A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Fearless

March 8, 2010
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There are certain behaviours that are associated with werewolves and one of them is fearlessness.

The werewolf, does not fear.

The human that may contain it, might, from time to time, but the werewolf side of our nature, does not.

Why would it?

Werewolves are not taught to fear. Most things, fear us, werewolves. So it’s kind of like a conditioning, we’re instantly born with. Something that’s automatic as it is instinctual. Most animals fear us too. Sensing the predatory hunter who is not only going to better them, but again, doesn’t fear them enough not to go after them.

After going through life, balancing the two halves of who the werewolf is against the human side and seeing the fall out from humans finding out about werewolves, it’s no wonder, we don’t fear. The reactions for the most part, are predictably played out, one of a few ways.

The human side is not taught, so much as learns from experiences what fear is and the meaning of it. But werewolves have no need for fear, no use for fear.

So going to someone’s house for dinner, meeting people I’ve never met before, should be easy, when you think of all the things you could fear in this world if you gave into the feeling of fear. If I understood the relevance of fear or seriously felt it.

I was nervous, I mean, that’s the best way to describe what I was feeling prior to going to Paris’s parent’s place for dinner and meeting the entire family.

Because they’re parents. Because they’re my packmate’s parents. Because they’re all Alpha werewolves, including Paris and I was the only beta wolf there. Because they’re from the Manhattan Maen Pack and I’m from the Breukelen.

Packs that whilst sharing some common ground with ways of thinking and business dealings, don’t have the same classes of werewolves in them.

Well I think I was right to give in to my girlie nature and get nervous. Because the dinner conversation was all about me being roasted by the head D’arenberg woman. His mother.

She went after me the minute I walked through their front door.

Paris leant forward and kissed his mother on the cheek.

I can see where he gets his cheekbones and beautifully silky smooth hair from. I handed over a bottle of red wine to her, which she examined briefly before scrutinizing me for a good two minutes before speaking.

“Mother,” Paris prompted.

“So you’re the wolf who’s tamed my son into a submissive relationship are you? You don’t look much like the power hungry type.”

Unbelievable, she didn’t just insult me, she insulted her son too, probably because he was with me. I would not call Paris, submissive by nature. Besides, who is she to speak? She’s married with two sons. Hello, relationship-ville.

Paris actually growled at his mother.
She didn’t even flinch, shrug her shoulders of make any attempt at apology.

Why would she? The arrogance just rolled off her, from the way she carried herself, let alone spoke to me, us.

She’s an Alpha female who’s probably used to having those around her, all but worship her furry rump.

I raised my eyebrow and smiled through my teeth till it hurt my face muscles. When she turned to lead us further into the house, I turned to Paris.

“Can I go her?”

“After that rude introduction, she’s all yours.” He replied with a tight smile as we followed her into the house. “You know what I like most about you?” He asked in a hushed voice.

I shook my head.

“Your a fighter no one sees coming, they under estimate your resilience and strength. I’ve always had a thing for strong minded women.” He tilted his head towards his mother. “I might have been influenced through out my life.” He said with a wry smile.

“So I’m like your secret weapon?”
He chuckled. “She always like this?” I asked him in a low voice. Paris rolled his eyes and glanced down at his mother and back at me.

“Do you know how many times I’ve bought a woman home to meet my family?”

I shook my head from side to side. My black hair swaying across my back.

“Two times. You’re the second.” He whispered back to me.

“What happened to the first?” I asked in a whisper.

“She was told outright she was not worthy of me, by my mother. Who then proceeded to point out ever fault and issue with my date, including her family name, the way she dressed, the car she drove, neighbourhood, background – everything.”

I stopped him and looked him in those midnight blue eyes.

“So why would you put me through this then, if you know she’s not going to change her approach?”

“Because your different, your tough and I know you can handle her. I want my family to meet you because your important to me. You know that right?” He asked before leaning forward and kissing me.

It was the kiss of reassurance, of warmth as his lips pressed into mine. His arm slipped down around my hip, pulling me closer to him for even more contact. I felt strength in his hold, as he held me close.

We broke apart for air, our eyes glazed as we looked at each other. Only seeing one another and all we needed to know in those looks. Nothing can touch that kind of belief in one another.

His mother called out to us.

“Please tell me you have some social decency skills, even for a wolf from Brooklyn.”

She didn’t even have the decency to say my pack’s name. Bitch.

“More than you would think.” I said loud enough for her to hear, the aggravation in my voice.

I smiled back at Paris and we straightened up and proceeded into the living room to meet the rest of the pack.

I have no doubt that the only mistake I made at my dinner time date was appearing nervous before her.
A classic text book case of animal behaviour. If you appear weak or afraid before the predator, they will know they have you in their sights and they will go for the kill.

Nerves, construed as weakness, coming from a beta wolf, from another pack, who’s dating, her beloved son. An Alpha male. That’s the basic analysis of my screw up.

