A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn
Unleashing
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I smelt the blood before I even saw it on Paris‘s face. My head shot up and I looked over at my boyfriend as he walked into the room I was in. He dropped the sports bag heavily to the ground and my eyes zeroed in on the blood under his nose and around his mouth. Blood sports and werewolves, what a freak’n turn on.
He walked around to me, pulling his sweat stained t-shirt up over his head and off. Discarding it without care. I stayed still, where I was, at the end of the table, watching in anticipation as he walked around to me. Watching the way his body moved with the way he held himself, inhaling the sweat and blood he’d worked up and gotten from his boxing session. Yeah, he doesn’t box with gloves and protective gear. Alpha male, pack leader, likes to keep his skills sharp.
My eyes keep zeroing in on the mess around his otherwise pretty mouth. My nose keeps flaring as I enjoy the smell of his blood on his sweat covered, skin. He hones in on me and lifts me like I weigh nothing, up onto the table. Pushing apart my legs so he can stand between them. His hard groin meeting my moist heat at the edge.
I can hear his breathing is controlled and stilled like him. But that’s just a ruse. The heart beat racing under neath all that toned skin, is a give away to what he wants. There is a heat flaring up inside at me at the look of the predator before me. I can’t help it, it’s always like this with him.
One look up at those dark blue eyes and that’s all he get’s before I lunge at the swollen and bloodied mouth. He doesn’t wince at the action of my mouth devouring his brings. Paris merely responds, his arms pulling me in closer to him. His mouth matching mine, allowing my tongue to go where it will, over the blood trail over him.
Hands push my skirt up my legs and I feel his fingers, pull aside my underwear and feel the press of his hardened cock before he pushes into me tightly. I can’t moan because my mouth is too busy obsessing over the swollen bloody mess of his mouth and licking at it eagerly. He lifts my legs to wrap them around his hips, dragging me across the table towards him, so we can start this unleashing.
Blood sports and werewolves, what a turn on. I think Paris fights deliberately without protective gear so he can get bloodied and come home and do this with me. Fighting makes him hungry and not necessarily for food.
Our rhythm is fast and bumpy and all I can do is hold onto Paris as we let the sensation of blood, sweat and sex coat us and fill our senses with each other.
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Tags: blood sports, boxing, fighting, licking, Paris, scenting, Sex, werewolves
Absence
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In the darkness of Brooklyn’s night, we arrive. We’ve barely spoken to each other and that pains me. I don’t want this. Like this. We sit in his car, outside my house.
“You could always stay for awhile with me.”
Paris offers a half smile at me softly. “No I couldn’t and we both know that. But thanks all the same.”
Of course not. There’s work to be done. A werewolf pack to maintain. Punishment to be dealt out, Gabby to be found.
“It’s… I just don’t want you to think that…”
“We revert to what we know.” He says cutting me off and shrugs his shoulders quickly. “It’s what we know in who we are. It’s a safety net. Even us werewolves have them.”
I sigh heavily.
“Yeah, the human side of the werewolf has it. I should be more than…” I wave a hand up and down the front of me trying to figure out what I’m saying. “this.”
His eyes widen and he stares at me, his mouth agape.
“No, don’t do this. Don’t you dare think you’re somehow responsible for what Gabby did.” He says putting my face in his hands. “She knew, damn her, exactly what she was doing to you. And I like you for you. The way you are.”
His lips press into mine and we kiss. It’s like being swept up in moment of escape. And makes me lean into him, cling to him. We part for air and Paris rests his head on my forehead. His eyes closed.
“I hope you like me because I can be strong for you, for us. You don’t have to go after her.” I state somewhat hopelessly. When what I should say is he doesn’t have to go through whatever he’s feeling, thinking of doing, alone. I should be there with him.
I don’t want him to have to go after her. Not because I don’t want Gabby to be reprimanded or punished or called out for what she did to me. But because every time Paris, has to do things like this, in his leadership capacity of the Manhattan Maen, I loose a bit of him. To a very dark place.
I don’t think even he likes going to the darkness that is somewhere, situated in the depths of the wolf’s soul. Darkness is not just an absence of light in the world we live in. I can tell that Paris resigns himself to the fact that he has to at some point. That he will go there.
For us.
For me.
All Kinds of Trouble Pt1.
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You could say Aaron was one of the reasons I cut ties with my human friends last year, because, well, he along with my friend Aimee (who I’ve been told – and I quote “Please don’t write about me on your blog without my permission.”) – I’m not allowed to mention on here, except in this context, showed me, that at that point in my life, my two worlds just didn’t mix. It was all getting a bit to complicated for me to handle. That and the fact that Aaron stopped looking at me when we were out with our friends, and then stopped talking to me, after he saw me at Ultra with Conall.
