Werewolf Hands Novels & Stories

When he first saw it, it was all he could look at. “It shouldn’t.” He admits, “But It is definitely a little weird.” “Try having it be your hand,” I say with a chuckle. “They couldn’t… like… put it back on or something?” His question isn’t malicious or ill-willed, more of a curiosity. The werewolf's body is strange and amazing with its healing properties, but even healers struggle to keep up with what the body is capable of. “I know in the human world they would have sewn it back on if the cut was clean.” I shrug. “But it was chewed off and after the fight, as I’m sure you remember, my hand wasn’t the only appendage littering the ground.”

I mutter, I'm sick of everyone asking me for impossible things, "Give me your hands." The werewolf puts his hands on the table. His hands are very large, but surprisingly soft. I close my eyes as I clasp our hands together and try to get to that point where I can get a little more information, trying to connect with my inner self. "Don't talk," I command before he starts asking a million questions.

‘‘Don't tell me... You are...’’ The man couldn't go on his words anymore when realization dawned upon him. His eyes widened with great surprise as beads of sweat finally appeared on his face. ‘‘Oh? It seems like you've caught on quite easily. What do you think should I do to you?’’ I spoke with a cold smile. I used the power of Danica as I shifted my hand to that of a werewolf. Slowly, furs began appearing on my hand, sharp nails also began to sprout out, threatening to kill at any given moment.

As if he accepted my limpness for consent, his hands drifted away from my waist, down to the curve of my ass. I immediately reached back to grab his wrist and returned his hand to my waist. Thank God I had my werewolf strength because he fought me every step of the way. If I had been simply human, he would have remained unchecked. Yet even with my strength, he was persistent. Three times I had to remove his hand from my ass. And then, once, from my breast. He placed his hand flat over me and squeezed. His fingers were clawlike, digging in. I winced. Merfolk men didn’t trim their nails as neatly as werewolf men.

Ganymede smirked, “so confident in yourself. I will love to see…” “His fingers are twitching! The right one!!” Lea yelled in my mind. I didn't bother wondering how she knew that, her observation skills were better than my sight. Tapping into my werewolf abilities, I sped to his side and cut the hand off before he could blink. “What the…” I watched the pain register in his mind and he screamed, the sword vanishing as he clutched his bloody arm to his hand. “You bitch!!” His voice was teary and his eyes were red. His effort in holding his tears back was applaudable.

Crash. To a werewolf of Roman’s pedigree, colliding with an ordinary human was a terrifyingly delicate affair. He had spent his entire adult life restraining his bone-crushing strength among them. As the books tumbled from her grasp, he instinctively reached out, his large, calloused hands gripping her forearms to keep her from hitting the concrete. The very second his skin made contact with hers, the universe violently fractured.

he asked Alexander. “They are clearing the bodies, they’ll be here in a few minutes,” Alexander replied. “Any survivors?” “All dead,” I crouch down next to the barely breathing werewolf, examining him. He looks disoriented, and he has a very slight cut on his temple that could have been healed by now because of his wolf genes, but it isn’t which points out only one thing “He is not under compulsion, he is ‘hypnotize’” I said examining the mark in his hand “Look here, he isn’t rouge, this is the work of a witch” I said pointing to the black park symbol on his hand and the little whitish cut on his forehead.

"Hello I'm Pearl, I'm going to untie you and take you to the bathroom to get cleaned up." I watch as her shaky hands go to untie my hand. Her hands were cold as ice, sending chills through me. I'm shocked that her hands are colder than mine. My arm falls on to the bed And then my other arm falls onto the bed, relief overcoming me. My arms feel like jello, I'm having trouble moving them. She looks at me and sees all the bruises and cuts on my body and says" you're a werewolf, why aren't you healing. It's odd that your wolf isn't healing you."

It will take a month to skin that damn bear. I extend my hand, stretch it out, and turn it alone to my wolf paw. Lycanthrope can use their paws like hands, or feet, and I extend my claws fully, measuring up mentally the size and sharpness, knowing really, I have the only tools I need right here. I don’t bother dressing, as I’m filthy after that little battle and about to be more so. Dried blood from my own now healed body, and the bears wounds, covers my skin in disgusting patterns and smear marks. I probably look as feral as this makes me feel. I’ll need to bathe before dressing, and this is going to get messy.

My vision started to come back as well, and I blinked as I saw Simon's hand covered in blood. My claws had sliced into him. Simon stood there, staring at his hand in shock. In disgust, I started the repeated process of grabbing the claws and painfully ripping them out. The pain was almost a comfort at this point, a punishment for having this nasty wolf blood taint my body. Just as before, my hands slowly returned to normal. They turned back into fingers. Little by little, they slowly healed, but the blood still covered my hands while my breathing started to get back under control.