The Crying Wolf Chronicles - Forbidden
D. Tamesha Designs began writing novels in 2011. The Crying Wolf Chronicles: Forbidden has become the first novel to be completed. A chapter from the novel has been shared below. To read the novel, visit
Stephanie Schiro is a hybrid. Half Werewolf, Half Human. She has isolated herself from a normal life. She also has difficulty holding on to her humanity and not let her beastly side overrun her mind. A human, Jayce Masters comes into her life and makes it more difficult for her to maintain her sanity with his beating heart and warm blood just down the hall from her. Can she love him without killing him?
Decisions: April 15th 1921
"Father, please let me help you." Warm tears softly dripped down my cheeks and onto the deep black velvet of my dress.
The room was warm and lit with ghost colored candles. They surrounded my father's bedside, heating my wet cheek. Every bone in my immortal body rattled at the very thought of the once burning light inside of my father extinguishing.
Father laid his head on his pillow and looked up at the ceiling. His blue eyes were filled with stalling tears. I have never seen my father in so much anguish before. Not since he had found out what my mother was. About her kind.
His face was pale and calm. The deep wrinkles around his eyes were delicate lines. Father pursed his thin lips at the direction of the ceiling and sighed.
"Stephie, do you know why they call that place heaven?"
I picked my head up from my lap and sniffled. My eyes were burning red. "Yes, but that place is where you shouldn't be. You should be here with Mother and I."
"I can't my dear. This is the path that I've chosen. This is the path I was destined to live," he coughed once. "And I wouldn't choose it otherwise. I was brought down from heaven by our God and he has called me home."
"Father, please," I began.
Father sighed quietly and continued to stare at the ceiling. His silence terrified me. I knew that he wanted to stay mortal. That was his determination.
I had always respected his decision, but he would've been better off as an immortal. His strength and his witts would've made him powerful and unstoppable. He would've been invincible, but instead he chose to be vulnerable and powerless.
Father closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. His chest rose and fell slowly. He gasped, then coughed twice. "Stephie, don't be sad. I wont be far from you. I wont be gone forever."
His words sent chills through me. My eyes burned more with biting tears. My hands quivered in my lap, hot and damp with sweat. I couldn't hold back my words any longer. They needed to be said. He needed to hear and understand how much his decision has affected me.
"Father," I screamed. "I will not listen to anymore of this. You will live. You will become an immortal."
Father didn't utter a word. His eyes widened at the sight of my hurt expression. His wrinkled hand reached out toward me, quivering. I looked down at it and turned my head the other direction. I will not give in to his demands. I will not lose him.
"Stephanie, darling. Let your father rest." Mother's intoxicating fresh almond and sweet vanilla scent entered the room. I turned to see her. She gracefully walked to the other side of my father's bed and picked up an empty glass. Her lengthy and curly chestnut brown hair hung down to the middle of her back. Her flowing black and royal blue lining robes followed her as she strolled out of the room. I sighed and waited for her to re-enter. When she did, I turned to her again.
"Mother, this is unfair. Why would father put us through so much pain?"
"Stephanie, your father has made his choice. He will not turn. There is nothing we can do."
Her words didn't matter to me. I knew there was something we could do. That something required the shedding of my father's blood. If it was up to me, my father would've been immortal. I truly hate that it's not. I couldn't stay and watch my father suffer. I left the room without a word.
The hall was bright with the same white candles as the inside. They lined the walls and burned inside of their ancient steel holders. The carpet of the hall was a deep shade of red that resembled dried blood. Portraits of our early ancestors filled the walls. The particular hall of the mansion I waited in was in remembrance of those who died before us. I just hope to God that my father doesn't end up on that wall. I paced constantly from one end of the hall to the other. My feet thumped against the carpet. What was Mother telling him? Was she trying to help him change his mind?
I stopped and pressed my ear against the door. I heard Mother's soft voice.
