A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

A Werewolf’s Xmas sale

December 12, 2012
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All Breukelen Girl novels are the same price from 12/12/12 – 21/12/12!  on Smashwords.

Wild LifeLunar Night StandLunar Night StandOf Wolf and MaleReasons

     The Pack RevengePerception growing up werewolf Lycan La Vida Loca

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The Pack

September 13, 2012
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The Pack full length novel (my first! whooo!) is out now and available on Smashwords. Get on it.

On an irregular lunar week in Manhattan New York, odd things are happening. The Werewolves of New York City are acting up and it seems everyone is affcted, even Manhattan Maen pack leader, Paris D’arenberg. Does Paris see the chaos around him or is he used to it?  As his pack mate I try to warn him that something is coming.

But what would be brave enough to come for a werewolf?

Hint: Read and find out 😉


Growing Up Werewolf: Breukelen Girl

August 28, 2011
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My first novella – Growing up Werewolf is now available on Smashwords
for your ebook reading pleasure.

Growing Up Werewolf:
Breukelen Girl’s First novella.

This is me, BG recounting my first shape shift experience and realizing for the first time, that there is more to being a werewolf than just shape shifting to tribal form.

It’s just not what I expected. Nobody expected it to turn out like this. Because no one saw it coming. Least of all the young, unmautred werewolf pup, version of me.

You want to know what makes a werewolf?

What makes me, Breukelen Girl? This is the first in a series of novellas on my past that will give you insight into my werewolf world.

If you liked A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn’s Zines, then you’ll want to add this one to your collection.


Coming Soon: Growing Up Werewolf

June 28, 2011
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Photo by Urban Data Cc by 2.0

Coming soon to ebook Growing up Werewolf

I was fourteen years old once. I was a naive pup. Waiting for my shape shift to happen for the first time.
The thing with a first time is it’s always the time you remember. You never forget. The one that you carry with you always in the back of your mind. You think you know what to expect, but you never do. Especially if you don’t see it coming and it’s nothing like you imagined. Nothing you’ve been told before.
It can’t be undone once it’s done. Once you truly become a werewolf.


Braving the Braganza

January 24, 2011
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So there’s a coyote moving into Queens hey?

My money’s on it’s a shifter. Because seriously, to many animals, wild and natural are too smart to mess with werewolf territory like that. Werewolves have territory, or you know space they consider theirs and their packs and they don’t take kindly to it being invaded or used without welcome from others, like lone wolves, shape shifters or even lycans.

But shifter’s, shape shifters from what little I know of them, don’t exactly have rules or follow a format of what could be called society like pack animals. Like werewolves.

Shape shifters, tend to do their own thing. So I’m betting this coyote, that has “allowed” itself to be seen in Calvary Cemetery, is probably a shape shifter, that is sending out some kind of message to the werewolves of the Braganza pack in Queens. Or maybe just locally to whoever or whatever is in the suburb of Woodside, even.

I say this, because the Braganza pack, are the largest werewolf pack in all of New York. They’re also not exactly….nice. So messing with them is rather stupid thing to do if it’s not necessary. Although, why would that stop anything or anyone from dealing with the Braganza? It wouldn’t necessarily. The Breukelen have had their run ins throughout time with the Braganza.

However, the Breukelen tend to get along quite harmoniously with most of the other borough’s packs.

Still it’s hard to say if it’s a wild animal or a shifter from a picture. I can’t tell like that. I like most other werewovles, have to get up close in the vicinity of the animal to be able to track and scent it, to tell which it is.

If it is a shape shifter, it’s brave. I mean, the few shape shifter’s I know and have met, are individuals. The New York Post is calling the Coyote – Lonely E. Coyote. Clearly because there’s only one of it’s kind spotted so close to town. But they’re not wrong with their assumption on it’s status.They don’t really work in a pack or with others. It’s kind of a lone, solitude deal with them, that’s the vibe I pick up from most of them.

So it’s got me wondering, who the Coyote is and what it’s buisness with the Braganza pack must be.


Red Riding Hood (Movie Trailer)

December 9, 2010
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Please allow me to share my trepidation with you over the upcoming Red Riding Hood movie. I have to agree with a comment made on you tube for this – Gary Oldman and Amanda what’s her face, should, SHOULD be a good combination for this movie.

But Catherine Hardwicke as director…I’ve already lost faith.

I know scarier and better versions of this tale than this. Here’s hoping it doesn’t completely miss the mark.


The Legend of Versipellis

October 29, 2010
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Back in Spaanse Nederlanden Of Foederata Belgica, before humans knew much about werewolves, there lived amongst them, one who was not all that he seemed.
He was not born a werewolf, but a man.