Yeah, that went down well, so well, that night.
But here he is again, this human male, back in my life. Entering into my world. Werewolf world. He shouldn’t be here, but he is. Paris has got his crew asking a few pointed questions about Midnight Blue. It’s supposed to be a kind of safe haven for werewolves on lunar week. That’s not to say humans aren’t allowed, but really, if there’s going to be humans there, you’re only ever likely to see a handful, like three, five maximum. When we were at Midnight Blue, and ran into Aaron, there was more than that, at least half the club was full of nons and werewolves. Which is asking for all kinds of trouble. Especially since the Manhattan Alpha, hasn’t decreed this is acceptable behavior to operate in his territory.
Part of what makes Paris a great Pack Leader, he’s smart, really smart when it comes to werewolf needs and pack behavior. He’s more flexible than most pack leaders would be willing to be and he’s more open minded. But if you take liberty of this attributes, without following his rules, like Midnight Blue seem to have been doing, then you can expect to get found out and dealt with.
So I find myself back in Midnight Blue as Paris’s pack lieutenants, Addison, Jules, Gabby and Wiatt start doing there thing at the club. And who shows up for a second night in a row, but Aaron. Now I’m suspicious. You see, from what I do know of Aaron, he’s a nice boy. A conservative, nice, polite, regular guy. I find it hard to believe he’d venture this far over to the wild side of life. But then again, maybe he doesn’t know, just how wild it gets in these places. And for his own benefit, more than mine, I should at least give him a heads up to get out, before Paris and his crew do something, that might end up endangering him. Or exposing his human mind to things he probably doesn’t know about, or would rather not see or believe.
He starts laughing as I walk towards him. Shaking his head. The blonde he was with the other night is nowhere in sight. He’s alone, or at least, I think he is, there’s a few humans standing at the bar not so far behind him. Could be friends.
“So you don’t come to sex clubs like this? But here you are two nights in a row. Man, I really didn’t have a clue about you did I?” He says to me, hands on his hips.
Oh you still don’t you ungrateful, rude, prick.
“It’s not a sex club. It’s a nightclub and I never said I hadn’t been here before. Keep up and pay attention Aaron or you’ll get left behind.” I zing back at him.
His arms drop off his hips.
“Yeah right, then why wouldn’t they stop people from stripping off out of their clothes and having four ways on the dance floor?”
I so can not explain this to him.
“I don’t know why you’re here or how you got in..”
“Some of us of heard about this place, apparently there are others, but this was the only one me and Daniel could get into. We had to bribe the doorman with like two hundred and fifty bucks each to let us in last night and again tonight.”
My eyebrows shot up at this news. Weak security detail on a wolf club. Not good. Paris will not be amused either.
“It was a dare of sorts.”
This guy was so not the same Aaron I thought I knew last year. What a shame.
“So the real question is,” He asked stepping forward, closer to me. “Why are you here, in this sex club that you’ve been to, more than once before?”
My finger nails start tapping out an angry rhythm on my thigh as I glare at him.
“I’m here with my boyfriend, remember the hulking guy who wanted to rip your head off from your shoulders last night, because you were in my face?”
He looked shocked for a second and looked around us.
“You sure do know how to pick ‘em. First that Colin guy…”
“Conall. His name is Conall.”
“Whatever. You like the asshole type, and sex clubs, and you wonder why we never got together?” His eyes run up and down my outfit. “Well it’s because bitch whores have never been my type. Guess I figured that out in time, for once.”
I straighten up and feel the tension in my body elevate.
“Bitch whore.” I repeat slowly and punch him in the face, before I even realize I’ve made a fist.
Aaron cried out and stumbled backwards with the force of the blow, falling down on the ground, onto his backside. His hands going up to his face.
“Aww that fucking hurt!”
I shrugged my shoulders as he cupped his nose. “You hurt my feelings.” I replied.
The scent of blood tinged the air near me and I know before he’d even removed his hands from his nose, that there is blood gushing from his nose. I watch him now more curiously, the animal inside taking it’s time to assess through human eyes. Aaron looked at the blood on his hands and his brown eyes darted back over to mine. Holding my gaze.
The smell of fresh blood has my heart beat racing. I lick my lips. My skin is itching with a need to go primal on the prey in front of me. On Aaron.
Seems like an opportune time to let the werewolf in me, out.
Dumb fighting
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KEvil09 asks: What is something dumb u seen people fight about or over?
Or have you been in a fight that was over sumthing dumb?
Yes.
Half truths will not get you anywhere safe
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“So, um…about that wolf I hit the other night.”
