A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

There’s a storm coming…

March 11, 2013
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WerewolfOrigin: before 1000; Middle English werwolf, Old English werwulf, equivalent to wer man (cognate with Gothic wair, Latin vir ) + wulf wolf; cognate with Middle Dutch weerwolf, Old High German werwolf

Stormnoun 1. a disturbance of the normal condition of the atmosphere, manifesting itself by winds of unusual force or direction, often accompanied by rain, snow, hail, thunder, and lightning, or flying sand or dust.


Bleeding Hearts

December 30, 2012
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Bleeding Hearts

Blood will be shed and life will be lost. Hearts will be tested, but will they be broken or ripped out of chests? What does it mean to be a werewolf? What if you can’t be the werewolf you are meant to be? What does that make you?

Doll and Jeremy are “strays”, werewolves without a pack. But they are also survivors. After a year of being held in captivity by an all alpha werewolf pack, they find themselves in Seattle. Amongst another werewolf pack the Seattle Alki.

Get a view of the werewolf world which lives amongst the humans of Seattle. Not all werewolves are the same. There are alpha werewolves who live responsibly through their inherit leadership qualities and abilities. There are alpha werewolves who indulge in abusing those inherit abilities on lesser werewolves. Beta werewolves, are not as highly skilled as alpha werewolves and those without a pack can find themselves likely to be targeted by those stronger, faster, more vicious and cunning than them.

The mentality of pack werewolves versus the mentality of stray werewolves, is through the story of Doll and Jeremy and their struggle to readjust to life with other werewolves again.

Can you they trust the Seattle Alki pack? Do they have a choice? Will trusting the Seattle Alki, alpha Luke Charleston, mean Doll looses Jeremy in the process?

How far will Doll go to compromise herself in order for her and Jeremy to survive? Do either Jeremy or Doll have enough strength in them, to fight the biggest battle of their lives that is coming their way? Can they trust that the Seattle Alki and Luke truly have their backs or is it a case of history repeating, and beating the weaker, lesser beta werewolves?

To find out, check out Bleeding Hearts by Breukelen Girl at Smashwords.com


Welcome Back Werewolf

January 11, 2011
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Being a werewolf means my life is never going to be normal.
But what is normal anyway?

Everyone is brought up differently, has different blood, hair color, looks, thoughts on fashion. It’s all about the differences life and how you choose to deal with them, really, that makes it your life as such and therefore, makes you also. So how’s that all that different to going fury once a month?

So being called a brat shouldn’t hurt me. Shouldn’t matter. Let’s face it, there are worse names to be called, ruder names to be called and worse connotations to be associated with me than Brat. Really when you look at it like that, the tag of brat is lame, pathetic even.

Yet out of the dirty looks, suspicious looks I now get whenever I’m around the Manhattan Maen pack, it’s the word brat that is the one my ears prick up and hear the most, the one that I pay attention to and the one that upsets me. It’s their name for me, the one they use behind and in front of my back.

Gabby might have been the bitch, but I’m the brat.

Werewolves, we bring the pet in petty. Fucking werewolves and their egos.

If my little showdown with Gabby Colton in December was good for anything, other than my own assertion of strength, it seems to have had a rather, rousing, positive affect on the Manhattan Maen wolves. Not towards me. But on them. They seem more together now. More motivated to act as a pack rather than individual werewolves, just lumped together under the title of pack because they live in the borough of Manhattan.

Who knew Gabby was so highly liked? Certainly not me. I never saw it before from these wolves that now whisper and murmur amongst themselves deliberately around me, whenever I’m around. Brat. Maybe they never really liked her all that much. But then there was the ultimate bitch fight come back in December, courtesy of me.

Probably they just didn’t like looking at what I did to her, and what could happen to them too, if they try to hurt me, like Gabby did. I suspect I made Gabby popular because what werewolf likes being stabbed with knives and sai’s of silver?

I didn’t and she didn’t either.

Still, the exclusion I might have felt before from the Manhattan Maen wolves, merely because I’m from the Breukelen pack, and dating their leader, was slight compared to what it’s like now. Now it’s cold and I’m “the brat” to them. Paris assures me it’ll die down eventually and return to normal, but I’m not so sure. Even Bohm avoids talking to me and looking at me directly. Bohm, who once told me he’d do anything for me, any time required. Not sure that offer still stands from the beta wolf. The lowered eye line at me, that kind of thing used to represent a form of respect in acknowledging a heir ranking, respected werewolf in the hierarchy of the pack. But that’s not what it means with Bohm. It’s shame, it’s anger, it’s disgust, it’s confusion. It’s me through his eyes now. It’s cause of what I did.

