A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

A Wolf For The First Time | September 22, 2014

The werewolf memory is great catalogue of sensory information. So despite what I might have once felt for Booker Parish when he first became a lycan, and joined my pack, the Breukelen.

It doesn’t mean I feel it for him now.

Rather, that memory of him, of how great it felt to be in love with him, of how incredible those lips felt gliding over my skin, can trigger me to fool my emotions into thinking that’s how I feel now.

“I’m going to kiss you.” He mutters moving in to my mouth. “I always want to kiss you when I see you Baby Girl.”

I didn’t know that. But then again, I didn’t need to, did I?

He tilts his head and I am lost to the approaching anticipation of one last kiss, with the first love of my life.
Do you ever forget the first love of your life? Maybe that’s why this seems so hard to figure out. Booker and I never worked out. Just couldn’t get it to work. But then when we were around each other, alone like this, that never seemed to matter to me.

What am I doing? Reverting ?

His lips brush over mine, and like Paris you’d never assume he could be so damn soft and tender. Big bulky werewolf, who knows how not to crush me. Just how to touch me. I guess he should, I was the first thing, Booker Parish saw when he opened his eyes after the werewolf attack, that left him a lycan forever.

The kiss is deep and growing hungrier for more access to me and I feel booker’s fingers curling into the back of my hair, gripping me. This kiss tells me he misses me more than even I knew. More than he wants to admit.

He awoke in a hospital room after the attack, but smelt the fur and wolf and sweetness of my scent. It would’ve been confusing to figure out, when he was looking at a human female before him. I remember he tried to struggle out of the hospital bed and I tried to stop him. The hospital gown doing nothing to lessen the look of his physique or the erection he was sporting underneath it. Booker grabbed my wrist so hard, it bruised with his finger marks on it. Of course, it faded away after I shape shifted.

But now it’s like an invisible reminder.

A lycan marking a werewolf, territorial and unheard of I’m pretty sure. Not that I think he meant it, but even now as we kiss, I feel his thumb brush over the soft inside of my wrist, back and forth, back and forth.

Like he knows, this is where he bruised me, branded me his, at least, in his mind he did.

I think that was it for him. I was locked into him, in a truly deep way. Because I was there at the time, all his lycan senses kicked in as he awoke, a wolf for the first time. I don’t know how it is with lycans and love, but despite our attempted dating, breaking up, hovering around one another, having other partners since then, Booker has always had eyes for me.

And the thing is I’ve always damn well known it.

And now, I have to do something about that.

Other than return this kiss.

Continued in…We The Wolves

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