I look at the apartment keys in my hand and wonder if I should use them. Then I chide myself internally for being a chicken-shit. I was issued with an ultimatum of sorts, not that my pack mate said that to me, but I can read between the lines. I pause to realise how out of hand this has gotten.
Welcome to my crazy life.
Just when you think things are going well and quiet, shit stirs up again and it’s always more than it seems.
A wet dream equals ultimatums of fidelity and revelations of dark deeds done by lovers past and present. Not that I wasn’t faithful beforehand. Just his ego going bug-nuts over me coming in my sleep because it wasn’t him making me come. Alpha male, why am I surprised?
Try to do the right thing, figure it out, confront your past to move forward with your future and what do you end up with?
What I have now. I put the key in the door and turn it. Push open the front door and look inside the apartment. It’s silent in it’s own darkness, and that makes it seem sinister in it’s own way. When it should just be home to me.
I sigh and lean back against the door closing it, and locking it with one hand, without bothering to look at the task at hand.
“Yeah, lock yourself into the situation you have to front up to.” I mutter not liking what is ahead. “Chicken-shit.” I mutter to myself and push off the door and carry my overnight bag with me to the bedroom.
The door to the bedroom is open and I pause to lean against the door frame and look in on the room. Again, it’s in shades of black and night.
The shape of a male presence in the bed is unmistakable. Paris is lying down his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He notices me at last and looks at me. I can’t tell what his reaction is.
He is the king of masking his cool. I drop my bag beside me on the floor and start stripping out of my clothing. There isn’t much. A jacket, a top, bra, skirt, and socks. He watches me strip at the doorway. Doesn’t stop me.
“Paris, I’m going to tell you everything you want to hear. All you have to do, is ask me.” He stares at me hard and I know I’m pushing him to open up those emotions of his. A proud werewolf male who has no problem fighting, negotiating business and controlling an entire pack, but speaking about his feelings, well, that’s just a fail.
I watch the rise and fall of his chest but he remains silent. “Silence doesn’t work for you. It creates a lot of negative, misleading energy in your head and in my world.” I pick up all my clothing and grab the bag off the floor and carry it all over to the bed and drop all my clothing that I wore away and back onto the bed beside him.
“I haven’t showered, all weekend. Just deodorant.” I say tossing the bag away again and crawling into the bed. “So if you don’t believe me when I say I didn’t fuck him, go ahead and see what you get on my clothing. But it won’t be much more interesting than my scent.”
All he has to do, is scent me, if he dares.
Paris’s arms drop from behind his head and he moves towards me quickly. Reaching for me. “I love that scent.” He mutters heatedly.”I was so angry and stupid.”
“I kissed him.” I state as his hand pauses but then continues to grab me and pull me down onto him. “Just the once.” I get out before as his face looms before mine.
“He a better a kisser than me?” Paris asks softly.
“Hmmm,” I murmur as our lips meeting and we become engulfed in one another again. Paris’s kiss is deeply desperate for my mouth.
Like he wants to cover every last inch of my mouth with is tongue. Like it’s a competition to kiss away the blues.
It’s wonderful now I’m in his embrace and we’re together. I forget that There is a world outside of this, as he cups my face and I creep my body further up his. We’ve missed days of this intensity, as we become all hands and mouth on one another.
“I’m yours.” I gasp between breaths as he leaves me breathless, working his mouth down my throat towards my breasts. I can’t believe I had to go three days without this.
“No more secrets.” I state softly as his tongue flicks out at my nipple. “That includes yours.” I say as his lips suck in my nipple and we push the covers back so I can straddle his lap. Paris stops and looks up at me.
“Yeah, you.” I repeat. “You’re concience, surfaced in Brooklyn this weekend, in the form of a certain Lycan, we both know. ”
Paris is in thought as he hears my words. “So much for the after glow.” He mutters.
“We’re not back there, not anymore.” I say cupping my breasts for him. His teeth graze at my nipples and he lifts my hips up, so I can feel him press against me. Paris slides into me slowly.
