Werewolf Hands Novels & Stories

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.

Elizabeth POV Walking into Carter’s room shook me. Seeing him lying with his hands wrapped was difficult. For wolves, our hands were a key part of bonding. Particularly as high-ranking wolves. Our hands were cut, and we were bonded by blood. The thoughts that he would have anything wrong with his hands causes me pain.

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.

“I would never hurt you, baby.” “But your eyes. Your hands.” Her eyes drop to my raging hard on. “Y-your cock. It looks even bigger. How?” Staring down at my hands, I see that my black claws are now very visible. My cock is also in fact bigger than it was and that’s due to the fact that my body is currently in a half-transition state. You can only fight your wolf for so long. Even an alpha.

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.

Marlowe froze for a moment until she finally released her hand grip and looked at me intently. "How did the silver handcuff marks on your hands disappear so completely?" asked Marlowe as she flipped through my hands. Feeling uncomfortable, I quickly withdrew my hand. She vividly remembered the wound I got on my wedding day. Handcuffs made of silver will leave marks on a werewolf's body. For the past few weeks, it had been like that, a dried scar stretched across it, but the magic of Auntie's hands had changed it. "Don't tell me Esme has been visiting you?"

It took me completely by surprise. His hand. Just like his other Werewolves , his fingers were all elongated and I couldn't fight him. He slashed my dress and it disintegrated against his claws ,fall on the ground so easily as if he had scissors for the claws. If a thick fabric didn't even have a fighting chance , my skin was going to tear like wet paper at his hands.

I moved back, my body pressing against the window as my eyes dropped to his hands and I could see that his fingers were now long, longer than normal with sharpened edges that looked like claws. Claws. Werewolves. He followed my eyes and he cursed again before his fingers went back to normal right in front of my eyes and his eyes changed back to black-brown. My legs gave way beneath me and everything turned black as I collapsed into what seemed to be waiting hands.

“A Reaper? Please. Do I look like I survive on raw salmon and have the intellectual capacity of a brick?” He steps closer, extending his right hand toward me, palm up. His skin darkens, bones shifting and lengthening with a series of muffled, wet clicks until a massive, jet-black wolf paw replaces his fingers, complete with thick, curved talons. A beat later, the bones snap back into place, leaving his human hand perfectly intact. “I’m a wolf. Just not the kind of wolf you’re used to,” he says, holding out a hand to help me up from the boulder.

Werewolves didn’t have venoms, so what was this? Even his claws seem to drip with the substance. His wolf was larger than average werewolves but with furs. It looked rabid, crazy, more animalistic like the man had less control of the wolf. What was this? My hands shot forward and this time, instead of ice, what shit out of my hands was blackness. It was like a whip that had a will of its own and this whip wanted to devour the mad Alpha. He was faster though, getting out of its way at the last minute.