A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Manhattan Wolf

September 27, 2014
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I feel the shaking again and I clench my fingers into the palms of my hands tightly, pressing them into me. Hoping to bleed.

I need to feel something very real right now, so I don’t let anger consume or cloud what I’m trying to figure out here, how and why Booker Parish and I are like….this.

I have to figure it out, because it’s about to jeopardise the best relationship I’ve ever been in and I don’t fucking want that!
Being a werewolf in this world, is hard enough, thank you.

Being a werewolf female trapped between two wolves in her life, is a complication I do not need to add to my life in general. Been there before, done that. Really not looking to do it again.

“I knew Paris, around the same time I met you, actually, a little time after, about six weeks after the attack.” Booker finally gets out and I find myself letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Six weeks after the attack, seems….specific? Signficant?

“But how? You’d already joined the Breukelen by then, right?” I ask trying to figure out what he’s getting at here. Male wolves and they’re fucking loop de loops on talking.

He lifts his head and brushes brown hair out of his eyes. “Paris uh, tracked me down through the Breukelen. He’d been trying to sort things out with his pack leader.”

I frown. “I’m not following.”

“He was trying to bring me and my brother some sort of closure on the attack.”

“But he’d only do that if either, he was responsible for your lycanthropy, or if he knew who was.” I mutter slowly.

I don’t know how much more of this kind of talk my body can take. I feel like I’m wound tight here and need to hit things. Violently hit them. With a side of yelling and screaming thrown in.

“What are you saying Booker?” I mutter softly.

“I know who attacked me and my brother.”
We hold each other’s gaze. This is a new development.

“You always told me you couldn’t remember the attack or anything about it.” I say back at him.

“And I couldn’t. I still can’t really. It’s a block to me, I’ve only ever managed to recall the night, the surroundings, some blurred colour. Then nothing. I mean, there’s no detail in that.” Booker says opening up to me.

“My brother’s the same, he couldn’t recall it beyond the feeling of being ripped into and having his body savaged with pain, and the feeling of rain on his skin.”

I cross my arms over my chest and will him to go on. If he says Paris is responsible for his attack, I’ll go him. So fucking hard, he really won’t know what hit him.

“Paris figured out it was some Manhattan Maen werewolves, he found out because my brother and I weren’t the only ones attacked that night. Paris and Addison were patrolling and they came across another victim, Damon.”

Damon, I know a Damon.
Damon the lycan.

He lives in a garage in Manhattan Maen territory, he’s a nervous wreck. A hermit. Paris has always said he was under his protection, but never explained why.

“Whoa.” I press back against the bench for something solid to feel.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”
Booker shrugs those large shoulders of him and it looks effortlessly casual. “I don’t know, why revisit it?”

“Because it was, is, important to you.” I state looking at him and see something flitted across his face. “Because I’ve been there for you with this, I was there for you when this started!” I am practically yelling.

Booker is no match for masking his emotions with me as Paris is.

“Was. Past tense.” He says and leaves the words hanging for me to taking in.

“Book, what do you mean, by that little statement.”

“Cadey, I’ve moved on from it, you should too.”

Okay, you see, if he’d called me by my pack nickname of Bg or even his name for me, Baby Girl, I’d have let that comment slide. But he used my real name. There are only a few times when people ever, use my real name. And they’re all genuinely serious reasons for using it.

Booker’s a serious kind of guy, not a light hearted personality. Another sort of trait he shares with Paris.

“Why, would I move on from something that is important to you Booker? I didn’t back down with my father, and I won’t back down now. I’m a werewolf, we don’t back down. We fight. Tell me, everything Booker Parish or so help me god, we’re done here, for good, damn the fucking consequences!”

It’s horribly manipulative to pull that line on him, but it works. Booker doesn’t want to be apart from me. Not forever.

“We uh, dealt with the culprits.” Booker says in a low voice, unlike him at all. “Eventually.”

My eyebrows arch up in horror and surprise. “Paris helped me.”

He nods his head and we fall into strained silence.

Continued in Torrid Little Life

A Werewolf’s Xmas sale

December 12, 2012

All Breukelen Girl novels are the same price from 12/12/12 – 21/12/12!  on Smashwords.

Wild LifeLunar Night StandLunar Night StandOf Wolf and MaleReasons

     The Pack RevengePerception growing up werewolf Lycan La Vida Loca

The wolves howl

October 20, 2010

Lunar week and the wolves howl.