Her introduction to me, gave me all the heads up I needed. I mean, why wouldn’t a beta wolf bow down to a matriarch like Marion D’arenberg?

Maybe because I don’t play that way, those type of emotional games of intimidation. Because I don’t think so lowly of myself, as to be timid or unworthy. Because that kind of fear, is stupidly irrational and completely beatable. Because I’ve been around plenty of Alpha’s and I know the attitude well and how they operate.

I may be beta werewolf, but I’m not weak, and I won’t back down from being challenged. I wasn’t raised that way. I come from a family with plenty of Alpha attitude in them. I was raised in the spirit of that. A leading pack family, that instilled fortitude in all it’s pups and never suffers insolence, no matter who you think you are.

I may slip into my human habits every now and then, like letting nerves rule me at times, but I never forget that I’m a werewolf.

It’s a good thing too. Because I sure won’t back away from being challenged over my relationship with Paris.

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Aftermath

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.


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.
Bleed.

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?”


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.
Ever.
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.

Magnificent.

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.”

“Shit.”


Want

January 21, 2010
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The atmosphere in the werewolf friendly Manhattan club, Crescent, is building as the night goes on in New York. Taking us higher to our calling with the moon’s radiance.

Temperature is on the rise and skin, coated in films of sweat, like droplets of hunger are on display for all to see.

Some werewolves enjoy more than just the electric current in the air, of a pack playing together in the clubs during lunar week. They need more than a sexually charged atmosphere, that doses them in unbridled lust and wanton pleasure. It’s hedonistic to say the least and yes it is one of those things I enjoy in my life.

Being part of a collective feeling of burning fire and raw passion.

We do not hesitate.
We do not back down form acknowledging the werewolf in us, needs an out.

Needs to feel the love of pack and consummation of it’s energy matched by another kind of energy.

So when Paris’s hand slides up my naked leg, and cups the curve of my bottom, pulling me in tighter against him, I move eagerly with him. Press towards his solid body of heat. My want is his want and he wants exactly the same thing I want.

Our passion is on the rise, and is threatening to come undone in a ravenous wave that threatens to take us over and loose all sense of control.

But hey? Isn’t that the best part of it all?

I get pressed into the cool glass wall behind me, that I hadn’t known was there, until the solid reality of it reminds me, that I will be able to stand, if need be. My throaty laugh at this thought and the image of Paris’s solid arms, already encasing my legs, raising my hips, gets a special little treat from him.

The glass is frosted, but when it’s touched, it goes clear, so when my back hits it, the glass goes transparent and we become a live screen viewing for all to see.

He attacks my lips, causing my smile to falter, as his tongue takes control of my dirty little mouth. How dare I laugh his power tells me, I’m supposed to groan, and moan and sigh with every movement between us. Dry humping or not. Insert evil grin of pleasure here please.

But now I’m too focused on matching his magnificent mouth and letting it plunder mine to realize, I’m already making those small, pathetic, noises. The throbbing base of the music in the club is vibrating through the glass wall at my back and it’s shockingly just adding, to the sensation of my, already tender state.

I’m feeling targeted by Paris’s dominance over my body. I’m feeling loved.

And I want.
And I need. My Alpha werewolf.

But he’s not going to rush my haze of my pleasure. He’s going to take his time, because he wants to enjoy this rise of emotion in us, as much as me. Having held on to our control in the daytime, even as the moon appeared to approach the nightfall, we let it out so we can breathe together.

Everything’s ten times better during lunar week. Heightened till it seeps out your pores. Heightened so much you just don’t think you can take it.

My poor mouth, lipstick is smeared and my lips are tenderized within an inch of life. Paris bends his head, to continue his sensual assault on my state of half undress.

We stager slightly away from the glass wall again. It frosts up. Blocking us from view of the patrons of Crescent. A mixture of Manhattan Maen werewolves and a handful of humans.

The shoulder strap of my top has fallen, beyond low on my arm. Giving him the perfect opportunity to push the top further down. Paris’s eagerness pushes me back up against the glass wall causing us to be on display again.

Not that either of us minds, we’re so into each other that nothing could phase us.

As we join together, there seemingly is a sigh, lightly wavering through the air, from those around us, who see our union is only building. Heightened hearing during lunar week, means we can hear the sighs like whispers in the air.

More and more, as we touch, suck, kiss and grope continuously for one another, it brings pleasure to those in the club, sensing the Alpha’s fulfillment, my rapture as we ride together.

Now I gasp for air.

Air that is hot and infused with a sense of awareness, that we are not the only ones enjoying our time in the club, or each other.

My skin tightens as eyes watch us. I can sense them all around, looking towards our fascinating little glass cubicle room.

But I dare not take my eyes of the Alpha male in front of me. Paris has no intention of stopping, or making apologies and I find I don’t want him to either.

