A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Wanton Werewolf

June 8, 2015
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Here’s the next Free Zine for my readers, Cheers Bg xo.

Wanton werewolf cover 1


Lunar Night Stand

September 20, 2012
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So who’s been a bad boy then? Or should that be girl? Ahem!

How much do you love to hate your enemy?


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.


New Moon Rising

January 20, 2011
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“Oh She don’t mind, she got the time, I see the new moon rising.” – New Moon Rising, Wolfmother.

First lunar week of the new year and how times change while things stay the same. I don’t want to be spending it over in Manhattan Maen territory, but I do want to be with my packmate, Paris, the Manhattan Maen werewolf pack leader.

Complications of being a beta werewolf and dating an Alpha werewolf. Complications of my love life. It’s never quite dull. But then, if it was dull you’d just call me me Snooki. And let’s face it, my hair is way better than hers. Werewolf, has perfect hair, that guy in the song, werewoles of London even agrees with that statement.

The moon does its thing for the week and a few days either side of full moon and the werewolves of New York do there’s. It’s how it’s been since as long as I can remember, ever since growing up and going out to the clubs in New York.

It’s a form of control. A way of making sure we’re not ferral werewolves, like there tend to be when there are solar eclipses. Because that’s when shit gets complicated beyond werewolves with feelings of love and jealousy and romance and everything else. That’s when you really want werewolves to exercise their control techniques.

But on a regular full moon night, it’s contained, it’s controlled, and there’s nothing to do with complicated if you know what to expect and how to deal with it. If you leave out all the relationship stuff.

Werewolves in love are a complicated beings.


Tangled

November 20, 2010
2 Comments

Any thoughts I had of Booker Parish are quickly forgotten, when I find myself under the intense heated gaze of a werewolf in need.

Paris’s eyes roam over me before he reaches for me. I think I can see the wolf behind those midnight, dark blue, eyes.

“We’re working on a time limit here, so don’t take it slow on my account.”

He smiles back at me. Patience on a lunar night, on a time limit, it’s never been a strong point of mine. Ever.

“I’d rather savor you, than not have enough.” Paris replies, putting a finger to my lips, to silence any further protests.

Except that I open my mouth, run the tip of my tongue along that finger, before sucking said finger into, said mouth. Silencing for a moment or two, both of us. His eyes widen.

“Now you’re just not playing fair.”

I half smile, as I keep working the finger in my mouth and licking it, like a treat that I might savor of him. He moans and goes to withdraw the finger from my mouth and I graze my teeth along it, as he does so.

“Better than giving in to violent tendencies. Besides, who said fair had anything to do with this?”

He smirks back at me, and I see the dangerous glint in his eyes. “Okay, if that’s the way you want it. Bring it on.” He mocks me with, pulling at my top quickly, the same time my hands go for his belt buckle and jeans.

“Oh I’ll bring it, Alpha boy.” I taunt back at him with a smile, my hands working fast to undo his jeans and pull them down around his hips. But it’s hard to do, when he’s pulling at my top, making me have to leave his clothing alone as I raise my arms so he can remove the obtrusive piece of material.

He might be an Alpha werewolf who doesn’t technically have to shape shift until full moon night, unlike me. But during lunar week he’s just as amped up and susceptible to being overcome by the heightened senses we all go through during the week the moon goes through it phases. The good, the bad and the ridiculously horny. Being denied a sexual partner, when he’s had one quite regularly, well, that wouldn’t exactly curb his requirements or appetite as such. So cracking his resolve to savor and be gentlemanly about us, is easy enough.

Only he’s got the upper hand, as it were.

Paris pulls my top up and as it goes over my face, and mouth, my arms still raised above my head, he pulls the material in close. So I’m effectively blind folded and tied up. Tangled within my own clothing.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve discussed, messing with this Alpha before, haven’t we?”

His voice is serious and it makes me want to gulp down a nervous vat of saliva in my throat. “Now,” He continues on, tightening up the ends of my top, so it is tied and I can’t free my arms or get it over the rest of my head. “We’re going to savor some time together.” He pushes me lightly so I fall backwards, letting out a squeak as I land, bouncing on my bed. “You’re Alpha commands it of you.”

The bed dips with the movement of him, crawling over me, on it.

