A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Need | January 24, 2010

“Stay here.” Paris instructs me, kissing my forehead again as he opens the door.

I move over to the glass wall touching it with a finger. The frosted glass goes clear making everything inside the club visible again.

The muted thud and thump of the music in the room matched the movement of the werewolves of the floor and surrounds, who moved together and around each other, with more and more flesh on flesh becoming available.

Got to ignore the heat stirring in me.

It’s early but I’m glad I’m not the only one giving in to needful things so soon. I keep my finger pressed to the glass, watching as Paris and Addison now fully dressed stride through the crowd with purpose.
The movement of their bodies like a disharmony to the rest of the club.

They are tense, alert and angry. Not a good mood to be in a wolf club in. Our collective feelings, werewolf moods if you will, the atmosphere, we kind of all share it. If the Alpha of the pack isn’t happy, then those that aren’t consumed by their lunar lust, or distracted by the flesh and sex show around them, will rise to alert mode too. It’s natural to follow the leader.

You could instantly get an army of werewolves revved up to riot, based on their pack leader’s mood.

Even though we are the modern day version of an ancient lineage, and we do things differently now to times past, there are some things you can not take out of the werewolf.

Like, the need for hunting and meat.

We all struggle with it around lunar week. So when someone challenges the status quo for a fight, you’ll tend to find most werewolves, are more than up for it. Because it fills a need in us.

If the Alpha of the pack is unhappy, there is usually a damn good reason for it.

I watch Addison point in a certain direction of the club, but it is too hard to make out between the strobing lights and the masses of faces who he is pointing to.

I press my hands flat to the window, watching. Dating Paris is still rather new and I don’t really know his pack all that well yet.

Addison and Paris are joined by two other werewolves, obviously part of Paris’s second in command, security guys, whatever you want to call them. They are the back up. Which must mean this Black Dog character is bad news.

They walk out onto the packed dance floor, making their way through the thick, throbbing crowd before stopping in front of one individual who stops dancing. A male about five feet eight. He looks ordinary enough. They are talking and Black Dog is clearly pissing them off, I can see Paris’s shoulders tense even more, even from where I am, so far away from it all.

Then the strangest thing happens.

Black Dog looks over Paris’s shoulder and straight across the room, right at me. I suddenly get the feeling that his gaze on me isn’t unlike being caught in a gun sight. He raises a hand and waves at me.

I jumped back and the glass instantly frosts up again. It’s not that he saw me, that made me jump.

It’s just, I swear for the briefest nano second, Black Dog’s eyes glowed red.


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