Werewolf Hands Novels & Stories

His seniors, some werewolves who had been with The Rogues for a long time, laughed at his statement. “Hey, Pete! Do you really want to meet a mermaid?” Hans asked him. He was the one whose one of his arm was modified with someone else’s arm. He lost his hand during a fight with one of the trolls in Vicious Holm, and Mira helped him. She found another person's severed hand and tie into him. She gave him her strong spell so it could be like his hand from that moment. This makes his body structure look strange, but his hands function perfectly. It even has greater power than the previous one.

The manevolent glowing orbs of a predator radiated from my eye sockets making me look inhumane and scary but still elegant. What were once my normal human hands got mangled and my skin peeled away like a banana. They were replaced with the large, hairy, dangerously clawed hands of a beast but in my case, it was slightly elegant. My entire body started molding itself into its new werewolf shape, which was usually a lot taller and broader than a human and somewhat slouched. So bones began to snap, lengthen, and pop through my skin and back into place. My ears stretched up out of the side of my head.

He crouched down and gripped me by my injured hand, probably trying to pull me up. Due to the state he was in, he must have forgotten that I didn’t have a wolf, which meant that I wasn’t as strong as the average werewolf should have been. He grabbed the hand with too much force for my body to handle and tried to pull me up at the same time with too much force as well. I screamed as I felt my shoulder bones dislocate and from the pain when he gripped my bandaged hand. He immediately dropped my hand as if it was hot coal and jerked back in surprise.

His hand hovered over hers, his fingers itching to touch her. “She’s ours,” his wolf urged again, its voice filled with longing. Liam’s hand trembled as he reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. Her skin was warm, soft, and the connection sent a jolt through him. His wolf growled in satisfaction, urging him to go further. His hand moved to her arm, his fingers trailing up to her shoulder. He paused, his breath hitching as she stirred slightly but didn’t wake. His touch was light, reverent, as if he were afraid she might shatter under his hands.

“Just let me see what we are dealing with.” He must be weakening from the pain, because when I go to pry his hand away from where he’s hurting himself, he can’t put up much of a fight. He whimpers as I pull his hand away. I put it on my thigh. If he needs to grip something, I can take it. His hand curls around my leg but he doesn’t squeeze enough to hurt. Slowly, I peel back his shirt away from the wound. I remember it as a slice. With his werewolf healing abilities, it should be almost gone by now.

At that moment, my wolf growled lowly, as if gathering strength for the impending action. I stood by the bed, my gaze fixed intently on Nelson. Then, my hands began to change. The skin on my hands gradually became covered with a fine layer of black fur. My nails grew rapidly, becoming long and sharp, like a set of sharp blades. I slowly brought these sharp claw knives close to Nelson's body, using the precise control unique to a werewolf, touching his skin. In no time, Nelson began to react, starting to sweat. Half an hour later, I said, "Your condition requires another treatment."

Walking into the water, I grabbed it up gently, trying to see its paw, " Aww! It's okay. I got you. Maybe I can give you a little help." Surprisingly, he let me check on his paw calmly. I saw a small bruise on it. When I touched it gently, it yelped in pain. I forgot about the sunset and began to walk out. A group of running footsteps stopped me abruptly in the water. Twelve large werewolves appeared in front of me, their eyes laying on the pup in my hand. The one in front shifted quicker than my blink, muttering with a smirk,

Fur covers most of its body, yet patches of bone protrude through its skull like exposed armor, giving its face a half‑formed, half‑rotted look that makes my stomach turn. Its eyes glow a deep, unnatural red, locking onto me. Its mouth pulls back in a snarl, revealing sharp teeth and long, protruding fangs that look built to tear through anything in its path. And its hands have only three claws on each. They are long, curved, and razor‑sharp, slicing through the air as it swipes. It’s like a werewolf fused with something skeletal and feral. And it’s coming straight for me.

A slight pain near my elbow and I knew I had fractured my left hand. ‘Don’t you have any shame?’ I threw my hands up aimlessly. My small body couldn’t resist the overwhelming power of a fully grown werewolf. He punched me hard, once, twice, slammed my head against the counter, until my attempts to refuse him died down. I nearly blacked out at one point. when I came to my senses, something disgusting was happening.

But what’s worse than that is the one lying still behind her. It was Ajax in his wolf form. His eyes are looking at me as he breathes weakly. He was severely injured on the chest, but not enough to cause him death. I try reaching out to them with my hands. Holly flinches, and I notice something different at the same time. My hands aren’t the regular hands of a werewolf. There are the hands of a lycan, and it is filled with blood and guts. My chest pounds so loudly that I swear I can almost hear it out loud. Realization starts to settle in.