Paris smiled slowly at me.
“Bohm.”
I blinked quickly and looked over at Paris. “I feel bad, about what I did. I mean. I kind of panicked back there and well, you know how panic excites wolves and the blood and me looking mangled and…”
Paris kissed my temple.
“Don’t worry about it.”
I frowned back at him. ”How can I not worry about what I did to him? I hit him until his face was a bloody mess. He was just going out for the night, lunar week fun and some psycho female wolf goes all kinds of crazy on him. Messes up his face and his night, infront of his fellow…”
Paris held up a hand. ”I’ve already spoken to Bohm. He’s fine by the way. Shape shifted and is fine. But he’s good. He understood the situation and what it called for.”
Briefly I let the music of the club fill a gap of silence between us. Only because my mouth was gaping open and I looked at Paris like he was talking another language to me. So nonchalant and okay with what I’d done. Playing pack wolf politics, has never been a strong point of mine because, well, I’ve never had to understand that side of things. I’m a beta wolf, I do as I’m told and that’s about it.
“He took the fall?”
“Completely. Like a good pack wolf should, when they know their job. Bohm figured it out quickly enough. By the way, he says, you leave yourself open a little when you do you’re left cross.”
I understand the fighting, the meaning behind it, the reasoning of it, and why it happens. But I’m still not sure, I’ll ever really like it. The violence that remains with me, after it. I don’t know. Maybe the other night was just different. Because, I’ve never done that before, never had to do that before. Make a stand amongst wolves for fear of being torn apart in chunky meaty bits. Which don’t get me wrong, is totally possible to happen. Hell I’ve felt the threat from within my own pack before, not quite to that degree, but similar.
Slightest slip of control, too much temptation with the blood. If their Alpha, his hierarchy hadn’t been on hand to ensure, the pack towed the line. It might have been a different story.
“I owe Bohm a favour, that’s all it comes down to.”
I picked up my champagne and downed a quick mouthful.
“Great, so I’ve done what exactly, put you in debit to a lesser wolf? That can’t look good for an Alpha of your standing.”
Paris shrugged his shoulders. He looked out over our surroundings, watching the wolves and the humans mingle together.
“Doesn’t matter, just means, if I can, I help Bohm in some way when the time arises, I should. That’s all. Nothing solid, more like a privileged courtesy. That’s all.”
“He’s a beta wolf!” I said, my voice raising significantly at his calmness.
Ranking in a wolf pack, is highly regarded and adhered to. It’s kind of the whole point to pack structure, other than the purpose of survival. There are certain traits, and behaviours that make a Alpha, a leading pack Alpha and not just a fighter. Paris had always been trained up to take over the leadership of his Pack from their old leader. It’d been a planned and unchallenged succession. His leadership of the Manhattan Maen, worked. It worked very well from what I’d seen of it. But that didn’t excuse him from bestowing his favours to just any wolf in the pack. Let alone one that had come to his girlfriend’s rescue (in a sense).
My fighting, was causing all kinds of potential looming trouble. And not much of it, it seemed, was for me. Rather, the ramifications of any fall out for my fighting with Gabby, would be impacting on Paris.
“I uh, I want to apologise to him.”
“It’s not necessary, Bohm’s good.” I looked at Paris and wondered how to say what I was feeling, what I knew was going on behind the scenes with Gabby. That Addison was keeping away from him. If Addison hadn’t told him about Gabby’s game playing, then it really wasn’t my place to either, I’d just create more trouble. And I didn’t want that. But I couldn’t let Paris go on thinking, everything would be okay and good with his leadership if my fighting, either Gabby or Bohm, was the beginning of his undoing, in his own pack.
I so didn’t want to be responsible for that.
Like ever.
“I know it’s not necessary to Bohm because he was, is, being a good pack soldier. But I think appearances in pack, are necessary. As much as my display of standing up to Gabby was necessary. I’d hate for any of these wolves to think, I was your weakness and that made you fair game for leadership challenges.”
Paris turned his head to look at me slowly. His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Who said that to you?”
I felt my eyes widen. No use trying to hide the truth from this wolf. Half truths will not get you anywhere safe.
“I’m just saying. I don’t want to cause unrest with your pack. I’m a guest amongst these wolves. I have no rights here in Manhattan. I’m a Breukelen wolf.”
Paris leaned in, closer to me. His voice was low and serious.
“You’re more than a guest here, more than that to me. Don’t let anyone, not even Gabby let you think otherwise.”
Tags: Apologies, Bohm, fighting, Gabby, Manhattan Maen pack, pack leadership, pack politics, werewolves
Werewolf fighting 101
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Some werewolf females are just bitches and should be treated as such.
