It’s been a bad week for me, I feel as though I’ve had my quota of bad luck and ugliness that the universe has decided to throw all my way. I try to shrug off the memory that’s been plaguing me all week, as I hear the crunch of a footstep on loose dirt and compact gravel. But when someone’s ingrained into your soul, its hard to let go of all that emotion.
Looking over my shoulder to see Addison Harrington, striding my way. I actually begin to smile a little. Addison’s my associate from the Manhattan Maen pack. There’s only one reason he’d be out here in the back of the Bronx. He trains at this gym so he can spar with some decent fighters. I’ve sparred with him at the gym before, from time to time, but I missed him in there today. There’s nothing better I tend to find then beating the shit out of a boxing bag to exhaust you of all your empty, angry, emotions.
“Hey man,” I greet him and turn back to my car, putting my car key into the door. “I missed you in there today.” It’s when Addison doesn’t respond that I start to turn around and look back at him. Addison isn’t the type to be deliberately rude to me. But as I look at him now, I notice something very off about him.
I can feel the pressure build up in the air. His hands are fisting, still in their boxing wraps. I drag my eyes up his form. He’s a muscular, athletic build, not too big, not skinny. Fucking perfectly proportioned. The kind of body perfection, men strive for that is depicted in those male health magazines. Me, I’m big. Thick neck, big muscles, I try to keep myself well proportioned and not work to hard on just one area. But I’m in no way perfect like Addison.
My line of sight lands on his face, he’s clenching his jaw so damn tight, the definition on his jaw line alone could cut you. Veins are pulsing under his skin, I’m trying to figure out what is wrong when I see his eyes and get it. They’ve shifted to animal’s eyes, werewolf eyes. Oh fuck. He has murderous intent in his eyes which are as angry as the deepest rage can be. It’s been a bad week and by the look of it, only getting worse. There’s a storm coming. And it’s all male anger. I have a split second, or at least it feels that way, to recognize that it’s directed at me as Addison’s arms start to pull back, tightening up as he gathers himself together.
– Excerpt from Lycan by Breukelen Girl
Well this is an unexpected development in my already complicated werewolf life.
Lovers will love you, even if it means making a mess of things.
I don’t need any more complications in my life, but it appears being a werewolf pretty much ensures that is the case. At least for me. I’m not you’re average pack wolf and I seem to attract all manner of trouble. Not always my own.
And when I thought I’d come to Red Hook to resolve a personal issue of unspoken, long running attraction to another wolf, it turns out, the lycan in question, is connected to more than just me.
He’s got a connection to my pack mate, the pack leader of the Manhattan Maen werewolf pack, that has been hidden from me, for something like fifteen years.
Darkness and werewolves, they really go hand in hand as much as we try to push it down. It’s that part of our nature that makes us werewolves.
“What Torrid little lives we live.” I mutter looking at myself one last time in the mirror and brushing my hair again before putting the brush down and glancing over my shoulder at Booker Parish on the bed behind me.
It’s time to go home. Time to face my pack mate and see what will be.
I’ll see if I can’t speak to some Breukelen elders, see if they know about soul mate bindings with werewolves, or if there is such a thing, if there is a lycan equivalent . How they work, what you can do.
In the mean time I’ll stick to my regular werewolf routine.
After all, forming habits is how we keep our werewolf selves in order, and out of the spotlight.
I’ll have to keep up the semblance of what Booker and I have been doing so far, orbiting one another every few weeks. Least I should fall into the same damn problem that got me pushed out of bed and over to Brooklyn by my pack mate in the first place.
And how will I feel having to face him again anyway? Now that I know what I know about how he helped Booker? I don’t know. But I’m not meant to, am I? Torrid little life, remember, make of it what comes at you.
Pretty much the werewolf way, fall on your feet, run or stand, make a choice. It’s what you can control, the choices you make.
I run my hands down the sides of my dark blue leather skirt.
“Ready?” Booker Parish says sitting on the edge of my bed.
“Seems like I should say no.” I say back at him. “But let’s go anyway.”
Booker stands up and swings his car key chain around his fingers. “Head first all the way Baby Girl. It’s how I came into this life.”
The lycan’s right. I’ve left this as late as possible, it’s getting close to midnight. And Manhattan does not sleep at midnight.
I turn around to face Booker and come face to chest with him, putting a hand on his chest, before stepping back for a bit of space.
“Maybe I should call some one else up to drive me.”
“I’ve practically been here, all weekend, why stop now?” He replies back at me.
