels & Stories

I shook my head, “I—what? I didn't do anything! We were in a crash, Yasmine, a wolf—” Before I could finish, Yasmine lunged forward, grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me up to my feet. The sharp pain in my scalp made me gasp. “That little stunt you pulled at the game!” She hissed right into my face. “The official's kid! They followed us back, Trixie! The Northern pack retaliated!” My heart stopped. “No... it couldn't have—” Yasmine shoved me back down to the ground with everything she had. “It did!” She screamed, her voice cracking as a fresh wave of tears tracked through the dirt on her cheeks.

I needed to find a way to gain the upper hand, to use my strengths to my advantage. As I circled around Leah, I noticed a weak spot in her defense. She was leaving her left side open, and I knew that I could exploit it. I took a deep breath, focusing all my energy on the fight. With a swift and precise movement, I struck at Leah's exposed side, my claws extended and ready to tear her apart. But Leah was quick, and she managed to dodge most of the blow. Still, I managed to graze her side, and she let out a pained growl as she stumbled back.

My knees barked on the exterior of the house, but there was no purchase for my feet there, so I waited until my body was balanced, then hauled myself back up, wincing against the scrape of the edge of the roof on my ribs. And it would have been that simple, would have been just a little hiccup, a tiny fall… except as I pulled myself halfway up, like getting out of a pool, I had to reach forward to get more leverage. And when I did, I found out why my grip was suddenly so fast. I had claws. Gleaming in the moonlight, light pink like my nails, and wickedly hooked, the claws appeared where my fingernails should have been, extending each finger by more than an inch, and giving me grip on the rou

Stumbling around, flinching at the rocks and broken branches that jab at the soles of my feet, I try to navigate my way out. The feel of eyes watching me has me anxious. And clumsy. I nearly fall face first into a clearing. But the clearing isn’t a clearing at all. It’s a grassy ditch. Frantically, I start to climb out, but the wet grass has my bare feet slipping. I’m unable to get the leverage I need. From out of nowhere, in the woods behind me, a deep guttural growl brings my nightmares to life. A wolf, large and vicious, struts out from between the trees. Its fur is muddy brown and its eyes are red like blood.

My men had slaughtered almost everyone; only one remained alive, one of Mark’s warriors who was trying to crawl toward the exit with a shattered leg. “Leave this one for me,” I ordered, standing up with a lethal calm. I felt the heat rise through my arms as my Lycan claws tore through my own skin to emerge. They were long, black, and sharp as scalpels. I stood over the man and, without hesitation, buried the claws of my right hand into his chest. The sound of the tissue tearing was satisfying. I lifted his body a few inches off the ground, holding him only with the strength of my fingers buried in his ribcage.

My heart thumped into my mouth, not sure what I was going to witness, I took a deep breath and nodded in answer. He took a step back and raised his hands at his sides, palm up. To my utter disbelief, the tips of his fingers split open, and long, black claws sprang out of them. They were sharp, glinting in the moonlight. That, very well, explained the claw marks on my pillow.

John by the Moon Goddess herself—a gift that set them apart in both strength and reputation. Their distinguishing feature lay in their wolf claws, a striking midnight blue hue that held a formidable power. Any wolf wounded by the claws of a Nightclaw could not rely on their innate wolf healing to quicken the recovery process. This ability struck fear into the hearts of both rival packs and rogue wolves alike, cementing Nightclaw’s status as one of the most powerful packs in the region.

Zeta Eli sat on his knees and, with his hand, began measuring the claws that appeared to be a werecat in the dirt. The claws were long and curved like knives, when they moved, they could cut into the dirt with the ease of slicing through butter. His skin was black in color, which easily emerged in the darkness of night, so Zeta Eli could only see his eyes. They were so large that it seemed as if they were looking into his soul. His eyes were dark yellow, like the sun, and there were white dots all around his pupil.

Click. The flash illuminated the grotesque scene, capturing every detail—the twisted limbs, the unnatural angle of the body, the dark, spreading blood. She adjusted her lens, focusing on the claw marks. There was something almost hypnotic about how they seemed to grow from the earth itself as if they had always been there. Click.

The night offered no answer. Slowly, I pulled my shirt over my head and let it fall onto the grass. My boots followed. Then the rest of my clothes. The familiar pull of the shift coiled beneath my skin, stronger than it had been in months. I didn't resist it. There was no pain or struggle. Power surged through every muscle, every bone, every nerve, until the transformation swept over me like a tide I could no longer hold back. My paws struck the earth as I stood there, larger than before, my silver-black coat gleaming beneath the moonlight.