It’s like we control time when we make love. The focus on one another’s reactions is what we look for, what we want. Paris opens his mouth as he moans and I can see his teeth are sharpening.
“That’s the trick to this thing, remembering who we are, with one another.”
The werewolf across the hall from Hooper Parish’s place is hot. So damn hot that Hooper can’t help but pay attention to him so badly that all he wants to do is submit to the Alpha male, Thane Cavello.
But Hooper has issues. One; he hates werewolves, two; he hates werewolf packs, three; he hates lycans and four; he hates himself because he is a lycan. Made by a werewolf after an attack, seventeen years ago. Can he learn to love himself enough to be loved in return? Do you let the wolf that you are define you or the one you could be?
Falling for Thane was always going to be a challenge and a complicating one at that for Hooper to work out.
Add families from both sides of each male to the mix, and secrets are going to get exposed, and love will challenge loyalty because of it. Who do these wolves trust, when it can’t be their own kind and their hearts know no better?
Leaving Hooper with another issue to add to his list; like what does he want out of his lycan life, a pack mate, love, or family?
Well this is an unexpected development in my already complicated werewolf life.
Lovers will love you, even if it means making a mess of things.
I don’t need any more complications in my life, but it appears being a werewolf pretty much ensures that is the case. At least for me. I’m not you’re average pack wolf and I seem to attract all manner of trouble. Not always my own.
And when I thought I’d come to Red Hook to resolve a personal issue of unspoken, long running attraction to another wolf, it turns out, the lycan in question, is connected to more than just me.
He’s got a connection to my pack mate, the pack leader of the Manhattan Maen werewolf pack, that has been hidden from me, for something like fifteen years.
Darkness and werewolves, they really go hand in hand as much as we try to push it down. It’s that part of our nature that makes us werewolves.
“What Torrid little lives we live.” I mutter looking at myself one last time in the mirror and brushing my hair again before putting the brush down and glancing over my shoulder at Booker Parish on the bed behind me.
It’s time to go home. Time to face my pack mate and see what will be.
I’ll see if I can’t speak to some Breukelen elders, see if they know about soul mate bindings with werewolves, or if there is such a thing, if there is a lycan equivalent . How they work, what you can do.
In the mean time I’ll stick to my regular werewolf routine.
After all, forming habits is how we keep our werewolf selves in order, and out of the spotlight.
I’ll have to keep up the semblance of what Booker and I have been doing so far, orbiting one another every few weeks. Least I should fall into the same damn problem that got me pushed out of bed and over to Brooklyn by my pack mate in the first place.
And how will I feel having to face him again anyway? Now that I know what I know about how he helped Booker? I don’t know. But I’m not meant to, am I? Torrid little life, remember, make of it what comes at you.
Pretty much the werewolf way, fall on your feet, run or stand, make a choice. It’s what you can control, the choices you make.
I run my hands down the sides of my dark blue leather skirt.
“Ready?” Booker Parish says sitting on the edge of my bed.
“Seems like I should say no.” I say back at him. “But let’s go anyway.”
Booker stands up and swings his car key chain around his fingers. “Head first all the way Baby Girl. It’s how I came into this life.”
The lycan’s right. I’ve left this as late as possible, it’s getting close to midnight. And Manhattan does not sleep at midnight.
I turn around to face Booker and come face to chest with him, putting a hand on his chest, before stepping back for a bit of space.
“Maybe I should call some one else up to drive me.”
“I’ve practically been here, all weekend, why stop now?” He replies back at me.
I sigh. “Why indeed.” I mutter picking up my overnight back and watching as Booker takes it off my hands.
“See,” He says at me. “I can play my role. Like a good little lycan.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say clearly, he’s been doing that for fifteen years. But I bite back that snide and upsetting comment. The bitch me backs down. Neither of us need hurt.
“You might be several things Booker Parish, but little isn’t one of them.” I reply as we head out again, onto the merry-go-round that are our wolf lives.
Continued in so much for the after glow
I feel the shaking again and I clench my fingers into the palms of my hands tightly, pressing them into me. Hoping to bleed.