Do you hear them at night, when the moon is out and the air is thick with expectation? Surrounded by the dim glow of candle light, we sink into the feelings that course through our blood and bat at our skin.

We need one another, him and I.

Paris and I are overlooking the city below us. It’s twinkling lights and honking car horns, the sounds of an urban hymn, playing out in regular beats, that seem to match those heart beats of ours.

His hands have pushed up my skirt, and they glide along the backs of my legs, pressing me. Ever so lightly in the small of my back, to lean forward, enjoy the view of the world below, while we indulge in our world above. Manhattan is alive and thrumming with vibrancy. All her werewolves are playing in the night somewhere.

It seems like a rare night for me when I get my Alpha werewolf, Paris, alone and all to myself. Weeks of pack politics and personalities are beginning to leave little room for me and him, without them.

I shake my booty back at him and look over my shoulder with a smile.
Paris’s eyes narrow and he smirks.

“Are you trying to get yourself into trouble here?”

“Nah, trying would imply I don’t know how to do that already.”

Paris chuckles at my comment.

I hear glass clink and voices talk nearby, another balcony, another party in the sky. Looking down on the world below whilst being in another above. My ears pick up the light sound of rustling clothes behind me as Paris’s hands briefly leave me. I look back over my shoulder at him, grinning. Sticking my naked backside out, a little further to him, trying to encourage him along.

Paris’s hands are back on me before too long and I hold onto the balcony as the feel of him, pushes, slowly, thickly, into me.

Lunar week and the wolves howl, for reasons like this. This sensation of being desired with a burning need. The closeness to the freedom within that is coming. The urgency that is being abated by the wolf’s passion. One with another and we move, unique in our silent rhythm, as the night around us continues to squeak, squawk and bustle around us in noise.

I turn my head to look back towards Paris, biting my bottom lip, and catch sight of darkened figure on the unlit balcony next to ours. The shadows aren’t dark enough to hide her, or her companion who is behind her, arms wrapped around the woman’s waist as she touches her breast slowly, her eyes never leaving us. Her companion kissing her neck as she takes in the sights of the world at night beside her. Of Paris and I, indulging in the night’s embrace up here.

I look back out at the city around and below us, my breasts move heavily with each increasing thrust. My hands grip the balcony tighter and Paris’s moans grow louder as we both ride out the night, we are cloaked in. But he restrains and holds back, wanting this to last with me. Wanting me to break first. But I want this to outlast our silent viewers curiosity too.

Because once my body reaches its precipice and the night’s moon thrums through me, The need to shape shift will be swift and smooth. Unstoppable, undeniable. I’ll want to let my wolf out, because it’s been tapping at my skin for hours. And it knows, when I let go, the vulnerability in momentary loss of control, is all it needs to known freedom from this skin. To make me disappear for awhile, and to see a modern world with an ancient grace.

I look back over at our silent viewers, this time I feel paris turn his head to notice them too. His hands slide up my body to cup my breasts. As the companion of the woman do to hers. Her own hands gliding down the front of her robe and disappearing benneath. Our hearing is sharp enough to hear the wet sounds that come from what we can not see. She gasps and her campion murmurs against her skin, seemingly encouraging her on to her own pleasure.

Paris tweaks my nipples through the material of my dress, leans forwards towards my ear and says
“We can take them.”

Briefly, my wolf hazed brain thinks he means, we can take them as meat when our lust is sated. But I blink and shake my head slightly. Loosing focus means loosing control, which is getting harder as my body gets heightened.

The shadowed woman’s pleasure is heard, but dulled as her companion, slips a hand over her mouth as she jerks against the body behind her, giving in to her own dark howl.

But the thought of is already planted and the idea of werewolf sex and meat is filtering through me, as fast as my oncoming orgasm. It’s the silent pleasure that breaks the wave in me and makes me come hard. I gasp like I need air, as my fingers dig into the balcony and I silently join the wolves that howl on a lunar night.

Midnight Blue

September 21, 2010
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You might think, that after being born a werewolf, growing up a werewolf and living in this world, that I’d be used to all things werewolf. Especially coming from the werewolf culture it’s self. But let me tell you, I’m a avid learner. Seems like there’s still plenty of surprises in this life, in the wolf culture, for me to continuously learn about. Like ex boyfriends. Well, not really Ex, because we never really did get around to hooking up and going out on a proper date together.

