werewolves - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Emerging from the blinding white snow storm came the werewolves, immune to the bitter wind that cut into the skin of their prey, blanching their skin and bluing their chattering lips. At first they were little more than silhouettes and their growling was almost carried away in the howling wind. But as they neared their fur became discernible, thick and wintry in whatever hue their hair had been only hours before. They had the killer instinct of a wolf pack but the intelligence of a human. In barks and grunts they communicated, spreading wide, sending some to circle around, cutting off any means of escape. A foolish villager broke from the terrified huddle and made for the woods, in an instant the pack bore down, gnashing and ripping. When the people moved no more the feast began, crimson spreading garishly onto the otherwise pristine blanket of white.
They were almost indistinguishable from real wolves, but they were larger and moved with the purpose and intelligence of a human; albeit a human of such vileness and malice it might as well be a wolf. Their blood-lust was legendary and in a crowd they killed with as little mercy as a fox in a chicken coup. Only when their numbers dwindled did they deliver the non-lethal bites to convert more humans to their werewolf pack. When in human form they moved among us like thieves and spies. Like ghosts they could be there one minute and gone the next. Their footfalls were as silent as a wolf and if you crossed one he'd be sure to return for you at the full moon.
As much as he abhorred the self he became every full moon he could never bring himself to retreat from humanity. Those mornings he awoke on the frigid leaf litter of the forest, sticky with blood and the taste of raw flesh in his mouth, he would retreat to his isolated hut. There he would pray forgiveness, wash and dress in his cassock. For today there would be bodies to bury, his dulcet tones would be needed to soothe his flock. He wished with all his heart there was another way, but with each passing year he buried his guilt a little deeper, absolving his human from form from the sins of the werewolf. It was a schism in his brain he was becoming more adept at dealing with, the remorse that almost crippled him was becoming dulled, almost routine. He rationalized with notions of predator prey relationships in God's natural order but his intellect kept him from believing it entirely. It was a cursed life, a half-life, but it was all he had.
Werewolves are not blood thirsty beasts. They are the protectors of people. They do not kill at random. They are not easy to spot unless you know what exactly to look for or if you are a supernatural yourself. Some signs are: extremely protective of friends and family (like wolves of a pack), the alphas tend to be the most protective and try to take care of they're family/friends and usually are the ones to end the fights inside their group. Werewolves are not to be feared. If u find that you have a werewolf in your family or group of friends then you should feel blessed because they will protect you until their last breath.
I should be cold in this heaven sent snow but my body is on fire. It is in our natures to know when danger is near, ever since we took on the mutations. There are disadvantages of course but the benefits far out-weigh them. This feeling tells me a werewolf is close, circling for the next strike. Like true wolves they move in a pack, coordinated and without mercy. All prey is fair game to them.
The werewolves are can run a person or group of people into a trap, even lure them with technology. No longer do they look like their lupine brethren, but instead walk among us hairless and smooth. Their camouflaged works with regular people, but us mutants feel them with our extra sense. As I turn there is a man approaching, his hand extended in “friendship.” I smile, not to would give away my ability. He's werewolf for sure. I've got to give it to them, they aren't the half-wolves of old, stinking with matted fur, they've moved on to methods of greater destruction.
The werewolf sniffs as if he's recovering from a cold but I know scent is everything to him and he assumes mine will give me away. It won't. I have it under control. After a brief moment of eye contact he is satisfied his cover is still intact. He could rip my throat out right now and sleep all the more soundly tonight for the kill, but risking exposure for one neck would be foolish. Their kills are premeditated, more slaughters than merely murder.
The werewolves move by the twilight moon, coordinated, but rarely in company. Their target is prearranged and all that matters is a confirmed kill. Gone are the days of raging beasts with no thought to conceal their identity, anonymity is priority number one. It's my job infiltrate the groups, to meet them face to face and send reports to our side. I've been given enhancements to pass as one of them, but I'll never get used to their golden eyes or paper-thin smiles. They get excited by all the wrong things and drool inappropriately. They laugh at things that freeze my blood and talk like they own the world already. They don't though. We're fighting back. We gain ground, we lose some, we gains some more. But bit by bit we shrink their capacity for causing pain and destruction.
Werewolves Inc is an exclusive club and there are rules. Firstly you must enjoy destruction, it's fun isn't it? I know you've experienced that in your computer games, but you have to want to make it real, kill for real. Secondly you must love power and money, who doesn't? This one is sounding like a no-brainer already. Everyone want's to be in our club, but so few are invited. Though we're all rich, we don't really care about money, once you have as much as we do it all gets pointless and tedious. The cover of "making money" is just a means to play our death games - make bombs, sell guns... but I digress. We werewolves can detect our own kind, we're more intelligent than the "herd." You're one of us, aren't you? You don't belong with the sheep, you belong in our pack. Your first kill is like a shot of heroine, so much fun when you know you can't be caught. Who do you think owns the law? And just so you know, we only invite once, after that you're on the kill list. It isn't smart to want to stay in the gutter with the bleating morons, so what do you say? Are you a werewolf?
I'm a werewolf. I know what you think, that makes me a monster, right? Monster is a relative term, you're a monster to a chicken unless you're vegan. I'm a monster to "the herd," the stupid sheep that wonder about worrying if they're too fat or not popular enough. Sure I kill, but the herd is dumb. The difference between them and likes of us is as large as between you and that chicken. So who's to say what morality is? You? Me? Natural systems have predators, isn't it better to be the one with the gun? I just have the superior instincts. Your intelligence is superior, something close to my own, how else could you break the codes? Stop chasing us. It would pain for us to have to kill you, it really would. But we will if need be. Or else you can find your inner werewolf and join us, we could do with fresh blood in the pack.
The werewolf sat in the semi-shadow, his heart a steady rhythm. He knew no fear; he liked it that way. To be at the top of the food chain was his piece of mind, his warped version of serenity. Every movement he made was slow, deliberate. Killing was such sweet pleasure it had to be savoured, to hurry was bad form, like eating fine food too fast. His victim walked into the open and his long canine tongue licked his jowls. A girl, how pleasant. They always tasted finer, more succulent. He closed his eyes, the joy of imagining her blood almost overloading his senses. His golden eyes followed her path, so many tracks, so easy to trace. This was one pursuit he would enjoy remembering forever, no hurry, no hurry.
It's in our DNA ya know, a lot of the same stuff that's in the wolf. I guess you could say that once our ancestors were wolves, but not really, we branched into different types of mammals a long time ago. Wolves follow a urine scent, it's how they know who their "people" are and find likely mates. Tom laughs about what if we became wolf-people through our genetic tinkering, he giggles and says, "We'd be using 'pee' to 'pull,' and so in every document he misspells it, "Pee-pull," he writes, "when urine deep doody, paws." But ya know something, that wolf ability to translate odour to info, I want it, so when the sign up sheet comes around for a DNA uplift, my name is gonna be on it.