But he was no ordinary man.
He was the Versipellis.

A shape shifter.

As legend has it, all Versipellis beings were created to guide the werewolves through life. To ensure the werewolves survival was not put at risk.

Versipellis had been created to serve the werewolf, by helping the werewolf, distract the attentions of the humans. The humans were suspicious and highly fearful of the night time beast that howled like death’s avenger and slaughtered their flocks on moon lit nights.

It was Versipellis role to trick the humans into thinking that when they thought they saw a werewolf, what they really saw was another animal.

Versipellis was a man who could shift to the form of any animal he came across. It’s not known how this came to be. Just that it was as it had been designed, to be. He could be one, or he could be many.

Confusing the humans who could not understand what they would see on their farmlands. Animals, that did not belong there, that were not from around their lands.

When the humans tried to report a werewolf attack on their flock, or sighting around their lands, they would be laughed off and discredited as having been driven mad by the moonlight, when there was no evidence to suggest a werewolf could be found on their grounds. But feathers and other animal prints could be found.

Nobody would believe the person who cold not prove, that such a thing as a werewolf even existed. Such stories were put down to drunken evenings and legends of fables designed to scare small children.

They were considered nonsense.

Which suited the werewolves of Spannse Nederlanden, just fine. It made it easier for them to live their lives in peace.

But Versipellis had other ideas.

Versipellis was tired of working only for the werewolf. He saw no difference between the himself and the werewolves and yet he was the one to answer to the werewolf, rather than the other way around. When it was the werewolves who depended on Versipellis.

Where the werewolves were restricted and controlled by the light of the moon, Versipellis was not. He could change animal shape at any time, which was why the werewolves used his help.

One full moon night. The werewolves of a local village slipped off into the night, to do as they had always done. Met Versipellis at their designated safe haven and await the shape shift of the full moon.

Versipellis would shape shift with the werewolves so they knew who he was. He would pad the ground as one of the wolves, amongst them, when they started to roam the night lands. Should a werewolf find themselves in a situation with humans they attacked Versipellis would shape shift again, to provide the confusion necessary to allow the werewolf responsible, to flee the scene.

Only, having grown weary of the werewolf, Versipellis had other ideas.

As the werewolves of Foederata Belgica, started their ritual shape shift, Versipellis, sat high above them in the shape of a bird. Watching from the tree branches. He flew overhead, ever watching, as the werewolves started roaming the lands of the near by village.

As was the bad habit of the werewolves, once they got to close to the village they came from. The scent of flock and humans, proved to irresistible to them and they descended on the nearest farmer’s flock, intent on feeding.

A small break away pack of werewolves sighted a young girl gathering firewood from a pile of wood outside of a house. The lights from inside the cabin, didn’t provide her with light outside to see the wolves creeping up to her. As the girl began to gather up the chopped wood, the first two werewolves pounced. Leaping over the top of the wood pile and knocking the girl to the ground instantly.

The girl cried out as the werewolves sunk their teeth into her arms and legs, pulling and tearing at her. But as the smell of her blood scented the night air, more werewolves joined in the attack. The girl’s cry were too soft for those inside the house to hear.

Versipellis who had been circling the skies over head and witnessed the werewolf attack, knew if he was to ever be free of the servitude of the werewolf, he had to do something, then and there.

Versipellis swooped down fast and shape shifted, as he landed on the ground at the back of the cabin the girl had come from. Back to the form of a human. Knowing it would attack the attention of the werewolves. Who smelt human flesh easily. One werewolf, distracted by Versipellis, leapt upon him. Scratching at his skin. Versipellis cried out for help, trying to fight the wolf off himself.

His cries were heard by the girl’s father, who ran out of the cabin with a shot gun in hand. He fired at the werewolf attacking Versipellis. Shooting the werewolf dead. He looked at the naked Versipellis and then looked at the pack of savage werewolves, tearing and growling and ripping at something he could not make out in the dark by the pile of firewood. He called out to his daughter desperately. But heard no reply. He fired at the werewolves. Hitting most, sending two of them scattering, back into the woods and the night’s cape.

The man wept when he saw what the werewolves had been attacking was his daughter. Who had been torn to pieces by the werewolves. It was then that Versipellis spoke to him.

Bleeding, but alive, Versipellis said “I will help you. Help you hunt the werewolves who did this. Help you rid your lands of all werewolves. They are creatures of habits and I know their habits well.”

“How do you know them?” The father asked Versipellis.

“I have been amongst them. They take, and they take, they show no regard for anyone or anything that is not theirs. They must be stopped.” Versipellis replied. “But you must help me, to heal, to hide from them.”

