My heart beat thuds in my chest like it is trying to expand it so I can breathe. I only see anger in those stormy blue eyes before me and it’s all he has for me. Where has the loving Paris I know gone?
He gets dark sometimes, but it isn’t usually around or because of me. I’ve seen it once before. Paris can let the werewolf in him seriously take a hold. To the point that he almost gets buried inside, like some kind of internal shape shift is happening and the Alpha werewolf starts to control him. It’s like his heart get’s replaced by the darkest parts of the beast.
But this darkness, it’s brought on by the werewolf trauma of fighting through life. Not over an erotic dream that I had while sleeping next to him.
This is, scary, this is Paris jealous. Really, jealous because of me.
“What?” The word whimpers out of my mouth because I’m wounded. I don’t understand what is going on here. How it could go on here.
“You had a wet dream about Booker Parish.” Paris goes on steadily. “And I want to know why. It wasn’t a regular dream about anyone else in your life, it was very clear to me, it was a sex dream with Booker. So when did you start sleeping with him?”
My whole body is trembling. I push up in the bed to a sitting position now, to face him properly. But it’s not fear that is making my arms shake and my chest pound. It’s anger.
“I’m not sleeping with Booker Parish!” The bed cover slips down me and Paris’s eyes divert briefly to my naked breasts. He looks away, as if pained.
“Cover up.” He instructs.
“No.” I growl back at him and his head snaps back around to me. “You sit there, accusing me of sleeping with your and my friend,”
“Fellow pack mate to you,” Paris stings me with.
“Right, right. We come from the same pack so we must be sleeping together!” I am truly annoyed at him now. “Grow up Paris.” I pull back the covers and slide out of the bed, looking for clothing.
Fuck him! He wants to attack me when I’m vulnerable to suggestion, just waking up, when I’m naked. Well I know how to play this fucking game of punch-up! I pull on clothes quickly. A pair of leggings and a long sleeved top. Armour. Cover me from him, so his gaze can’t affect my being.
“So?” He asks again and I turn on him.
“Are you fucking serious?” I yell in disbelief. “You honestly think I’m sleeping with Booker Parish because I said his name while I was asleep?”
“You didn’t just say his name Bg, you repeated it, over and over again and then I watched as you shuddered and came, touching yourself. While I was spooned up against you. And I know you and Booker are, friends as well as pack mates.”
Oh my fucking god. “I’m going to loose it.” I mutter to myself. “You’re jealous of a fucking dream Paris, a dream!”
“A dream that made you come.” Paris states back at me. “If you were horny, you would’ve just woke me up and rode me.”
I roll my eyes and slam my hands down onto my hips. This is ridiculous beyond belief!
“There’s no fucking logic in dreams Paris, they’re just shit that comes into your head!” I continue to yell at him.
“Look I know you and Booker are friends as well as pack mates,” I growl at him again, beginning to bear my teeth. “And whilst you don’t have a lot of contact with him here, when you’re in Manhattan Maen territory, you can’t say that’s not the case when you’re in Brooklyn. He’s one of your sister’s posse and one of the first called on each time your protective detail is given.”
My eyes widen till I think my eyebrows are going to fly off my face.
“You think, I fuck around with Booker when I have the chance, when I’m over in Brooklyn and you’re not there with me?”
He’s silent again. Dark blue eyes never leave me and I begin to pace around the side of the bed, furthest from him.
“Okay, you want to know about Booker and me.”
I still and look out at him, letting out a deep breath to calm myself.
“I’ll tell you about Booker and me.”
Continued in…. Male Wolves
“You were dreaming.” Paris states. “You were restless, more than normal.” He pauses waiting for me to clearly understand what he is getting at. I don’t.
“Did I hurt you in my sleep?” I ask puzzled.
It would take a fair bit to hurt Paris, especially from a soft, supple body, that was in rem sleep. He is a hulk of muscle, big, solid and tough. Having alpha werewolf genetics on top of that, means he’s intimidating, and comes across as damn-near bullet proof, invincible.
Of course, he’s not immortal but he can take more of a beating that most. I don’t have anywhere near that much power to physically break him down. So I’m perplexed as to what I could’ve done in my sleep to earn this greeting as a wake up call.
