A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Trainwreck | May 27, 2010

I’m suddenly feeling nervous again. I start smoothing down my windswept hair and re-tying it back into a ponytail as I walk in smiling at the girl behind the register stamping wrists. She points me out to the bouncer at the very interior entrance who waves me through. They know I’m the Manhattan Maen Alpha’s pack partner. No queuing for me. And bonus points in they’re pay check for them for knowing who’s who in Werewolf world.

I walk inside slowly. Trying to keep my anxiousness at bay.

I stand there, not far from the entrance scoping out the club. Checking out the regular movement of bodies walking and talking, dancing and grinding. I walk a few steps further into the club and look around past the dance floor, at the booths and the glass cubicle rooms. I suppose he could be in one of those, but I’d have no way of knowing since they’re all frosted over. I’d need to ask someone. And I haven’t spotted anyone I really know from the Manhattan Maen pack, that well. I keep walking slowly, slightly transfixed by the heat and movement strobing my vision and senses. It feels better being in here, than it did, being in my room alone.

Then I spot what I came here for. Paris.

He’s sitting at a table surrounded by people. I can’t make out the ones with the back of their heads to me but I can make out Addison, Jules, Wiatt and between Wiatt and Paris is Gabby. I frown as she laughs at something the two brothers appear to be telling her. I feel a stab of jealousy and instantly start to wonder which one of them she’s gotten her claws into. On the other side of Paris is another of his hierarchy, who’s busy watching the girls near they’re table. Trying to chat them up, it appears.

I feel stuck. My throat is thick and I’m beginning to wonder if I should just turn and hightail it out of there, as Gabby leans over to Paris and puts her hand on his, on top of the table as she whispers in his ear.

Oh please, out of all the women and werewolves he could have slept with in anger at me, please don’t make it be her.

Gabby is a bitch.

Right now she’s a bitch in heat who looks like she’s playing both DÁrenberg males. She gets to be at the Alpha’s table, because next to Paris’s mother she’s the only female Alpha in the Manhattan Maen pack, in New York. That has ranking and respect inbuilt with it.

I think I’m gonna leave. But I keep watching like a train wreck that can’t quite stop.

Did he sleep with her? Would he even do that? Paris is not the bastard Conall is. I need to remember that.
Better guy. Best guy. Although he can be a very dark werewolf too.

It’s then that Paris senses me. His head whips around as he ignores Gabby completely and his eyes lock onto mine.

Gabby starts to frown as Paris stands up suddenly and pushes his way out from the table. Her head and the others at the table travel the line of her sight, following Paris’s movement as he walks towards me.

My feet start moving again, fast.

We stop a little short of each other. Not quite touching. But wanting. I can see him reel himself in. Reign in his control again. It’s only then that I wonder if he can smell Conall’s scent on my clothing. It’s not like I showered before I left Brooklyn, after that. There’s probably enough of his trace scent on my clothes to be noticed.

Shit.

I hope he doesn’t remember Conall’s scent. But of course he would. Please don’t let him think we did anything together.

If I ignore it, will he?

“I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome at your table.” I say lamely pointing to Gabby and the others, who are now, watching us like reality tv show addicts. He knows Gabby and I are not friends of any kind.

“You’re always welcome.” His smooth voice says to me as he looks at me, like he might break from the restraint and control he’s using from not rushing me.

“Don’t normally see Gabby at your table…”

“Well normally you’re there in her place.”

Uh oh. What did that mean? I’d been replaced? She was the pack partner now at least for visual purposes? The blood was pounding my head, rushing through my body with built up speed. Talk about worst case scenario. Was this really happening to me?

“I think Wiatt has a thing for her.”

I nodded my head as if understanding. But not really. I just don’t want her anywhere near Paris.

I can’t help it. I throw myself at him, my arms wrap around him and I’m up on my tip toes, my mouth on his, kissing him deeply. Hard and longingly. I feel himself wrap me up in him and suddenly his mouth is all over me, muttering against my skin about how much he missed me and then his mouth is back on mine and plundering mine and I’m pressing into him, like there is no better feeling in the world than the one I am in right now. Hot kisses scorch my skin and steal my breath and it’s all a heady rush. Eventually, in what seems like forever, we break for air, breathing heavily, looking hotly at one another, holding hands.

“I’m sorry.” I mutter quickly.

“Me too.” He replies.

“I was stupid.”

“Me too.” Paris replies. “I don’t want go through that again.” He says at me softly.

“Me too.” I reply smiling back at him. My heart beat is practically pounding my breast bone with fervor.

“Let’s get out of here, go somewhere more private.” Paris says winding his fingers through mine and whisking me out of there.

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