It’s one of the multiple reason’s I’ve avoided spending much time in Manhattan at present. But not the only one.

“I missed you.” Paris kissed my lips, we laid naked on his bed.

“Three days apart and you’re crazy with the missing.” I muttered back at him smiling broadly. His mouth trailed down my body as his hands skimmed over me, softly.

“I missed your scent lingering around my house, on these sheets.” His tongue ran a trail down my cleavage.

“I missed the warmth of you in my arms, against my body when I wake up.” His hands rest on my hips as his mouth descended lower over me. “I missed hearing your laughter around me.” Little kisses peppered the way down my skin, his thumb absently stroking the scar on my hip. The one Gabby left with me. “I missed seeing you walk naked from my shower. Covered in water droplets.” His lips kept moving slowly causing me to sigh with pleasure at the stirring inside of me, because of him and his words.

“I missed the sound of your voice, when I’m immersed in werewolf politics and reasoning it carries. The smart stuff it says that always gets my attention.” He said as his mouth reached my navel.

“I missed you too.” I said back at him with a wry smile.

“What did you miss the most?” He asked looking back up at me. “Fingers, lips, mouth or body? Or was it all about intellectual stimulation?”

There was a big smile.

He continued on his journey down my body. Familiarizing himself with the feel of us together. Of the space that we create that is just us, when the rest of werewolf world drops away again and there’s not brats, bitches or bastards. No Alpha and Beta wolves jostling for positions, there’s just us.

“Welcome back.”


Werewolf fighting 101

July 24, 2010
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Some werewolf females are just bitches and should be treated as such.

It was left up to Jules, to tell Gabby that she couldn’t sit at the Alpha’s table in the club the other night. It didn’t go down well, that the Manhattan Maen Alpha female, was once again, being vanquished from the good graces of the leading pack’s Alpha male, Paris. See, status and hierarchy is a very important thing in a werewolf pack.

Being an Alpha automatically sets you up, as being far more superior and precious and better, than the majority of your fellow werewolves. So seeing a beta wolf, from a neighboring pack, sit at the leading Alpha’s table with him and his hierarchy before her, was never going to go down well with the likes of Gabby’s ego.

Especially since, awhile ago, when I was off the Manhattan scene, she seemed to be filling in the place of ‘female’ required seating at the pack leader’s table. But now I’m back, and that means, she has to go find other places to hang out in the clubs when I’m around. Paris and the boys know, we do not get along.

Werewolves, butt heads with them, if you’re bored or assured of your superiority.

I was in the female restroom when Gabby stormed in, slamming the door behind her, clearly, not taking the news that she was being shuffled around the club to accommodate my presence, all that well.

“Oh it’s you.” She said looking me over as I stood in front of the counter top.

“The feelings mutual.” I muttered back at her, not taking my eyes of the mirror before me. Which was my mistake. It’s like I forgot how feral a pissed of she wolf could be. She marched over to me.

“They treat you like you’re one of us!” She spat in my face, pushing me backwards so I stumbled over my own high heels, off balance slightly and hit the nearest wall.
“You’re not one of us!” She poked me in the chest sharply. “You’re not even an Alpha! I’m the freak’n Alpha female here and you’re the one they treat like the freaking queen of the wolves!” She said moving in front of me so I was backed into the wall with her blocking my escape.

“No, I’m not you. I’m better than you.” I replied smiling at her.

Remember kiddies, the golden rule when werewolves are fighting, is werewolves do not back down. Especially when confronted by pack. Or you know in this case, another, pack wolf bitch.

Her eyes widened, like she couldn’t believe I had the audacity to speak back, let alone throw a massive insult at her. Of course, that just made things worse.

She growled at me, I heard a sharp snap of something and Gabby showed me her fangs. I heard something similar to a popping sound and realized it was muscle and bone breaking. She was shape shifting part of herself, not smoothly or elegantly. But she was getting the job done.

Again, not a good sign, for me.

Gabby grabbed me by the throat with her still very human hand while her right hand slashed at my chest with razor sharp talons for claws. She moved fast. But not so fast I couldn’t see it coming and try and fight her off. She was stronger than me and had me in a bad position to be taken advantage of.

