Webbed Dog Paws Novels & Stories

My limbs had transformed into powerful, agile limbs. I stared in awe at my newfound paws, each digit adorned with sharp claws that glinted in the moonlight. I hesitantly lifted one paw and marveled at the softness of the fur beneath my touch. It was a revelation—an exhilarating discovery of a part of myself I had never known existed.

My paws look more like feet and hands! “What the hell just happened?! How the fuck am I talking?!” Was that the moon goddess? I am freaking out! I turn to check on Harper. She is standing in front of me, and she is stunning. “Mia, my mate.” I hear Mika purr. Her fur was pearl white, and it had a blue sheen depending on the way she turned. Her claws were like mine, extra-long and sharp. Her blue eyes pierced into mine as her gaze fell on me. Her snout was larger than that of a normal wolf. It had to be to contain those K-9’s. We were both huge and standing on two feet. I would venture to say that we matched Thane in height.

I gaze down at my fist as I rotate it, my brain dull but spinning. Paws are built differently than hands. I can picture the diagram from shifter physiology class at Moon Lake school. Humans have the long metacarpal bone in their thumb. Wolves only have small dewclaws. The actual circumference of the carpals aren’t that much different, but broken—the wolf’s bones would take up less space. Not much less. But maybe enough. “What are you thinking?” Darragh asks from his crouch, his face darkening. Despite the submissive position, his posture crackles with dominance. Something has set him off. Can he read my forming intentions through the bond?

These were the facts. Was there anything else? Anything else wrong with him that I was missing? He whimpered again. This time, he held out his front paw. He showed it to Callie. She turned it over in her hand. He had no claws. His paw was completely clawless. “Poor, poor wolf,” Callie sighed, rubbing his claw. He lowered his head onto the ground. “Is it all paws?” She inspected them. He still had claws in his right front paw. And three claws in his left back claw. But that was it.

Then he continued: "Dogs walk on four legs, not two legs. I have knee pads for you to use today. You also have these special mittens. The mittens do not have fingers in them, because dogs do not have the dexterity that humans have. These will be the paws for your front feet". Of course, dogs do not wear clothes, but then neither do you- at least not here." He handed me the dogs' paws and I put one on my left hand. It was a bit of a struggle to put the second one on my right hand. Using my teeth, I eventually managed to do so.

I let out a whimper as I looked at my reflection. I should have known. I shouldn't have hoped that shifting into a werewolf would magically regenerate my leg when not even magic could do that. My prosthetic was still completely there. My werewolf leg went down to the equivalent of a werewolf knee, then the rest was prosthetic, but it was wider somehow to balance out the fact that my paw was missing as well. It did not affect my balance at all, and you couldn’t even really notice unless you were deliberately looking for it, but it was still there.

I’m blushing because our hands touched. “He looks like a strong pup. We’ll see how his training goes,” he stated, taking his hand back. “What color is he? I want to try and picture him.” I asked. “He’s gray and white bi-colored. His paws, legs, and belly are white, gray speckles along his sides becoming grey along his back, a white streak down from between his ears to the tip of his nose, and a white curly tail. His eyes are an amber-brown color.” Andy described. He is good at giving details.

The kind that knows what to do with dark. The sheet slid. A small wolf lay where my mate had been a heartbeat prior: compact, strong through the shoulder, built for hills and stubborn ground. Her coat was deep brown at the base, nearly black along the spine, each hair tipped in pale—moon-dusted, not patchy. Ears alert, not skittish. Paws with proper pads and proper claw. No human palm where it shouldn’t be. Hips set for running, not crawling. Her ribs moved easy. Her eyes opened.

Our sight was blurred with tears but we already knew the way to where we needed to be. Zinnia drifted to a stop when she reached the cliff of the waterfall I fell into. She paced about, her tail swishing furiously. Zinnia's tail was unusually furrier than most wolves, and puffy so when she swishes it, it sends a gush of air surging around her. Her claws scraped the ground as she paced and her teeth were clenched tightly.

Almost half an hour later, I heard the water moving. With a big smile, I rushed in that direction, only to be stopped surprisingly when I spotted a pup in the water. It was small brown and fragile. Its fur was dampened with the water. It was whining in a low voice, lifting his small paw again and again. It looked no less than a doggy. But the fur confirmed that it was a werewolf. I couldn't stop myself from pitying its condition. Walking into the water, I grabbed it up gently, trying to see its paw,