Him [ A Werewolf Tale ]

When I was 13 years old, my entire family committed suicide, by driving full speed off a thirty foot bridge. Morbid, I know. Unfortunately, they deemed themselves unfit to live and ended it the only way they knew how. They had gotten themselves stuck in something deep and dark with a couple of the demons around our neighborhood and their contract was coming due. So at the age of only 13, I was left to fend myself and survive in a world full of vampires, werewolves, and demons. ~ My name is Claire Summers and my family had once ran one of the most powerful werewolf packs in North America. That is, however, only because of a contract held by a certain grey eyed demon. Since my parents died, I have been shunned. Disowned by everyone and unwanted in every sense. For the first time in my life I was completely and utterly alone. Until I met him


10. Chapter 8 | Cursed

Chapter 8 

The next morning, I awake with a grunt, the sunlight streaming in through the windows, blinding me. There is a heavy presence on my lower stomach, which I choose to ignore and bring my hands up over my head, stretching. Looking down, I notice the strong muscular arm wrapped around my torso and widen my eyes, as the sparks dance through my body. Shaking my head, I sit up in bed and try to get up, but with every move his arm only tightens. I look up at Alex’s face and lay back down onto the bed. I take in his dark brown hair that is now flopped over into his eyes and his lower lip softly jutting out, almost in a pout. In all honesty, he looks……. adorable like this, relaxed, vulnerable. I would like nothing more than to lean forward and take his bottom lip between my teeth. I decide to stay in bed, until he wakes up. This would give me time to admire my mate for once when he isn’t scowling.

His normally spiked up dark brown hair is now hanging in soft waves over his forehead and his eyebrows are scrunched together almost making him look confused. Breathing a sigh of content, I subtly snuggle closer to my mate.

‘Claire, What are you doing?!’ I scream at myself.

‘Relax. You’re cuddling with our mate.’ my wolf adds in,

‘He’s a monster! Think of all that he has done to us!’ I shout at her.

‘He’s holding you. It’s pretty obvious that some part of him regrets what he did and wants to be our mate. Now lay with him. This may be the only chance that you get.’ she scolds.

‘No. He isn’t my mate.’ I growl.

‘Yes. He is, Claire. You can’t run away from him forever. You know that. You need him.’

‘He is a curse. I don’t and never will need him!’

‘Please just give him a second chance. The bond is forming. The pull is starting. You need to just give him another chance.’ my wolf whispers.

‘He hurt us. If you don’t remember Alex knocked us into his freaking desk, just yesterday and then was happy about it!’ I exclaim

‘He wasn’t happy about that. He was smug over Sebastian. You and I both know he didn’t mean to hurt us. It’s just instinct for any wolf when someone puts their hands on them.’ she explains.

I sigh quietly and turn my head to look at him again. Biting my lip, I consider the options in my head.

I could stay with him now and I could give him a second chance.


I could run right now and possibly escape.

I had no idea what I wanted to do. I despise him for all that he has done to me, but no matter what I do he is still a part of me. Without me, he dies and without him, I die. Either way, someone dies and with new hope filling my body, I am not ready for that just yet. Nor am I ready to snuggle in bed with him either. Looking up at him one last time, I grab his wrist and gently pry his fingers loose from where they were wrapped around my hip. Surprisingly, his grip dissolves quickly and he allows me to shove his arm off and place it back on his side. Scurrying out of bed, I sprint over to the bathroom and shut the door, before he has a chance to wake up. Sighing, I lean against the sink and stare at my reflection. A giant white bandage is wrapped around my head. In the back, near the base of my skull the bandage is slightly dampened with blood. I frown in confusion. My head shouldn’t still be bleeding. The doctor stitched me up last night. Blood shouldn’t be on the bandage. Panic begins to set in. Why is my head still bleeding? Am I going to die?

‘Oh, don’t be a drama queen.’ my wolf scowls.

The click of the door opening brings me from my thoughts. Alex sticks his head through the crack with an angry expression on his face.

Shit, I forgot to lock the door.

But thinking about it now that probably would of made him angrier.

“What are you doing?” he growls, moving further into the room.

“I-I was just looking in the m-mirror. I needed t-time to myself.” I stutter quietly, shrinking back against the sink.

“I smell blood,” he spits, “Are you trying to leave me?”

“No,” I yelp, backing farther away from him, “I wasn’t doing anything. It’s my head.”

“It’s your head?” he snaps disbelievingly. 

Nodding slightly, I step back again fully pressing myself against the sink. He stalks forward, trapping me.

“Why are you lying to me? That isn’t possible. Doc stitched you up.” he accuses, his eyes turning dark with anger.

“I-I’m not. I swear. Look for yourself. It’s my head.” I gulp, leaning further away from him.

Abruptly, he steps away from me and barks, “Turn around.”

I breath deeply in fear and allow myself to collect my thoughts for one minute too long.

He narrows his eyes into slits and booms, “Turn around. Now!”  