But maybe, would be Ex boyfriend is a better way to sum up Aaron.

I really shouldn’t be surprised, given my appalling track record with dating the male species. Especially when it comes to Nons. Yes, I’ve dated a few. And let me tell you, the reason it’s only a few, less than a handful is because of that appalling track record when it comes to love and dating. Takes forever to figure stuff out when you’re dating. You just make the same mistakes, the same choices, over and over again. Then you add the element of werewolf into the mix, and shit, it’s just a brain bust trying to figure out what the hell you’re doing, with a non.

So Aaron, I met Aaron, a human, through mutual friends– yes human friends, and I kind of developed, a crush on him. He seemed to reciprocate, but nothing ever happened. The boy never asked me out and ditto me to him.

So it’s all null and void right?

Incase you haven’t noticed, it’s lunar week this week. So I’m off doing my thing, being immersed in my werewolf nature, in werewolf world. Which means, some nights of the weeks, I’m in a sweatbox club, drinking in, drowning and soaking in the atmosphere of werewolf pheromones getting heightened for and by, love, sex, and shape shifting. I walked into Midnight Blue the other night, said I’d meet Paris there. The place was packed. I think almost every werewolf in Manhattan must’ve had the same thought about where to go that night. Because the crowd seemed huge.

I was looking around the club and walking towards Paris’s side of the main room, when a guy steps out suddenly and cuts me off. I was about say what the hell, when I look up and see, Aaron.

Aaron, the non in a designated werewolf club on a lunar night.

The odds of this supposedly happening, should be like zero to none. See, the whole point to the club scene for werewolves, is a form of control. So we don’t go all baser and rampage through the streets attacking people. And that means, on lunar weeks, the amount of humans allowed into a wolf club, are like a handful, if that. There’s all these waivers tey have to sign and costs involved and they have to be vouched for…hassle.

I’d already spotted Paris and the boys and they had already notice my entrance too.

“Hey,” He says smiling at me brightly. “You look great.”

Of course I look great, I just spent two and a half hours getting ready for my boyfriend to lust over me.

Smooth skin, shiny black hair, red lipstick, black eyeliner, killer red heels with ribbon wound around my feet, short black skirt, and black sleeveless top that dips, greatly at the back, to expose most of my back. Fun, flirty and fully ready for action. It only took me like an hour of throwing out half my clothes in my wardrobe and whining “I have nothing to wear” to myself repeatedly, to come up with the look.

So I fumble for a reply and smile brightly back at him.
“Uh hi.”

“I didn’t you knew about this place? I haven’t seen you here before.”

I shake my head and blink. The whole, he’s bordering on entering into my world on a lunar week has kind of thrown me. This boy knows absolutely nothing about me. And he sure as hell doesn’t know about werewolves in New York. Let alone that he’s smiling back at one, who’s starting to sweat.

“Um, not frequently.” I mutter back.

“Wow,” He laughs lightly. “I haven’t seen you in ages, you don’t really hang with the gang anymore.”

I just keep looking slightly, whatever I’m looking like at him.

“Was it me?” He laughs jokingly.

I avoid replying but yes, he was one of the catalysts for me breaking distance from my group of human friends, last year.

“Well, have a great night, I’m meeting someone here,” I start and go to walk around him. Aaron jumps across in one long stride in front of me.

What is it with this guy? Does he have ADD? Or is he looking for a fight?
Paris, Addison and Jules are moving now, towards us. They probably think I’m being hassled. Which is not a good thing for Aaron. Disrespecting an Alpha Werewolf’s pack mate is asking to be put through hell, for the fun of it.

“Who are you meeting? That Colin guy that I saw you with last time. Man, you could do so much better than him. He was an Asshole.”

I can’t help it, my eyes widen. I can not believe, I’m about to do what I do next. Seems unthinkable, me defending Conall. But once a werewolf…always a werewolf. We defend, play and stick together.

I step up close to Aaron. Making my voice as acidic as I can.

“You don’t get to call Conall, an Asshole when you don’t even know him. Or me.”

Aaron takes a step back.

“I remember him being mighty territorial about you, I’m surprised he hasn’t marked this place his territory if you’re in it.”

The boys are getting closer. A petite blonde girl is walking over towards Aaron also.