The father of the girl, angered in his grief, agreed.
Nobody knew what became of Versipellis after that.

It’s said that his distrust of the werewolves is why shape shifters do not align themselves or live anymore, with any pack of werewolves. Why they do not seek out werewolves for help and association.


Claws and effect

June 14, 2010
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Karma is a concept of cause and effect. But perhaps in my case, that should be claws and effect. In layman’s turns, most people will say to you, when speaking of karma “What goes around, comes around.” In otherwords, you’ll get what’s coming to you in the end. It usually implies all manner of bad behaviour and doom and gloom. And it never specifies the timeline for your karmic retribuition to be layed down upon you.

In other words, karma, my friends, is a bitch.

If you don’t live your life well and good and treat your fellow beings with the same respect you show unto yourself, or would like show unto you, then you’re screwed sunshine.

I got a phone call from all people, my ex boyfriend – Conall. Yes, I know I should have deleted his sorry name from the existence of my cell phone. But I haven’t. I guess I forgot. I should have put a block on it also. But I guess I forgot to do that too.

Although now, after the phone call I received, I think I’m rather glad I didn’t block his number.

Don’t get me wrong, pack, is pack and always will be, with us Breukelen werewolves. But Conall and I will never be together again. However, despite our differences, you could say, we still look out for one another, because we’re of the same kind. Werewolves, Breukelen werewolves.

The point to pack, is this. Protecting one another. I guess that’s why he called me.

It was a shock to my system to get his call. After all the stuff that’s gone down lately, and just when Paris and I seem to be closing the gap on our own little spat together. We couldn’t be more solid, especially since Paris told me he wants to help me find out who the lycan hunter was. He’s promised to help me, look into that lycan.

Then I get this voicemail from Conall.

“I know you’re going to be tempted to erase this message when you hear my voice. But you need to call me. This isn’t about me, It’s related to Vargr.”

You know how people will describe having something like chills run through their body at the sound of bad news or having a sinking feeling about some approaching badness? Yeah well, Vargr is my bad thing. My doing.

When Conall said that word, the hair at the back of my neck stood to attention and pulled, like a screaming child, fighting the hand that holds it still.

I swear I felt my wolf, kick me with her claws, internally. Bile rose in my throat. Not a normal reaction to a phone call, Conall or bad news for me.

But that’s because Vargr is my doing. I still carry the shame of biting a non around with me. I couldn’t come up with a solution to the problem of me possibly infecting this human with lycanthropy that didn’t involve time travel.

What was done, was done. Even if it was in self defense. Still, that’s hardly an excuse for a werewolf. We have to be in more control than some sort of reaction state.

I bit vargr in human form. So I hoped like hell, that the lycanthropy wouldn’t carry through to his bloodstream. Although, I probably broke his skin, with my supposedly “human” teeth. I bit down so hard, I hit bone and chipped my tooth.

I’ve never known any werewolf to pass on lycanthropy to a non in human form. As far as I am aware, you have to be in your tribal werewolf form to do that.

But who knows? Not me.
So I called Conall.

“I uh, got your message. How do you know it’s vargr?” I asked him nervously.

I was alone when I was mugged. So how could Conall know who vargr was?

“His scent, it had something familiar in it. Like the lightest trace of you.” Conall replied back at me. “I’d know you’re scent anywhere. You know that.”

Of course I knew that.

Werewolves can lock scents into their systems, human or animal, for their whole life and recall, the memory associated with it.

Then again, Conall and I did go out for a long time also. So I guess you could say he knew me well.

“Shit.” I decided panicking was in order.

My mind raced. So vargr, the mugger, I had initially bitten in self defense had survived the lycanthropy. But I’d created a lycan. Seriously bad news.

“I’m following him now.”

“Where are you now?”

“Headed into Greenwood Cemetary.”

No wonder I hadn’t been able to find vargr when I’d tried tracing his where about after the mugging. I’d never thought to look in a cemetery.

Why would I?

“I’ll hop on the subway, and meet you there. Just keep your distance following him. We don’t want to spook him.”

“Sure, but what are you going to do once you’re here? With him?”

“I don’t know.”

And the thing was, I didn’t. I’m not the strategist in my family, that’s my sister Bodil. She’s got the smarts for that.

“Alright, keep you posted. Get here soon.”

“On my way.” I disconnected the call looking at the phone stupefied. My mind awhirl of mixed emotions.

What’ve I done?


Sensing the wolf

May 22, 2010
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What’s worse than getting the last word and still feeling horrible about it?

Getting the last word, feeling horrible about it and then having to go back to the person you dumped on, for help.

Seriously, talk about taking the wind out of your sails.

