The Werewolf and the Human

Humans Are Not Lunas

I was staring at her. “Are you still staring at her?” the doctor asked me. She looked so fragile, broken, and yet somehow above the fragility, she was stunning.

              “No,” I stated, turning my attention back to the doctor. I needed him to know that I was not staring at her, and he had my attention.

              “Alright. She would have made a good Luna,” he said, turning his attention to her for just a moment. I wanted him to stop looking at her. She was mine to study, not his. No, what was I saying? She was nothing to me, and she never would be anything to me.

              “She is not a werewolf,” I told him. Just then, I felt my wolf pull me toward her, and I had to fight him off in my own body. “Only other werewolves can be Luna.”

              “There was never a rule about that.” The doctor turned his attention back to me, and I ensured that he kept his attention on me.

              “It’s not tradition,” I told him.

              “Nothing is until you make it one,” he answered back.

              “Humans aren’t Lunas,” I growled at him. Humans are not Lunas. He didn’t say anything.