We’re not leaving this thing, alive, until we got what we came for.


Crescent

January 19, 2010
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Crescent is a werewolf owned and run nightclub in the meat packing district in Manhattan.

Actually it doesn’t officially have a name, but the Manhattan pack have dubbed it Crescent and so that’s what it’s come to be known as.

Even the staff answer the house phones with “Crescent night club”. I think the owners, have decided to go with it.

It’s a got a sunken dance floor, and lots of blue lighting along the walls and darker areas. The dark corners are never black, they’d all manner of hues of deep blue. The area towards the dance floor is more light blue lighting.

It’s got sleek modern lines and two full bars at either end of the club. But the big feature of this club is two walls of glass cubicle rooms on either side opposite the dance floor.

Private rooms.

Paris wanted to take me here, cause he wanted to try something out.

The glass cubicles, are all frosted glass, but when you touch them, they go clear and you can see straight through them. But if you’re not touching them, they remain frosted over and unable to see in.

Bit of a novelty, but a fun one!

I walked in to the glass room and looked around, it had two black, soft leather couches on either side of the small room, and a small glass table in the middle of it. I looked at the wall that would be facing the dance floor and put a hand to it. It went clear and we could see everything happening outside our room.

Paris moved up behind me and pinned my front to the wall, with his body. Moving my hair away from my neck he started kissing me and unzipping the back of my dress, decidedly, slow.

I could feel his hardness press into the small of my back. Uh oh. I had a pretty clear idea what he wanted to try out.

“Should I have not worn underwear?” I ask with a smile on my lips.

He’s an Alpha male who gets rather, hmmm, possessive leading up to and even during lunar week shall we say. No, he just likes to indulge in the build up, like all us werewolves. He’s no different in that respect.

I was literally pinned to the glass wall, watching the dancers on the floor and people walking past, glancing towards us and the other rooms.

He unzipped the back of the dress, the whole way down. Till it hung loosely, on my body. Still covering me, at least for a moment or two longer.

He slipped his hands in around my sides, and cupped my breasts under the light material.

I tried to turn my head to the side, to look back at him.

“What do you think?” He asked me softly, his breath floating and tickling my skin. Like a warm summer breeze of happiness. His tongue ran up and down behind my ear and I fought the urge not to shiver in response.

“I could just do you here, and we’d have an instant audience.”


Bragging rights

December 21, 2009
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Sometimes you have to work it.
Even if it means your going to get up in someone’s grill.

Sometimes, the bitch in me just says it’s too sweet not to.

I’m no angel and there are occasions when people, annoying, rude, insulting, people, need to be reminded of this. There are times, when you must take indulgence in your confidence and use it.

Then again, there is a time and a place for most of life’s little drama’s and events to play out. You just got to know how to play it all.

Take for instance, the first time I met the majority of Paris’s inner circle of friends, it was like, well, it was almost like being in high school again.
Fairly, socially torturous.

And you thought werewolves were all nice and cutesy like furballs.

We get dark and moody with the best of ‘em.

To quote the late actress Judy Garland one should “Always be a first rate version of yourself, not a second rate version of someone else” and it’s all too true. Judy knew her shit. How could she not? After all she navigated the yellow brick road with three hopeless men by her side, defeated the bitch of the west and rocked a pair of iconic ruby red slippers all with and the ever super-hero like Toto dog by her side.

Anyway, my point is, there is nothing wrong with being yourself, even if other people, say, like a mega bitch werewolf named Gabby, for example, thinks very, very, very, very, very, little of you.

You should never put yourself down, because there are enough Gabby’s in the world to try and do that shit for you.

All because you’ve got her boyfriend. As in Paris is a man and he’s her friend and it was pretty damn obvious to me within about two minutes of meeting said bitch, in person, that she had a major crush-in-vein on Paris. Apparently they’ve known each other for a couple of years and he’s never made moves on her. Like ever. Which you would think would be a clear sign that he’s not going to. You’d think. Gabby doesn’t really think.

Anyway, so my first introduction to his friends, went down like burnt toast.

I was roasted, royally.

Because I’m an outsider, because I’m a Breukelen, because I’m younger than her, because I’ve got Paris and he never let any of them, apart from Addison, his best friend, know about me. Because I’m not a yuppie, because I don’t drive a sports car and because I don’t live in a penthouse. Because I’m different to them.

And Gabby wonders why Paris takes up with me.
Please.

So when we met up with his so called friends again, I decided there was going to be no repeat of the first encounter.

I wore a halter neck dress, with a low slung back. My back was exposed for a reason. It was a message from me to them and others.

I wanted to show off the claw marks down my back, they’re fairly obvious and distinct. They rake down my entire back, quite a few lines of scratched flesh.

I put my hair up too, because just above where the halter neck of my dress is, is a lovely dark, bruise, a mark that is like branding me as Paris’s property.

