Moonlight and Ashes: A Werewolf Romance Story

The night the moon shone red, I thought I had gone mad.

The villagers had whispered among themselves of wolves in the forest, but I never believed them. Wolves were possible. Werewolves were the stuff of poor fantasy romance fiction…. a dark romance fantasy…. infact, a paranormal romance novel exaggerated over barrels of palm wine. And yet, on that night, when I walked home from a quarrel with my fiancé, alone in the forest, my heart brought me to a reality I had not sought.

The reality had hazel eyes.

“Don’t come near,” he snarled, his voice trembling in a way more menacing than comforting. He was not just telling me to stay back. He was telling himself.

ALSO READ: Love Poisonous Sting

I should have run. Something in his stance, the way his chest puffed out like an ocean he could not master, the way his eyes snapped toward the ascending moon, kept me rooted in place. He was not a man or an animal. He was both.

“Who are you?” I breathed.

His lips curled, not into a smile, but into something jagged. “Someone you shouldn’t love.” Like a forbidden love story that can never happen.

The morning after, I told myself it was a dream. That I hadn’t stood in the forest while a man’s shadow bent and reshaped under the blood moon. But when I saw him again at the market, buying yam with human hands instead of claws, I knew it had been real.

His name was Adrian. He was low-key, polite, and strangely possessive. The kind of man who brought extra jars of palm oil home for old women and vanished when the sun dipped below the horizon.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you,” I said to him when he found me lurking around the stall of the pepper seller.

“And yet you are,” he breathed.

ALSO READ: His First Love: The Best Love Story

It felt dangerous, but also inevitable. Like standing at the edge of the lagoon knowing you’ll still step in, even if the tide swallows you.

Weeks became days, and soon enough, our conversations edged into late nights. I was telling him things I never told my fiancé—how I was scared I was going to be trapped in a marriage built on duty, how I longed for something more than predictable mornings and scripted happiness.

But the closer I got, the icier his warnings became.

“You don’t know what I am,” he said one evening, his eyes tracing the sunset.

“Then tell me,” I dared. “Tell me instead of hiding.”

His laughter was hollow. “If I tell you, you won’t stay. Nobody does.”

I wished to protest, but then I saw the scars on his arms, tattered, deep, as though his skin had been warring with itself. I grasped his hand, and he pulled away, not from pain, but from fear of touch.

That was when I realized: the curse lay not in the wolf inside him. It was isolation.

The night I witnessed him change finally, I was not permitted to be. I had followed him into the forest, racing heart, aching to see the entirety of it.

He struggled. Yeah, he did struggle. But the moon was unmerciful. His shape contorted, bones snapping, his scream echoing like thunder among the trees. What I was left to confront was no longer Adrian, but a creature of fur and fury. A wolf shifter romance story that I have read from books now a reality.

I would have sprinted. But I drew a breath instead, “Adrian, still you.”

The beast’s head snapped in my direction. For one moment, I saw the glimmer of recognition before the urge surfaced. He lunged.

I prepared to be devoured, to be gone. Instead, claws tore into the tree I stood against, inches from touching me. The wolf howled, kicking in agony, pulling itself back from me as if some hidden rope yanked him back.

He would rather k himself than k me.

That is when I realized. I was not just involved in his secret. I was involved in his soul.

Love is never ever about two individuals, though.

My fiancé, Damilola, caught me stammering. My sister picked the glow on my face. The rumors came to him before I was able to take responsibility.

“You’re seeing him, aren’t you?”
Damilola’s tone was soft, but his eyes were sharp enough to slice.

ALSO READ: Sisters and Secrets

I swallowed. “I—”

“You don’t think I know? The accursed man. The one who haunts the woods.” His sneer contained something lethal. “Do you know what he is?”

This had become a werewolf love triangle like the supernatural romance books I have read. I had wished to defend Adrian, but in silence I betrayed him. In one night, the villagers had gathered with torches, whispering of casting out evil, of wiping the curse from their earth.

I ran before them, lungs shredding, heart a thumping drum in my chest. I overtook Adrian by the stream, already knowing what was to come.

“They’re coming for you,” I gasped.

He did not even blink. “Maybe it is time. I am tired of living in secrets.”

“No,” I hissed, grasping his arms. “Not like this. Not when they do not even see the man, but merely the monster.”

He regarded me, weighing if my love was worth fighting for. “Will you go with me if I escape?”

The words hung in the air like lightning, sharp and not posible. My entire life was in the distance of the rearview mirror—protection, family, security. But my heart was his already.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I will.”

We fled before the villagers arrived, torches blazing like angry stars on the horizon. Adrian led us through paths only the wolves knew, his hand never leaving mine.

By dawn, we lay on the top of a hill, gasping, trembling, alive.

He swung around to me, his eyes warm, human once more. “You’ll regret this,” he whispered.

I cried and laughed. “Maybe. But if love’s not worth regret, then what is?”

The light of dawn lay out over us, goldening his scars. Adrian did not look so damned now. He looked free.

So did I.

ALSO READ: It’s a beautiful day! A Poem of Hope

Disclaimer

This story, “Moonlight and Ashes,” is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is purely coincidental. It is intended solely for entertainment purposes. The themes of love, fantasy, and supernatural elements are creative expressions and should not be interpreted as real-life accounts.