It was left up to Jules, to tell Gabby that she couldn’t sit at the Alpha’s table in the club the other night. It didn’t go down well, that the Manhattan Maen Alpha female, was once again, being vanquished from the good graces of the leading pack’s Alpha male, Paris. See, status and hierarchy is a very important thing in a werewolf pack.
Being an Alpha automatically sets you up, as being far more superior and precious and better, than the majority of your fellow werewolves. So seeing a beta wolf, from a neighboring pack, sit at the leading Alpha’s table with him and his hierarchy before her, was never going to go down well with the likes of Gabby’s ego.
Especially since, awhile ago, when I was off the Manhattan scene, she seemed to be filling in the place of ‘female’ required seating at the pack leader’s table. But now I’m back, and that means, she has to go find other places to hang out in the clubs when I’m around. Paris and the boys know, we do not get along.
Werewolves, butt heads with them, if you’re bored or assured of your superiority.
I was in the female restroom when Gabby stormed in, slamming the door behind her, clearly, not taking the news that she was being shuffled around the club to accommodate my presence, all that well.
“Oh it’s you.” She said looking me over as I stood in front of the counter top.
“The feelings mutual.” I muttered back at her, not taking my eyes of the mirror before me. Which was my mistake. It’s like I forgot how feral a pissed of she wolf could be. She marched over to me.
“They treat you like you’re one of us!” She spat in my face, pushing me backwards so I stumbled over my own high heels, off balance slightly and hit the nearest wall.
“You’re not one of us!” She poked me in the chest sharply. “You’re not even an Alpha! I’m the freak’n Alpha female here and you’re the one they treat like the freaking queen of the wolves!” She said moving in front of me so I was backed into the wall with her blocking my escape.
“No, I’m not you. I’m better than you.” I replied smiling at her.
Remember kiddies, the golden rule when werewolves are fighting, is werewolves do not back down. Especially when confronted by pack. Or you know in this case, another, pack wolf bitch.
Her eyes widened, like she couldn’t believe I had the audacity to speak back, let alone throw a massive insult at her. Of course, that just made things worse.
She growled at me, I heard a sharp snap of something and Gabby showed me her fangs. I heard something similar to a popping sound and realized it was muscle and bone breaking. She was shape shifting part of herself, not smoothly or elegantly. But she was getting the job done.
Again, not a good sign, for me.
Gabby grabbed me by the throat with her still very human hand while her right hand slashed at my chest with razor sharp talons for claws. She moved fast. But not so fast I couldn’t see it coming and try and fight her off. She was stronger than me and had me in a bad position to be taken advantage of.
So I decided to play dirty.
You want bitchy, come see me when I’m pissed off. I can roll with the best of them.
I threw up my knee, hard into her body. And as she flinched in sharp pain – yes girls are just as sensitive to getting kicked in the crotch as boys, I threw out a right jab into the side of her face. This caught her off guard and she momentarily loosed her grip on my throat. Which was what I needed to get into a better position of attack, rather than defend.
Werewolf fighting one-o-one, we fight by attacking, not defending.
As she slashed back at my arm with her werewolf clawed hand, I had enough room to move off the wall and throw my elbow into face. She lost all sense of grip on me then as she cried out, her nose bursting with blood. I shoved her aside, into the counter top, which she hit hard, in the side of her body before falling down onto the floor, before she could stop herself.
I kicked her pointedly in the ribs, once, with my heels and got out.
I emerged in the club and it was only then that I realized I was in pain. That I seemed to allow the sensation through my brain haze. The stinging sensation across my arm and chest, was bleeding. I looked down at my top, which was just concealing my breast on one side.
That bitch, she’d cut the shoulder strap off it and had nicely slashed open the left side of my chest, with a wicked streak of claw marks.
When I looked up again, I swear every pair of eyes in that club was on me.
It was the blood.
Fresh blood and every werewolf in the place, could smell it.
My blood, still bleeding, enticing their inner beasts to want out. To want to bear fangs and fur and shred me even more. It’s a natural instinct, a really powerful one, that’s harder than hard to ignore or see reason through. Especially if you’re a werewolf with little self control or weakened will.
Potentially, a very bad situation to be in.
Because bleeding so obviously, out in the open, indicated I was injured. Injury assumes weakness and weakness to werewolves, means prey. Prey gets attacked or eaten.
I could not be seen as prey.
I saw Addison and Jules readying in the distance, throwing hand signals at one another and grabbing their people. But there was still around fifty or so werewolves between them and me. I looked at all the wolves around me, who had stopped whatever they were doing and were now staring at me hungrily, like they were just waiting for a green light to clean me up. Or for some one to make the first move.
