A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Meet the Alpha’s

March 7, 2010

So after the weirdness of seeing Conall again and the whole Flowers episode, I was hoping for a return to normal stable, life. Well you know, whatever can be considered normal for a werewolf. No more odd surprises and weird moments for me, thank you.

Lunar Week is for the oddities and that’s a while off for March. Thankfully.
Means I get to breathe.

But no, let’s continue down the freaking rabbit hole and see where I land next.

I guess it shouldn’t seem so weird, meeting your packmate’s parents for the first time.
But well, it is.

Paris says we have both been invited to dinner with his family. His mother wants to meet me.

Doesn’t that sound ominous?
Well it does to me.

You see his mother, is an Alpha female.

So not only is she Paris’s mother, she’s also highly revered in the pack and greater werewolf community.

Alpha females are seriously hard to come by in big numbers. They’re numbers are even worse because of the werewolf birth rate.

Not every pack has one.

The Manhattan Pack, has three of them.
Well, had.

Paris’s mother being the matriarchal figure of the Alpha females in Manhattan. Isabelle, the pack wolf, that ended up leaving the pack, because of Black Dog, and her sister, my nemisis, Gabby.

Alpha females are generally held in almost royal regard within werewolf packs. Generally speaking it’s partially because they’re rare.

Of course, being an Alpha means their abilities are stronger and better than beta wolves. I guess it’s about the blood lines and having the purity to breed the strongest or best of our kind. Maybe that’s why the reverence.

Paris’s whole family – mother, father and sons are Alpha’s. Yep, meet the Alpha’s and try and eat your dinner. Should prove interesting, or completely frightening, I’m not sure which. Probably because my nerves are wrecking me.

So out of all these Alpha’s, it’s the female I kind of fear the most.

Female wolves, bring a whole new meaning to the word bitch.

Now, I can hold my own against regular bitches, the wolf takes care of that side of confidence for me. I can rumble with the wolves too, as Gabby has found out already. Smirk. But this is my packmate’s mother.

Obviously Paris’s mother Marion wouldn’t be the first Alpha female I’ve been around, there would be my sister and their would be bitchy Gabby too. But got to say, that’s about it as far as my experience with the strongest females of our lines goes. So far, those interactions with both Alpha females has been vastly different from one another.

For starters, my sister doesn’t hate me. Gabby does. Secondly, my sister would never fight me, or strike out at me. Gabby is itching to swipe a claw down my face very time she sees me with Paris in Manhattan on a lunar week.

So, really, Gabby is my only impression of an Manhattan Alpha female. Not a good impression to work off. But she’s not related to the Paris’s family and Paris is, and I rather like him.

A hell of a lot.

So I guess I’m off on a dinner date with the D’arenberg wolves. Here’s hoping I’m not the main course.

Dog Fight

January 29, 2010
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Always bet on the werewolf to win the fight.

In a true fight, beyond the usual pack politics and bullshit of dominance fights, we don’t cave. We don’t give in, until death sets in. We’re like a reoccurring wave of defiance. We always get up, we always, fight. It’s ingrained in our nature, no matter how gentle and soft our human appearance makes us look. The werewolf inside, is not so malleable.

Those that wish to test us, should take note of that.

We just won’t back down to anyone or anything else, outside of Pack. Because in the end scheme of things, all werewolves will unite together for the common goal of survival.
Why do you think we live in packs?

Black Dog found this out the hard way.

He not only decided to start something as stupid as a fight. He decided to do it with a werewolf. An Alpha werewolf.

That’s like the best of our line. The warriors. They’re abilities aside, they’re instinct, to fight, to protect, to win, is legendary.

I watch teeth like razors sink into the soft underside of Black Dogs lipwerei’s throat. The animal part of him, yelps in pain.

The Blood flow is instant.

The bright red liquid coats the soft fur and wolf claws rake along the spotted fur of Black Dog’s forelegs. Instantly tearing open the fur to reveal, muscled flesh and a bit of bone.

I can’t help it, my nose twitches and I sniff the air. We all do.
The scent of blood was flowing freely and my inner werewolf likes that smell. Especially when it was from prey. I want a taste. It’s like a burning hunger in my gut, nothing else is going to satisfy it, but the bloody meat of prey.

My werewolf could tell without having to see through my very human eyes, that Black Dog was prey. A weakness that a werewolf was going to take advantage of.
But Paris isn’t going to kill him and let the wolves savage him.

I know this because if he had been, he’d already have ripped Black Dog’s throat open or taken off his head. No delay, no cause to go beyond, an instant kill of satisfaction.
That’s the werewolf talking.
That’s how we roll.