“Look who’s being an asshole now.” I fire back at him. The blonde walks up to his side and says his name. He glances at her.

“Wow, I am so glad we never hooked up.” He says back at me, flippantly, slipping a hand into the blonde girls hand.

“Who are you?” She asks me blankly.

“This is that girl I was telling you about.”

I frown, what the hell is that statement supposed to mean?

Paris and the boys are right behind Aaron when he says it, Jules and Addison literally shove both Aaron the blonde apart and aside from me. The blonde whines.

“You okay?” Paris asks, putting both his hands on my arms, looking down at me, as he steps through the space they’ve just created for him.

I nod my head.

“Can we get out of here, go somewhere else, no Nons allowed?” I mutter in a low voice at him.

He looks over at Aaron with a look that would normally be accompanied by a growl. But he’s silent, it’s just the presence of him, the look of anger in it, that makes Aaron shrink back into Addison, who’s already holding him back by his arms.
Addison chuckles.

“Yeah, let’s go find out own little world.”


May 27, 2010
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I’m suddenly feeling nervous again. I start smoothing down my windswept hair and re-tying it back into a ponytail as I walk in smiling at the girl behind the register stamping wrists. She points me out to the bouncer at the very interior entrance who waves me through. They know I’m the Manhattan Maen Alpha’s pack partner. No queuing for me. And bonus points in they’re pay check for them for knowing who’s who in Werewolf world.

I walk inside slowly. Trying to keep my anxiousness at bay.

I stand there, not far from the entrance scoping out the club. Checking out the regular movement of bodies walking and talking, dancing and grinding. I walk a few steps further into the club and look around past the dance floor, at the booths and the glass cubicle rooms. I suppose he could be in one of those, but I’d have no way of knowing since they’re all frosted over. I’d need to ask someone. And I haven’t spotted anyone I really know from the Manhattan Maen pack, that well. I keep walking slowly, slightly transfixed by the heat and movement strobing my vision and senses. It feels better being in here, than it did, being in my room alone.

Then I spot what I came here for. Paris.

He’s sitting at a table surrounded by people. I can’t make out the ones with the back of their heads to me but I can make out Addison, Jules, Wiatt and between Wiatt and Paris is Gabby. I frown as she laughs at something the two brothers appear to be telling her. I feel a stab of jealousy and instantly start to wonder which one of them she’s gotten her claws into. On the other side of Paris is another of his hierarchy, who’s busy watching the girls near they’re table. Trying to chat them up, it appears.

I feel stuck. My throat is thick and I’m beginning to wonder if I should just turn and hightail it out of there, as Gabby leans over to Paris and puts her hand on his, on top of the table as she whispers in his ear.

Oh please, out of all the women and werewolves he could have slept with in anger at me, please don’t make it be her.

Gabby is a bitch.

Right now she’s a bitch in heat who looks like she’s playing both DÁrenberg males. She gets to be at the Alpha’s table, because next to Paris’s mother she’s the only female Alpha in the Manhattan Maen pack, in New York. That has ranking and respect inbuilt with it.

I think I’m gonna leave. But I keep watching like a train wreck that can’t quite stop.

Did he sleep with her? Would he even do that? Paris is not the bastard Conall is. I need to remember that.
Better guy. Best guy. Although he can be a very dark werewolf too.

It’s then that Paris senses me. His head whips around as he ignores Gabby completely and his eyes lock onto mine.

Gabby starts to frown as Paris stands up suddenly and pushes his way out from the table. Her head and the others at the table travel the line of her sight, following Paris’s movement as he walks towards me.

My feet start moving again, fast.

We stop a little short of each other. Not quite touching. But wanting. I can see him reel himself in. Reign in his control again. It’s only then that I wonder if he can smell Conall’s scent on my clothing. It’s not like I showered before I left Brooklyn, after that. There’s probably enough of his trace scent on my clothes to be noticed.


I hope he doesn’t remember Conall’s scent. But of course he would. Please don’t let him think we did anything together.

If I ignore it, will he?

“I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome at your table.” I say lamely pointing to Gabby and the others, who are now, watching us like reality tv show addicts. He knows Gabby and I are not friends of any kind.

“You’re always welcome.” His smooth voice says to me as he looks at me, like he might break from the restraint and control he’s using from not rushing me.

“Don’t normally see Gabby at your table…”

“Well normally you’re there in her place.”