“Now, where am I going to start?” even though I can’t see where he’s looking my nipples tighten in response to his question, through my bra and I hear him chuckle. Like he’s noticed it, or he’s just aware of my anxious state for him to just start. But his fingers ghost over the skin of stomach, and play with the waistline of my skirt.

I bite my lip partially out of nerves, partially because I don’t want to start begging him. Those fingers leave my skin and I feel his warm hands slid up my legs. Making me want to pull them further apart from him. But I resist, it might be seen as desperate and I want him to be as desperate as I feel here. Otherwise, that’s really just not playing fair!

Warm hands glide over my skirt, pushing it up my legs, higher it climbs and I try to keep my breathing even.
“Yes, this is where I’ll start.” He says, and there’s a finger tracing the seam of my underwear. Running along my inner thigh. It feels good and ticklish at the same time.

I press my teeth harder into my lip, so I can suppress the giggle building there. But before I can even start to make a noise, that finger’s trail moves. Slips underneath the material covering me from him. And it touches me gently. My breath catches with the sensation of the touch and the finger slides deeper, inside of me. I lose all thoughts of being quiet and docile and moan loudly.

He chuckles at my response.

“More.” I mutter through the material still blocking my eyes from the sight of what he’s doing to me.

“More?” He asks innocently. “More of this?” He asks as I feel a second finger slick its way in. “Or do you mean,” He pauses as he pushes in deeper. “More like this? Or like this,” He says fastening the tempo before stopping it all together. “Be specific here, we’re on a time schedule after all.”

I bang my head back against the soft pillows in frustration.

“You’re going to kill me.” I groan.

“Only if the not having you part, doesn’t kill me first.” Paris replies sounding way to smug and playful. I groan and start fighting the constraints of my top that has tied me up. But the material doesn’t give, he’s done a dam good job of binding me in my own clothing.

“Stop thrashing about.”

I stop, sigh and breathe heavily. Giving up on getting out of my predicament until he lets me.

“It’s a tangled web we weave.” He jokes, before resuming my gentle death by delight.


Pounding heart

November 19, 2010
3 Comments

Booker and I are laughing as we walk back into my house. The door shuts and the latch has barely clicked into place when there’s a pounding on the door.

My heart beat races, the pounding is loud and precise. Resilient in it’s restless need to get through the wooden entrance.

Booker looks at me, his face suddenly a mask of seriousness. The guy’s happiness has gone again. He’s always so serious now a days.
“Get to your room now, lock the door and don’t come out until I tell you, you can.”
“What?” I whisper fiercely back at him. “I’m not a fucking child!”
“Do it, Or I’ll drag you in there myself.” His firm reply as he stares back at me, daring me to challenge him further.

This whole safety over me thing, because of Gabby, is really beginning to annoy the hell out of me. I stomp off to my room but loiter in the doorway.

Booker looks back at the front door.

“Let me see her!”

I could be mistaken, but through the thickness of the door, the muffled voice sounds like Paris.

“Open up!”

Booker looks back down the hallway towards me and indicates for me to get inside my room like a good little werewolf.

“It’s Paris, let him in.” I step out of my doorway. Booker’s hand is on the front door handle, but he’s looking at me.
“He’s not coming in here.”
I step right out into the hallway. “Yes he is. Let him in here Booker, he’s my packmate!”
“You know what my orders are from Bodil, she finds out I let him in here, we’re both history.”
“I can handle Bodil.”
“No, you really can’t.” Booker throws back at me, as Paris keeps thumping against the door. Demanding to see me. “Trust me, when I say, you don’t want to either. Just get out of sight for now.”
“Booker, so help me, if you do not open that door and let Paris in here, I’m never ever speaking to you or acknowledging your existence ever again in this pack. Open the door!”

Booker’s eyes widen as he stares back at me and he drops his hand away from the door handle. Of course, threatening an Alpha, even an Alpha lycan like him, is always a bad, bad move.

Of course, you might not consider it much of a threat, what I threw at him. Except, to Booker and to me, those words are still a pretty big deal. Neither one of us wants to not know the other. Not that we’d say it out loud. Even if we’re not together anymore. Not that anyone outside of the hallway or in our pack knows that. Not my over protective sister and best friend to Booker and not my packmate Paris, Booker’s old friend.