So I decided to play dirty.
You want bitchy, come see me when I’m pissed off. I can roll with the best of them.

I threw up my knee, hard into her body. And as she flinched in sharp pain – yes girls are just as sensitive to getting kicked in the crotch as boys, I threw out a right jab into the side of her face. This caught her off guard and she momentarily loosed her grip on my throat. Which was what I needed to get into a better position of attack, rather than defend.

Werewolf fighting one-o-one, we fight by attacking, not defending.

As she slashed back at my arm with her werewolf clawed hand, I had enough room to move off the wall and throw my elbow into face. She lost all sense of grip on me then as she cried out, her nose bursting with blood. I shoved her aside, into the counter top, which she hit hard, in the side of her body before falling down onto the floor, before she could stop herself.

I kicked her pointedly in the ribs, once, with my heels and got out.

I emerged in the club and it was only then that I realized I was in pain. That I seemed to allow the sensation through my brain haze. The stinging sensation across my arm and chest, was bleeding. I looked down at my top, which was just concealing my breast on one side.

That bitch, she’d cut the shoulder strap off it and had nicely slashed open the left side of my chest, with a wicked streak of claw marks.

When I looked up again, I swear every pair of eyes in that club was on me.
It was the blood.
Fresh blood and every werewolf in the place, could smell it.

My blood, still bleeding, enticing their inner beasts to want out. To want to bear fangs and fur and shred me even more. It’s a natural instinct, a really powerful one, that’s harder than hard to ignore or see reason through. Especially if you’re a werewolf with little self control or weakened will.

Potentially, a very bad situation to be in.

Because bleeding so obviously, out in the open, indicated I was injured. Injury assumes weakness and weakness to werewolves, means prey. Prey gets attacked or eaten.

I could not be seen as prey.

I saw Addison and Jules readying in the distance, throwing hand signals at one another and grabbing their people. But there was still around fifty or so werewolves between them and me. I looked at all the wolves around me, who had stopped whatever they were doing and were now staring at me hungrily, like they were just waiting for a green light to clean me up. Or for some one to make the first move.

So I did the only thing I could do.

I picked another fight, with another wolf. A male wolf nearest too me.

I started throwing punches at him, as hard as I could. Knocking him around, again and again. He threw out a few return punches, but they lacked power. He went down easily enough and I followed him down, continuing to smack his skin with my fists, until my knuckles split open from the hitting. I can not tell you how much that hurts. Werewolves, tough, but not completly oblivious to pain.

Werewolf.
Does not back down.

I couldn’t let this pack, see me as a weakness, or think they could somehow take advantage of me because I’m not one of them, or because I’m just a beta wolf. It was a show of strength, and I think the wolf I laid into understood that. Otherwise he’d have really fought back at me.

By this time, Jules was pulling the guy out from under me. Nobody touched me, as I slowly stood back up. Aching with throbbing pain in my hands, arms, stinging abrasions across my chest. Covered in blood.

Addison looked at me.

“I got you another drink, it’s at your table, if you’d like it.” He said loud enough for everyone around us to hear.

I sighed heavily and flicked my hair back over my shoulder. Like nothing was amiss.

Addison and Jules had a guard of older wolves, either side of the crowd that had formed. Like a formation guard for me to walk through. We were putting on a show of who was who, for the pack to see.

Addison started walking beside me. But once again, everything stopped when Gabby appeared from the restroom, holding her hand to her nose. She had blood smeared across her upper lip.

I looked back at her and she at me. If looks could kill, I’d have been dead and buried.
“I hope I broke it.” I said smiling at her.
Addison rolled his eyes at me. As if to say ‘you two are so immature’.

“Shall we?” He asked as I turned around and we walked back over to Paris, at his table.

If I’d have been in real trouble for starting a fight there, Paris himself would have been pulling me off that wolf. Berating me in front of everyone. Or at the very least, instructed Addison to yank me back off him.

But they hadn’t, so clearly, I’d done something right, in standing up for myself.


Territorial

March 25, 2010
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Lunar week usually means for once in our furry lives (Ha) that us werewolves know exactly our place, in the scheme of things.

We understand what will happen to us as the moon goes through it’s monthly phases of the week. We know what to expect. We do not feel alone, or left out, or a freak. We are amongst the many, rather than the few. At least, it feels that way. The feeling of unity and of something positive is free flowing. It’s like being given your own bit of guaranteed happiness for a week.