I immediately do as he says, spinning myself towards the mirror. He is standing behind me wearing an unhappy expression on his face. His eyes shift slightly as he lifts my hair and sees the blood staining the material. A frown takes over his face and he takes the bandage off. Every move he makes in gentler than before. Almost as if he is trying not to hurt me for once. 

"You're fine. It's just dried." he whispers, throwing the bandage into the trashcan. 

"How does it look?" I mumble, looking down at the sink.

"See for your self." he grunts, holding up a smaller mirror for me to take. 

I hesitate slightly, before reaching out and grabbing for the mirror. His fingers brush mine and pleasurable sparks shoot up my arm, making me flinch. Taking the mirror from him, I quickly lift my hair and search for the injury. My eyebrows furrow in confusion when I find the stitches with no injury beneath them. Looking back over at Alex, who is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, I give him a look of confusion. I never healed this fast. It wasn't possible for me. I may of been a werewolf, but for the longest time I had healed as slow as a human. It isn't until then that I realize, I am standing without using any crutches and the aching sting in my back and stomach are gone. I look down at my feet seeing no bandage, only freshly healed skin. Turning back towards the mirror, I raise my shirt slightly, only to find no bandages, no stitches, and no scars. The scars that had maimed my body since I was 14 were gone. The bruises on my arms had healed as well. Checking my back, I find nothing but freshly healed skin. All the scars that I once had, had disappeared. All my injuries had healed, like they never even happened. A look of disbelief covers my face. I don't heal this fast, it isn't possible. 

"You've heard the legends about me I assume?" Alex asks, as he moves to stand beside me. 

Nodding my head, I turn my body to face him, raising my eyebrow. 

"So you know that Westwood blood heals just about anything." he says, shrugging his shoulders.

"Wait, what?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows once again. 

"So you haven't heard the legends then," he sighs, before leaving the room.

A scoff leaves my lips as I follow him out into the bedroom.

"You can't just ask me something like that and then not elaborate." I complain, throwing my hands up.

"Well, I was planning to. Sit." he says, as he takes a seat on his side of the bed. 

Slowly, I make my way over to the bed and hesitate slightly, biting my lip. 

"Oh come on, Claire. Don't stand there like I'm going to rip out your jugular. I did this for you didn't I?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Did what?" I mumble, gently sitting down on the bed. 

"Healed you......I healed you." he mutters, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

My eyes widen, "Why would you do that?"

"Because my wolf made me okay. He couldn't stand you being hurt and wouldn't leave me alone. I had to do something," he growls, running his hands through his hair, "Now shut up, so I can tell my story."

Gulping, I lean back into the pillows, bringing my knees up to my chest and resting my head on them. He takes a deep breath and huffs to himself, “Where do I start?”

A moment of silence follows before he finally says, “Okay. I guess I’ll just start by saying that it all started centuries ago when when my great times a hundred grandmother was a teenager. She of course was a werewolf. Everyone in my family was a werewolf.

“It was around the right time for her to find her mate, but she was always really…...rebellious. She didn’t want a mate and that was her choice. There are many legends that say that there is this special ritual or something like that, that can remove the mating bond from a person. So she wanted to do the spell. She hired a warlock to help her out. I guess she had no idea how to get the ingredients or something like that. He helped her and in return he got to sleep with her. They never ended up completing the spell because she found her mate and discovered she wanted a future with him. I think that’s just a crock of shit. You can’t not want a mate and then meet them and immediately want a future,” he scoffs, before continuing, “Anyway, the warlock had fallen in love with her and had wanted a future with her. So when she left with her mate, he was heartbroken, but understood he couldn’t do anything. Then, a few years later my great - times a hundred - grandfather started a war got stabbed with a silver knife, honestly he was such a wimp if a silver knife could take him down, but anyway he was going to die. She went back to the warlock in tears and begged him to save him. The warlock immediately refused thinking that if her mate died, he could have her for himself. She continued to beg and beg until he finally granted her wish and cursed her with the heal-able blood.”

“How is it a curse?” I ask, softly.

“You ever wondered why there isn’t any females in the Westwood family?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Um. Not really…” I trail off, shrugging my shoulders.

“Well it’s because they all get kidnapped and used as slaves for their blood. If you have a Westwood, you have magical blood. Meaning, you have the upper hand in any sort of battle and/ or trade attempt.” he mutters.

“Wow. That is curse.” I whisper, picking at the stray thread in his comforter.

“Yeah. So long story short, anyone from the Westwood bloodline can heal people. All they have to do is feed the injured person their blood and then boom they’re healed. Or at least they will heal as fast as a werewolf would. So when I fed you my blood you healed.” he explains, roughly.

“You know, you aren’t a very good story teller.” I tease, trying to give him a small smile.

His face is immediately enraged.

“Shut up.” he growls lowly, his eyes nearly falling black.

“I-I was just joking.” I stutter, looking back down at the bed.

“I don’t like jokes.” he spits, standing from the bed and throwing open the door.

“Get dressed. We’re going into town.” he barks, slamming the door behind him.

I huff, leaning back against the headboard.

Why can’t relationships just be easy?

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