Black Dogs lipwerei barely gets a chance to do more than grip the Alpha Werewolf mauling it’s body.
Digging claws in, as if holding on, for the sake of some sort of save-face.
The oversized grey werewolf releases Black Dog from its clutches and shoves the bloody and ruined animal aside, like he’s nothing but an annoyance.

No, this fight, is about Black Dog learning a little respect.
He’s going to be horribly maimed. At least for tonight.

Which if his shape shifting abilities suggest, he should be able to recover from in the lunar week. But it’ll give him cause to think, to stop and think about this, before he tries anymore tricks on the Manhattan Pack.

Pisses off the Alpha.


January 28, 2010
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Have you ever seen a true werewolf fight?

Been to any of the underground Alpha dominance fights they hold around Brooklyn? They change the location after every fight, so you might find it hard to get into them. It’s kind of like you have to be in the know or know someone who knows someone who knows someone involved with organizing the fights to find out where they are.

Yeah, well I have.

It ain’t a fight unless there’s a ton of blood spilled, and someone’s almost dead or completely incapacitated at the end of it.

It’s not a fight until one werewolf, Alpha werewolf, gives in.

Can you imagine?

Take the most competitive, the most macho person you know. The toughest, bad ass and the most stubborn son of a bitch you know and roll them all into one hombre. Now pit that hombre against themself. Watch the pride and egos swell and surge.

We’re not allowed to deliberately kill one another, even in a dominance fight.

Werewolf lineages, low birth rates and all that. But werewolves are allowed to beat the absolute living crap out of each other to within an inch of death.

Go figure.

Alpha werewolves do not fuck around with that shit. They play hard and they hit harder, even in human form.

That’s the other thing about the dominance fights, they’re only held between Alpha werewolves and they’re held in human form.

No shape shifting allowed.

So you’re talking about a being who can take the hits and cope for far longer than any human could.

The beatings are mega powerful and they go on, for like forever. And one of them is ‘expected’ to give in. To take the beating, and then admit, someone else is the winner.

It’s beyond bitchy.

The tension in Crescent is so sharp, I’m beginning to think it can slice skin open just because we breathe and move in it.

But Black Dog isn’t an Alpha werewolf.

He’s a shape shifter, not that I think that holds some sort of advantage to him and disadvantage to Paris. It just means, that when my Alpha, Paris, beats his human ass to a pulp, he’s not going to going to be able to crawl away half as fast as a loser in a regular dominance fight.

I just hope Paris doesn’t murder him.

Black Dog circles around Paris, his arms up like he thinks’ he is actually going to be able to land the jabs he hopes to throw. He’s even got the boxer stance happening and is bouncing from foot to foot, lightly.

The crowd at Crescent have all but stopped whatever they were doing before this. A semi circle has formed around the shape shift and the Alpha werewolf. Paris has his shirt off again. He’s ripped. Broad shoulders, that show off a running display of back tattoos. Arms that look heavy and full of nothing but raw power. He’s just eyeing Black Dog.

Daring him.

Black Dog smirks back at him, moving far too much for someone who should not be nearly as confident as he appears to be for someone who’s going to get ripped to shreds.

This isn’t a sanctioned fight, isn’t about dominance or leadership. It’s about fighting, for the sake of fighting.

So that means, the normal rules of dominance fights don’t apply.

I guess that’s why I gasped, when Black Dog suddenly shape shifts. It’s like a slow blink of an eye. His body flows like fluid until before us all stands a giant creature.

Kind of looks like an Egyptian jackal. But that’s not right, the ears are wrong.
Then it comes to me.


More commonly known these days as a spotted Heyena.

Teeth bared like salivating wolf fangs, but a small face, and spotted fur, short ears and strong fore legs and hind legs.

Black Dog’s lipwereri throws back it’s head, and unleashes a haunting howl, that sounds like laughter filled with death.

Most of the wolves in the crowd, raise their hands to their ears and shrink back automatically, as if the laughter alone is like poison touching them.

But not Paris.

The man stands his ground, doesn’t even flinch at the horrible sound.

Instead, he launches himself straight at Black Dog, before he can finish putting his head back down from the howl.

As fluid, as the shape shifter, his figure shape shifts in flight, off the ground. His clothes tearing to pieces as the Alpha werewolf breaks out of his skin.

It’s like watching muscle rip open, replacing all that was human about him, with nothing but the Alpha werewolf.

Blood Lust

January 27, 2010
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Blood lust

the word rings through my brain.

Blood and Lust.

Combined together.

It doesn’t gross me out. It actually sounds….nice. Because the werewolf part of me knows blood, likes blood, understands blood and when the time is right, even, wants blood. The werewolf me, also understands and enjoys, lust.