Bragging rights, in werewolf world.

Being marked by your significant isn’t all that common. Only those werewolf’s who allow themselves to be claimed by their pack mate generally display such significance to the werewolf community. Markings like these, display love, loyalty and a deep connection with another werewolf, we do not take them lightly. We werewolves, use them as respect and respect them.

They mean more than something.

Paris made sure when we hit Plunge, and walked in together that his hand was on my ass, so everyone knew I was with him, and everyone behind us had a clear view of my backless dress number.

See, he was sending out a message to his friends and pack too.

He approved of the look the minute he saw it on me and I did a little slow twirl for him in private. He didn’t say so, but he didn’t have to. His eyes darkened and a closed mouth smile suddenly turned rather sinister. I swear I could read the thoughts that were dancing around in his eyes before me.

Plus I heard his heartbeat pick up. Desire will do that.

But first things first.

Gabby is a werewolf who needs to know her place and it isn’t beside me and mine. She could be gracious about it, or blasé.

The little backless number was brought out to dispel her intimidation with me. Especially considering the Alpha of the Manhattan pack was parading me on his arm through in his territory to his friends.

Bragging rights. That’s what the markings signify on the simplest of terms.


Animal attraction

November 5, 2009
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Animal attraction, has takes on a whole other meaning when werewolves are involved.

There is literally an attraction, something from the depths of your werewolf’s being, connecting, reaching out, seeking another werewolf. I thought I had it with Conall. I mean, we have a connection, and it’s built on trust and intensity that much, I do know. But then, well, I haven’t felt the pull of something as powerful as what I did when I was in Manhattan doing a favor for my sister, playing courier to the Manhattan Maen pack.

Which meant seeing Paris again.

To say he is gorgeous is an utter understatement.

The man wouldn’t know how to look bad, even if he didn’t shave, or brush his hair. He’s simply sexy. Looking at him makes me want to graze my teeth on his skin, bite into his flesh and mark him. Believe me, for a werewolf to want to mark another, it’s a very territorial thing to do.

Marking a wolf, is like claiming them as your own partner.
It sends out a common message to other would be encounters and suitors that, that wolf is off the market and can not be taken.

Okay maybe I’m just letting my mind wander a little, because he’s stunning and older and I if I’m not mistaken, I think he keeps flirting with me. But then again, maybe that’s his way, maybe he flirts with everyone. Some people just come across that playful, that you feel like their attention is honed on you.

Yes, I’m sure that’s it.
Really.
Unconsciously flirting with my hormones. Yes, that’s what Paris is doing.
After I handed the package over to him I passed on my sister’s message with it and turned to leave, when he asked me out of the blue.

“So that guy, Conall is he your boyfriend?”

I stopped and turned around.

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Paris laughed arching an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”
I shrugged my shoulders, I wasn’t going to declare I was in an open relationship in the reception area of his office. I watched his face think through my answer and lack of answer.

“Must be convenient…”

“Nice is a better word for it.”

Paris smiled at me. “So If I wanted to ask you out some time…” He trailed off and we held each other’s gaze. The silence would have been defeaning if I wasn’t listening so intently to his heart beat’s pick up. I’m pretty sure he was doing the same with me. Werewolf hearing, its sneaky like that. You can actually guage the real reactions of people. Helpful too.

“Then you should do that.” Couldn’t be any clearer in giving him a green light, could I?

“And it won’t incur me the wrath of a Breukelen?”

It was my turn to smile. Like that would be an issue, ever.

Paris is an Alpha werewolf, Conall is a beta. Granted he’s a great fighter, but I’m guessing, even just by looking at the size of Paris, from his business suit attire, that he’d pummel Conall, without breaking a sweat.

“We have an understanding about our relationship.”
I almost laughed out loud at the look of surprise on Paris’s face as his eyebrows shot up again. I knew he was smart, that he’d make the connection without me having to tell him exactly.

“Oh.”

I nodded my head and watched him look down at his feet and move back on them and forward again. Wow, that was a fast way to kill a light hearted moment of temptation wasn’t it?
Good work Breukelen Girl. Really.
I hoisted my handbag onto my shoulder and started to move.

“Well,”

I turned around.

“I’m not good at sharing something I really want.”

Now it was my turn for my eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. The look on his face was one of casual ease, cheeky even, but his eyes looked determined and hungry. His true feeling were there. I was under a predators gaze and my gut was clenching, in nervous excitement. I had to remind myself to breathe.

“How do you know what you really want?”

“Instinct. I see something I like and I just go right after it.”

“Typical Alpha male.”

We laughed and he nodded his head. I saw the fire in his eyes calm down a bit.
“Well I won’t wait by the phone then.” I joked smiling at him before walking away as I heard him laugh at my response before saying to his secretary.
“I like her.”


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