A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Back in Brooklyn | May 23, 2010

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.

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