So I did the only thing I could do.
I picked another fight, with another wolf. A male wolf nearest too me.
I started throwing punches at him, as hard as I could. Knocking him around, again and again. He threw out a few return punches, but they lacked power. He went down easily enough and I followed him down, continuing to smack his skin with my fists, until my knuckles split open from the hitting. I can not tell you how much that hurts. Werewolves, tough, but not completly oblivious to pain.
Werewolf.
Does not back down.
I couldn’t let this pack, see me as a weakness, or think they could somehow take advantage of me because I’m not one of them, or because I’m just a beta wolf. It was a show of strength, and I think the wolf I laid into understood that. Otherwise he’d have really fought back at me.
By this time, Jules was pulling the guy out from under me. Nobody touched me, as I slowly stood back up. Aching with throbbing pain in my hands, arms, stinging abrasions across my chest. Covered in blood.
Addison looked at me.
“I got you another drink, it’s at your table, if you’d like it.” He said loud enough for everyone around us to hear.
I sighed heavily and flicked my hair back over my shoulder. Like nothing was amiss.
Addison and Jules had a guard of older wolves, either side of the crowd that had formed. Like a formation guard for me to walk through. We were putting on a show of who was who, for the pack to see.
Addison started walking beside me. But once again, everything stopped when Gabby appeared from the restroom, holding her hand to her nose. She had blood smeared across her upper lip.
I looked back at her and she at me. If looks could kill, I’d have been dead and buried.
“I hope I broke it.” I said smiling at her.
Addison rolled his eyes at me. As if to say ‘you two are so immature’.
“Shall we?” He asked as I turned around and we walked back over to Paris, at his table.
If I’d have been in real trouble for starting a fight there, Paris himself would have been pulling me off that wolf. Berating me in front of everyone. Or at the very least, instructed Addison to yank me back off him.
But they hadn’t, so clearly, I’d done something right, in standing up for myself.
Tags: Addison, alpha female, attack, beta wolf, bitch, bitch fight, fighting, Gabby, Jules, Paris, prey, werewolf
Werewolves Vs Predators
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*if you haven’t seen the recent movie Predators, then this a potential spoiler alert for the movie. Don’t read, if you don’t want to know stuff before you’ve seen the movie.*
Predators 3 is basically a mixture and natural conclusion of what would come next, in the Predator film franchise, when involving predators and humans.
The basic storyline for predator 3 is a group of what we think are unsuspecting /unassuming humans at first, are dropped quite literally out of the sky and into a foreign jungle. If they wake up mid free fall, and manage to get their parachute open, they consider themselves lucky to be alive. That is, until they find out the foreign jungle is actually another planet, which is home to the Predators. And that the Predators are hunting the humans.
The werewolves I was with, watching this movie, weren’t cheering the humans on.
They were cheering the predators.
We got a bit noisy.
Pretty lucky we didn’t get chucked out.
We were cheering the Predators on, not because they were hunting humans, but because they were so damn fierce looking and because we wanted to see the predators in battle. Werewolves love to fight and I guess you could say, whilst we city werewolves don’t hunt these days, as there is no need, we are still attracted to the scene of a battle. Especially an epic one between foes. It’s like some basic part of us, that is always just under the surface of our skin.
We like the idea of besting ourselves. Of proving the animal side of us, is there, I supposed, for a reason. And because we don’t tend to hunt like wild wolves do. I guess it’s that same part of us that finds watching a superior being like the predator, hunting, well, quite fascinating really. Especially considering the predators, seem like a hybrid of animal and being, much like a werewolf.
They have the ability to use weaponry – some seriously kick ass weaponry, rather than just relay on animal or self made abilities. Something that perhaps appealed to us all sitting there watching the movie. I mean, in a street fight, in human form, I might not think to automatically arm myself with weaponry initially, but that’s because I wasn’t brought up that way. Being a werewolf has it’s advantages, and we’re taught to use those advantages and to build on our werewolf given skills first. But if it came down to win / lose situation and I had to, I wouldn’t be so proud as to not use whatever weaponry was at my disposal.
Especially if it meant continuing the fight in hand to hand combat.
However, when we shape shift to our wolf form, obviously paws don’t work like hands do. Opposable thumbs. Useful things that they are.
That’s the other exciting part of this film as with the other two. It’s the build up of the stalking and potential dangers of humans v predators. But ultimately, battle for superiority and general survival, comes down to hand to hand combat. You have to get close to the beast to try and kill it. And most werewolves would probably tell you they subscribe to the theory, you don’t really know what you’re fighting until you’ve got your hands on it.
