A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Being Good | November 18, 2010

Who’s brainy idea was it again to have me kept under protective guard on a lunar week, by hot looking wolves in Brooklyn?

Oh yeah, my over protective, well meaning sister, Bodil. That’s why I’m in a nightclub with Booker Parish, dancing like we’re in the streets of South America. New rules in my life to be adhered to until further notice, must have (hot) body guards by my side twenty four seven. Must be an Alpha werewolf or a fighter. Imitators and lesser wolves will not be excepted. Booker, next to my sister, is our best warrior wolf.

Sweating up a river, with our clothes sticking to our skin, like it’s a second layer of it. I haven’t been out in what feels like forever. I’m not used to being house bound. So I’m reveling in the chance to move, to interact, to be engulfed in heat, drowned in communal lust and want.

Lunar week and it’s all fun, fun, fun. Forget your troubles and dance your nights away, the werewolves have come out to play. Especially me. I haven’t heard from Paris since I asked him to take me home. Maybe he and the boys are doing a bit of pack policing, finding Gabby, or something. I don’t know and right now, I gotta say, I don’t care, about that, about Gabby or any of them Maen wolves.

Brooklyn is where it is at.

Heart beats are pumping steadily, as it trying to match the beats of the music coating us dancers in. I can’t believe I’m actually smiling as Booker sides up behind me, and I dance, my back against his front, my hips moving from side to side as my short white skirt, swishes around. My arms are raised in the air, as I look back over my shoulder at the large, solid wall of male Lycan wolf, behind me. His black t-shirt is clinging to his chest, defining it’s grooves and ridges for me.

I swear Booker’s grinning. Nice to see. That boy rarely smiles.
But I feel his smile, his assurance in my safety, with him, literally having my back. Booker might be one of my sister’s best friends and fighters, but he’s something else to me entirely.

Booker and I have history.

So who’s brainy idea was it again to have me kept under protective guard on a lunar week, by a hot looking Booker Parish in Brooklyn? Who cares.

I haven’t felt so liberated in days. Booker gets that, he gets me. I think he’s got more patience and time for me, than the other body guards assigned to their menial detail of protecting the youngest female werewolf from the leading Breukelen Alpha’s family.

My hair is thick with heat and sweat, and it’s hanging heavily down my neck as I gather it up and lift it off my neck, I feel him move slightly behind me and see him, lean forward I think it’s to blow cool air on the base of my neck. But instead he leans towards my ear.

“You want to get some fresh air?”

Do I?
Do I!

Problem is, if I literally go outside for “fresh air” and feel the night time and moonlight caress my skin. Then “do I wanna what”, is going to just jump me, like you wouldn’t believe. I’m one of those sadistic werewolves who likes to test themselves during lunar week, by playing little games with their own bodies desire, so that the end result, of getting what you want, is ten times better. Problem, I only play those sexy little mind and body fuck games with my pack mate. Like my absent packmate, Paris, a friend of Booker’s too.

“Nah, I’m good.” I reply still dancing and letting my heavy hair drop down out of my hands.

“Is that what you call this?” He murmurs with a chuckle, before straightening up. I turn around to face him, putting a little distance between us. “Being good?”

“What would you call it?” I grin at him, still dancing in my heels.

An eyebrow arches up and he smiles shaking his head. “To be continued.” He states looking past me and pointing out the appearance of Conall Wakely walking through Disco and Rhyme. Conall’s eyes scan the crowd, and land on me. His eyes flick over at Booker standing before me, now completely still and staring hard back at Conall. Booker and I are drenched in sweat. We look like we’ve been hosed down in water. Or come straight from a pool party or something. Are clothes are sticking to us like we’ve been swimming in them.

Others around us are peeling off layers of clothing, or near naked dancing around us. See, we are being good. Conall scowls at us and throws his arm around a pretty, petite wolf’s shoulders suddenly.

“Come on, let’s get a drink at the other bar.” I grab his hand and lead Booker off the dance floor as Conall and he continue to stare it out, as we head out to the outside bar. The furthest away from Conall and his entourage. I don’t want to think about him, at all. I don’t want this night ruined. Because it’s like being given a gift, after being cooped up at my family house for days on end in lock down mode.

Booker holds the door open for me as we step outside, and the cooler night air hits me instantly and I tilt my head up and grin at the moon, closing my eyes. My neck exposed underneath as my heavy hair, drops off my back and hangs behind me. I sigh softly. I’m welcome under the moon’s embrace.

“Being good, being good.” I hear Booker mutter behind me, as he holds the doorway open and I open my eyes again, glancing back at him, before we head over to the bar.

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2 Comments »

  1. Yes. I see potential physical lusts happening next. :)))

    Comment by Pierre — November 19, 2010 @ 4:33 am

    • that’s cause you have a one track mind 🙂

      Comment by Breukelen Girl — November 19, 2010 @ 8:47 am


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