Waking up alone is the worst.
Okay, let me give you some context on that. Waking up alone, after being with someone, investing your heart and soul into them, feeling their very physical being intune with yours as much as two beings together can be, is the worst.
It’s like a downer.
For me it’s weird. My pack mate Paris is always in bed with me when I wake up, for the most part, we fall asleep together and we wake up together, it’s a rather beautifully symmetric way to start your day.
In cycle and sync with one another, thinking of, one another. That makes me sound sappy doesn’t it?
Paris normally is draped across me in some sort of all-consuming manner, as if silently saying “mine”. The heaviness of his arms and legs wrapping around me, is a comfort of assurance and security, emotionally as well as physically.
He’s tall, six three and I’m smaller, although not small at five eight. But it makes our fit rather good when we spoon together, hiding from the werewolf world in the comforter of our bed. Most mornings, he wakes me up with sex.
So it’s odd that’s he’s one, not doing that and two, not on curling into me. I turn over quickly and look at the emptiness of the be behind me, the space next me is cool to the touch. Paris is long gone. I begin to sit up and wonder if I’m in trouble here. If something has happened to him.
Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I see a figure, a shadowy figure near the bed. I blink quickly and move to push back in the bed. Paris’s apartment is a secure place and if anyone should be in this room with me, it should be him.
And when I find myself alert and awake, I notice, it is him. He’s already fully dressed, in dark colours, sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching me. Just watching me in the dimness of the room.
His eyes are dark blue and human. But it’s like I can see a very caged and annoyed animal pacing back and forth behind them. And that animal look is focussed on me. This is not a look of desire and longing. This is a look of an animal sizing up it’s enemy.
This is not my Paris. My lover. My pack mate.
“Paris?” Even my voice sounds small against that look.
It’s powerfully intimidating. Especially since I do not understand why he would ever look at me like this. His actions alone, of stillness and waiting for me to wake, being prepared to face me clothed, tell me many things about him. The clothing is his armour. He’s spoiling for a fight. With me. Waiting patiently, for me, so he can start this fight. Very werewolf like, having all the damn patience in the world if you think it’ll get you what you’re after.
“Something you want to tell me?” He utters in a cold voice, his eyes never leaving my face.
It’s like I don’t understand the question. We went to bed together in love, and tired and like any normal couple would. And I woke up in an alternate universe by the look of it.
But let’s face facts, we’re not a normal couple. We’re both werewolves, from extremely different packs. He’s an Alpha and a pack leader, he’s used to power and getting what he wants (he wanted me, he got me, after a fashion). And he knows how to fight, physically, but emotionally fighting, that’s my battle ground.
I’m a…well, let’s go with different. Nobody’s really got a category for me just yet. But I’m a werewolf with abilities, that up until recently, I didn’t know I had. And being around his alpha-ness over there in the chair, is only strengthening them.
We live in a werewolf culture, so our lives are in no way going to be normal. But even with that knowledge, I have no idea what is going on here.
“Paris what’s going on?” I try for.
“That’s what I’m asking you, Bg.” He replies still clearly annoyed at me for mysterious reasons.
“I don’t know why you’re asking me.” I say stating the obvious. “I just woke up.”
His eyes seem to study my face, darting around, as if looking for unconscious reactions from me in my body language.
To be continued in Wet Dream …
The Pack part 1 is now out!
The Pack is a ten part serialised novella. It follows the unexpected events of what happens to the Manhattan Maen werewolf pack leader Paris D’arenberg on a lunar week. From A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn’s author, Breukelen girl.
Breukelen Girl, is a beta werewolf from the Brooklyn werewolf pack. Dating Alpha werewolf and Manhattan Maen pack leader, Paris D’arenberg.
As the upcoming lunar week approaches, the werewolves of New York City become a little wirey. All werewolves are affected by the moon’s phases during lunar week. So why are weird things happening to Manhattan Maen werewolf pack leader Paris D’arenberg before lunar week?
He’s getting into fights not only with unknown werewolves but with Bg. It seems sleeping werewolves won’t lie.
As the issue of an old matter involving Bg and a Manhattan Maen pack wolf, arises, again, putting Paris in a contentious position.
