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
“You can’t win a fight against me Bg, you know that.” Paris says not even slightly phased by my partial shape shift.
As if I’m a threat to him!
My claws are just itching to slash at his skin, because I am so damn pissed at him.
There was no reason to make me having a wet dream into an issue. Only he sees it as cheating. That I’ve cheated on him with another wolf, because it wasn’t his name I called out. Because it was a lycan who was making love to me in a dream, I don’t even remember.
Because that lycan is our friend, Booker Parish and Booker and I once upon a time, long time ago, dated and were in love.
Or so we thought.
“Oh I can win a fight against you Paris D’arenberg. Just not a physical one!” I growl at him. “I’m not the one who wants to fight here. I’m the one who woke up in the middle of a fight with you that she didn’t know she was even having! All because of some stupid, subconscious dream.”
“The subconscious doesn’t make that which matters to us any less real. You were clearly having sex with Booker in your dream. You orgasmed because of him, not me!”
Learning control over my orgasms is something we’ve been working on the whole time we’ve been together. It’s not like Paris and I lack a decent and active sex life. Far from it. And only when I am truly being punished do I not get to come.
But this wet dream with Booker Parish, that I don’t even remember the slightest detail from, is something else.
“Are you still in love with him?” Paris sounds more unhappy than angry as he asks me this. “is that it?”
I feel a breath leave me and my shoulders relax, the blood is rushing around through my veins pounding in my ears, deafening me. My claws retract painfully and shift back to my hands and I gulp for air as my teeth shift back to my human teeth.
Paris sees the small shape shifts and I wonder if my eyes have changed back. I can’t tell without looking at a mirror.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He mutters beginning to pace.
I honestly have no idea how to answer. So I do the only logical thing I can do.
“No, of course not.” I reply and he looks over at me and tilts his head.
“You seem to forget little wolf, I can practically taste it when you’re lying.” He looks away again, before saying “You’ve still got werewolf eyes.” Which is another way of saying, I’m still on edge, ready to fight, because my werewolf self, is still emotionally wound up and invested in this thing beating in my heart with confusion.
“I’m not lying. I’m in love with you, I want to be with you. I’ve no desire to be with Booker again.”
Paris walks over to me slowly.
“Maybe that’s what is. What I can taste on you.” He says still keeping a bit of distance from me.
“You might be in love with me, but on some level, you desire him.”
My mouth opens to retort something back, but I find myself speechless. Because it makes sense what he says. Booker and I may have not been a long term relationship. But he was my first love, and my first lover.
We’ve lived around each other ever since. We’ve watched each other have partners, pack mates, boyfriends, girlfriends and still when we look at each other.
We spark and we’ve both known better than to let any of our friends, see that.
And then I had to go betray that, by having a wet dream about him. And I don’t even know why.
I haven’t seen booker in something like a month. It’s not like we interact with each other every time I’m in Brooklyn or doing something for the Breukelen.
We have different placing’s in our pack and this means we move in different circles. Sometimes they cross.
“You should uh, go.” Paris says softly backing away from me.
“What?” I can feel tears welling in my eyes.
“I had no idea you felt this way about anyone, let alone Booker.” Paris says.
“I don’t feel this way, whatever way, about anyone else, just you.” I implore. My fucking werewolf head, such a trouble maker if ever there was one.
“I want to believe that Bg, but…” Paris sighs. Oh he is really messed up about this. And I don’t know how to fix this, to fix us. “I get that we’re similar looking, the physique, and maybe I’m just a substitute for him, that’s why you were attracted to me.”
“No, no, no.” I rush out. Although maybe, subconsciously it was why I initially liked him.
“I think over the weekend, you should go back to Brooklyn and really ask yourself if it’s me you want or deep down, it’s Booker. And at the end of the weekend, tell me your choice, so we can move past this, however we need.”
Continued in… Breukelen Heart Beats
Paris looks ready to explode as he hears my words.
“I’ll tell you about Booker and me.” He edges forward on that seat, as if ready to rush me, his fingers gripping it tightly so he has something to break when his grip gets too tight to take without shape shifting.
“Booker and I dated.” I hold his gaze. “A long time ago, before I met you.”
He opens his mouth and stops grinding his teeth. “How come I’ve never heard this before now?”
Male wolves, they have a fucking ego on them, let me tell you. That’s why he’s never heard this before. Because Paris is the type of male to be jealous of anyone who was with me before him his feelings for me are so deep, that the logic of Booker being a part of my past, doesn’t even enter into his reasoning.
Male wolves can get seriously possessive. My Ex, Conall Wakely was possessive of me, but he went about it in a rather subtlety manipulative way, so it took me awhile to see what he was doing. Even though other’s could see it, eventually I saw through it.
Male wolves and their pack mates. It’s an intensity you need to be ready for.
“Because nobody knew we dated. We were a secret and kept it that way. Even now, you’re the only one outside of either Booker or myself who knows this.” I explain.
I see him try and digest this information as he looks away from me briefly, but it’s not a reprieve from the situation at hand.
“We all have pasts Bg, but I don’t have wet dreams about the women I’ve slept with in the past.”
And here comes the second wave of attack.
“How old where you when you two got together? I always thought, you dated Conall before me.”
“Booker came before Conall.” His eyes narrow on me sharply as he frowns deeply.
Oh fucking wrong choice of words Bg!
“He’s the one isn’t he?”
“What?” I asked missing something in our conversation that clearly hasn’t been said but is playing out loud and clear in Paris’s mind.
“It makes sense now. You remember I once asked you about who you’re first lover was? Who you gave your virginity too?”
Oh Christ on a crunch. Here we go.
“I thought it had to be Conall, but it was Booker right? He was your first love.”
Now it’s my turn to look away. Which just confirms everything he’s said and we both know it.
“You’re still in love with him, some part of you is still in love with him, that’s why you came in your sleep, calling his name not mine.”
My heart is beating like crazy because this is the weirdest confrontation I’ve ever had and I don’t know how I feel about denying that statement. I’m not sure if I would be lying to myself or to Paris.
“Look at me!” Paris roars across the room making me flinch.
Anger is evident in every part of him and I know better than to look away from the werewolf who is spoiling for a fight with me. If I do, he’ll come for charge at me.
“It’s not like that.” I say softly. But I’m not actually sure if it is or it’s not. “I’m not involved with Booker, I’m with you. I love you.” I try to reach him, but Paris’s anger and jealousy are intense as the man himself.
“I don’t believe you.” Paris says dropping his voice.
He doesn’t believe I love him? What the hell, where did this come from? Because of an unconscious action in a dream? Some mumbled words?
I feel my legs begin to shake and my hands twitch. My skin is getting hot. Pain shoots across my abdomen. Oh shit, I’m so upset it’s bringing on a shape shift.
My fingers flex and stretch, waiting for their extension and nails to break and push out talons for claws.
Paris stands up and looms on the opposite side of the room taking up a lot of space. “I can’t handle this. This idea that you’re in love with him.”
Sweat beads across my forehead and feel the flutter of my eyelids close down heavily before I blink back up at him, through my werewolf eyes.
He stares back at them. He has to know how I am feeling right now. Because heightened emoitions bring on my partial shape shifting abilities with ease.
Sometimes I’m not even aware of it happening to me, it’s that damn smooth, when I’m that wound up and lost in feeling.
“Okay, you wanna fight? You got a fight.” I growl at him as my werewolf teeth push through my gums and blood drips into my mouth.
Continued in…. Teeth, Claws and a Werewolf Heart
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