Werewolf Makeup Men Novels & Stories

"What do you think you'll transform into this time?" His two friends laughed loudly. "A flea wolf!" "A forest rat!" "Hahaha!" Raven gritted his teeth. It hurt. Not from the push. But because they might be right. Tomorrow was a very important day. The Blood Moon Festival only happens once every five years. On that night, the moon's energy reached its peak. Teenagers who had turned eighteen would undergo a ritual to awaken their true powers. Some became Betas. Some became Gammas. A few talented ones might even become Alphas. It all depended on each werewolf's abilities.

Maybe I could even convince myself that I wasn’t Audrey the human, but rather a werewolf just like everyone else. A werewolf who didn’t need to dye her silver hair black. Once the crystals were in place, I moved on to the feathers. Each one had to be placed perfectly, creating a delicate frame around the edge of the mask. It was painstaking work, but the result would be worth it.

“Down—now!” Gunfire cracked the room open. The thin man vaulted onto the bar, grinning as rounds dimpled and popped back out of his skin, tink-tink to the floor. “Sleeper!” the blonde soldier snapped. “Change rounds!” the bald one barked, slamming home a magazine stencilled with an S. The man screamed. Bones broke and reknit; limbs stretched; fur tore through skin. In seconds, a werewolf crouched on the bar, muzzle dripping and smiling.

The scientist smiled and pressed the remote he was holding. The man named Uno stopped running when he felt a pain in his head. He stopped running and growl. He looked behind him to see what the scientist was doing, but he had run a long way in just one minute. “Ahh!” he cried out again when he felt the pain again. He fell on the ground and suddenly felt all his bones cracking and his body felt so hot. As he crawls on the ground, he felt that he’s slowly changing into something… a werewolf!

The four or five customers watching were cheering him on, throwing singles towards the stage. “You are looking all kinds of lost, sweetie,” a low, but velvety voice startled me from the right. I jumped in place, turning to see a man with a full beard, but also a full face of make-up, including lashes, leaning against a wall. “The ‘FoXXX Tail’ is the next block over.” “Nope.” I grinned. “I was sent here.” I could smell that he was a werewolf, and I was instantly relieved. I was starting to think that the witch had sent me to a random human gay strip club.

The doors opened. He stepped in alone. No regalia. No medals. No ceremonial armor. Just a simple black tunic stretched across his massive, battle-hardened frame, dark trousers, and boots still dusty from the road. His face was sharper than I remembered — scarred, brutal, devastatingly handsome. A long silver scar ran from his left eyebrow down to his jaw. His dark hair was longer, tied back messily. Golden werewolf eyes scanned the room with predatory indifference. The entire hall fell into stunned whispers.

My clothes strain and tear, unable to contain the transformative force unfolding within me. In a flash of fur and sinew, I am no longer the man they taunted moments ago, but a majestic beast—a wolf, with a coat of dark, sleek fur glistening under the dim lighting of the restroom. My once-human form now replaced by a creature of feral strength, bright blue eyes and instinct. The air crackles with tension as each of the men undergoes their own transformation, shedding their human guise to reveal their true nature—a pack of fierce and formidable werewolves. Their snarls and growls mingle with mine, creating an eerie symphony of primal fury.

Matching purple lipstick gives her a corpse like appearance. “Cora!” Arrow cheers, but keeps holding Psyche's and Bronx’s hands. The woman gives him a quick nod and turns back to the portal. Caron stands at the edge of the plank, but doesn’t reach his hand out. A giant man steps out of the portal in a tunic style shirt and leather pants. Just like Persephone, the light doesn’t touch him. His skin is as white as snow, and his eyes are pitch black like a werewolf, and he has a permanent sneer on his face. His imposing size consumes the surrounding space.

The whole place had a pulse of excitement and anticipation. The tailors gave me the clothes for tonight. It is a three-piece suit made from wool that matches our eye color, blue, and silver. They embroidered the sleeves with symbols of our pack, the triskele. “Alarick!” I shouted as a lot of werewolves also occupied the tavern. “Ylva’s looking for you.” Alarick nodded and went in my direction. He looks like a busy merchant trying to greet all his emptor. “Let her be. She knows her way around.”

Hearing him say that, she suddenly averted her gaze from staring at him. She shyly waved her hand to start a conversation: "Can your eyes change color?" "Why do you know?" She did not hide it: "Actually last night I saw your eyes were red." Last night he thought she was unconscious, and probably wouldn't remember anything. But he guessed wrong, she did not lose consciousness but still remembered everything clearly. Because he is a werewolf, when he walks out in the dark, his eyes will turn red. It seems that she has doubts about his identity. She already knew anyway, he shrugged: "Just as you thought."