Uh oh. What did that mean? I’d been replaced? She was the pack partner now at least for visual purposes? The blood was pounding my head, rushing through my body with built up speed. Talk about worst case scenario. Was this really happening to me?

“I think Wiatt has a thing for her.”

I nodded my head as if understanding. But not really. I just don’t want her anywhere near Paris.

I can’t help it. I throw myself at him, my arms wrap around him and I’m up on my tip toes, my mouth on his, kissing him deeply. Hard and longingly. I feel himself wrap me up in him and suddenly his mouth is all over me, muttering against my skin about how much he missed me and then his mouth is back on mine and plundering mine and I’m pressing into him, like there is no better feeling in the world than the one I am in right now. Hot kisses scorch my skin and steal my breath and it’s all a heady rush. Eventually, in what seems like forever, we break for air, breathing heavily, looking hotly at one another, holding hands.

“I’m sorry.” I mutter quickly.

“Me too.” He replies.

“I was stupid.”

“Me too.” Paris replies. “I don’t want go through that again.” He says at me softly.

“Me too.” I reply smiling back at him. My heart beat is practically pounding my breast bone with fervor.

“Let’s get out of here, go somewhere more private.” Paris says winding his fingers through mine and whisking me out of there.

Where I want to be

May 26, 2010
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It’s still too early for me to sleep and I can’t really rest, I keep looking at the flowers and playing with the card in my fingers and sighing, loudly, repeatedly. I am such a jerk.

I wander through the darkness of the house, knowing it’s familiarity well. I should probably move out, get my own place. But I like our home.

I head straight for the kitchen where Bodil is sitting on the edge of the large wooden, kitchen table, sipping a coffee. Pizza snacks and coffee at the family home, when she’s got her own place? Maybe she’s having man problems too and doing as we Breukelen werewolf women seem to do, run away for some thinking space. Although I wouldn’t have thought was her style.

“Hey,” I greet her with pulling a mug out of the cupboard above my head and heading straight to the coffee pot. I don’t drink coffee all that often, it kind of makes me jittery if I have like more than two cups. Sometimes one cup is enough. But right now, feeling jittery is kind of already happening, so what harm could coffee do to this werewolf?

“Did you drive here?” I ask ignoring her lack of response to me. I think she’s mad at me after all. For the whole Conall fiasco on the front stoop.

“On my bike.”

“Oh.” I blow across the top of the coffee mug. Bodil shifts and looks at me suspiciously.

“You need a lift somewhere?”

“Is tribecca too far?” I ask sheepishly. My sister breaks into a big smile at me and cups her coffee mug.

“Not if it means you’re not with Conall Wakely. I could do with a ride anyway. I suck at being cooped up.” Bodil replies sipping her coffee and looking over the mug at me. “Makes me all, angsty.”

The restlessness. I get that. Probably all werewolves do.

Being alone and in one place, it’s just like putting us in a cage. We just go stir crazy internally. It’s like the natural order of ourselves has been put out of whack and the wolf inside knows it. After all, we’ve conditioned that wolf over years of growing up to accommodate us and itself with life in a city. That takes training. Lots and lots of training and getting used to.

I think that means I’m allowed to ask her why she’s hanging out here, instead of at her own place or with the guys. But then she looks away, has a bit of a distant look on her face, which is half covered in silhouette.

“Let me know when you want to go.”

I put the coffee cup down. I haven’t even sipped it.
“Is now too soon?”

She laughs and slides off the table towards me.
“Lets go.”

The drive to Manhattan is refreshing. The wind whips at my face, stinging it with it’s cold bite and I grin. It’s like being reminded of freedom, of escaping troubles. Of running towards what I want most in this world. It’s like being the wolf and sprinting, feeling the stretch of your legs hit ground and fly past everything in your path. Of being invincible.

I actually change my mind when we slow down into Manhattan traffic and decide I’ll try one of the clubs we would normally frequent, Paris and I first, before I go to his home.
So I get Bodil to drop me off at Crescent, in the meat packing district. She double checks with me that I’m sure I want to be there, and that I’ll be okay.

According to werewolf law, well, more like common pack courtesy she’s really not allowed in Manhattan on a lunar night. So she can’t hang around and wait, if she gets spotted it could cause all manner of upset. She has to head back to Brooklyn straight away.