I smelt the blood before I even saw it on Paris‘s face. My head shot up and I looked over at my boyfriend as he walked into the room I was in. He dropped the sports bag heavily to the ground and my eyes zeroed in on the blood under his nose and around his mouth. Blood sports and werewolves, what a freak’n turn on.
He walked around to me, pulling his sweat stained t-shirt up over his head and off. Discarding it without care. I stayed still, where I was, at the end of the table, watching in anticipation as he walked around to me. Watching the way his body moved with the way he held himself, inhaling the sweat and blood he’d worked up and gotten from his boxing session. Yeah, he doesn’t box with gloves and protective gear. Alpha male, pack leader, likes to keep his skills sharp.
My eyes keep zeroing in on the mess around his otherwise pretty mouth. My nose keeps flaring as I enjoy the smell of his blood on his sweat covered, skin. He hones in on me and lifts me like I weigh nothing, up onto the table. Pushing apart my legs so he can stand between them. His hard groin meeting my moist heat at the edge.
I can hear his breathing is controlled and stilled like him. But that’s just a ruse. The heart beat racing under neath all that toned skin, is a give away to what he wants. There is a heat flaring up inside at me at the look of the predator before me. I can’t help it, it’s always like this with him.
One look up at those dark blue eyes and that’s all he get’s before I lunge at the swollen and bloodied mouth. He doesn’t wince at the action of my mouth devouring his brings. Paris merely responds, his arms pulling me in closer to him. His mouth matching mine, allowing my tongue to go where it will, over the blood trail over him.
Hands push my skirt up my legs and I feel his fingers, pull aside my underwear and feel the press of his hardened cock before he pushes into me tightly. I can’t moan because my mouth is too busy obsessing over the swollen bloody mess of his mouth and licking at it eagerly. He lifts my legs to wrap them around his hips, dragging me across the table towards him, so we can start this unleashing.
Blood sports and werewolves, what a turn on. I think Paris fights deliberately without protective gear so he can get bloodied and come home and do this with me. Fighting makes him hungry and not necessarily for food.
Our rhythm is fast and bumpy and all I can do is hold onto Paris as we let the sensation of blood, sweat and sex coat us and fill our senses with each other.
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.
Being a werewolf means my life is never going to be normal.
But what is normal anyway?
Everyone is brought up differently, has different blood, hair color, looks, thoughts on fashion. It’s all about the differences life and how you choose to deal with them, really, that makes it your life as such and therefore, makes you also. So how’s that all that different to going fury once a month?
So being called a brat shouldn’t hurt me. Shouldn’t matter. Let’s face it, there are worse names to be called, ruder names to be called and worse connotations to be associated with me than Brat. Really when you look at it like that, the tag of brat is lame, pathetic even.
Yet out of the dirty looks, suspicious looks I now get whenever I’m around the Manhattan Maen pack, it’s the word brat that is the one my ears prick up and hear the most, the one that I pay attention to and the one that upsets me. It’s their name for me, the one they use behind and in front of my back.
Werewolves, we bring the pet in petty. Fucking werewolves and their egos.
If my little showdown with Gabby Colton in December was good for anything, other than my own assertion of strength, it seems to have had a rather, rousing, positive affect on the Manhattan Maen wolves. Not towards me. But on them. They seem more together now. More motivated to act as a pack rather than individual werewolves, just lumped together under the title of pack because they live in the borough of Manhattan.
Who knew Gabby was so highly liked? Certainly not me. I never saw it before from these wolves that now whisper and murmur amongst themselves deliberately around me, whenever I’m around. Brat. Maybe they never really liked her all that much. But then there was the ultimate bitch fight come back in December, courtesy of me.
Probably they just didn’t like looking at what I did to her, and what could happen to them too, if they try to hurt me, like Gabby did. I suspect I made Gabby popular because what werewolf likes being stabbed with knives and sai’s of silver?
I didn’t and she didn’t either.