That is of course, unless, the routine of this momentum and time is interrupted, corrupted and wrecked by outside circumstances or beings who would prey upon our time to indulge in a little bit of life.

Or of course, if you have a painful ex boyfriend who just won’t leave you be for whatever demented reasons he carries around in his head.

I was on my way out, heading over to Paris’s place when Conall pulled up beside me in the street, in his truck and asked if I wanted I lift somewhere. Stupid me, for a nano second I thought he was being polite, civilized, you know, like a person to me. I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll ever be able to be ‘friends’ again. Maybe being friends is overrated anyway.

“Thanks, but I’m going a little further than you’re hood.”

He was bent slightly forward, looking back through the passenger window at me.
“The Empire State is still a part of New York you know.” He replied back at me.

Why was he being persistent ? Or was he just being nice? Or was that an insult?
God, he does my head in.

“I was aware of that. Thanks all the same for the info.” I replied with a smile and straightened up again. I didn’t want to get into whatever it was I was imagining we might be getting into by the sidewalk. I started to walk off again.

Werewolves and their sense of territory, doesn’t just extend to landscapes and still life property. That’s when I heard the car door slam, but he kept the truck engine running, and jogged around the front of the truck to me.

So stupid. I stopped when he got to me. Don’t know what I was expecting. Don’t know what the hell was going on. Don’t want to know what’s going on in that head of his, I could never get a handle on it when we were together. So what hope is there now?

“You know, you don’t have to avoid all of Brooklyn these days, just because I live here.”

Oh goody. He was looking for a fight. Yay me.

“I’m not.” I replied keeping eye contact with him.
He nodded his scruffy head up and down.
“You sure about that? Lunar week’s almost here and you’re doing what? You’re regular avoidance dance to Manhattan, to him.”

I sighed.
I was never very good at fighting Conall. It always made me tired.

“What are you like spying on me now?” He didn’t answer but he did look away briefly. Is that guilt by omission? “You know, when you’re actually able to say his name, then I’ll believe you’ve gotten through the anger and we can talk again.”

I turned and walked off on him quickly. Territorial alright.

Conall always saw me as his property, as his toy. Discarded me more often then not, but whenever anyone else showed interest, Conall would suddenly go uber-wolf n them and give them a lesson in backing down and away from what he saw as his – me. Same old werewolf. Not that I ever expected him to change. It’s kind of like he has some major Alpha traits, for a beta wolf. Like being incredibly fucking stubborn!

Werewolves believe strongly in territory. This thought of behavior goes something like, territory is shown as strength and power to your peers and as achievement to your enemies. However, in the case of Conall and I, I don’t really think he ever looked on me as some sort of powerful person, or even possession. He probably never once thought about losing me until I finally broke up with him. And I highly doubt that any of his so called friends are giving him grief over our break-up, or that his enemies, are even taunting him about going after me.

So I can’t figure out what the hell he wants with me, if this isn’t the case. Other than he feels slighted, insulted, because a werewolf of higher ranking in pack position – Paris, and in fact in a larger pack – The Manhattan Maen, (which most wolves will agree they see as more powerful because of numbers alone) has personally begrudged him. Insulted Conall, because he (Paris) got me.

Ugh.

It’s seriously too much. I don’t know what I’m supposed to go on when the guy won’t speak to me honestly. Just angrily with innuendos and taunts.

I heard the car start up and watched him speed off past me and that was that.
Brooklyn is definitely werewolf territory, just got to know how to navigate the mind fields of it’s males.


Bite me

September 16, 2009
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Ahhh, so angry at myself. It’s stupid really. But of course, it had to happen.
I got mugged.

Yeah, fancy that, being mugged in New York. Like it’s unheard of. I mean really. Even a local’s fair game.

Of course, the mugger shouldn’t really have picked me. I mean, I didn’t just roll over and give up my handbag and contents. No way. I gave the creep as good as he was trying to give me. I struggled and I fought him and I think I may have bit him, which is probably why he THEN pulled the knife out on me. I let go of everything and pretty much flew backwards, against the wall. Pressing myself into it.

I don’t condone violence, and I enjoy life a great deal.

In all likely-hood the knife was probably only made of stainless steel. But one can never tell and I’d rather not be so freak’n close to one that’s pointed at my eye socket.