"Mitchell, please change your mind." Mother said.
"Janet, I can't." Father said between deep, shortening breaths.
"Don't do this to our daughter."
"I have no other choice. I would rather die than end up killing her."
"You will not kill her. Not intentionally."
"What's the difference? Once I'm turned, I would want to kill anything." He coughed.
"Relax my love. I will make sure nothing happens to our daughter."
"You can't guarantee she will be one hundred percent safe."
"I can. She's safe. You are her father. I am her mother. This is what we are here for."
Father went silent for a moment before sighing. It couldn't be easy for him. To turn against his will. He wasn't doing this for himself. He was doing it for me. His daughter.
I pressed my ear closer.
"Okay. I will. This is for my Stephie." he said.
Mother's footsteps grew closer toward the door. In a swift movement, I moved my ear away from the cold wooden door. The warmth of the room rushed past me. I stepped in and stared into father's eyes. Sky Blue. He cracked a smile, revealing yellowish, crooked teeth. I smiled back. I knew my fangs were out and ready, but I didn't care. I sat in the chair next to his bed and grabbed his hand. It was cold and dry. I looked into his face. Aged and spotted. I rubbed his silver hair and rested my hand on his cheek.
"You are so beautiful." he said.
"Thank you, Father." I smiled.
"Stephanie, your father's ready." Mother said calmly.
I looked into her perfect face and nodded. I leaned in and gave my father a kiss on his wrinkled forehead. He turned his head, revealing the nape of his neck. My body waved with heat. His pulse thumped against his flesh. The tingle of my mouth sent chills down my spine. I leaned into his throat and laid my ear against it. I lifted my head, opened my mouth and leaned in closer. My fangs sunk into his throat. His body tensed as he whimpered. Instantly, the blood rushed into my mouth like a waterfall.The taste of my father's blood was familiar. Hot and sweet. I closed my eyes, feeling the pain in my fangs. The venom rushed out of my mouth into his wound. I released and sat back. The large bloody wound on his neck bubbled. His veins rose upon his pale skin. His breathing suddenly became rapid. I heard his heartbeat. Once weak, but now strong and childish. His wrinkles and spots were rejuvenating. His rough skin turned smooth to the touch. His silver hair was no longer silver. It turned deep brown with a tint of red. His eyes were still bright blue. He looked like my father again.
He stood from the bed, tall and masculine, and touched his wound. His hand was smooth and young. His eyes widened as he touched it.
"It's gone." His voice was clear, deep and powerful.
"Of course it's gone, my dear. You are an immortal now." Mother said. He looked just as young as Mother, but still older than me.
"What now?" Father looked at her with his young eyes.
"You will feel hunger, my love."
"But Stephie," he began, then stopped. His eyes stared into mine and he swallowed hard.
"It's starting." she mumbled.
"Stephie," Father said my name again.
"Stephanie, darling. You should leave." Mother said in a calm tone.
"But Father," I began to walk in his direction. His hand held out toward me.
"Go Stephanie!" Father's beastly growl covered his words. His muscular body vibrated in mother's arms. His young face elongated into a snout. His bony fingers grew into paws. He clutched my mother's tricep in a strong grip. His nails dug deep into her flesh. Bright blood streamed down her arm. I stood as I watched my father growling and panting in pain. A pain that I am most familiar with.
My spine stung at the smell of my mother's blood. Mother didn't look pained. She shushed my father gently as he writhed in her arms. Her blood covered his paws. She noticed my frozen stance.
"Stephie, you're having an episode. Go now." Mom calmly said, holding my father tight.
Without words, I turned and ran out the bedroom door, out of the mansion doors, past our dogs and onto the grass. The bitter night nipped at my nose and ears as I stood outside of my home, trying to catch my breath. When I finally got it even, I turned away from the large mansion and began walking down the dark lawn path through heavy sets of mossy trees. A large howl filled the night behind me. My deed was done. My father was still alive.