Still, the exclusion I might have felt before from the Manhattan Maen wolves, merely because I’m from the Breukelen pack, and dating their leader, was slight compared to what it’s like now. Now it’s cold and I’m “the brat” to them. Paris assures me it’ll die down eventually and return to normal, but I’m not so sure. Even Bohm avoids talking to me and looking at me directly. Bohm, who once told me he’d do anything for me, any time required. Not sure that offer still stands from the beta wolf. The lowered eye line at me, that kind of thing used to represent a form of respect in acknowledging a heir ranking, respected werewolf in the hierarchy of the pack. But that’s not what it means with Bohm. It’s shame, it’s anger, it’s disgust, it’s confusion. It’s me through his eyes now. It’s cause of what I did.
It’s one of the multiple reason’s I’ve avoided spending much time in Manhattan at present. But not the only one.
“I missed you.” Paris kissed my lips, we laid naked on his bed.
“Three days apart and you’re crazy with the missing.” I muttered back at him smiling broadly. His mouth trailed down my body as his hands skimmed over me, softly.
“I missed your scent lingering around my house, on these sheets.” His tongue ran a trail down my cleavage.
“I missed the warmth of you in my arms, against my body when I wake up.” His hands rest on my hips as his mouth descended lower over me. “I missed hearing your laughter around me.” Little kisses peppered the way down my skin, his thumb absently stroking the scar on my hip. The one Gabby left with me. “I missed seeing you walk naked from my shower. Covered in water droplets.” His lips kept moving slowly causing me to sigh with pleasure at the stirring inside of me, because of him and his words.
“I missed the sound of your voice, when I’m immersed in werewolf politics and reasoning it carries. The smart stuff it says that always gets my attention.” He said as his mouth reached my navel.
“I missed you too.” I said back at him with a wry smile.
“What did you miss the most?” He asked looking back up at me. “Fingers, lips, mouth or body? Or was it all about intellectual stimulation?”
There was a big smile.
He continued on his journey down my body. Familiarizing himself with the feel of us together. Of the space that we create that is just us, when the rest of werewolf world drops away again and there’s not brats, bitches or bastards. No Alpha and Beta wolves jostling for positions, there’s just us.
When I come to, I’m alone.
Paris’s scent lingers lightly against the covers of my bed. I inhale it.
The sound of voices rising, catches my attention. Scratching my head, I get up and look for something to tie my hair back with.
Moving my neck from side to side, out of habit more than anything else. I kind of like to test the theory that I’m always good after a shape shift. Doing little body checks on myself. I stretch my arms above my head and look around my room. Dropping my arms back down heavily.
The door’s closed and the voices although muted can still be heard clearly. It’s definetly people arguing. I look for clothes and slip into a pair of jeans and over-sized t-shirt that hangs off my shoulder slightly.
Tying my hair back into a quick pony tail before glancing at the clock on the dresser drawer. I didn’t hold form for all that long. Well, as long as I would normally judging by the time on the clock. Not that means anything. Or it might. Guess it’s hard to say based on one shape shift.
Could be my wolf not used to doing shape shifts by herself. She could’ve got used to being around Paris when he’s in wolf form, or even human form. Sometimes, our werewolves get conditioned like that. They fall into routine and they adjust to routine. Then you change it up and elements of it, change the shift, the body’s physiological response to environment, circumstance.
I head out of my room and into the house. The voices are clear and louder. It’s my sister Bodil and Paris. That can’t be good.
I keep heading towards the angry voices. Down the hallway, towards the sitting room, I pad down barefoot. I can see the thick wooden double doors are closed. But that’s where their coming from. I’m hungry, usually am after a shape shift, but I want to know what the hell is going on, so I ignore the hunger pains.
I stand before the closed doors, listening.
“She’s not safe with you. You’ve proven that. You’re dangerous.” Bodil’s voice, still angry but not shouting.
“Bodil, it’s never ever going to happen again.”
Paris starts off politely as could be.
“The point is, Paris, it’s already happened and it shouldn’t have. You were supposed to be looking after her, as her boyfriend, as her guide through your fucking territory, as a fucking pack leader. You failed her. You failed the Breukelen by allowing this to happen to her! Why the hell would the Breukelen let you date one of our own, when you failed her so badly?”