Booker and I were a rather passionate secret.

I start walking towards him and he reaches for the door suddenly, unlocking it. Paris pushes on the open door and straight into Booker. Looking past him towards me.

He shoves the other male aside, not easily but successfully all the same and rushes towards me.

“You can’t be here man.” He says as Paris stops before me.
“I tried to contact you, you’re sister and her possee, they intercept me, cut me off from getting to you. What’d they take lessons in how to sabatoage and block?”
“You can’t be here, if Bodil finds out you’re here…”
Paris turns around abruptly fast. The move of the angry wolf, whipping around to deal with it’s common enemy. Annoyance.

“I need to be here. It’s lunar week, she’s got to shape shift. We don’t know how she’ll be affected after…what happened.”
I reach for Paris’s hand and stand beside him, looking back at Booker.
“It’s my house, he’s staying.”
“I’ve got my orders.” Booker replies firmly, scowling back at us.
“Booker if he goes, then I’m going with him.”

His frown gets deeper.
“The hell you are.”

Paris’s body tenses at Booker’s words. I don’t want to see these two fight, especially over me. “My orders were to keep you safe, not leave you alone.”
“Well then, you fulfilled your orders. I’m safe, and I’ve got two Alpha’s with me. What could possibly be safer than that in my own house?”
“Look, Bodil will be swinging by here,” He glances at his watch and back at us. “In an hour to check on you. If she finds Paris here, all hell will break loose and I’m not going to be able to stop her.”
I nod my head in understanding.

“You can’t stay.” Booker says looking Paris in the eyes. They stare each other down without blinking. I can’t help but wonder if they’re passing some sort of silent message to each other. Or if it’s just anger. Or in seeing which Alpha wolf will back down first.

“You got forty minutes.” Booker says walking off into the other end of the house. “And then I’ll kick you out myself.”

I ignore the unhappiness and anger in Booker’s voice and turn away from the sight of him marching off into the opposite end of the house. He’s either trying to give us privacy, as wolves, even lycans have exceptional hearing, or restrain himself.

Paris and I walk back towards my bedroom and I finally close the door when we’re both inside. My heart is pounding as I look back at him and move towards him quickly.

But he puts his hands out and keeps me at bay.
“We don’t need to rush this.” He says and scoops me up, walking me over to my bed.

“uh hello, time limit.” I mutter back at him as he lays me down.

“Well, I don’t want to rush this.” He replies, leaning over me and tugging at my top.


Being Good

November 18, 2010
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Who’s brainy idea was it again to have me kept under protective guard on a lunar week, by hot looking wolves in Brooklyn?

Oh yeah, my over protective, well meaning sister, Bodil. That’s why I’m in a nightclub with Booker Parish, dancing like we’re in the streets of South America. New rules in my life to be adhered to until further notice, must have (hot) body guards by my side twenty four seven. Must be an Alpha werewolf or a fighter. Imitators and lesser wolves will not be excepted. Booker, next to my sister, is our best warrior wolf.

Sweating up a river, with our clothes sticking to our skin, like it’s a second layer of it. I haven’t been out in what feels like forever. I’m not used to being house bound. So I’m reveling in the chance to move, to interact, to be engulfed in heat, drowned in communal lust and want.

Lunar week and it’s all fun, fun, fun. Forget your troubles and dance your nights away, the werewolves have come out to play. Especially me. I haven’t heard from Paris since I asked him to take me home. Maybe he and the boys are doing a bit of pack policing, finding Gabby, or something. I don’t know and right now, I gotta say, I don’t care, about that, about Gabby or any of them Maen wolves.

Brooklyn is where it is at.

Heart beats are pumping steadily, as it trying to match the beats of the music coating us dancers in. I can’t believe I’m actually smiling as Booker sides up behind me, and I dance, my back against his front, my hips moving from side to side as my short white skirt, swishes around. My arms are raised in the air, as I look back over my shoulder at the large, solid wall of male Lycan wolf, behind me. His black t-shirt is clinging to his chest, defining it’s grooves and ridges for me.

I swear Booker’s grinning. Nice to see. That boy rarely smiles.
But I feel his smile, his assurance in my safety, with him, literally having my back. Booker might be one of my sister’s best friends and fighters, but he’s something else to me entirely.

