Howl

This is a werewolf book, i'd like to think it's not as cliche as some i've read. Lets hope so. Happy reading, Larf you all x

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The technical term is Lycanthrope, the Hollywood version is werewolf but no matter the name there is no avoiding the fact that we are cursed. And it is a curse no matter what the films tell you, or the cute romance novels. It's not a choice, it is a curse. One that I have lived with and through my whole life. My parents had it, my parents parents had it, and I have it.

Imagine forcing two souls into one body, obviously only one could ever have control. But if you trap one it will always try to break free, that's the worst part. Loosing yourself when the wolf takes over, or at least that's what I’ve been told. I haven't done it myself. Yet. I will.

The very first Lycanthrope was cursed on the eve of his seventeenth birthday, a full moon. Since then every Lycan changes for the first time when they reach seventeen and every Lycan shifts on a full moon. It's conditions of the curse.

At least I had a childhood right? Wrong. My parents shifted once a month every month. Every month it was a new house, new town and sometimes new country. Every full moon was another murder. Like some sick, twisted cycle. And they didn't care, they were so used to it that they were never surprised to wake up holding a corpse. They were desensitized. In a way I suppose I was too. So it didn’t hurt me as much when two moons ago they killed themselves rather then innocents.

I blamed them for what they did, that may seem cold. But they brought if on themselves, there are two ways to be a Lycanthrope. One the one hand you can try to control your wolf, force it down so that it explodes pout of you with murderous force every thirty days. Or you can realise that it's just as frustrated as you are and let it out. Either way you will never remember it, you just have to trust your wolf not to betray you and rip your family apart.

My parents, though reckless and immoral , were prepared for the inevitable and wrote a will signing me off to a pack of moral Lycans and in particular the Alpha, Frankie Webster. The pack was made up of eight guys and five girls, I was the sixth.

And so on the 31st of July I was packed up and shipped off, well Frankie came to collect me.

He was a young man, between the ages of twenty five and thirty, his hair was dark and tufty and he had a permanent five o’clock shadow. I eyed him with distrust and he offered me a grim smile, his green eyes twinkling and then dying.

“Al-right?”

“Swell.” I muttered.

He smirked, and my spirits rose somewhat at knowing that the guy had a sense of humour. But not high enough to make me share his smile.

“Lets go.” He helped me with my bags, dumped them on the back-seat and we drove away. I didn't look back, there was no point, we'd been at the address for no more then six days before they tore each other apart. I felt nothing toward it, not even regret.

We had been living in a small village not far from Vienna, in Austria. Frankie lived in Snowdonia national park in north Wales it was a twenty hour journey of close to two thousand miles. Throughout the drive I don't think I said more then five words to him, and none of them were “thank you”.

The pack were wary of me as I was of them, we avoided each other neatly, and I soon became half nocturnal in my efforts to escape being seen and questioned. Mostly they were made of odds and ends, any nomadic Lycan who bumped into the pack and was at least civil toward them was allowed in. Or at least that was my impression, if it wasn't the case then I had no idea how some of them had joined. Whatever the case or the cause Frankie had room for everyone at the pack house.