I need to feel something very real right now, so I don’t let anger consume or cloud what I’m trying to figure out here, how and why Booker Parish and I are like….this.
I have to figure it out, because it’s about to jeopardise the best relationship I’ve ever been in and I don’t fucking want that!
Being a werewolf in this world, is hard enough, thank you.
Being a werewolf female trapped between two wolves in her life, is a complication I do not need to add to my life in general. Been there before, done that. Really not looking to do it again.
“I knew Paris, around the same time I met you, actually, a little time after, about six weeks after the attack.” Booker finally gets out and I find myself letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Six weeks after the attack, seems….specific? Signficant?
“But how? You’d already joined the Breukelen by then, right?” I ask trying to figure out what he’s getting at here. Male wolves and they’re fucking loop de loops on talking.
He lifts his head and brushes brown hair out of his eyes. “Paris uh, tracked me down through the Breukelen. He’d been trying to sort things out with his pack leader.”
I frown. “I’m not following.”
“He was trying to bring me and my brother some sort of closure on the attack.”
“But he’d only do that if either, he was responsible for your lycanthropy, or if he knew who was.” I mutter slowly.
I don’t know how much more of this kind of talk my body can take. I feel like I’m wound tight here and need to hit things. Violently hit them. With a side of yelling and screaming thrown in.
“What are you saying Booker?” I mutter softly.
“I know who attacked me and my brother.”
We hold each other’s gaze. This is a new development.
“You always told me you couldn’t remember the attack or anything about it.” I say back at him.
“And I couldn’t. I still can’t really. It’s a block to me, I’ve only ever managed to recall the night, the surroundings, some blurred colour. Then nothing. I mean, there’s no detail in that.” Booker says opening up to me.
“My brother’s the same, he couldn’t recall it beyond the feeling of being ripped into and having his body savaged with pain, and the feeling of rain on his skin.”
I cross my arms over my chest and will him to go on. If he says Paris is responsible for his attack, I’ll go him. So fucking hard, he really won’t know what hit him.
“Paris figured out it was some Manhattan Maen werewolves, he found out because my brother and I weren’t the only ones attacked that night. Paris and Addison were patrolling and they came across another victim, Damon.”
Damon, I know a Damon.
Damon the lycan.
He lives in a garage in Manhattan Maen territory, he’s a nervous wreck. A hermit. Paris has always said he was under his protection, but never explained why.
“Whoa.” I press back against the bench for something solid to feel.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”
Booker shrugs those large shoulders of him and it looks effortlessly casual. “I don’t know, why revisit it?”
“Because it was, is, important to you.” I state looking at him and see something flitted across his face. “Because I’ve been there for you with this, I was there for you when this started!” I am practically yelling.
Booker is no match for masking his emotions with me as Paris is.
“Was. Past tense.” He says and leaves the words hanging for me to taking in.
“Book, what do you mean, by that little statement.”
“Cadey, I’ve moved on from it, you should too.”
Okay, you see, if he’d called me by my pack nickname of Bg or even his name for me, Baby Girl, I’d have let that comment slide. But he used my real name. There are only a few times when people ever, use my real name. And they’re all genuinely serious reasons for using it.
Booker’s a serious kind of guy, not a light hearted personality. Another sort of trait he shares with Paris.
“Why, would I move on from something that is important to you Booker? I didn’t back down with my father, and I won’t back down now. I’m a werewolf, we don’t back down. We fight. Tell me, everything Booker Parish or so help me god, we’re done here, for good, damn the fucking consequences!”
It’s horribly manipulative to pull that line on him, but it works. Booker doesn’t want to be apart from me. Not forever.
“We uh, dealt with the culprits.” Booker says in a low voice, unlike him at all. “Eventually.”
My eyebrows arch up in horror and surprise. “Paris helped me.”
He nods his head and we fall into strained silence.
Continued in Torrid Little Life
A podcast series and novel
The day before her twenty ninth birthday Bg Sommers is kidnapped before the eyes of her pack mate lover Paris D’arenberg.
