A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Manhattan Wolf | September 27, 2014

I feel the shaking again and I clench my fingers into the palms of my hands tightly, pressing them into me. Hoping to bleed.

I need to feel something very real right now, so I don’t let anger consume or cloud what I’m trying to figure out here, how and why Booker Parish and I are like….this.

I have to figure it out, because it’s about to jeopardise the best relationship I’ve ever been in and I don’t fucking want that!
Being a werewolf in this world, is hard enough, thank you.

Being a werewolf female trapped between two wolves in her life, is a complication I do not need to add to my life in general. Been there before, done that. Really not looking to do it again.

“I knew Paris, around the same time I met you, actually, a little time after, about six weeks after the attack.” Booker finally gets out and I find myself letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Six weeks after the attack, seems….specific? Signficant?

“But how? You’d already joined the Breukelen by then, right?” I ask trying to figure out what he’s getting at here. Male wolves and they’re fucking loop de loops on talking.

He lifts his head and brushes brown hair out of his eyes. “Paris uh, tracked me down through the Breukelen. He’d been trying to sort things out with his pack leader.”

I frown. “I’m not following.”

“He was trying to bring me and my brother some sort of closure on the attack.”

“But he’d only do that if either, he was responsible for your lycanthropy, or if he knew who was.” I mutter slowly.
“Right.”

I don’t know how much more of this kind of talk my body can take. I feel like I’m wound tight here and need to hit things. Violently hit them. With a side of yelling and screaming thrown in.

“What are you saying Booker?” I mutter softly.

“I know who attacked me and my brother.”
We hold each other’s gaze. This is a new development.

“You always told me you couldn’t remember the attack or anything about it.” I say back at him.

“And I couldn’t. I still can’t really. It’s a block to me, I’ve only ever managed to recall the night, the surroundings, some blurred colour. Then nothing. I mean, there’s no detail in that.” Booker says opening up to me.

“My brother’s the same, he couldn’t recall it beyond the feeling of being ripped into and having his body savaged with pain, and the feeling of rain on his skin.”

I cross my arms over my chest and will him to go on. If he says Paris is responsible for his attack, I’ll go him. So fucking hard, he really won’t know what hit him.

“Paris figured out it was some Manhattan Maen werewolves, he found out because my brother and I weren’t the only ones attacked that night. Paris and Addison were patrolling and they came across another victim, Damon.”

Damon, I know a Damon.
Damon the lycan.

He lives in a garage in Manhattan Maen territory, he’s a nervous wreck. A hermit. Paris has always said he was under his protection, but never explained why.

“Whoa.” I press back against the bench for something solid to feel.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”
Booker shrugs those large shoulders of him and it looks effortlessly casual. “I don’t know, why revisit it?”

“Because it was, is, important to you.” I state looking at him and see something flitted across his face. “Because I’ve been there for you with this, I was there for you when this started!” I am practically yelling.

Booker is no match for masking his emotions with me as Paris is.

“Was. Past tense.” He says and leaves the words hanging for me to taking in.

“Book, what do you mean, by that little statement.”

“Cadey, I’ve moved on from it, you should too.”

Okay, you see, if he’d called me by my pack nickname of Bg or even his name for me, Baby Girl, I’d have let that comment slide. But he used my real name. There are only a few times when people ever, use my real name. And they’re all genuinely serious reasons for using it.

Booker’s a serious kind of guy, not a light hearted personality. Another sort of trait he shares with Paris.

“Why, would I move on from something that is important to you Booker? I didn’t back down with my father, and I won’t back down now. I’m a werewolf, we don’t back down. We fight. Tell me, everything Booker Parish or so help me god, we’re done here, for good, damn the fucking consequences!”

It’s horribly manipulative to pull that line on him, but it works. Booker doesn’t want to be apart from me. Not forever.

“We uh, dealt with the culprits.” Booker says in a low voice, unlike him at all. “Eventually.”

My eyebrows arch up in horror and surprise. “Paris helped me.”

“Oh.”
He nods his head and we fall into strained silence.

Continued in Torrid Little Life

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