More often than not.

I guess it could be another name for what us werewolves refer to as lunar lust. You know, when the lunar week is on us and we all but get consumed by sexual energy and need. Only I’m not sure that’s quite accurate enough. For one thing, our eyes don’t bleed, blood when we’re super horny.

I think blood lust has more to do with blood than sex but I’m sure it combines the two as well. At least, this is the case I’ve been given the impression of. Not that I know any that have this affliction.

From what I’ve been told about Blood lust, it’s somewhat of an affliction, condition that is not unlike having your own overwhelming obsession. Of the blood kind. So it creeps me out, somewhat, that a shape shifter I don’t know has unwittingly taken a likening to me.

All because he hates the Alpha werewolf of the Manhattan Pack, my boyfriend, Paris.

I’ve been told that werewolf blood lust, is like embracing the love of rage. You get swept up in it and you let it take you over, completely and you enjoy it. It’s like letting the werewolf you really, have it’s hunt and kill, fix, that it doesn’t really get these days. It’s passion at its most violent, was the term I remember being used to describe it’s essence. I mean, we have to live in a civilized world so that kind of behavior is off the cards and not allowed.

And whilst Black Dog isn’t a werewolf, he does carry wolf in him, so I’d assume he react the same way as a werewolf.

So those urges, on a normal day, to hunt prey and take sport in the kill, are minimal, tiny even. Because they’re suppressed, by us barely acknowledging them, or allowing them to exist within our hybrid psychological make up. The feeling only sort of stirs a bit when we get excited about meat, or you know, in lunar weeks. But it’s not like none of everyday werewolves, don’t know the art of control. Or of ourselves.

But I don’t know anything about Black Dog, he doesn’t sound all that stable from the brief comments Paris has shared about him. So to hear Paris speak about Black Dog having blood lust, for me, it just weirds me out.

I sip on my alcoholic vanilla milkshake. Another lunar week, another night out at Crescent. I turn around to head back over to Paris and his friends. When a figure bumps straight into me.

Almost causing me to spill my milkshake. Almost.

I look up at the guy. The hair on the back of neck is pulling at my skin, dragging it to attention.

I can smell lupine but it isn’t Breukelen lupine scent, not that’s a surprise since I’m spending another night in Manhattan. There are other scents mingled and mixed in there, but it’s really hard to differentiate what they are.

Because they’re like specks, tiny, tiny specks of this and that. I can make out something like licorice. Of course, that could just be the smell of the dry ice in the air of the club. Or someone else’s bad body odor. Or his base scent.

I’m not truly freaked out, until he smiles at me and his eyes bleed red.

Not all messy and smearing out of the corner of his eyes kind of thing. I mean, the red drips down from under his eyelids around the whites of his eyes, leaving the irises, untouched, until all around it is blood red.

Blood lust.

“Everybody here calls me Black Dog, what’s your name pretty wolf?”


January 26, 2010
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I think I found my happy place.

Everyone should have a happy place like this.

It’s under fresh cotton sheets, in the crook of Paris’s arm. Our bodies touching and the warmth that flows from him, keeps me heated too. His heart beat is like a persistent soundtrack in my ear as he plays with my hair, brushing his fingers along the top of my head. The morning light streams into the room, through the not quite tightly shut wooden slates.

Hmm, I don’t want this feeling to end, feels like comfort.

He’s trying to convince me I need to stay in Brooklyn for awhile, while he deals with Black Dog in Manhattan.

I turn around, out of the crook of his arm, lean on my arms and face him. This is not the way I want to start my morning, after finally, getting him back to his place, after the whole Black Dog thing. By the time we’d gotten back, I was more than in need of release and shape shifting wasn’t going to take the edge off that kind of need. In fact, it can make lunar lust worse, some times, especially during lunar week. Like it’s not hard enough to get through in one raggered piece.

He pulls me in closer to him. So we were touching, again skin on skin. Pushing the sheet down off my back, so my lower back is exposed he walks his fingers across my body. Sliding his hands down to cup my bottom.

I can feel his body responding, already recovered from our first round, ready to go again.

“It’s this thing with Black Dog.” Paris sighs heavily. “He saw you at Crescent the other night and I think he liked what he saw.”

For now, it appears, Black Dog is happy to leave the Manhattan Pack alone. His hands move my legs apart as I lay, half on his body, looking back at him. His fingers brush over sensitive skin and I move my thighs further apart.

“His eyes, they bleed red, when he’s….excited. He calls it blood lust. Never really told us why it happens or what it means, But I’m pretty sure it means attraction. It happened after he spotted you. He probably sees this as an opportunity to mess with me and mine.”