“повторно один безобразный ублюдок”
English translation “You’re one ugly motherfucker.” – Nickolai, Predators
None of this, sniper shit from 1000 miles away crap. No, to end the game, you have to be in the thick of the fight. And what’s fiercer than a test of who’s the best, weapons, or hands in a close contact fight? Sorry, I’m getting excited even now, as I write this out.
For me, and I think I speak for the various others of my motley movie crew, when I say, there was not enough screen time for the Predators. Too much, wah wah wah, kill me a human going on. Although if I have to sit through a movie, watching Adrien Brody be action man, again, I’ve decided I’m okay with that.
As long as the shirt come off.
Also in Predators 3, we see something not seen before. We are given a glimpse at the types of predators available. There are some sort of what I’d call second cousins removed – hell hounds, there are the regular warrior type of predators we’ve seen in the past two movies, and there is an even bigger, possibly older, version of the warrior predator. It came across to us werewolves as a hierarchy of sorts. Based on age and skilled abilities. The smaller predators we, assumed were youthful warriors, that had to prove themselves, go through a ritual of manhood, if you will, to the older predators. Who in return, hunt those weaker, unworthy or unskilled, younger warrior predators as well as the humans.
Guess it makes me appreciate that I have a good pack and we don’t do that kind of crap to one another. Also makes me wonder what us werewolves would be like in a different time, and a different place.
In other words, I totally loved this movie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tags: fighting, hand to hand combat, heirachy, movie review, movies, predator 3, Predators, vs series, werewolves, your one ugly motherfucker
Welcome to Brooklyn, now you’re dead.
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So what are you when you don’t know what you are? Lost?
Vargr, didn’t strike me as someone who was lost. A petty criminal and a shape shifter, he definitely was. But after his run in with me, back in 2009 when he robbed me of my belongings on the streets of Brooklyn, he became something else. All because I bit him. I don’t know if anyone’s every done studies on what a werewolf bite can do. When I bit Vargr, I was in human form, had very human teeth, that had all the powerful force of a werewolf’s bite and strength. I bit through his skin, till I hit bone. His collar bone. I bit so hard, I chipped my tooth.
Non’s just can’t do that. It might sound simple and easy, but muscle is tough, sinew is tougher. Breaking skin is easy, getting past the broken skin, sinking into someone’s bone, that’s actually harder than you’d believe. Of course, not to a werewolf like me. It’s kind of like forgetting your own strength and all that.
I let his words sink in, with the maniacal expression building on his face.
“I’m a, what those native indians call a shape shifter, I looked it up.”
Vargr was a shape shifter. Thanks to me? I frowned heavily. How did that even begin to work? I don’t really know how shape shifter become what they are. I don’t really know that much about their kind at all. But I am like ninety nine percent certain, you don’t become a shape shifter from a werewolf bite. If anything, he should have become a lycan.
My bite did something to him. Maybe, I infected a shape shifter with lycanthropy. Like he didn’t know he was a shape shifter or something and then I bit him and it activated it or messed things up in him? How is that even possible?
I glanced at Conall, ever ready to pounce on this guy, should he make a wrong move. What had I done to this petty criminal? Had I made a bad person, worse?
“How?”I asked him, because the question had to be asked. I had to know. I didn’t just walk through a cemetery for no reason, and not to confront Vargr. I hadn’t worried about this guy for a whole year, because I didn’t have reason to. I wanted an answer.
He shrugged his shoulders. “After you bit me. I become different.” He said cryptically.
Asshole.
“How different?”
He smiled with a cat’s got the canary kind of smile. Like he knew something I don’t know which should seem so obvious to me, if only I damn well knew what it was.
“You freed me.”
A chill ran over my body.
Freedom usually sounds like a good thing. Something to celebrate and enjoy. Only this was a criminal, an from what I could tell, he rather enjoyed being a criminal. Which didn’t make him the nicest person on the planet according to my judgment scale.
He moved away from me and started gathering up his stash pile of stolen items, shoving the small bits of jewellery and wallets into the larger handbags, he’d stolen from people.
Freedom to a werewolf was open spaces, and running and roaming without fear of anything being after them. It was the moonlight coursing through our veins when we were in tribal form on a lunar week. It was…
Moonlight. The moon. The lunar cycle. Lunar week. I kept jumping my thoughts along, trying to piece it together with what I knew, as Vargr seemed to pack up his stuff.
Shape shifters are bound by moonlight. At least, I’m pretty sure they are, I’ve only ever seen shape shifters change form on a lunar week. As far as I was aware, that’s the only time they can. Where as werewolves can change form at any time but have to shift on a full moon night.