“You don’t remember your dream?” He questions me. His body is tense, his clothing is tight against it and it shows not only his bulk but also, how he is not in anyway relaxed or okay.
I know I feel good, like I got a great night’s rest. Which makes his attitude towards me, even more perplexing. I try to remember if I even knew I was dreaming. I wonder if I’m dreaming now, and this is somehow my anxiety playing out on my nerves.
“You were making noises.” He watches me closely. “Moaning.”
Okay. I still don’t get this.
“I woke up because of it.” Paris says at me and I frown. “I watched you to make sure you were okay, that you weren’t having a nightmare. It definitely wasn’t a nightmare.”
Really? He’s going to be pissed at me because I made some noises in my sleep? That’s just pathetic and does not in any way deserve the third degree of interrogation that I’m getting here, now! I feel righteously justified in giving him a serve of my mind, but he cuts my thought of with his next words.
“You called out a name and then appeared to come in your sleep.”
I tense and I see a recognition in his eyes that he notices the smallest of movement in my body at his words.
“It wasn’t my name you called out Bg.” Paris says back at me and I feel a sense of dread wash over me and I am all too awake hearing this now.
“So again, last time I ask. Is there something you want to tell me?” He persists and his voice is low and deceptively calm, less annoyed sounding. But That’s just to fool me, to suck me into him so he can come at me with his damn, male pride and anger.
“Paris, I don’t remember any of that, I don’t know what you want me to say. What to tell you.”
“I want you tell me why my pack mate, came calling out a Lycan’s name! I want to know why you called out Booker Parish’s name in my bed!” He growls at me.
Continued in…Dark Heart
Waking up alone is the worst.
Okay, let me give you some context on that. Waking up alone, after being with someone, investing your heart and soul into them, feeling their very physical being intune with yours as much as two beings together can be, is the worst.
It’s like a downer.
For me it’s weird. My pack mate Paris is always in bed with me when I wake up, for the most part, we fall asleep together and we wake up together, it’s a rather beautifully symmetric way to start your day.
In cycle and sync with one another, thinking of, one another. That makes me sound sappy doesn’t it?
Paris normally is draped across me in some sort of all-consuming manner, as if silently saying “mine”. The heaviness of his arms and legs wrapping around me, is a comfort of assurance and security, emotionally as well as physically.
He’s tall, six three and I’m smaller, although not small at five eight. But it makes our fit rather good when we spoon together, hiding from the werewolf world in the comforter of our bed. Most mornings, he wakes me up with sex.
So it’s odd that’s he’s one, not doing that and two, not on curling into me. I turn over quickly and look at the emptiness of the be behind me, the space next me is cool to the touch. Paris is long gone. I begin to sit up and wonder if I’m in trouble here. If something has happened to him.
Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I see a figure, a shadowy figure near the bed. I blink quickly and move to push back in the bed. Paris’s apartment is a secure place and if anyone should be in this room with me, it should be him.
And when I find myself alert and awake, I notice, it is him. He’s already fully dressed, in dark colours, sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching me. Just watching me in the dimness of the room.
His eyes are dark blue and human. But it’s like I can see a very caged and annoyed animal pacing back and forth behind them. And that animal look is focussed on me. This is not a look of desire and longing. This is a look of an animal sizing up it’s enemy.
This is not my Paris. My lover. My pack mate.
“Paris?” Even my voice sounds small against that look.
It’s powerfully intimidating. Especially since I do not understand why he would ever look at me like this. His actions alone, of stillness and waiting for me to wake, being prepared to face me clothed, tell me many things about him. The clothing is his armour. He’s spoiling for a fight. With me. Waiting patiently, for me, so he can start this fight. Very werewolf like, having all the damn patience in the world if you think it’ll get you what you’re after.
“Something you want to tell me?” He utters in a cold voice, his eyes never leaving my face.
It’s like I don’t understand the question. We went to bed together in love, and tired and like any normal couple would. And I woke up in an alternate universe by the look of it.
But let’s face facts, we’re not a normal couple. We’re both werewolves, from extremely different packs. He’s an Alpha and a pack leader, he’s used to power and getting what he wants (he wanted me, he got me, after a fashion). And he knows how to fight, physically, but emotionally fighting, that’s my battle ground.