Awaking far from her home in Brooklyn New York, Bg finds herself in unfamiliar surroundings two other kidnapped werewolves, Phelan and Thane Cavello, alpha werewolf males. Together with the werewolves, must work together to escape being hunted, by a powerfully terrifying, relentless enemy. Even if it means, disobeying werewolf pack laws and territory lines.
Together Phelan, Thane and Bg try to work through their differences. But Bg finds the risks of being around the Cavello’s is far greater than first thought. A connection between the three werewolves, threatens to do more damage to Bg and her life, than she could have ever imagined.
Uncovering the meaning of the three werewolves connection will mean confronting her past, to reclaim her future especially if she is to have one with Paris.
Available from Smashwords
Booker and I are fixated on one another.
Or more correctly, our wolf selves, are.
So how do I know if what I feel for this other wolf is real then? Maybe it’s just a trick the wolf inside tricking the human plaything’s emoitions. Who’s controlling who here?
We’re bound together in something that isn’t seen, can’t been made tangible and yet, seems unbreakable. This Lycan and I.
I don’t even know who bound who. It probably doesn’t matter.
So if I can’t break this attraction, this thing between us because our wolves won’t let it happen, then how the hell do I manage it?
Booker runs his hands up my jean covered legs, up to my thighs before I push his hands off me entirely.
“Don’t.” It’s all I can mutter as he let’s his hands fall off me onto the kitchen bench top either side of me and leans forward.
“Book, you have a girlfriend, doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“It does.” He says softly. “Problem is, you mean more to me than that. Always have.”
I begin to lean away from him. “You don’t get to say that now, after all this time when it was you who pushed me away. I wanted to be with you!”
“So let’s make it right now, let’s be together.” He husks and I see his eyes darken with desire, and realise I am almost flat on the kitchen bench top with him over me.
“Let me up wolf.” I utter. “Now!” I growl loudly and Booker straightens up and retreats back to the sink.
He looks distressed again. Shit. Do you know how much that hurts to see a big, strong guy like him, crumple?
“We’re connected,somehow. I’m not sure how it happened.” I say at him. “So I don’t know how to break it. But I know we can be control of it. We always have been.” I say at him. “We broke up went our own ways, but stayed, on the edges of one another’s lives. I mean, you’re friend’s with Paris and I’m,”
And that’s when another realization hits me.
“You’re friends with Paris.” I repeat. “You always told me you knew him before you became a Breukelen.”
I slip off the kitchen bench top till I’m standing with it at my back. “Is that true or have you been lying to me, all this time? I mean, that’s some connection isn’t it? You know my future pack mate before we date, and then after we date and end, eventually I find out you’re friends with my packmate. Are you keeping up with me here Book?”
Booker’s not making eye contact with me.
Oh shit, say it ain’t so.
Tell me he’s not a worse manipulator than Conall Wakely.
Continued in…Manhattan Wolf
This kiss is a reminder of everything I once felt for this Lycan. Everything that got crushed when he rejected me. This thought is enough to snap me out of the kiss and I pull back and push back at Booker’s shoulder’s.
Booker whines in his throat as we part and rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed as we both remember we can breathe air, without the other one.
“Please,” I hear him mutter softly, ever so softly. My eyes look up at him. “Don’t do this.” He says sadly.
It’s like he knows exactly why I’ve called him hear. As if saying Paris knows, isn’t enough.
“We got to reign this thing in Book. Get a hold of it for good.” I say back at him in a low voice.
Booker opens his eyes and looks down at me. “Let me guess, he doesn’t want me anywhere near you, I’m not allowed on your protective detail.”
“He hasn’t said so.” I reply. “But this isn’t about Paris, Booker, it’s about me, and you.”
Booker pulls back and drops his hand off the back of my neck. But he retains contact with my hand and wrist.
“How’d he find out anyway. I’ve never told anyone. Not even my brother, although, I think he might’ve suspected something once.”