“So, how does the whole, changing shape thing work anyway?” I asked curiously.
Vargr shoved his stash into a large duffel bag. “I don’t know lady and if I did know, I sure as hell wouldn’t be telling no werewolf about it.”
“Why not?” Conall asked, beside me.
“When you’ve been on the streets as long as I have, and you do what I do for a living, you learn to have some street smarts about you. You’re the first two werewolves I’ve ever met, but I’ve heard about your type before. Plenty of times. I ain’t stupid.”
“Well, you’re something alright, wandering into werewolf territory, twice now, attacking me once, stealing my stuff.”
Vargr straightened up, hoisting his duffel bag onto his shoulder quickly.
“The crypt’s all yours. I got other places I can crash.”
Both Conall and I stepped in front of him, blocking the entrance of the crypt. So there was no way out.
“You don’t want to do that.” He said at me, his voice getting deeper. Did he think he was testing me? Frightening me? Going to intimidate me, a werewolf, into backing down? Oh he really didn’t know werewolves that well. I won’t back down for anyone. Let alone a shape shifter.
“Oh yes, I do.” I replied, letting my growl come through in my voice. Vargr flinched, taking a step backwards. What an amateur. He really had no idea about messing with werewolves or playing the card he’d been dealt. He sighed heavily and started sliding the duffel bag off his shoulder. Then he threw the bag out at us, slamming into Conall and trying to shoulder past me. Conall swatted the bag aside and moved to grab him.
I’d half been expecting him to pull out his knife on me again. I was beginning to dislike Vargr, a lot. I barely fell off balance as I growled and grabbed him first, throwing him back into the marble centre piece in the crypt. Causing him to bounce off it, grabbing his ribs. I heard something pop inside him.
“Welcome to Brooklyn.” I muttered as both Conall and I strode towards him. “Now you’re dead. For the crime of pissing me off.”
“Okay, okay, you want to know?” He winced holding his arms up in a defensive position, like he thought he was going to get hit. He sounded winded. Conall and I stood over him. What a whimp. I felt my wolf start to get restless. Whimps are weaklings and weaklings are prey, to a werewolf. Vargr seemed like slim pickings made easy.
“I can become animals, at any time. That’s it, I swear, after you bit me, I could just do it. It’s handy, It helps me get into houses easier, people have those pet flap door things, I just change into a dog or a cat and wander in, whenever I need the cash, I grab their stuff and leave.”
Vargr sounded like a stupid criminal if you ask me. Especially since it clearly didn’t occur to him to shape shift to fight either Conall or I.
“Versipellis.” Conall muttered lightly. Vargr looked over at him.
“What?”
Versipellis, the word rang around in my head. I’m sure one of the pack elders had told me the story of Versipellis before. Basically it translated to a shape shifter not bound by the usual limitations. They weren’t controlled by the lunar cycle and they didn’t neccessarily respond to the moon. The story I’d been told, made Versipellis sound like a trickester bogey man. Scary and troublesome. Of course, being told as a child, probably meant, a lot of things sound scary.
So I’d created a bogey man? Shape shifting had to have advantages. But I doubt Vargr knew that and I wasn’t about to let on. He clearly didn’t get the gift he’d been given or know how he’d gotten the way he was. He’d choosen to be criminal and now, he’d choosen to come back into my home. Brooklyn.
Conall clamped down again and continued to glare down at him. Vargr looked over to me desperately. He was literally backed into a corner. How utterly pathetic, my wolf was getting far too excited about how easy it would be to hurt him. I could feel the urge for blood lust coming on. It would be so easy for both Conall and I to take this douche bag out of existance. For god sakes, we were in a cemetary. Who’d look there for a freshly dead kill?
But I knew it was wrong. So I fought the wolf’s urges down.
“I should thank you for what you did for me.” Vargr stammered out quickly, still gasping slightly from his rib injury.
I shook my head and fought the urge to slap him senseless. I hated myself even more for having ever bit this scumbag. But maybe it wasn’t my doing, the Versipellis thing. Maybe that was a myth. A story told to children to keep their curosities and manners in line. Maybe Vargr had always been a shape shifter and never known how to activate that part of himself. Maybe it was all just a horrible coincedence.
Turning my back on him, indicating to Conall I was ready to get out of there. We moved towards the entrance.
“Get out!” I spat at him over my shoulder. “Tonight! Don’t ever show your face in Brooklyn again. If I hear about you robbing anyone in Brooklyn, I will see to it that you’re shredded out of your skin till you’re bled dry, and cut into pet food pieces.”
We walked out of the crypt.
Me leaving Vargr behind me, for good.