Booker and I have history.

So who’s brainy idea was it again to have me kept under protective guard on a lunar week, by a hot looking Booker Parish in Brooklyn? Who cares.

I haven’t felt so liberated in days. Booker gets that, he gets me. I think he’s got more patience and time for me, than the other body guards assigned to their menial detail of protecting the youngest female werewolf from the leading Breukelen Alpha’s family.

My hair is thick with heat and sweat, and it’s hanging heavily down my neck as I gather it up and lift it off my neck, I feel him move slightly behind me and see him, lean forward I think it’s to blow cool air on the base of my neck. But instead he leans towards my ear.

“You want to get some fresh air?”

Do I?
Do I!

Problem is, if I literally go outside for “fresh air” and feel the night time and moonlight caress my skin. Then “do I wanna what”, is going to just jump me, like you wouldn’t believe. I’m one of those sadistic werewolves who likes to test themselves during lunar week, by playing little games with their own bodies desire, so that the end result, of getting what you want, is ten times better. Problem, I only play those sexy little mind and body fuck games with my pack mate. Like my absent packmate, Paris, a friend of Booker’s too.

“Nah, I’m good.” I reply still dancing and letting my heavy hair drop down out of my hands.

“Is that what you call this?” He murmurs with a chuckle, before straightening up. I turn around to face him, putting a little distance between us. “Being good?”

“What would you call it?” I grin at him, still dancing in my heels.

An eyebrow arches up and he smiles shaking his head. “To be continued.” He states looking past me and pointing out the appearance of Conall Wakely walking through Disco and Rhyme. Conall’s eyes scan the crowd, and land on me. His eyes flick over at Booker standing before me, now completely still and staring hard back at Conall. Booker and I are drenched in sweat. We look like we’ve been hosed down in water. Or come straight from a pool party or something. Are clothes are sticking to us like we’ve been swimming in them.

Others around us are peeling off layers of clothing, or near naked dancing around us. See, we are being good. Conall scowls at us and throws his arm around a pretty, petite wolf’s shoulders suddenly.

“Come on, let’s get a drink at the other bar.” I grab his hand and lead Booker off the dance floor as Conall and he continue to stare it out, as we head out to the outside bar. The furthest away from Conall and his entourage. I don’t want to think about him, at all. I don’t want this night ruined. Because it’s like being given a gift, after being cooped up at my family house for days on end in lock down mode.

Booker holds the door open for me as we step outside, and the cooler night air hits me instantly and I tilt my head up and grin at the moon, closing my eyes. My neck exposed underneath as my heavy hair, drops off my back and hangs behind me. I sigh softly. I’m welcome under the moon’s embrace.

“Being good, being good.” I hear Booker mutter behind me, as he holds the doorway open and I open my eyes again, glancing back at him, before we head over to the bar.


You can’t deny the werewolf

November 17, 2010
2 Comments

I feel caged. Even though I’m not.
Crowded I guess you could say.
I’m a werewolf, I’m used to being free. To roaming my way through life, without regard for fear, without hesitating, without being stopped.

Since revealing my knife wound’s scar to my sister Bodil, she’s pretty much started ruling my life. Yeah, I’m an adult and she’s an adult, a highly over protective one. She’s also a superior werewolf who’s like second in command of the Breukelen Pack. So whatever she enforces, gets done. No questions asked.

I’ve been made to stay at our family home, in Brooklyn. No contact with Paris allowed. No visiting him, no going to Manhattan. I kind of think I’m being punished even though I’m the one who got the raw end of the deal here, when she got stabbed by a Manhattan Maen Alpha werewolf.

I don’t really know what’s been decided for the fate of Gabby, the bitch who gutted me. But I am feeling the full brunt of over protectiveness from my family and pack. I haven’t had this kind of security detail since I was a teen and hunted by a lycan. After that, I couldn’t go anywhere without warrior wolves around me for a good year. At the instance of my father, leading pack Alpha of the Breukelen. Now this. It’s like I’m a magnet for remnants of the scar tissue in my life to reoccur. I don’t mean physically, I mean circumstances and events.