I sigh. “Why indeed.” I mutter picking up my overnight back and watching as Booker takes it off my hands.
“See,” He says at me. “I can play my role. Like a good little lycan.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say clearly, he’s been doing that for fifteen years. But I bite back that snide and upsetting comment. The bitch me backs down. Neither of us need hurt.
“You might be several things Booker Parish, but little isn’t one of them.” I reply as we head out again, onto the merry-go-round that are our wolf lives.
Continued in so much for the after glow
Booker and I are fixated on one another.
Or more correctly, our wolf selves, are.
So how do I know if what I feel for this other wolf is real then? Maybe it’s just a trick the wolf inside tricking the human plaything’s emoitions. Who’s controlling who here?
We’re bound together in something that isn’t seen, can’t been made tangible and yet, seems unbreakable. This Lycan and I.
I don’t even know who bound who. It probably doesn’t matter.
So if I can’t break this attraction, this thing between us because our wolves won’t let it happen, then how the hell do I manage it?
Booker runs his hands up my jean covered legs, up to my thighs before I push his hands off me entirely.
“Don’t.” It’s all I can mutter as he let’s his hands fall off me onto the kitchen bench top either side of me and leans forward.
“Book, you have a girlfriend, doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“It does.” He says softly. “Problem is, you mean more to me than that. Always have.”
I begin to lean away from him. “You don’t get to say that now, after all this time when it was you who pushed me away. I wanted to be with you!”
“So let’s make it right now, let’s be together.” He husks and I see his eyes darken with desire, and realise I am almost flat on the kitchen bench top with him over me.
“Let me up wolf.” I utter. “Now!” I growl loudly and Booker straightens up and retreats back to the sink.
He looks distressed again. Shit. Do you know how much that hurts to see a big, strong guy like him, crumple?
“We’re connected,somehow. I’m not sure how it happened.” I say at him. “So I don’t know how to break it. But I know we can be control of it. We always have been.” I say at him. “We broke up went our own ways, but stayed, on the edges of one another’s lives. I mean, you’re friend’s with Paris and I’m,”
And that’s when another realization hits me.
“You’re friends with Paris.” I repeat. “You always told me you knew him before you became a Breukelen.”
I slip off the kitchen bench top till I’m standing with it at my back. “Is that true or have you been lying to me, all this time? I mean, that’s some connection isn’t it? You know my future pack mate before we date, and then after we date and end, eventually I find out you’re friends with my packmate. Are you keeping up with me here Book?”
Booker’s not making eye contact with me.
Oh shit, say it ain’t so.
Tell me he’s not a worse manipulator than Conall Wakely.
Continued in…Manhattan Wolf
The werewolf memory is great catalogue of sensory information. So despite what I might have once felt for Booker Parish when he first became a lycan, and joined my pack, the Breukelen.
It doesn’t mean I feel it for him now.
Rather, that memory of him, of how great it felt to be in love with him, of how incredible those lips felt gliding over my skin, can trigger me to fool my emotions into thinking that’s how I feel now.
“I’m going to kiss you.” He mutters moving in to my mouth. “I always want to kiss you when I see you Baby Girl.”
I didn’t know that. But then again, I didn’t need to, did I?
He tilts his head and I am lost to the approaching anticipation of one last kiss, with the first love of my life.
Do you ever forget the first love of your life? Maybe that’s why this seems so hard to figure out. Booker and I never worked out. Just couldn’t get it to work. But then when we were around each other, alone like this, that never seemed to matter to me.
What am I doing? Reverting ?
His lips brush over mine, and like Paris you’d never assume he could be so damn soft and tender. Big bulky werewolf, who knows how not to crush me. Just how to touch me. I guess he should, I was the first thing, Booker Parish saw when he opened his eyes after the werewolf attack, that left him a lycan forever.
The kiss is deep and growing hungrier for more access to me and I feel booker’s fingers curling into the back of my hair, gripping me. This kiss tells me he misses me more than even I knew. More than he wants to admit.
He awoke in a hospital room after the attack, but smelt the fur and wolf and sweetness of my scent. It would’ve been confusing to figure out, when he was looking at a human female before him. I remember he tried to struggle out of the hospital bed and I tried to stop him. The hospital gown doing nothing to lessen the look of his physique or the erection he was sporting underneath it. Booker grabbed my wrist so hard, it bruised with his finger marks on it. Of course, it faded away after I shape shifted.
But now it’s like an invisible reminder.
