Loving The Cursed Lycan

Melissa’s POV I was practically out of breath as I made my way silently through the trees. The sky was already faintly lit by the tendrils of the sun's languid fingertips even though it hadn't yet risen. I had to breathe in the brisk, chilly January air, yet I wasn't chilled by the winter's chill. I made my way gently through the familiar woodland area, listening for any signs of life that might still be present. I grabbed for my gun with ease as I rested against a tree's trunk. I carefully adjusted my bow while holding a tiny arrow in my fingertips. I sat motionless, observing the lazy passage of the crisp air through the sparse trees. Something shuffled timidly but awkwardly in the distance. I strung my bow and twisted around the tree lithely. My sight aimed at the creature; a young deer wandering silently for food. Its tail lifted and lowered as it stepped hesitantly over the floor of the woods. It was a notable fact that deer were noted for being suspicious and paranoid while also appearing almost elegantly naive. I liked those people. I did, however, enjoy the outdoors and wildlife in general. I took a deep breath and slowly set my aim on the deer, preparing to strike with as little force as possible. Shortly after lifting its head, it cast a quick glance around as though it noticed me. I remained motionless where I was, effortlessly fitting in with my surroundings. When it deemed itself momentarily safe, I began to release my arrow. "Melissa!" The cry was so close to where I was that it made me flinch. On the other hand, the deer didn't spend any time. It started, frantically trying to get away. I rapidly followed the tree as it twisted around, taking aim as I went, and then I released the bow string with deadly accuracy. I jumped from my position without waiting, putting my bow away to get a big knife out of the strap on my leg. When I got to the deer, it was kicking and clinging to what little life it still had while laying on the forest floor. My intentions had not been as pure as my purpose. "Shhhh, don't move," I whispered as I lowered myself to it carefully, lightly running my hand over its head with pity. The deer seemed to take my suggestion to heart. It fell silent, no longer struggling against the pain I caused. I had something of a connection to the animals. Sometimes, it was as though they could listen to me. "I'm sorry," I whispered solemnly before drawing my knife over its throat swiftly. "Melissa, are you out here?" My brother called out determinedly closer. I cleaned my blade before putting it back in its sheath attached to my leg. I began untwisting straps that I'd use to drag the body back to the village and frowned as my brother walked into visual distance. Greg and I were distant cousins, but at the time, other than our eyes, we didn't seem alike. Greg and I were seven years apart in age. Although he frequently helped my dad with laborious jobs around the village, his weakness, gangliness, and lack of muscle tone made him look weak. His ginger hair seemed strange with his excessive number of freckles. He was pallid because the sun had rejected him, just like my mother had. Compared to my mother, who is more tiny, I am more athletic and plump. My hair was as dark as coal, which had a blue moonlight sheen. It stood out because the majority of my family members were either brunettes or redheads. But the Young put an end to any heritage doubt; a jealous green of emerald fire. My father, brother, and I all shared the trait. My mother on the other hand held amber copper which darkened in the night to sable. When I properly strapped the deer, I stood to gain Greg's attention. "I was calling you," He groaned with irritation, glaring at a nearby bush that caught a hold of his sleeve stubbornly. I smiled as he stormed moodily towards me. He would be turning eleven soon and already he showed signs of that teenage doom and gloom. I liked him despite his annoyances. "I was hunting," I told him, "And you almost cost me game, by the way." "You never lose the game," He muttered, disbelieving. I began walking back towards home and he followed beside me silently. After a moment, I glanced at him curiously. "Dad told me to get you..." He seemed really bothered; more so than usual. When he stopped moving forward, I paused as well. "What is it?" "We should go camping for a few days. Like how you do sometimes," Greg suggested. I laughed. "You hate camping outside!" "Maybe I've changed my mind," He muttered unhappily. I looked at him carefully, having already guessed what was bothering him. January was the month of the Wolf Moon. The human towns were required to offer sacrifices each year in order for the lycans to use them as part of their hunt. Our neighborhood was one of the largest human habitats, therefore it seemed unlikely that we would be killed. When hunting, which I did regularly, the likelihood of being randomly killed by a wandering werewolf increased. At least until one of Greg's closest friends was selected the previous year. Everything about it seemed disturbing. The conditions for the sacrifice, which occasionally required young men of legal age or the elderly, were announced by the lycan race's King Alpha each year. Since I had never experienced such pure terror before, this year I could appreciate Greg's discomfort. The King Alpha required 13 to 18-year-old virgin girls. I was tucked in the middle of the prerequisite. It's not like I declared that I was a virgin. In truth, I thought about lying, but if they were discovered, those who were trying to avoid the process would endanger the lives of everyone they knew. I didn’t want them to hurt my family. I then acknowledged my potential and waited for the designated lycans to show up in each town on the day of the Wolf Moon.