A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

War Games | July 18, 2011

He comes home all bloodied and bruised with claw marks like deep red river gouges fully up one arm. It looks vicious and like it would hurt. I’m sure it does. But the reality is it’s nothing that can’t be shape shifted away. The beauty of the beast with in, it can heal us, repeatedly from almost anything. If it’s not permanent.

Part of me thinks he deliberately gets battle scars. To turn me on of course. I mean without them, clean shaven and all, he’s magnificent on the eyes, with them, he’s just…edgier. What can I say? Does it for me just as much as the clean cut version in the corporate suit look.

As an Alpha whether male or werewolf, he’s been trained to get through the pain and ignore it. It’s from his new training regime. War games. That’s what Paris calls them.

These skirmishes he goes off on with a select group of Manhattan Maen werewolves to some secret location I’m not privy to knowing about. War games that are played out with one team in full tribal, werewolf mode, the other team in full human werewolf mode. He says it’s to tighten up their fighting skills, to hone their warrior wolves. To be alert and ready for any attacks that could come against the pack. It’s smart I guess.

My eyes lazily take in the claw mark up that exposed arm and I make a remark about why doesn’t he put these war games to use with another sparing pack as partners like the Breukelen. I thought it was a logical thing to say. Strength in arms, love your neighbour and all that. Except of course, werewolf packs are very much about themselves. A long time ago before they came to New Amsterdam (New York circa 1600) werewolf packs worked together for survival. But that mentality shifted when the packs did decades ago.

I received a surprised look. Which kind of surprises me. Paris’s expressions are usually very controlled and hidden.

“We don’t want to give our enemy’s a heads up.” My eyes drop away from that claw mark suddenly.

It was my turn for my eyes to go wide.
“Since when are the Breukelen your enemy?” Suddenly not horny anymore.

Werewolves against werewolves. It’s like in house fighting to me. Hardly ever makes sense, when there are other greater enemies to be on guard for. But you’ll never see them coming if you’re not actually looking for them.

“I didn’t say say that!” He’s moving towards me as I’m crossing my arms over my chest. “I didnt’, you’re twisting my words.”

I guess I had a niggling thought buried down inside me that I fucked something up in December. Wether it was us or our pack’s potential alliance, was just a matter of time till I figured it out.

“I’m a Breukelen first and foremost.”

“I know that.” Paris reaches me, his voice softening, his arms on mine. It’s like he accidently let something slip that he wasn’t supposed to.

“So am I included in that we? Because I’m not your enemy unless you make me so.”


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