I wonder if Booker ever forgot to wash my scent off him after we were together. Even a lycan without much scent tracking skills could pick up on another wolve’s scent over their mate.
“It doesn’t matter how. Booker I’m doing this. Besides, you have a mate, you have a girlfriend.”
“A non.” He states at me.
“You choose her Booker and isn’t it, like the longest relationship you’ve been in with her? You should focus all this thing you have for me, on her. Think of her instead.”
Booker lips his lips. “That might be a bit difficult.” He admits.
Please don’t tell me they broke up. Please, please, please.
“She looks like you.” He says back at me and my eyes widen in surprise. I never knew that. But I’ve never met her. Never had a chance or a need to.
Booker puts up a hand in defense. “No like, you exactly. I mean, she has you’re traits. Black hair, eyes, same height.”
I groan and bury my face in my hands. He picked a girlfriend who reminded him of me. She’s probably not even aware of that little secret fact.
“Booker,” I mutter through my hands. I drop my hands and look back up at him “You didn’t want me, so I walked away and you let me! You don’t get a do-over.” My anger is rising. Crap.
He looks at me tenderly. “I’ll do anything you want, just tell me I’m not being exiled from you.”
My heart races. Booker and I, this odd connection of lycan and werewolf, of love in a past time, it’s always had it’s own precipice.
It’s always, despite not working out kept us close.
Booker’s always had this thing about being separated from me, for too long a time. I kind of noticed it not long after we stopped dating.
“I wish you could be with me.” He admits for the first time, since we fell apart. Years ago.
So we developed this habit. Nobody would think much of it, because we worked it into our lives, and around our social groups. Every few weeks, he or I would find a reason, or take advantage of pack work to end up being grouped together. It wasn’t even about the physical touching. It was just about being around one another.
A familiarity to lessen the heartache I guess.
“I missed my chance, I get that.” Booker says frowning. “I mean, I get that, but my wolf self, won’t let you go.”
“I’m not you’re wolf Booker. You need to tell that wolf that, control it, not let it control you.” I sate back at him and pull my hand out of his. He straightens up and his body stiffens.
His scent is stronger when he’s distressed. Shit.
“I missed my chance when you broke up with Conall, I don’t even know how. I mean one minute you were dating him and then the next I know, you’re the talk of Brooklyn with all this chatter around you and Paris.” His brown eyes hold mine in their sorrowful gaze. “Baby Girl I would’ve, but you weren’t there. I’ve been in love with you since I first saw you and I no matter how I try, I can’t shake that.”
He dropped the L-word on me.
He’s never actually voiced that with me before. But I’ve always felt it.
Continued in We The Wolves.
My connection to Booker is unique one. It wasn’t me that turned him into a lycan.
I sigh and put a hand to my forehead, hoping to prevent a headache. I think I get our connection now. Can’t believe I didn’t figure it out before now.
I’ve always been empathic. Never really got a hold of it though, never understood it until something happened recently to have it pointed out to me.
My new found abilities, tend to work fast when I’m in a highly emotional state. So it’s no wonder I’ve felt this connection to Booker, deeper than most people would.
We met when I was fifteen. And I was fighting with my father, the pack leader of the Breukelen werewolf pack. He and I didn’t see eye to eye about lycans, at all.
Fifteen, was an important year to me.
I’d been attacked the year before when I was fourteen by some lycans. I was lucky to be alive. My fiftieth year, was supposed to represent survival, moving on, overcoming what had been done to me the year before.
Somehow, I don’t really know how, I think Booker picked up my empathic ability, something about it, that I can’t put my finger on. And this thing, that drives us together and apart and near again, this feeling, it’s something other than love, probably obsession, which is never a good feeling for a werewolf to develop.
I mean, we didn’t get together till years past that. But it didn’t matter, we always sought each other out in settings.
One way or another that was what our wolf selves pushed us to do, and both of us were new to our wolf ways, so we did what we thought we were meant to do.
