A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Wet Dream | August 11, 2014

“You were dreaming.” Paris states. “You were restless, more than normal.” He pauses waiting for me to clearly understand what he is getting at. I don’t.

“Did I hurt you in my sleep?” I ask puzzled.

It would take a fair bit to hurt Paris, especially from a soft, supple body, that was in rem sleep. He is a hulk of muscle, big, solid and tough. Having alpha werewolf genetics on top of that, means he’s intimidating, and comes across as damn-near bullet proof, invincible.

Of course, he’s not immortal but he can take more of a beating that most. I don’t have anywhere near that much power to physically break him down. So I’m perplexed as to what I could’ve done in my sleep to earn this greeting as a wake up call.

“You don’t remember your dream?” He questions me. His body is tense, his clothing is tight against it and it shows not only his bulk but also, how he is not in anyway relaxed or okay.

“No.”

I know I feel good, like I got a great night’s rest. Which makes his attitude towards me, even more perplexing. I try to remember if I even knew I was dreaming. I wonder if I’m dreaming now, and this is somehow my anxiety playing out on my nerves.

“You were making noises.” He watches me closely. “Moaning.”

Okay. I still don’t get this.

“I woke up because of it.” Paris says at me and I frown. “I watched you to make sure you were okay, that you weren’t having a nightmare. It definitely wasn’t a nightmare.”

Really? He’s going to be pissed at me because I made some noises in my sleep? That’s just pathetic and does not in any way deserve the third degree of interrogation that I’m getting here, now! I feel righteously justified in giving him a serve of my mind, but he cuts my thought of with his next words.
“You called out a name and then appeared to come in your sleep.”

I tense and I see a recognition in his eyes that he notices the smallest of movement in my body at his words.

“It wasn’t my name you called out Bg.” Paris says back at me and I feel a sense of dread wash over me and I am all too awake hearing this now.
“So again, last time I ask. Is there something you want to tell me?” He persists and his voice is low and deceptively calm, less annoyed sounding. But That’s just to fool me, to suck me into him so he can come at me with his damn, male pride and anger.

“Paris, I don’t remember any of that, I don’t know what you want me to say. What to tell you.”

“I want you tell me why my pack mate, came calling out a Lycan’s name! I want to know why you called out Booker Parish’s name in my bed!” He growls at me.

Continued in…Dark Heart

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