I’m a…well, let’s go with different. Nobody’s really got a category for me just yet. But I’m a werewolf with abilities, that up until recently, I didn’t know I had. And being around his alpha-ness over there in the chair, is only strengthening them.
We live in a werewolf culture, so our lives are in no way going to be normal. But even with that knowledge, I have no idea what is going on here.
“Paris what’s going on?” I try for.
“That’s what I’m asking you, Bg.” He replies still clearly annoyed at me for mysterious reasons.
“I don’t know why you’re asking me.” I say stating the obvious. “I just woke up.”
His eyes seem to study my face, darting around, as if looking for unconscious reactions from me in my body language.
To be continued in Wet Dream …
The Red White and Werewolf podcast series is out now and can be found on Sticher Radio, iTunes and Talk Shoe radio!
Some habits are hard to break.
I mean, really hard to not do.
If you’re a werewolf, you’re bound to have more than a few habits. Enough to form a routine.
It’s how we’re raised to live in this world as both ourself and the beast within us.
Routine is a form of control. Habits form routines and we learn from them what works, and does not.
Those Hollywood movies and tv shows about pouty, pretty, people may fool you humans. Sure we look as human and normal as you do, but we’re only part human, the part is wolf. Ancient wolf. Werewolf.
And we’re you’re a werewolf there are some things, that despite each generation born, can’t or more correctly won’t be suppressed.
Those instincts that drive animals, to their own habitual needs.
Those parts of our dna that just don’t go away.
The werewolf within our skin, is instinctual and burns to come out.
So its not surprising to read that that on the island of Sibale Island, in the Philippines, werewolves, are once again being hunted.
Whilst I’m not from the Philippines, I am a werewolf and any werewolf will understand the struggle that exists within them.
Especially if they’ve never really been taught how to deal with the werewolf aspects, the restless-ness that creeps forever under the surface of our skin.
A need for freedom to roam and explore. A wanting hunger that takes a lot of food, more than we’re supposed to be seen eating as humans, to settle.
And animals. We have issues with them. And animals have issues with us. Not all, but some. It can get….weird.
So perhaps it’s not surprising that cattle becomes seen as fair game. When you have an animal inside you and it see’s animals who are controlled by others, and therefore, kept in a state of servitude.
They begin to look like a weaker species, like prey.
Werewolves are dominant for the most part, by nature, even Beta wolves can be dominant amongst another animals (but when you put them up against an alpha werewolf, nuh-uh.)
Or maybe it’s just a case of the police and villagers in Sibale Island, Romblon, knowing about the world, the one that includes the werewolves in the first world.
Our race is hard to kill (probably why we haven’t died off just yet).
The police seem to have figured out the pattern for attacks, takes place in our around the full moon. Let’s face it, that is somewhat of a big ass give-away. You’d think if it was werewolves, they’d be smarter than to act up around moon time.
But control isn’t an anything to come by when you’re trying to be two things at once.
That’s what being a werewolf is like really.
You’re one thing and you’re another and the thing is, they’re one and the same, bound up in your blood, coursing through the fibre that makes up someone called you. But you’re bound to other elements in this world, that reach deep into your soul.
The full moon hums into your soul and vibrates along tendons, stretching fibre and facia, to surge the werewolf out. And again, we circle back to control. Even in our tribal form, we need to know how to be ourselves.
We may learn to control our werewolf instincts when we’re looking as human as the person next to you.
We may learn control when we’re in our tribal form. But we can not control the moon itself and what it does to us. Any of us. Lunar week and it does bring out the “loonies” amongst us, just check your police stats, watch them rise anytime there’s a full moon.
This world, we just live in it. Not control it as much as we might fool ourselves to think otherwise.
Nature has her habits too and all of us are subject to them, wether werewolf or human, wether we like them or not.
Who knew falling in love with a demon could be so hard on the heart? Katelyn Pheonix sure didn’t when she met shadow demon, Tarin Armadel.
Katelyn has always lead a low life. She’s never had a life full of privilege, prominence or affluence. But she’s always been able to see the truth in other people, it’s always been her gift. Because Katelyn’s not your average human female. She’s a truth-sayer and being one of those is rare and highly, valuable if you want to commit personal espionage on others. Especially when you want to target paranormal beings.