So I lost my Chloe handbag and everything in it, including my Ipod, my cell phone, wallet with money, credit card, drivers license, all that crap that you know I have to now go and cancel and get re-issued. Of course cancelling all the credit cards and stuff is a hassle, it takes forever for them to be sent back out to me and I have no cash to live off that I can access. So annoying.

But I can get over the inconvenience of that. It’s the biting bit that really has me worried.
What is the one thing a werewolf should not do to a (Non) werewolf?

Okay there are several things, but biting is up there.

You see the deal is with all my snappy teeth and ferocious growl to boot, it should have been enough to freak that guy out and scare him off. Granted I’m only a beta, so I can’t do the shape-shift just your teeth till they look like sharpened canines trick like my sister Bodil. I mean that is freaky and totally scary when her human face smiles at you menacingly with wolf teeth. Kind of gives me chills thinking about it.

I didn’t leap at him and rip half his throat out, but the inclination was there. Just under the surface of my initial panic and anger. My wolf wanted in on the fight. So apart from having to fight the urge to shift to werewolf form, I had to fight the creep off and somewhere in the struggle I lost focus and concentration and well, bit him.

A girlie reaction I guess you could call it.

Problem with a bite from a werewolf, is not like a “love bite” or a hicky. It’s not dainty. You don’t get left with two perfectly small puncture wounds and a bit of drool on your neck. Well you don’t when you’re actually in wolf form. A bite from a werewolf is more like “allow me to rip your shoulder open and sink my teeth into your tendons” kind of bite. The I love meat bite.

IT DOESN’T TICKLE.

But I bit him and chipped my tooth, in human form. Not Wolf form.
I’m not sure where that lands me in the scheme of things.

I spoke to my sister Bodil about it all. She “didn’t” encourage me to report it to the Police, because she like me is unclear about what could happen to the mugger if my bite takes hold. She unlike me, has never bitten anyone.

She pointed out, that the fact that I chipped my tooth and the guy screamed before pulling out the knife, also probably indicated I bit down, extremely hard, maybe to the bone.

Werewolf teeth, fucking hardcore.

You want to know how strong my bite is, the pressure of my jaw on his shoulder? Just read a first hand accounts of those who have survived werewolf attacks. Not that I was attacking him. I was fighting him in defense. Anyway just go looking for police records of such ‘suspicious violent attack’ under the freedom of information act. It’s all there, if you know what to look for.

Of course, the problem with biting is, it’s the most common way of “turning” someone into a werewolf. The problem being twofold.

One, packs have laws against this.

Two, reason being, Lycanthropy comes from a bite, as opposed to those who are born werewolves. Lycanthropy is considered a diseased form of the werewolf gene, passed more than likely through blood and all that. Somehow it gets mutated in a Non-werewolf body. So potentially, this mugger, could be a werewolf in the making. Thirdly, and hardly least of all, biting and “infecting” a Non is has consequences for the wolf involved, pack punishment is never lite.

Great. Just fucking great.

Of course, I was kind of in shock after the dude grabbed my bag and ran off. So I didn’t think of this till later. Much later, like it was so late, there was no way I could pick up his scent and trail him. So I couldn’t tell him and even if I could, would I? Would he believe me? And if he did believe me, I’m sure he’d have just used that knife on me. Only, maybe fatally. But maybe I could’ve warned him. Told him to look out for symptoms.

There are those doctors in the know, who think lycanthropy is treatable. But
I think you have to get it in the early stages of it’s development. It can take awhile to surface, there are so many symptoms that unless you know what to look for, you might pass it off for other regular ailments.

But I’ve never heard of anyone being “cured” of being a werewolf.

Werewolves are a bit like the marines. Once a werewolf, ALWAYS a werewolf.
No part time gig. Ah crap.

I haven’t told my Alpha yet. Too freakn scared.

Did I forget to mention that that out of recorded werewolf attack cases, reported to police in the U.S, only 20% of victims survive the initial attack, and less than 5% survive the initial first moon, shape-shift?

So if he dies from my bite, I’m a murder and if he survives from my bite, chances are 50/50 that in about two months time, he’ll be a changed man. Not only that, but if he does become a werewolf – I’ll have created a criminal werewolf. Enhanced strength and speed for bullying and mugging people. Well technically he’ll be a Lycan if he goes furry. That’s what turned werewolves are called. And he won’t be welcome in a werewolf pack. They generally don’t allow Lycans in. Either way it’s not good at all. No, not good.

I got to find this guy.


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