I think we’re somehow bound to each other. As in he bonded himself to me and me to him and I don’t know how. I’m not sure how to undo what has been done. The dream, it was my warning sign, my reminder by my wolve’s bodies alarm clock that I had to get around Booker again.
After all, it’s been almost a month since I saw him last. And I’ve never dreamed of him before while I’ve been with Paris. I’ve never had that happen to me.
“Booker,” I start.
I have to make this clean, I have to be strong and do this now or we’ll never grasp it.
It’ll get worse as time goes on, because time glorifies memories, because we want meaning and purpose in our lives. We don’t want to think of how much we’ve fucked up. I’m in a real relationship now, the first one out of the three wolf boyfriends I’ve had.
And If I look back at me and Booker and our past history, I can accept and move on from my first boyfriend being not so much of a boyfriend too me, as a confused newly minted lycan who had to figure out again, how to be a wolf in a human body, with a woman.
“I know you love him.” Booker cuts me off. “I know and I’m not asking you to give that up, I’m just.” He lets out a heavy breath and seems to mull over a thought. “I want you too.”
I nod my head. “I know.”
I cross my ankles together and think about this.I got home, called Booker Parish and he came running to me.I have a weekend to resolve this. Paris gave me the entire weekend.
We don’t have to do this now.
We don’t have to talk anymore if we don’t want to.
When have wolves ever been known for their talking skills?
Looking at Booker I see how easy the comparison is to make between the “type” of wolf I like. Why it was so easy for Paris to make the connection between me and Booker having had a past affair together.
“I did the same thing you did, didn’t I? I choose a packmate that looks similar to you.” I state out loud, surprised by my own ignorance.
The human half of me sure knows how to suppress stuff.
Booker walks back over to me and unhooks my ankles with his hands, standing between my legs again.
“What does the mean for us?”
Continued in…This Lycan and I
The werewolf memory is great catalogue of sensory information. So despite what I might have once felt for Booker Parish when he first became a lycan, and joined my pack, the Breukelen.
It doesn’t mean I feel it for him now.
Rather, that memory of him, of how great it felt to be in love with him, of how incredible those lips felt gliding over my skin, can trigger me to fool my emotions into thinking that’s how I feel now.
“I’m going to kiss you.” He mutters moving in to my mouth. “I always want to kiss you when I see you Baby Girl.”
I didn’t know that. But then again, I didn’t need to, did I?
He tilts his head and I am lost to the approaching anticipation of one last kiss, with the first love of my life.
Do you ever forget the first love of your life? Maybe that’s why this seems so hard to figure out. Booker and I never worked out. Just couldn’t get it to work. But then when we were around each other, alone like this, that never seemed to matter to me.
What am I doing? Reverting ?
His lips brush over mine, and like Paris you’d never assume he could be so damn soft and tender. Big bulky werewolf, who knows how not to crush me. Just how to touch me. I guess he should, I was the first thing, Booker Parish saw when he opened his eyes after the werewolf attack, that left him a lycan forever.
The kiss is deep and growing hungrier for more access to me and I feel booker’s fingers curling into the back of my hair, gripping me. This kiss tells me he misses me more than even I knew. More than he wants to admit.
He awoke in a hospital room after the attack, but smelt the fur and wolf and sweetness of my scent. It would’ve been confusing to figure out, when he was looking at a human female before him. I remember he tried to struggle out of the hospital bed and I tried to stop him. The hospital gown doing nothing to lessen the look of his physique or the erection he was sporting underneath it. Booker grabbed my wrist so hard, it bruised with his finger marks on it. Of course, it faded away after I shape shifted.
But now it’s like an invisible reminder.
A lycan marking a werewolf, territorial and unheard of I’m pretty sure. Not that I think he meant it, but even now as we kiss, I feel his thumb brush over the soft inside of my wrist, back and forth, back and forth.
Like he knows, this is where he bruised me, branded me his, at least, in his mind he did.
I think that was it for him. I was locked into him, in a truly deep way. Because I was there at the time, all his lycan senses kicked in as he awoke, a wolf for the first time. I don’t know how it is with lycans and love, but despite our attempted dating, breaking up, hovering around one another, having other partners since then, Booker has always had eyes for me.