Tags: Blood lust, Brooklyn, conall, criminal, crypts, fighting, LOST, sense of self, Shape shifter, werewolves
Back in Brooklyn
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I find myself back in Brooklyn and alone. Well not alone, just you know, flying solo. I haven’t been solo on a lunar week in well…a long time.
I’ve always been with a guy, had company.
So why aren’t I with the hottest werewolf Alpha this side of the planet on lunar week?
Because we’re fighting. Well, it’s not really fighting when you refuse to take his calls or return them. When you’re being totally immature and giving your boyfriend the silent treatment. It’s just, I’m mad. Still. Paris wouldn’t let me finish what I started. He wouldn’t let me go after the Lycan hunter who I got into a fight with. The one that once upon a time, long long ago, hunted me down when I was becoming a werewolf, coming into my own, for the first time in my supernatural life.
Paris has rang me a lot and I’ve just been letting the calls go to voicemail.
So I’m back in Brooklyn, and in a club. Now All I can keep thinking is everything seems insignificant. When all I keep thinking about is the opportunity to get even with the Lycan that hurt me. How my chance slipped through my very human hands before I could claw at her skin with rage.
How Paris’s lieutenants pulled me out of harms way and pursued her for me. Fought for me when I’d rather do my own fighting.
The clubs are the same as always, there are werewolves everywhere, creating an atmosphere of heated lust and wanton pleasure in the air. It’s hot all around and everyone in there looks good, whether they’re wearing clothes or missing some. It’s hard to ignore the lust sensation when it’s created so highly by a pack in joy, like this.
I’m beginning to wonder what the hell I’m doing out here. I mean, the watching part is alright, but really as the sweat trickles down the back of my neck, and I lift my dark hair, all I can think is, I’d rather be with my wolf.
Maybe it’s time to talk. Time to get over my self pride. I mean, Paris and his friends were trying to do a good thing. They didn’t want me hurt, and in return all I’ve done his hurt them by being a stubbornly proud wolf.
“And here I thought you’d given up the club scene, at least here in Brooklyn.” an all too familiar voice says as a body sits down on the couch next to me. I take my eyes of the crowded dance floor and glance at Conall Wakely. My ex boyfriend before looking back out again.
Sighing loudly I choose to ignore his presence.
“What’s a matter?” He asks me softly, actually sounding concerned for a moment. I looked at him again, actually look at him. Wondering if he’s sincere. Noticing everything about his face.
“Why would anything be the matter?”
“Please, I was with you for a long time. I know you. I know when you’re not happy and this is you not happy. Besides, you’re not here with your…with anyone. And you’re in Brooklyn, lately you’ve been you know, manhattaning it.”
I watched his face as he talked to me. He seemed so sincere and yet, I felt myself get on the defensive because after all this time, he still won’t say Paris’s name, won’t say he’s my boyfriend. Won’t say, because he’s the guy that Conall lost me too. The anger might be subdued but the pride is still there from the wound I left with him.
I decide to ignore him, watching the dancers on the floor writhe and move like they were one with the music pumping around them. I hear Conall sigh as he throws an arm around the back of the couch, which effectively means, it’s around the back of my shoulders too. Ever the player.
Of course he would be so bold. Take my silence as compliance that I was comfortable with him, again.
I wasn’t. But Conall likes to push, to be macho, to do whatever Conall likes to do. He’s kind of selfish like that.
“Since you’re back here, why don’t I remind you of some simple Brooklyn hospitality?” He asks me, with a cheeky smile as he signals a friend for a round of drinks with a hand gesture.
I shake my head. He is unbelievable. But then he’s always been a bold wolf. Likes to go headfirst into things. Damn the consequences.
“I’m fine Conall.”
He holds my gaze. And the music thrums through my veins and I remember past times in the darkness of clubs with him. I can’t help but let my mouth quirk back into a smile. Sneaky memories.
“I know that.” He mutters in a low thick voice. His eyes dipping over my body and back up to my face.
I might be stupid sometimes, like now, being to proud to speak to Paris about how mad I am about the whole Lycan fighting werewolf mess up. Even more mad when I found out that Jules had somehow lost the lycan from his grasp. Stupid male. Stupid men! Never do a woman’s work! That was the straw that broke my back, made me come back and hang out in Brooklyn again. Also known as having a hissy fit and running away for some breathing space.
I might suffer moments of stupidity, as I’m clearly demonstrating, but I’m not naive.
Not anymore.
Conall might think he knows me, but I was with him for a long time too. I know him very well.
Conall thinks he’s got a shot here.
With me.
Tags: Brooklyn, clubs, conall, fighting, lunar week, Lycan hunter, Manhattan, Paris, werewolves
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