I faced that dilemma. The scratches along my arms were stinging and the corner of my mouth was starting to throb painfully. My muscles were stiffening and aching too, as the adrenaline that had been in them, left my all too human body.

Way to remind me I’m still just a mortal, even if I’m part werewolf. Sigh.

So after watching my boyfriend, the Manhattan Maen pack Alpha, stay very much in control of what was sure to be a building temper. Due to what he and Addison thought were foolish actions on my behalf. Getting into a fight with a greater opponent than myself.

I had to fix myself, at least physically. Which meant, shape shifting.

See once the body shifts to the werewolf, the process of healing begins. Somehow the werewolf body knows just how long you need to be in your tribal form, for all the injuries to recover. So it holds the form for that time frame, before, automatically shape shifting back to human form, when it’s done. It’s rather brilliant like that.

Shape shifting on demand outside of a lunar week, is not always hard. But it does depend greatly on the werewolf involved. In my case, it also depended greatly on the injuries I’d already sustained from my bitch fight with the lycan hunter and from how much pain my human body was going through. Well, not so much pain on the physical level, as shock and trauma on a muscular, body level. My human body was holding me back. Because of this and the fact that because of this, I couldn’t focus enough to make the shape shift I needed, happen for me.

Which meant, one of two things.

1) I could either skip the shape shift and deal with the physical scaring.

2) Or I could ask for help.

Yes, way to get back me, karma.

Make the werewolf with the biggest amount of offended pride, have to go and ask an Alpha werewolf, for help to bring on her shape shift.

I’m a little bit vain, and I was beginning to feel tired from trying to do what was fast becoming the impossible for me, so I chose option 2.

Paris was obliging, although, it was still a little weird. Strained between us.

We didn’t speak to each other, as we stripped of our own clothes. He didn’t attempt to undress me any more than I did him. Normally we’re all over each other. Loving the contact and the possession of the other one. Not talking and being aware of the silence between us, was different to just trying to be quiet and not making any noise.

The thing with assisting a shape shift, it can be done without physical contact to one another. You just have to be close to one another, within personal space etc, to make it happen. But an assisted shape shift will probably go a smoother and faster if there is physical contact. And I don’t mean, holding hands.

I was standing there naked, beginning to wonder how we would do this. When Paris took the decision making out of the equation for me.

I felt his calloused finger tips smooth their way along my hamstrings, like they were out taking a leisurely stroll along my skin, the still smooth and unscarred skin of my upper legs. I breathed heavily as my heart beat picked up and he cupped my behind, feeling it rest in his hands. Pressing himself against me. He ran his nose along my shoulder and kissed my shoulder lightly, as he brushed my hair away from my neck. My heart was happily thudding away in anticipation of more. But the anticipation of sex, is not enough to bring on a smooth shape shift. You need to sense the wolf for that. It’s an oddity, I’ll give you that. Sex helps relax but you still need to focus on sensing the other werewolf presence to bring your own into play. So you know, no getting carried away with the first part of the exercise!

He turned me around slowly, so my back was too him, against him. I could feel the heat of his chest warming me as he swept my silky hair over my shoulder so it was again, out of the way. Paris ran his nose back along the top of my shoulders, sighing lightly as he picked up my scent. He move to the right side shoulder and did the same, only when he came to my neck, he ran his tongue up behind my ear.

I couldn’t help but shiver.

Then he did something rather special.

Whilst his mouth was kissing the back of my neck, his hands, resting gently on my hips. He shape shifted his teeth, as he was nipping the back of my neck, so I could feel the sensation of the shift against my skin. So it would stir the sleeping werewolf inside me with the feeling that it ran over me. I felt the sharpness of his teeth, pressing slightly against my skin and I groaned, dropping my head forward.

It was rather heady. I felt dazed, as his fingers dug tighter into my hips, telling me silently that he was keeping control of his own desire. As he kept holding me to him. I felt the heat of his body intensify and sniffed the air, mingled with cologne and the musk of heat from the man behind me, was his werewolf scent of amber, almonds and sunlight on fur.

It was all I needed, as my mind visualized what I already knew, Paris’s werewolf looked like and my skin started to shimmer, the shape shift kicking itself into motion.


Werewolf vs Werewolf

May 20, 2010
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Paris’s eyes were dark and drilling into me. His face was taunt, and looked strained. Dare I say it, but I of course, was the cause of his distress. He’d made me sit down atop a table at Addison’s house in Alphabet City, where they’d taken me, because it was closest to the area the lycan bitch and I had been caught fighting in. I had a tissue to my constantly bleeding blood nose and my head slightly tilted back, trying to stop the flow.