And the thing is I’ve always damn well known it.
And now, I have to do something about that.
Other than return this kiss.
Continued in…We The Wolves
Lycans and Werewolves, a lot of people who don’t know better would tell you they are one and the same. But in my world of werewolves and the paranormal that is our culture, I can tell you, the two are different.
Lycans are humans bitten by werewolves and werewolves are humans born with werewolf biology.
Well that’s the text book definition, the company line. Whatever you want to call it. But the two types of wolves are so far different than they look. Werewolves are all about control. Control of their abilities and emotions, these are the traits that allow them to blend into society and still be wolves.
Lycans on the other hand…Lycans are easy to anger and from what I know, can be highly, emotional. Like the human side can’t let them give in to that control they need to be a true wolf.
Booker Parish, is a lycan.
Bg Sommers, me, I’m a werewolf.
So imagine how my family and friends and by this I mean, the werewolf variety would act if they knew about me and Booker once being not only in love, but lovers. Shit might hit the fan. Especially since Booker is my sister’s friend.
Shit has already hit the fan for me, because my pack mate, Paris D’arenberg, uncovered my little secret about Booker and I. All Because I had a dream and mumbled his name in my sleep and then orgasm, all right before the eyes of my pack mate who was in bed beside me at the time. Woken by my throws of dream filled passion.
And now I find myself in a familiar situation.
I’m in the kitchen on top of the bench stop. Looking back at one, Booker Parish, who is three years older than me and taken. Like I’m taken. I have a pack mate, he has a girlfriend. Sure she’s a non, but it works for him I guess. He’s leaning back against the sink and resting his hands at the edge of it looking at me.
Only last time we were in a kitchen together and I was sitting like this, and he was standing opposite me, we ended up having sex. But that seems like it was a lifetime ago now and neither one of us is so naively young.
We’ve grown up, we’ve become wolves.
This is like a courting. We haven’t even spoken yet. If we don’t speak to one another soon, it’s going to get all too physical. Because that’s how easy it is to fall into this attraction thing I have with Booker Parish. We’re fine when we’re in a group setting, and there are plenty of people around us, to act as buffers and distractions. But alone time together, is a test. Most of the time.
I asked him over to my place in Red Hook cause we need to talk. Or should I say I do.
I need to put this thing to rest, to bed. Because I’m in a relationship with an alpha werewolf who does not play nice with others, when it comes to me. But I’m finding it hard to know how to begin without seeming foolish.
Maybe Booker doesn’t feel about me the way Paris seems to think he does.
I very deliberately wore jeans. I don’t really wear jeans all that often. But I I didn’t want my armour to be weak around this lycan. Didn’t want him to think I am dressing up for him. So I wore boots, jeans and even two tops, a long sleeved Raglan top and a t-shirt over that. Deliberately didn’t wear make-up and left my black hair down instead of doing anything with it. I don’t want to him to think I’m trying to court him in this dance around each other. Because that’s not my goal.
“He knows about us doesn’t he? Paris.” Booker says breaking our silence because something had to give. He pushes off the sink and moves steadily towards me.
“He knows about the past us.” I state back at Booker.
He sighs wistfully and keeps honing in on me. “I guess we couldn’t keep us a secret thing forever huh? Even though I hoped.” He says lowering his voice so it’s a almost a husky whisper.
I watch him come over and push my knees apart, standing between them, at the edge of the kitchen bench.
He slips a hand up the back of my neck and into my hair. I decide to ignore the fact that my pulse is racing and I’m not pushing him away. I didn’t call this meeting to reignite something, I called it to put it right.
“Don’t do it Book.” I state softly, eyeing his lips as I say the words.
I remember those lips, very well. That’s the problem with the werewolf brain, it’s sensory memory is incredible.
So are those lips.
“What? Hold you again?” He mutters softly inching closer. “I should never have pushed you away to begin with.”
Continued in A Wolf for the first time