I assure her I’m where I want to be and head into the club.

Back in Brooklyn

May 23, 2010
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I find myself back in Brooklyn and alone. Well not alone, just you know, flying solo. I haven’t been solo on a lunar week in well…a long time.

I’ve always been with a guy, had company.

So why aren’t I with the hottest werewolf Alpha this side of the planet on lunar week?

Because we’re fighting. Well, it’s not really fighting when you refuse to take his calls or return them. When you’re being totally immature and giving your boyfriend the silent treatment. It’s just, I’m mad. Still. Paris wouldn’t let me finish what I started. He wouldn’t let me go after the Lycan hunter who I got into a fight with. The one that once upon a time, long long ago, hunted me down when I was becoming a werewolf, coming into my own, for the first time in my supernatural life.

Paris has rang me a lot and I’ve just been letting the calls go to voicemail.

So I’m back in Brooklyn, and in a club. Now All I can keep thinking is everything seems insignificant. When all I keep thinking about is the opportunity to get even with the Lycan that hurt me. How my chance slipped through my very human hands before I could claw at her skin with rage.

How Paris’s lieutenants pulled me out of harms way and pursued her for me. Fought for me when I’d rather do my own fighting.

The clubs are the same as always, there are werewolves everywhere, creating an atmosphere of heated lust and wanton pleasure in the air. It’s hot all around and everyone in there looks good, whether they’re wearing clothes or missing some. It’s hard to ignore the lust sensation when it’s created so highly by a pack in joy, like this.

I’m beginning to wonder what the hell I’m doing out here. I mean, the watching part is alright, but really as the sweat trickles down the back of my neck, and I lift my dark hair, all I can think is, I’d rather be with my wolf.

Maybe it’s time to talk. Time to get over my self pride. I mean, Paris and his friends were trying to do a good thing. They didn’t want me hurt, and in return all I’ve done his hurt them by being a stubbornly proud wolf.

“And here I thought you’d given up the club scene, at least here in Brooklyn.” an all too familiar voice says as a body sits down on the couch next to me. I take my eyes of the crowded dance floor and glance at Conall Wakely. My ex boyfriend before looking back out again.

Sighing loudly I choose to ignore his presence.

“What’s a matter?” He asks me softly, actually sounding concerned for a moment. I looked at him again, actually look at him. Wondering if he’s sincere. Noticing everything about his face.

“Why would anything be the matter?”

“Please, I was with you for a long time. I know you. I know when you’re not happy and this is you not happy. Besides, you’re not here with your…with anyone. And you’re in Brooklyn, lately you’ve been you know, manhattaning it.”

I watched his face as he talked to me. He seemed so sincere and yet, I felt myself get on the defensive because after all this time, he still won’t say Paris’s name, won’t say he’s my boyfriend. Won’t say, because he’s the guy that Conall lost me too. The anger might be subdued but the pride is still there from the wound I left with him.

I decide to ignore him, watching the dancers on the floor writhe and move like they were one with the music pumping around them. I hear Conall sigh as he throws an arm around the back of the couch, which effectively means, it’s around the back of my shoulders too. Ever the player.

Of course he would be so bold. Take my silence as compliance that I was comfortable with him, again.
I wasn’t. But Conall likes to push, to be macho, to do whatever Conall likes to do. He’s kind of selfish like that.

“Since you’re back here, why don’t I remind you of some simple Brooklyn hospitality?” He asks me, with a cheeky smile as he signals a friend for a round of drinks with a hand gesture.

I shake my head. He is unbelievable. But then he’s always been a bold wolf. Likes to go headfirst into things. Damn the consequences.

“I’m fine Conall.”

He holds my gaze. And the music thrums through my veins and I remember past times in the darkness of clubs with him. I can’t help but let my mouth quirk back into a smile. Sneaky memories.

“I know that.” He mutters in a low thick voice. His eyes dipping over my body and back up to my face.

I might be stupid sometimes, like now, being to proud to speak to Paris about how mad I am about the whole Lycan fighting werewolf mess up. Even more mad when I found out that Jules had somehow lost the lycan from his grasp. Stupid male. Stupid men! Never do a woman’s work! That was the straw that broke my back, made me come back and hang out in Brooklyn again. Also known as having a hissy fit and running away for some breathing space.

I might suffer moments of stupidity, as I’m clearly demonstrating, but I’m not naive.
Not anymore.

