L'Anima Ladro by InkWeaver (books to read in your 20s female txt) 📕

L’Anima Ladro
The Soul Thief

Bite Me
Suck My Blood
Skin Me
Wear My Fur
This Vamp Has Claws
This Wolf Has Fangs
This is me
I am a Half-Blood

Chapter 1

The moonlight shone on my obsidian-black hair, highlighting the strands of silver that were my flashing neon signs that practically said, ‘hey, I’m a Werewolf’. Usually a black furred wolf had bluish highlights, but not me, I was black and silver.
My small, uncharacteristically willowy body flew over obstacles with inhuman grace and speed. Though it was supposed to be happening a few years from now, my body was starting to change, my Werewolf ‘powers’ starting to show themselves. I was starting to turn into a wolf.
The usually pleasurable, adrenaline-filled change was meant for a teenager’s body, usually larger than a human’s, not a pixie sized child, Werewolf or no. It was painful.
The silky fur sprouted from my oddly delicate, moon-pale skin. My nails grew large on my small fingers, getting heavy, and digging into sensitive flesh. The hair on my head shrunk back into my scalp, irritating the baby-soft, new skin.
Then the worst part came. My bones cracked, as loud to my overly sensitive ears as gunshots, leaving a frightening ringing in my ears. My small ears stretched into a point, thinning themselves out until they were wide as a wolf’s, before shifting up to the top of my head, the unblemished skin stinging as fur grew.
My nose elongated, and a variety of new smells bombarded the newly heightened sense. My eyesight changed; I saw better in the near darkness. Then my neck and spine snapped. Everything in my body went numb as my nerves reattached themselves to the proper places. It was precious relief to me, not to feel my bones moving inside my body. But, even though it took a few moments for the nerves to reconnect, I was still changing when I began to feel things again.
My slight, stubby tail that I had even in human form, the one that didn’t show even under the tightest of jeans, extended, the nerves stretching and skin forming, then pulling tight. It was beyond painful.
On all fours, my backside was still too high. I dreaded what would come, and was right to do so. The bones in my back legs lengthened, growing slightly skinnier, this in itself was tolerable, but what came next would have brought tears to my eyes if they weren’t already those of a wolf.
The ankle bone popped, tendons stretching and thickening, before bending at an inhuman angle. If I didn’t have the vocal cords of a wolf, I would have screamed, instead an eerie howl filled the night.
My fingers shrunk and thickened, flesh rapidly covering the back section of my nails. The palms of my hand wrinkled and hardened, drying into rough, dog-like pads. I collapsed, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The change was complete, and it felt as if the world had crashed down around me. I was the first, well, as far as I could tell from the Werewolf ‘history’ lessons I’d been receiving from my uncle, six year old to go through the change.
My strength was back in a few seconds. Uncle always said that a Werewolf’s amazing healing and ability to withstand many beatings without getting too badly hurt was the only reason we lived through the first change. He’d told me that the following ones would be less violent, though just as “exciting”. But then again, he also told me I would start the process at a later age, maybe sixteen. Who knew what else didn’t apply to me.
Almost immediately after I recovered, a strong wave of feeling washed over me; an urge. Judging by what I’d been taught by the numerous alphas I’d visited, and by Uncle himself, there was nothing else it could be besides the Bloodlust, or the First Hunger. It strengthened my senses so much I had to stand, to keep the vibrations of the earth from echoing in my head.
Standing on four legs was supposed to be difficult, Uncle had told me, hard to get used to. Yet it seemed perfectly natural to me. I took a step, wincing, expecting pain. But nothing happened, except that I moved forwards about a foot.
I then realized how small I was for a Werewolf. I estimated that even at my age I should be gigantic, about the size of a large Great Dane, but my body was more like that of a German Shepherd’s.
Another pang of hunger washed over me as I thought about living, breathing animals, animals with blood and meat. As my senses grew, I thought I heard something: footsteps. I definitely smelled something.
Uncle hadn’t taught me how to recognize scents yet, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have started the hunt, but I didn’t give myself time to think about what I might be hunting. I just started dashing through the trees, dodging the bigger branches, ignoring small ones that would simply bounce off my durable wolf hide.
The closer I got to the source of food, the more the Bloodlust took over. Soon I couldn’t even think. I no longer felt the twigs snapping under my feet, heard the uneasy creature speed up, everything went blank, except for the pounding of blood in my ears. The last thing I remembered was my canines sinking into the soft throat, spraying my muzzle with blood.