So there I was, sitting still, my scrapped knees dangling over a table top, keeping my mouth shut, saying nothing, and looking grim, and coated in blood, namely my own, waiting for my reprimand from my boyfriend the Manhattan Pack leader, like I was under police investigation.

But it wasn’t coming, the reprimand.

He was holding my right hand, gently and wiping the blood off the broken skin on and around my knuckles and hand. Every now and then his eyes would wander up and down my arms, silently counting, I think, all the scratch marks along them. They went right up my arms. Pink lines of varying degrees of depth, colour, scaring and blood. She’d cut through my top, shredded the long sleeves.
Not that it bothered me. Nothing about what I’d done bothered me. I was lucky I figured, but didn’t care for lucky, the corner of my bottom lip was torn, slightly away from my mouth. But none of my injuries mattered.

Getting back into the fight with that lycan, that mattered to me.I was going numb to the pain, because my anger was keeping me warm inside.

Paris being silent towards me, bothered me. A lot. Still, I refused to break the silence. I was in no mood for talking anyway. I could barely bring myself to look at the Alpha male behind Paris in the kitchen, pacing away – Addison. As far as I was concerned, he was completely at fault.

What fucking werewolf interferes in a fight that isn’t their own?

The werewolf Addison, that’s who.

There’s no real politics or ruling on this type of thing, jumping in on a regular wolf street fight. It’s just not…wise, or appreciated and I guess you could say, that in terms of the fight I’d started with the lycan bitch, it undermined me in front of her. Again.

What fucking werewolf likes to look like a weakling in front of other werewolves or more insultingly, a lycan?

Not me. I have pride, in bucket loads.
Hence the staunchly silence of my unspoken anger.

“Wanna talk to me?” Paris finally asked, as he squeezed the red coated washer out in the warm bowl of water beside my hand. My eyes flicked past him and glared at Addison who’d decided to stop pacing long enough to lean against the kitchen bench top. He folded his arms over his chest and stared straight back at me.

“I did you a favor, that lycan was going to pummel you into a new existence.” Addison fired at me before I broke eye contact.

“Addison, why don’t you leave us in private.” Paris said half turning his head towards his second in command. We both watched as Addison marched out of the kitchen area loudly and unhappily.

“Now, wanna tell me what happened?” Paris said taking up my left hand and starting to wipe it with the warm liquid.

“He was going to break both my ankles you know.” I muttered. Knowing I was acting childishly and not caring.

Paris stopped cleaning my hand wound then and looked at me in earnest seriousness.

“I’d never let him get away with doing that to you. But you must’ve pushed him to his limit, Addison isn’t one to threaten violence easily. Kingsley on the other hand…” Paris said referring to another one of the Alpha warriors in the Manhattan Maen hierarchy.

“I got into a fight.”

Paris sighed heavily and started wiping down my hand again, gently. “Believe it or not, I can see the evidence of that. Believe me, from what Addison told me of what he and Jules saw of the fight, you’re lucky they intervened when they did.”

“I was holding my own.”

“You’re covered in your own blood. That lycan has scarred you all over.” He went on.“You’re going to have to shape shift to heal all this. Pretty soon too, I would think, as soon as your nose stops bleeding.”

I pulled the bright red soaked tissue away from my nose. It was practically falling apart in my hands it was so damp.

“I need to find that lycan.”

“Not gonna happen.” Paris replied firmly. “Jules is still out there, tracking her down. We’re on it. You’re not going anywhere until you shape shift and recover.”

I sighed heavily back at him.

“Don’t make me make you.”

I guess it was the only warning I was going to get. Alpha werewolves can force another werewolf in or out of a shape shift mode, as well as kind of interfering with the wolf’s will, if you want to call it that. We call it influencing. And if I didn’t do it myself, then Paris would do it to me. Which doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a smooth ride. Especially when you’ve got fresh injuries, like mine. He didn’t even need to be in animal form to do it to me, if I understood correctly.

He put my hand back down and moved the bowl of water, which was now all watered red, not pick, away from us.

“Talk to me.” He pleaded, putting my head in his hand and turning it to face it.

“You ever been hunted?” I asked.

He dropped his hand and stood up straighter in front of me.

“No.”

“Yeah, well, I never told you I was when I was fourteen and that bitch of a lycan your guys let get away from me, was the hunter responsible.” I replied sliding off the table top.

Paris looked wounded, pained and wounded. But my anger was just so much greater.

I pushed past him out of the room. Maybe I could get through a fast shape shift, fast enough to recover and get back on my feet again to find that lycan. Or maybe I’d just go out after her in werewolf form. That’d probably be my better shot.


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