A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Welcome Back Werewolf | January 11, 2011

Being a werewolf means my life is never going to be normal.
But what is normal anyway?

Everyone is brought up differently, has different blood, hair color, looks, thoughts on fashion. It’s all about the differences life and how you choose to deal with them, really, that makes it your life as such and therefore, makes you also. So how’s that all that different to going fury once a month?

So being called a brat shouldn’t hurt me. Shouldn’t matter. Let’s face it, there are worse names to be called, ruder names to be called and worse connotations to be associated with me than Brat. Really when you look at it like that, the tag of brat is lame, pathetic even.

Yet out of the dirty looks, suspicious looks I now get whenever I’m around the Manhattan Maen pack, it’s the word brat that is the one my ears prick up and hear the most, the one that I pay attention to and the one that upsets me. It’s their name for me, the one they use behind and in front of my back.

Gabby might have been the bitch, but I’m the brat.

Werewolves, we bring the pet in petty. Fucking werewolves and their egos.

If my little showdown with Gabby Colton in December was good for anything, other than my own assertion of strength, it seems to have had a rather, rousing, positive affect on the Manhattan Maen wolves. Not towards me. But on them. They seem more together now. More motivated to act as a pack rather than individual werewolves, just lumped together under the title of pack because they live in the borough of Manhattan.

Who knew Gabby was so highly liked? Certainly not me. I never saw it before from these wolves that now whisper and murmur amongst themselves deliberately around me, whenever I’m around. Brat. Maybe they never really liked her all that much. But then there was the ultimate bitch fight come back in December, courtesy of me.

Probably they just didn’t like looking at what I did to her, and what could happen to them too, if they try to hurt me, like Gabby did. I suspect I made Gabby popular because what werewolf likes being stabbed with knives and sai’s of silver?

I didn’t and she didn’t either.

Still, the exclusion I might have felt before from the Manhattan Maen wolves, merely because I’m from the Breukelen pack, and dating their leader, was slight compared to what it’s like now. Now it’s cold and I’m “the brat” to them. Paris assures me it’ll die down eventually and return to normal, but I’m not so sure. Even Bohm avoids talking to me and looking at me directly. Bohm, who once told me he’d do anything for me, any time required. Not sure that offer still stands from the beta wolf. The lowered eye line at me, that kind of thing used to represent a form of respect in acknowledging a heir ranking, respected werewolf in the hierarchy of the pack. But that’s not what it means with Bohm. It’s shame, it’s anger, it’s disgust, it’s confusion. It’s me through his eyes now. It’s cause of what I did.

It’s one of the multiple reason’s I’ve avoided spending much time in Manhattan at present. But not the only one.

“I missed you.” Paris kissed my lips, we laid naked on his bed.

“Three days apart and you’re crazy with the missing.” I muttered back at him smiling broadly. His mouth trailed down my body as his hands skimmed over me, softly.

“I missed your scent lingering around my house, on these sheets.” His tongue ran a trail down my cleavage.

“I missed the warmth of you in my arms, against my body when I wake up.” His hands rest on my hips as his mouth descended lower over me. “I missed hearing your laughter around me.” Little kisses peppered the way down my skin, his thumb absently stroking the scar on my hip. The one Gabby left with me. “I missed seeing you walk naked from my shower. Covered in water droplets.” His lips kept moving slowly causing me to sigh with pleasure at the stirring inside of me, because of him and his words.

“I missed the sound of your voice, when I’m immersed in werewolf politics and reasoning it carries. The smart stuff it says that always gets my attention.” He said as his mouth reached my navel.

“I missed you too.” I said back at him with a wry smile.

“What did you miss the most?” He asked looking back up at me. “Fingers, lips, mouth or body? Or was it all about intellectual stimulation?”

There was a big smile.

He continued on his journey down my body. Familiarizing himself with the feel of us together. Of the space that we create that is just us, when the rest of werewolf world drops away again and there’s not brats, bitches or bastards. No Alpha and Beta wolves jostling for positions, there’s just us.

“Welcome back.”

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