Hi ghoulies! Here’s the latest chapter of this story. My plan is to have it finished by February 14 – a fitting day don’t you think for this werewolf romance story? Perfect for Valloween.
The Werewolf King: Chapter 3 – The Uninvited Guest
The moon hung heavy in the sky, its silvery light spilling over the forest like an unspoken promise. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders, shivering as the bitter winter air cut through her layers. The sound that had summoned her—a deep, mournful howl—lingered in her ears like a melody that refused to be forgotten. She had heard tales of the beast that roamed these woods, but her feet had carried her forward as if drawn by an invisible thread.
The castle loomed ahead, its darkened towers reaching into the night. Once the pride of the kingdom, it now stood abandoned, shrouded in mystery. The villagers whispered of its king, a man broken by grief, cursed to roam as something neither man nor beast. She felt the weight of those stories pressing against her resolve but took another step forward. She had no answers for why she was here, only a certainty that she must be.
Inside the castle, he sat in the grand hall, the fire in the hearth reduced to smoldering embers. He had not shifted back to his human form; the wolf felt safer, more detached from the ache that clung to his heart. The howls that escaped him had been unintentional, born from a pain too deep to suppress. He hadn’t expected anyone to hear them—let alone come seeking their source.
The sound of the great doors creaking open startled him. His supernatural hearing had already picked up the crunch of footsteps in the snow outside, but the confirmation of someone entering sent a jolt through him. His golden eyes snapped to the entryway as a figure stepped into the dim light. Her breath caught as she met his gaze. His presence was both terrifying and mesmerizing: a creature of raw power and elegance, his fur gleaming like polished obsidian in the firelight. He was beautiful, in a way that made her chest tighten.
“Who are you?” his voice rumbled low, each word tinged with suspicion and something darker. “Why have you come here?”
She hesitated, her mind racing for an explanation. The truth—that she had felt compelled to follow his howls—sounded absurd even to her. “I mean no harm,” she said finally, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “I heard… I heard your cries. I thought someone might need help.”
His eyes narrowed. “Help?” The word tasted foreign, almost laughable. He took a step closer, his claws clicking softly against the stone floor. “Do you make a habit of seeking out monsters, little one?”
“I don’t see a monster,” she replied, surprising them both. Even in his human form he would have been taller than she, but in his wolf form he towered over her. Yet she never took her eyes off of him, lifting her chin defiantly as he stalked up to her.
He stilled. It had been years since anyone had looked at him without fear, let alone spoken to him with such boldness. Yet he could sense there was more to her than met the eye. Her scent—faintly floral but tinged with something unnameable—stirred a memory he could not place. The castle itself seemed to react to her presence; the faint hum of old enchantments stirred in the air, their resonance barely audible but undeniable.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said finally, turning away. “Leave, before you regret it.”
She took a step forward. “I’m not afraid of you.” The words were a lie, but her curiosity outweighed her fear. “You’re grieving,” she added softly. “I can feel it. That’s why you cry out, isn’t it?”
His growl echoed through the hall, a warning that rattled her resolve but did not break it. “You presume to know my pain?” he snarled, his voice raw. “You, who walk into my home unbidden, who stand there as if you belong?”
Her heart thundered in her chest, but she refused to back down. “Perhaps I don’t belong,” she admitted. “But neither do you. You’ve hidden yourself away, drowning in sorrow.”
She took a breath before adding softly, “Is this what your queen would have wanted for you?”
The mention of his queen struck him like a physical blow. He turned sharply, his golden eyes blazing with fury and something else—a flicker of vulnerability. The murals on the walls, faded and cracked, seemed to come alive under the firelight, depicting moments of a once-happy kingdom. She noticed them for the first time: a king and queen dancing in the great hall, their love palpable even in the faded strokes of paint.
“You know nothing of her,” he rasped, his voice barely audible in the vast hall.
“Then tell me,” she said, stepping closer despite the danger. “Tell me why your howls sound like a heart breaking. Tell me why I feel as if I’ve known you forever, though we’ve never met… King Thalion.” Her voice softened as she reached out, laying a hand gently on the arm of his velvet jacket. A wolf in king’s clothing.
He froze, the air between them thick with unspoken truths. He wanted to push her away, to send her fleeing into the night. But her words—her presence—had stirred something he could not ignore. He didn’t understand it, and that terrified him more than anything.
Her touch brought a shock of warmth to his cold, hardened form. Before he could process it, the change began—his fur receding, claws softening, the monstrous features melting away. In moments, he stood before her as a man once more, his breath unsteady. It was impossible—no one had ever been able to draw him back except his queen. The comfort of her hand on his arm both alarmed and soothed him, leaving him unmoored.
“You should go,” he said again, though his voice lacked conviction. “You don’t know what you’re inviting by staying here.” He tried to ignore what he had just felt, the impossible warmth of her touch that had stirred him.
It couldn’t be true—it simply couldn’t.
She met his gaze, her own steady and unyielding. “Maybe I don’t. But something brought me here, and I intend to find out what.”
His lips curled into a faint snarl, but he said nothing. The uninvited guest had come, and though every instinct told him to drive her away, another part of him—the part that remembered love, that remembered hope—whispered a different truth.
“Who are you?” he asked at last.
She hesitated, then drew herself up, meeting his gaze again with quiet resolve. “My name is Clara.”
He inclined his head slightly, the gesture both regal and wary. “Then, Clara, you have ventured into a place most would fear. I only hope you understand the gravity of that choice.”
Perhaps she was meant to stay.