Blood lust.

I’ve heard of this before. It’s not a common trait in most werewolves these days. I think it is the one thing that kind of has been weeded out of the werewolf lines through the generations. Not sure how. But I think it’s more common in other paranormal beings than it is in werewolves.

Only I thought it always kind of resembled another emotion, that of rage.

I can’t help but feel cold inside after that thought. Even with Paris’s hot touch on my body.


January 24, 2010
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“Stay here.” Paris instructs me, kissing my forehead again as he opens the door.

I move over to the glass wall touching it with a finger. The frosted glass goes clear making everything inside the club visible again.

The muted thud and thump of the music in the room matched the movement of the werewolves of the floor and surrounds, who moved together and around each other, with more and more flesh on flesh becoming available.

Got to ignore the heat stirring in me.

It’s early but I’m glad I’m not the only one giving in to needful things so soon. I keep my finger pressed to the glass, watching as Paris and Addison now fully dressed stride through the crowd with purpose.
The movement of their bodies like a disharmony to the rest of the club.

They are tense, alert and angry. Not a good mood to be in a wolf club in. Our collective feelings, werewolf moods if you will, the atmosphere, we kind of all share it. If the Alpha of the pack isn’t happy, then those that aren’t consumed by their lunar lust, or distracted by the flesh and sex show around them, will rise to alert mode too. It’s natural to follow the leader.

You could instantly get an army of werewolves revved up to riot, based on their pack leader’s mood.

Even though we are the modern day version of an ancient lineage, and we do things differently now to times past, there are some things you can not take out of the werewolf.

Like, the need for hunting and meat.

We all struggle with it around lunar week. So when someone challenges the status quo for a fight, you’ll tend to find most werewolves, are more than up for it. Because it fills a need in us.

If the Alpha of the pack is unhappy, there is usually a damn good reason for it.

I watch Addison point in a certain direction of the club, but it is too hard to make out between the strobing lights and the masses of faces who he is pointing to.

I press my hands flat to the window, watching. Dating Paris is still rather new and I don’t really know his pack all that well yet.

Addison and Paris are joined by two other werewolves, obviously part of Paris’s second in command, security guys, whatever you want to call them. They are the back up. Which must mean this Black Dog character is bad news.

They walk out onto the packed dance floor, making their way through the thick, throbbing crowd before stopping in front of one individual who stops dancing. A male about five feet eight. He looks ordinary enough. They are talking and Black Dog is clearly pissing them off, I can see Paris’s shoulders tense even more, even from where I am, so far away from it all.

Then the strangest thing happens.

Black Dog looks over Paris’s shoulder and straight across the room, right at me. I suddenly get the feeling that his gaze on me isn’t unlike being caught in a gun sight. He raises a hand and waves at me.

I jumped back and the glass instantly frosts up again. It’s not that he saw me, that made me jump.

It’s just, I swear for the briefest nano second, Black Dog’s eyes glowed red.

Black Dog

January 23, 2010
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“Who is black dog?”

Paris dresses quickly.

“More like, what is black dog?” He replies, zipping up his pants.

Turns out Black Dog is a Shape Shifter. Which is to say, he’s unlike a werewolf.

Yes, we werewolves can shift to our animal self, the wolf, at will and under moonlight even more so. But Black Dog is not a werewolf, he’s a human who can shape shift to animal form, including that of a wolf. Only it turns out, he doesn’t get the same abilities it would seem, as us werewolves.

He can only shape shift, during lunar week. In regular time outside of this, apparently he can’t do it. Just doesn’t work for him like it works for us. But they’re not really sure about all that he can do, or be, so to speak.

I watch Paris do up the bottom three shirt buttons.

“So why’s he a problem?” I ask curiously.

“Because I once dated his girlfriend and she left the pack.” Paris watches my face carefully before adding, “She was one of ours.”

He’s some pain in the ass human who once dated a pack werewolf. Lardy-dah, BD thinks he’s special.
The romance turned sour, ended, ran its course.

I don’t know any Breukelen who have willingly left our pack.
But then, not all Packs are created equal or run the same way. Which in itself is odd, a werewolf leaving a pack structure, but not completely unheard of.

Apparently this girl Black Dog dated, just wanted a life outside of New York, outside of the pack, so she up and left in the middle of the night. Didn’t tell a soul she was going. She just left. With no forwarding address. She wanted to be gone, so she did her best disappearing trick, and it worked. Black Dog didn’t take to kindly to the news, he’d been so unceremoniously cut out of her life. So he decided to take out his frustrations on the Manhattan Pack.