A lycan marking a werewolf, territorial and unheard of I’m pretty sure. Not that I think he meant it, but even now as we kiss, I feel his thumb brush over the soft inside of my wrist, back and forth, back and forth.
Like he knows, this is where he bruised me, branded me his, at least, in his mind he did.
I think that was it for him. I was locked into him, in a truly deep way. Because I was there at the time, all his lycan senses kicked in as he awoke, a wolf for the first time. I don’t know how it is with lycans and love, but despite our attempted dating, breaking up, hovering around one another, having other partners since then, Booker has always had eyes for me.
And the thing is I’ve always damn well known it.
And now, I have to do something about that.
Other than return this kiss.
Continued in…We The Wolves
Lycans and Werewolves, a lot of people who don’t know better would tell you they are one and the same. But in my world of werewolves and the paranormal that is our culture, I can tell you, the two are different.
Lycans are humans bitten by werewolves and werewolves are humans born with werewolf biology.
Well that’s the text book definition, the company line. Whatever you want to call it. But the two types of wolves are so far different than they look. Werewolves are all about control. Control of their abilities and emotions, these are the traits that allow them to blend into society and still be wolves.
Lycans on the other hand…Lycans are easy to anger and from what I know, can be highly, emotional. Like the human side can’t let them give in to that control they need to be a true wolf.
Booker Parish, is a lycan.
Bg Sommers, me, I’m a werewolf.
So imagine how my family and friends and by this I mean, the werewolf variety would act if they knew about me and Booker once being not only in love, but lovers. Shit might hit the fan. Especially since Booker is my sister’s friend.
Shit has already hit the fan for me, because my pack mate, Paris D’arenberg, uncovered my little secret about Booker and I. All Because I had a dream and mumbled his name in my sleep and then orgasm, all right before the eyes of my pack mate who was in bed beside me at the time. Woken by my throws of dream filled passion.
And now I find myself in a familiar situation.
I’m in the kitchen on top of the bench stop. Looking back at one, Booker Parish, who is three years older than me and taken. Like I’m taken. I have a pack mate, he has a girlfriend. Sure she’s a non, but it works for him I guess. He’s leaning back against the sink and resting his hands at the edge of it looking at me.
Only last time we were in a kitchen together and I was sitting like this, and he was standing opposite me, we ended up having sex. But that seems like it was a lifetime ago now and neither one of us is so naively young.
We’ve grown up, we’ve become wolves.
This is like a courting. We haven’t even spoken yet. If we don’t speak to one another soon, it’s going to get all too physical. Because that’s how easy it is to fall into this attraction thing I have with Booker Parish. We’re fine when we’re in a group setting, and there are plenty of people around us, to act as buffers and distractions. But alone time together, is a test. Most of the time.
I asked him over to my place in Red Hook cause we need to talk. Or should I say I do.
I need to put this thing to rest, to bed. Because I’m in a relationship with an alpha werewolf who does not play nice with others, when it comes to me. But I’m finding it hard to know how to begin without seeming foolish.
Maybe Booker doesn’t feel about me the way Paris seems to think he does.
I very deliberately wore jeans. I don’t really wear jeans all that often. But I I didn’t want my armour to be weak around this lycan. Didn’t want him to think I am dressing up for him. So I wore boots, jeans and even two tops, a long sleeved Raglan top and a t-shirt over that. Deliberately didn’t wear make-up and left my black hair down instead of doing anything with it. I don’t want to him to think I’m trying to court him in this dance around each other. Because that’s not my goal.
“He knows about us doesn’t he? Paris.” Booker says breaking our silence because something had to give. He pushes off the sink and moves steadily towards me.
“He knows about the past us.” I state back at Booker.
He sighs wistfully and keeps honing in on me. “I guess we couldn’t keep us a secret thing forever huh? Even though I hoped.” He says lowering his voice so it’s a almost a husky whisper.
I watch him come over and push my knees apart, standing between them, at the edge of the kitchen bench.
He slips a hand up the back of my neck and into my hair. I decide to ignore the fact that my pulse is racing and I’m not pushing him away. I didn’t call this meeting to reignite something, I called it to put it right.
“Don’t do it Book.” I state softly, eyeing his lips as I say the words.
I remember those lips, very well. That’s the problem with the werewolf brain, it’s sensory memory is incredible.
So are those lips.
“What? Hold you again?” He mutters softly inching closer. “I should never have pushed you away to begin with.”
