A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn


January 30, 2010
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When the Alpha werewolf goes in to fight and wins over whatever challenger was naive enough to fight him, or her, as the case maybe, they are not helped up.

For the Alpha, weather injured or not, it’s a show of their leadership in the pack, to walk away from a fight by themselves.

For the challenger, it’s a show of their weakness. They are not acknowledged in any sense of compassion. To do so would be insulting to the pack leading Alpha. To do so would be like an act of defiance to the leader’s victory and ruling. It’s just not the done thing.

You get yourself into a fight with an Alpha werewolf, and you somehow manage to survive it, then you get the right to carry your own weary carcass out of the fight zone and warpath of the Alpha.

But you do it yourself.

And if you can’t, then you’re left exactly where you are. To figure your own way out of your own predicament.

Paris walks over to me, back in human form.
Back Dog lay curled in on himself, on the ground, still in lipwerei form. Breathing heavily and bleeding slowly. His back legs, pushing, and slipping against the floor and blood. Trying to move himself forward and up. Black Dog’s front legs are next to no use to him. He’s not even trying to use them. If he were a werewolf, we’d probably all be picking up on his pain. But he’s not.

So I force myself not to care.

Paris probably severed a tendon or two with his claws, when he sliced him open. Doesn’t always take much to make your enemy immobile, you just got to have the willpower to over power them effectively. But it can hurt like hell, and werewolves are not known for playing things safe or soft. If we’re in a fight, in our animal form, you can expect nothing less than ruthlessness.

The crowd breaks up and wanders off.
Music returns, flowing through the club loudly.
Everything as it should be.

People take to the dance floor again, drinks flow and gradually chatter returns to the soundtrack of the night around us.

You do not fuck with the wolves and get to brag about it.
We will have your pride served to you in the gutter over you bleeding, broken, body before that’s allowed.

Addison and the other seconds in command, check in with Paris, who assures them he is good. Waving them off before they all back off again and I’m left standing in front of him. I wrap my arms around him and bury my head in his shoulder. Listening to the rapid thudding of the heart beat in his chest. His arms close around me and we held each other tight.

Just because he won the fight, doesn’t mean he wanted to fight.
But he can not let authority go unchallenged and he can not allow an outsider, not a werewolf, to walk into our world and think they can insult any of us.

It’s one of the first sensations I picked up on when he shape shifted back, it was so strong. The aftermath of doing the expected thing. Of carrying the pressure of expectation. Of being the leader.


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.

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