Conall might think he knows me, but I was with him for a long time too. I know him very well.

Conall thinks he’s got a shot here.

With me.

Chelsea’s Coyote

March 4, 2010

Okay just to be clear – This WASN’T Me or my doing. But it’s totally possible I know the Coyote.

I mean, how many Coyote shape shifters do you know?

See the video >HERE<

the Coyote can’t make him change his ways.

There was a Coyote reported to be running around Chelsea in Manhattan. Gotta say if there’s a coyote running around Manhattan, it’s got less to do with ‘random’ animal acts of straying into the civilized world of humans than you think.

Road Runner, that Coyote’s after you!

I know two Coyote shifters. But last I heard of them, since we lost touch, which was a few years ago, they were living in Michigan.

Road Runner, if he catches you, you’re through!
Road Runner, that Coyote’s after you!

Anyway, who ever that Coyote was, that was running around Chelsea, it would appear, that perhaps we wolves under estimated how long they can hold shape.

That Coyote is really a crazy clown!

See I always thought that the lunar week affected all us “paranormals” the same way, for the most part. The basic rules were the same. But it would appear that the lunar week has ended, well we wolves tend to treat it like it’s ended because the pull of the moon is less strong as it fades away from a full moon.

When will he learn that he never can mow him down?

But maybe this is not so for the shape shifter? Maybe they’ve found a way to utilise all the lunar days, the five before and after

Watch out Wile E, there isn’t a road runner in sight. And the police wonder how it managed to “avoid” capture.


Maybe that’s just the “official” media line they’re sprouting these days.

Wake up and smell the lupine, people.

A continuing breed

February 15, 2010
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New York is a fascinating place, if you get to spend the time, roaming and getting to know it.

It’s full of interesting people and of course, werewolves and no doubt other creatures too. But one thing the big apple is not short on, is beautiful, plastic people. Whether you’re in Brooklyn or Manhattan, of which I frequently commute between, they’re everywhere. A bit like a sub-culture of humans. Competing with the likes of the werewolves, shape shifters and other worldlies amongst the everyday New Yawker it would seem for popularity and attention.

New York Post writer Annie Karni’s latest article, on yet another Manhattan party-girl socialite gone bad– they’re somewhat of a continuing breed out here, is on Kashmir Snowdon-Jones, yes, her name really is Kashmir, like the soft woollen jumper stuff but with a K. Or maybe it’s a reference to was the place she was conceived in, Kashmir, India, if that. Or You know, so she can be special and different and unique and all that she can be. Annie describes Kashmir as “having the face of an angel”.

Why would she say this five words into her piece of Kashmir’s fall from gilded glass grace?

Because she’s

(a) blonde
(b) a socialite
(c) a rich socialite
(d) a ‘sometimes’ model – even the rich can’t stick at a proper job for all that long. Too boring darlinks, too passé, working for a living!

I’m sure she wrote the description just to tie in with the oh so cheesy heading of She’s a stealing beauty, DA says”. To tie in with the simple story of a simple brat. Kashmir with a K, has stolen her former friend, as described in the article “frenemy”’s credit card and gone on to max it out, buying crap. And by crap, I mean, CRAP. You’d think the rich could think of good crap to buy.

No, Kashmir bought domino’s pizza’s and a pair of leggings worth $800. What pair of leggings is ever worth $800? Do they automatically make your legs look Heidi Klum’s? Cause damn girl, what’s the point to buying them if they don’t? Oh right, other than to just rack up charges on you’re frenemy’s credit card to annoy her.

Anyway, the article goes on, to describe our stealing beauty as a 5 foot 9, blue eyed stunner. Uh yeah. There is a picture provided with this article and whilst Kashmir isn’t dog ugly. I wouldn’t say she was a stunner. She’s a blonde, a pretty blonde, which in case you haven’t noticed, fairly common in the good old U.S of A. Russia has better blue eyed, blonde haired stunners than Manhattan’s Kashmir. She’s fairly average looking if you ask me.

Add to this crap, the very light on article that just regurgitates easily found facts on Kashmir or her family’s supposedly rich and famous lineage and I just keep asking why this even makes news? A rich party girl acting out. Please, whoppee-do.

In an email response back to the New York Post Kashmir apparently replied “LOL, there’s nothing to write about there is no story.”

She got that right.


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.

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