I’d woken with blood coating my little, naked body, and human once more, though my senses still at a near-wolf level, thanks to my change. I smelled the carcass before I saw it; a gaping, horrific thing lying beside my small form. If I hadn’t had gotten even the warning of a scent before I looked, it probably would have stopped my inhumanly fast heart from beating, because of the shock. But I had, so I was merely frightened, though not as disgusted as a human would be to wake with the evidence of murder on one’s body.
I knew I’d done it; I had blood and bits of meat, still smelling of the dead human, in my teeth. The dead man’s blood was crisp and a brownish red color on my body. The tips of my hair that had remained as fur were stiff and foul smelling as well. It had been a massacre.
I couldn’t help but feel responsible. Even though I hadn’t been in control of my actions in the end, I could have checked my prey before classifying it as food. Then I realized that I had better get back to Uncle’s cabin before I was found.
This was exactly the reason Uncle had the cabin in the first place, to keep himself from as much human temptations, and to protect me from such habits as man-eating, though I’m pretty sure that he never expected me to change at my age. If he had he would have made me wolf skin clothes, so that they’d morph with me when I changed, so I wouldn’t wake up, or change back, and find myself in the middle of nowhere, or, even worse, in the middle of somewhere, naked.
Luckily for me, wolves have great sense of direction, especially home. And following my musky, wolfish scent wasn’t very difficult once I recognized it, though I nearly took to finding another path once I realized how far the carnage stretched.
I also found that speed was pretty handy for situations like this. Even in my human body I was faster than any normal person, and flew along the scent-trail with nimbleness and ease. I had more stamina than a normal person, as well, and could probably have run an entire marathon, and only just break a sweat.
It was only through these graces that I managed to make it home before noon, surprising myself with the distance my changing form, and wolf form, managed to travel in what was about an hour.
Uncle was in the front porch rocker, playing the role of a harmless cabin dweller, when I came speeding up, clearly surprising him. I wasn’t sure if it was my blood covered body and nakedness, or my showing up at all that put the shocked look on his face, maybe even both.
Then my wolf-strong eyes saw the silver flicker in his pupils; he was hungry. Reaching over, he grabbed the bottle of green tea and chugged it in one go. A shudder passed through his massive form, making the rocking chair creak.
Green tea held no nutrition for a Werewolf, nor did it taste good, quite the opposite really, but it did put a stopper on the hunger. After one sip, or smell of the nasty stuff, I felt like puking, and definitely not eating anything. There was no more silver flickering in his eyes after he drank.
He pulled a bundle from the floor beside him, and tossed it to me. It was a dress, but I smelled the wolf clearly, though it lacked the musk of the Werewolf. It had once been a wolf’s pelt.
I felt slightly disgusted as I pulled it on, as Uncle had once told me he felt when he wore his brethren’s clothing as common overalls. I was sure that if I had another option, I’d give the fur back to Uncle, but I didn’t, so I merely admired the wolf’s beautiful pelt, wishing I could give it back to its owner.
After I was dressed, I began to ask questions. “How did you know?” Was my first, and most important, besides maybe, ‘why am I changing so early?’, but I decided not to ask that, considering Uncle probably didn’t know himself.
“I could smell the blood from mile away, Nikhil,” He replied gently, if a bit frankly, “And you were missing. I had to assume something; you aren’t the type to run away, and even if you did, the chances of a person being killed all the way out here, and you not doing the killing, is near miniscule.”
“But I’m not supposed to change yet!” I argued, “You said it yourself: werewolves change when they mature, as in, late teens!”
Uncle sighed sadly, as if this was something he’d hoped not to run in to. “I’d hoped you’d be a full Werewolf, I truly did.” He began, “I didn’t even allow myself to consider than you might not be. You see, my little Nikki, your mother was a Vampire.”


Chapter 2

“There you go, all finished.” The almost wolfish, guttural voice of the tattoo artist said proudly, “What do you think?” I glanced at his handy work.
The paw print claws were longer than natural, and the width between the cut marks was too even, not to mention that my wolf-keen eyes caught every little flaw in the ink, every miniscule bit left uncovered, or slightly wrinkled. Of course, I told the artist none of this; for a human it was really good artwork, especially on skin. Instead, I replied, “It’s great, Ed.”
Ed grinned, flashing pearly teeth; apparently he had heard my reputation for being a tough customer when it involved body art. But I had to say, his tattoo was one of the better ones on me. His tip would reflect that, too.
“Thanks. I try.” He said, but when I started to poke at it, he caught my hand. Since he didn’t know what a mistake that was, and