I can’t even see my boyfriend, because well, he wasn’t around to stop me being stabbed. My sister sees that as a grievous mistake on his part. But I think my brother Aksel, has managed to convince Bodil, not to hurt Paris because of it. I think, but I’m not really sure. Since neither of them is letting me in on what is going on with the processes surrounding dealing with my attack.

I’ve been allocated protective body guards as they were. Bodil’s friends are doing round the clock security on me. Ensuring there’s always at least one Alpha werewolf or fighter wolf with me. Whether I’m at home or not. It’s crazy. I’ve told her as much. But Bodil insists its for the best until this can be resolved, especially since no one has seen or heard from Gabby, since she ditched my bleeding body, at the safe house for Paris to find me.

Anyway, maybe things will change this week. Since it’s lunar week. I can’t be expected to sit around the house on lunar week, going stir crazy because the moon is riding my body to distraction and I can’t get my paws on my boyfriend. Here’s hoping, anyway. The old familiar restlessness is creeping into me, only it’s worse now because of this cabin like fever from being over protected so greatly.

And that’s not a good thing either.

You can’t deny the werewolf within. You can try like hell, but it’s near impossible to do and it’s not wise to ignore what you’re body’s trying to tell you to do. Makes a werewolf go feral and that usually leads to bloodshed and rampaging through streets of ruin.

Nobody wants that.
Especially me, I’ve already shed enough blood.


Touch

October 24, 2010
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On the night of the full moon, all the werewolf knows is that release will come. Freedom will elope the form of it’s cage. One soul into another and then there is just the wolf.

The moon’s presence will strum along my skin, prickling it, testing it, taunting inside me, with a fiery blood that wants to surge to delight.

It’s the touch of another, wolf, my packmate Paris that abates this for me and fuels the urgency to shape shift.

There will come a crucial point in the night, when I can not hold back any longer. When I know, my body will break, if I do not succumb to the shape shift.

So we do what we must. We tease and coax one another. Because what better way is there to come into our own? It’s fun, it’s enjoyable, it’s eventual. It makes the process of the shape shift smoother.

The night after full moon, and sometimes, it still feels the same to me. I still feel the urge, the need, but my body doesn’t command me without choice. But it doesn’t mean I won’t play under the moonlight, in the embrace of it’s pressence.

The best part of lunar week, is the indulgence. The sense of escape. Burning hot with everything, that you control and slowly rid yourself of. Shackled heavily with heightened sensations and emotions.

The lust in the air is so thick it could be considered stifling, if I didn’t like the sensation of being wrapped in it. The werewolf population will ride out a lunar week, as long as they can. It’s our fun time.

The tip of a tongue trails down the back of my neck slowly.

Jules finishes speaking beside me and Paris mummers “Mmhm” against my skin then pulls away to answer Jules. I’m sitting in front of Paris, closest to Jules, as the boys lean back behind my shoulder line to talk.

Werewolves are used to close confines, to being around one another when they’re dripping in moon heat, lunar lust. But it’s the small touches, innocent enough, that set me off.

It’s familiar that pack wolves do this, rub and touch against one another. Regardless of who they are.

Jules doesn’t mean it, but my brain is elsewhere having very naughty thoughts, as the two men behind me, talk, their heads close together.

Jules’s finger tips, rest right at the side of my thigh. Just touching, barely touching. Resting on the seat we all sit on. His shoulder, brushes against me as he holds his conversation behind my back.

I have no idea what they’re talking about, I haven’t been paying attention to that. My mind is firing on touch, scent and building want. Still. I need my fill, again.

I need to get a grip.

I pick up my champagne. The cool glass is heaven to touch and gives me enough focus again, to drag my mind out from the after glow of two and half days of having the Manhattan Maen Alpha all to myself.

It doesn’t matter that we’re back in the thick of pack again, because when the evening closes down on us all, I will have him again. And that’s what keeping me patient right now. As Paris’s hand slips under one side of my dress and around my leg. I find myself moving my leg slightly, more open for him.

Encouraging him to do what I think he’s going to do, right there under Jules nose, out of sight, under the table. Because he can sense my relentless want to keep this fire between us going.

You see it’s the touches. Small touches, that burn, drive and sate us. It’s the small touches, his touches on me, my touch against him, that contain, control and release, us, and our werewolves.


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