Werewolf Hands Novels & Stories

she said, extending her hand to reveal a half-finger-long scar on her wrist, now faintly pink. "It was infected once. My wolf healing kicked in, but it left this mark. Your hands are so nice. It'd be a pity if you got a scar... Well, you'd still look good," she added, trailing off as if catching herself. Lance's wolf let out a cheerful whine at her concern. With a teasing smile, he said, "What's the use of a man having nice hands?" Adelaide replied earnestly, "It's better than ugly," her tone brooking no argument, as if stating a survival law of the werewolf world.

Aurora pov “Shit!” I exclaimed. My breath hitched as I stared at my glowing hands. A soft, pulsating light coming out from my palms, casting eerie shadows on the walls of the tiny cabin. My heart pounded violently against my ribs, I could almost hear the sound roaring in my ears. What the hell was happening to me? Why were my hands suddenly glowing like a bulb.? The naked man, no, the werewolf, stood frozen a few steps away, his electric-blue eyes locked onto my hands like they held the secrets of the universe. His brows furrowed in deep concentration, his jaw clenched tight as if he were holding back a dozen questions.

he voiced out this time. How are they going to fight four huge werewolves in their tiny builds compared to those creatures? Zane’s heart hammered in his chest. But he didn’t show his tension. “Shit!” Zeev cursed and looked at the opposite side to be ready for any sudden attack. A huge ebony-coated wolf with bloody red eyes graced under the moonlight. Zane almost gasped seeing the rogue. But more than its appearance, the almost glowing dark mark on its leg caught Zane’s eyes.

The pale-looking man’s hand is mangled and his skin peels away like a banana. They are replaced with the large, hairy, and dangerous clawed hands of a beastly creature. “Not again!” Captain White cried out. He has witnessed the furious nature of werewolves in the woods but got his ass saved by his wife. Too bad Kora isn’t here to save him. She’s still kicking some asses in the ancestors’ world. Is either he fights or gets maimed.

Lola’s pov, It was the day of the moon festival a couple of weeks later. The normally quiet village was buzzing with sounds. Lola walked through the fields that were filled with little stalls where people could sell things. Every stall sold something different from hand-made clothes to carved wood, to home-cooked meals. Besides the stalls, there were different areas where you could play all sorts of games. Lola saw a couple of wolves doing a strength battle with a big rope between their teeth. She rolled her eyes at the excessive display of growls and grunts and walked to the big dancefloor in the middle. There was a band playing and around the wooden dancefloor, there were lanterns in the s

He was weak and couldn't move as he stared at me. I shifted my right hand Into my werewolf hand and dug it into his ankle making scream in pain as I destroyed his other leg. I stared with a menacing glare as I kept eye contact with him while destroying his knees too. "Now I'm going to make you feel what I felt when you took everything from me" I said to him and pulled my hand out of his knee "I'm going to make you fe what I felt!" I screamed in anger and grabbed his shirt by the collar to raise him up into a sitting position.

Nick was speechless at her actions. He raised his hand, and his pupils gradually darkened as if he was staring intently at her swollen hand. His fingertips interlaced with hers, causing her to open her eyes wide, and her face gradually heated up. When she regained consciousness, the wolf man dropped his hand, and his sexy throat rolled up and down as he let out a light laugh, as if saying, "Done." Jenny lowered her head and discovered that her previously tortured and cracked hand was now cool to the touch, and the marks left by sewing had disappeared. She was still dumbfounded and did not know what the wolf had done to her hand, which made it quickly heal.

Hard to know. The wolves prepared for battle. Against a hand. A single hand. A hand not attached to anything else. “Are we sure it is not some kind of puppet,” a warrior asked. “Like a cursed glove.” “It has fingernails,” I snapped. “Puppets do not have cuticles.” Lucian gripped the broom tighter. “I am going to poke it.” “Do not poke it,” Marek warned. “I am absolutely going to poke it,” Lucian replied.

A hand came through first. Not a paw. Not a claw. A human-looking hand, slick with black brine and ringed at the wrist by torn fur, fingers splayed against the stone as something beneath it pulled the rest of itself upward. Then a second hand. Then a head lifting into view with wet, patient care. It wore a wolfskin draped around its shoulders like a ceremonial pelt. Its face was almost beautiful. That was the worst part.

There was no doubt he had the perfect view to see way more than he should. Layke slowly slid his hand up from her ankle to her lower thigh, wiping away the blood from the wound which had now healed thanks to her werewolf healing. His grip on the back of her calf was stern, but the hand which expected her skin was gentle, causing goosebumps to explode everywhere he touched.