Bloodline Lycanthrope

"It's like inheriting the family business, except the business involves claws, fur, and an occasional uncontrollable urge to chase squirrels. Sure, there are rules: don't shift near the neighbours, always carry extra clothes, and try not to howl at particularly inconvenient moments. But really, it's all about balance. You have to keep one paw in the wild and one foot in town, otherwise things get messy."

— A lycanthrope

The Family Business

For those with the right blood, there is no bite, no curse, no moment of transformation that marks them as other. They are born into the howl, their veins carrying the rhythm of the moon long before they know what it means to be human or beast. It is not a choice or a burden but a birthright, ancient and unyielding.
They grow up knowing the rules of two worlds. From their families, they learn to smile with too many teeth and to hide their feral edges beneath polite words. From the wild, they learn the language of the hunt and the secrets carried on the wind. Childhood games are different for them, chasing the shadows of birds that soar too high, leaping over streams too wide for human legs. And always, always, they are told to keep their true nature hidden from those who would never understand.

The Pull of the Wild

The first transformation is like nothing else. It doesn't hurt exactly, but it doesn't feel kind either. It's as though the body remembers something the mind has not yet learned, a return to an older shape that was always waiting beneath the skin. For bloodline lycanthropes, this moment is not met with fear but with ceremony. A moonlit vigil, the elders watching with knowing smiles, as the young discover what it means to run unfettered beneath the stars.
There are dangers, of course. The pull of the wild is strong, and some lose themselves to it, forgetting how to walk upright or speak in proper sentences. And then there are the hunters, those who see lycanthropes as nothing more than beasts to be culled. For these reasons, the bloodline keeps to the shadows, their history whispered from parent to child, their gatherings hidden deep in the woods.
But there is pride too; in the strength that flows through their veins, in the unity of pack and family. Bloodline lycanthropes are not cursed, they are chosen. To them, the wolf is not an affliction but a legacy, as enduring and unbreakable as the pull of the moon.