After a failed murder attempt on her life, vampires and bounty hunters chasing her, an assassin targeting her, Katelyn could do with a lucky break.
Pity the truth-sayer god, Asha whom she is the vessel for, has decided the same thing and left Katleyn to fend for herself and her heart, with Tarin.
Without her truth-sayer abilities how does Katelyn know if she can trust her demon lover? Especially when it looks like he’d willingly pair up with his enemies, to enslave Katelyn for his own purposes. But before Katelyn can work out her feelings on the matter, there is the issue of finding out who’s after them and why.
Katelyn and Tarin must face more than their enemies together. They must face up to what they mean to one another, in order to save what they have, together.
Availalable from Smashwords
I don’t like hurt.
Especially the emotional kind of hurt. It does something to the body. Leaves marks on your soul. It weighs on you and damages part of who you are, in tiny fragments that sometimes heal, but forever leave an invisible scar. It doesn’t feel good and it takes too long to make sense of and get over.
The thing is, some people, are brilliant at emotional hurt. They can manipulate and deceive and impact that thing in you that will cripple you badly. They’re the ones who like hurt, hurting others.
Humans can never wrap their head around the logic of that motive. But the reality is, it’s like a sensation, a high, a good feeling, a normal impulse for them to hurt others. A natural response. An instinct. It’s in their nature and they can’t fight it.
Don’t get me wrong; I don’t need to be wrapped in cotton wool. I’ve never really led a charmed life. It’s been rough all over and if all you know is rough, then all you know to do is roll with it, survive it. Which is what I’d been doing for years. I’ve been doing the best I can. Anyway I can. Anyway that suited me and helped me and got me what I wanted out of this life.
Hurting someone like me, with my ‘talent’, gift, ability whatever you want to call it, it’s more than hurtful. It’s more than a passing thing if it’s done right. It’s damaging. Blindingly damaging. It’s like taking all your feelings, and perceptions and everything you have at your disposal and putting them off line. It changes your insides and remakes you.
It’s why I’ve always been a loner. I learned long ago, that I couldn’t do my thing, I couldn’t read people; get their truth, if they ruined parts of mine. It’s why I’ve never had a relationship. Never allowed myself to feel all those things, that so many people take for granted in being human. Love, passion, desire, want and need, trust and companionship.
Those things are the downfall of someone like me. They counter more than they feed. I don’t want to lose a part of myself to that, because it happened once before when I was young and it wasn’t good, it was bad, very bad, and not just for me. The truth can hurt, and it can set you free, but at what expense?
People don’t know where that saying came from and it’s probably a very good thing, because if you saw what I could set free, from within me, you’d be beyond scared. You’d be cowering before me.
I know what lies inside me and it isn’t good. Nobody can see it, because nobody knows to look for it. To think of it. Because the truth is, what you make of it and nobody makes much of me, because that’s the way I like it.
Guess that’s a form of deception, an odd thing for a truthful person to do. Maybe I’m not as pure as my abilities might make me seem. After all, I use them by giving them to the person who’s willing to pay the right price.
Does that make me an honest soul?
Get ready world. My podcast series is launching soon.
Werewolves and lycans aren’t known for getting along.
You could argue that hostility and hatred of the lycans can’t be faulted. Given, to be a lycan, means as a human you were attacked by a werewolf and survived, only to turn into one of them.
Tatum Lee only knows this existence all too well as a new lycan. It’s only been a few months since she turned and has found herself in a relationship, with of all creatures, a werewolf, Wiatt D’arenberg. But loving Wiatt means, Tatum has to live by the rules of Wiatt’s pack , and it means there’s not much living in it when the Bronx lycan community find out exactly who Tatum is.
She’s either one of them, or she’s not welcome, just like werewolves in the Bronx aren’t welcome. Tatum’s relationship with Wiatt becomes strained as she battles to find her place in her new wolf life, with Wiatt and amongst all the wolves of New York City.
Wiatt finds his thinking pushed as he must confront the reality of the werewolf culture and his own personal happiness with a lycan for his lover. Can Wiatt and Tatum find a way to make a relationship between two very different types of wolves work? Or will they simply be torn apart, by each other and every other wolf that wants to hurt them?
Available at www.smashwords.com in July