Continued in A Wolf for the first time
Zine #2 has been relaunched as Lycan La Vida Loca on Smashwords it can be downloaded in Kindle, Sony E-Reader, KOBi, Epub, PDF etc… Yay!I
So if you’ve only just come across my blog and you have no idea who I am or who these men I talk about on it are. Lycan La Vida Loca will explain a bit of my personal history and into the complications of my love life.
Zine #1 has been relaunched as Of Wolf and Male on Smashwords.
This is great for all you E Readers! As it can be downloaded in Kindle, Sony E-Reader, KOBi, Epub, PDF etc… Yay!
I even did a new cover for the occasion.
So if you’ve only just come across my blog and you have no idea who I am or who these men I talk about on it are. Of Wolf and Male (Zine#1) is a good introduction into the complications of my love life.
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.
“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.
How to explain to your boyfriend, that you’re out for the night, filling a vendetta?
Don’t bother. Because he’ll figure it out, anyway. Well, he will if he’s the leading pack Alpha of the Manhattan Maen werewolf pack and you, his girlfriend, are causing trouble in his territory.
If I’d been in my right mind, and not floating around in the obsession of getting payback on the female lycan hunter that has a rather personal history with me. Then I’d have realized, of course, that not much goes on in a werewolf’s territory, that doesn’t get noticed by some member of the pack.
Especially if the pack, like the Manhattan Maen is rather large in numbers. Of course it means, that some good little werewolf, is going to report a mad capped, ferocious werewolf versus lycan marathon through the streets of Manhattan to it’s hierarchy.
Especially when there is potential for human casualties to be involved and of course, a greater exposure to the law enforcement and human community to contend with.
I mean, twenty questions and more is just damn annoying.
Still, I was starting to bleed when Paris sent in the troops to find out what the hell was going on, after receiving a lot of weird phone calls about sightings about two women hell bent on destroying everything in their path as well, each other it seemed.
I didn’t get to do what I wanted with the lycan.
Because Addison and Jules, Paris’s tough guys caught up to me before I could.
Of course they would.
Alpha warriors who are the best at what they do, keep the peace on their side of the Hudson. You rarely hear about werewolf wars and werewolf fighting going on over here. Probably because Addison and Jules are great at great at fighting and of course, super strong.
They’re not the only ones Paris uses for such things, but they are his main guys. So when they saw when they came across me and miss lycan in a dead end alleyway circling each other and growling, they didn’t stop to ask questions.
I mean, a girl fight is pretty damn obvious. Especially since the lycan bitch had her fangs and her talon like finger nail claws out.
It all went down so fast. Like plunging headlong into an inescapable bad dream you know is going to swallow you up whole.
I was taking hits and landing two to her every four, then I hit the wall behind me.The boys just yanked me back out of the fight and jumped right in my place instead. Went head to head with the lycan.
To say I was ballistic would be an understatement in severity of my rage.
Which of course, was more than enough to scare the bejezus out of the lycan, well I’d like to think so. It was probably more to do with Addison and Jules tag teaming to keep me at bay and take hard hitting pot shots at her, that maybe, even she couldn’t really better.
Still she managed to high tailed it mightily fast out of there as Addison went for me, as I went to run after her and he yelled at Jules to go after the lycan.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I didn’t fight Addison. He may be my boyfriend’s right hand man in pack business and his best friend, but his timing and his concern for my welfare – sucked!
I thrashed like I was drowning in a rip-tide that was holding me in place. Nothing but energy and desperation, fuelled me as I struggled against him for a good ten minutes. Trying to get out of his one arm hold on me. I was like a paper weight to Addison, but even so, I kicked him in the shins, several times in a vain hope of release.
He phoned Paris to update him on what was going on. Although, I must’ve angered him at some point, because he did tell me, if I didn’t stop struggling he would break both my ankles. Regardless of who my boyfriend/his best friend was.
Of course I can recover from that, but the breaking bones part, it still hurts a hell of a lot and is inconvinent.
The brief gist of the covert conversation relayed to Paris went something like – the Manhattan Maen Alpha’s pack partner and girlfriend was going nuts at him over some unknown Lycan bitch who had evaded their capture, but that Jules was on it.
I stopped struggling and yelling at Addison after he finished the phone call, when he said to me
“Paris is on his way to see you.”
That statement alone, sounded like my fate was sealed. The tone of Addison’s voice didn’t sound like we were going to have the happiest of reunions.
On the bright side, at least my ankles are in tact.