In particular, on Paris.

He kisses me hard, and it’s rough and needy. I know he wants me as much as I want him and he’s torn that he had to do his Alpha duties at such a shitty, inconvenient time.

But if you’re going to be werewolf pack leader, you do not play leader, you are the leader. It means living up to your responsibilities to pack. Even on a lunar night.

Every now and then apparently, black dog re-appears to cause trouble for the Manhattan Pack. Seems like this lunar week, is one of those times.

“This is about pack.” He says cupping the side of my face.

He kisses me again. This time its tender and filled with longing as he consumes my mouth. He’s letting me know in that kiss that I have no need to feel stupidly insecure about some past romance that was before our time.

“Pack.” I repeat.

Lunar lust

January 22, 2010
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“Shut up and strip.” I command, as Paris walked into the small glass cubicle room. The door latches closed and the clear glass frosts over the walls.

Paris tilts his head and chin downwards, his dark blue eyes staring straight at me, like I’m pretty prey he is going to pounce on.

He is taking too long for my liking, stripping his shirt off. Unbuttoning the collar, and all the buttons down the front.

Come on!

A wry smile ghosts across his lips. He looks somewhere between a desperate man for a drink and something kind of dark and evil.

My gut is doing flip flops really fast. Like butterfly wings beating against it madly, to let them out. So instead of succumbing to his intensity which when he uses it on you, is incredibly hard to ignore or not react to, I decided to play with.

Kind of.

By fighting back with my own sensuality. I’m a female, it’s not like I don’t know a thing or two about the male werewolf species.

I pick up my drink and slowly sip it. Keeping eye contact with him the whole time.

Leaning back on my elbows, on the low rise glass table, in the glass cubicle room. I’ve chosen to ignore the black leather couches for the purpose of reclining suggestively.

Paris yanks his shirt off his arms impatiently.

In our last telephone conversation before the club, he told me in no uncertain terms what he wanted to do with me. He was having a rough day and he was ready to let off some sexual steam, so to speak.

My eyes run over his very muscular, arms. They looked pumped and strong. His chest, lean and solid. I think he’s been dieting or skipping meals because the line definition of his abs, is like playing, a little visual maze game on his skin. Running all around and over it.

He arches an eyebrow up, silently questioning me.

“Not enough.” I reply with a big smile back at him, slowly kicking off my high heel shoes, as I use the edge of the glass table top, to slip them off in response.

He’s late you see.

Said he’d meet me at Crescent. But he was late.

I’ve been sitting pretty and bored, in this room for three and half hours and of course, I didn’t have my mobile phone on me, because the werewolf clubs don’t let you take your phones in on lunar weeks. You have to check them into the cloak room like they’re dangerous weapons or something.

So I’ve been sitting and waiting for him. Drinking and waiting till he showed up.

By the time he arrived, I was wanting more than a verbal apology.

Much more.

I know he wanted more too.

But I’m going to drag this out.
Test him.
Tease and taunt him.

I hadn’t even hit the dance floor in his absence to join the warm comfort of bodies around me. So since I’d played good girlfriend, he owes me. And I’m making damn sure he knows it.

He started on his pants and I let my eyes drop as he pushed them down his solidly, muscular legs.

I smirked when he stood before me stark naked.


He was rock hard, all over.

His hands are curled into fists by his side, I can see the tension in his body. He wants to move towards me. But I’m challenging him by taking command. And by complying with my little game, he’s agreed to be challenged.

Challenging an Alpha male, do you know how competitive they are?

He’s either going to play by my rules now or try in someway to reverse the situation and make me break first.

I’m betting it’s the later. Because I’m going to push his patience level out the window. He’s such a control freak.

“Happy?” He askes roughly.

“Not even close.” I smile back at him, finishing my drink.

“And yet, I’m naked here and you’re not.”

I let out a little laugh and sip my drink.

“I said I was sorry.”

I put my empty glass aside beside the table.

“and I’m going to make you.” I smile, sitting more upright. Hanging my legs over the edge of the table. Putting me directly in front of him.

At hip height.

There is only the briefest of space between us. I look up at him.

He moans deep in his throat.
I haven’t even touched him.
But this is all about anticipation. Building on the impatience and the want and need we both have.

I slide closer to him.

He remains standing still. Waiting for me to call the next shot. Showing his obedience to me.

But before either of us can do anymore, the door openes and we both looked over at Addison in the doorway. His best friend.

“We have a problem.”

I’ll say.

Addison continues, ignoring our dark looks at him. Or the fact that Paris is stark naked before us both.

“Black Dog is back.”


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