My eyes widen at this news. I don’t exactly need permission to date anyone. It’s a wee bit complicated when it’s a different pack werewolf, but I still don’t have to get permission.
I am my own person. I always have been, much like my very angry and concerned for me, sister. We were always raised to be ourselves in our family. And as a result, there are a fair few strong personalities in our family. Guess it shouldn’t be so surprising coming from a Leading Pack family.
But my father, the pack Alpha, my sister, family, whatever, have never had to weigh in on my dating habits. No one, but me, has ever had a say in what I do.
I may be a pack werewolf, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make my own decisions and live by them. Doesn’t mean I can’t choose for myself, who I date. Doesn’t mean I’m going to let my sister or anyone else for that matter, dictate to me, how to run my life and who I’m allowed to see.
My hands are on the doors when Paris starts back at her.
“She’s no safer here. You think you’re guys are going to shadow her around for forever? What about the threats she faces over here in Brooklyn?”
“What threats?” Bodil asks him.
“Come on, you know how much Conall Wakely despises us being together. How much of a hard time he creates for her, every time she’s over here, when she tries to go to pack parties. How’s that any different to her being in my territory with me, and having to face a werewolf that doesn’t like her?”
“Well, let me think about this for a minute. Could it be, that she hasn’t gotten stabbed or poisoned with silver when she’s been in Breukelen territory, like ever. Around Breukelen wolves? But since she started dating you, she’s has? Yeah, that might be it.” Bodil fires at him full of sarcasm.
“Bodil, you can’t protect her forever. The world has people, wolves in it. Things happen everywhere. No matter where you are. You can’t hide her from life, and you can’t follow her around shadowing her.”
I guess it can’t be helped, if your the little sister. This is how you get thought of, even when you’re an adult. That I need protecting. Hello, I have life skills!
“Oh please, don’t you dare think you can lecture me on protecting my sister! You knew this Gabby wolf hated her. And yet you regularly saw their interactions get worse and worse and you did nothing! You let her get into fights!”
“I let her handle her own fights. If I didn’t think she could handle Gabby, I would’ve stepped in. She can handle Gabby.”
“Oh please, the girl is no fighter. She’s not like you and me Paris. She’s no Alpha.”
It’s true, in terms of werewolf fighting, my skills are fairly average. But if I was fighting a human, well, I’d look like some sort of prized champion by comparison, really. I find myself leaning closer to the closed door and turning my ear towards it, even though, there’s no need. I can hear perfectly what they’re saying about me. What they’re not saying about me. I lean forward on the doors and push them open so both Bodil and Paris turn to look at me as I walk in, pushing the doors aside.
Bodil’s eyebrows shoot up as her eyes widen. Paris looks back at me and smiles broadly.
Paris’s eyes roam over me before he reaches for me. I think I can see the wolf behind those midnight, dark blue, eyes.
“We’re working on a time limit here, so don’t take it slow on my account.”
He smiles back at me. Patience on a lunar night, on a time limit, it’s never been a strong point of mine. Ever.
“I’d rather savor you, than not have enough.” Paris replies, putting a finger to my lips, to silence any further protests.
Except that I open my mouth, run the tip of my tongue along that finger, before sucking said finger into, said mouth. Silencing for a moment or two, both of us. His eyes widen.
“Now you’re just not playing fair.”
I half smile, as I keep working the finger in my mouth and licking it, like a treat that I might savor of him. He moans and goes to withdraw the finger from my mouth and I graze my teeth along it, as he does so.
“Better than giving in to violent tendencies. Besides, who said fair had anything to do with this?”
He smirks back at me, and I see the dangerous glint in his eyes. “Okay, if that’s the way you want it. Bring it on.” He mocks me with, pulling at my top quickly, the same time my hands go for his belt buckle and jeans.
“Oh I’ll bring it, Alpha boy.” I taunt back at him with a smile, my hands working fast to undo his jeans and pull them down around his hips. But it’s hard to do, when he’s pulling at my top, making me have to leave his clothing alone as I raise my arms so he can remove the obtrusive piece of material.
He might be an Alpha werewolf who doesn’t technically have to shape shift until full moon night, unlike me. But during lunar week he’s just as amped up and susceptible to being overcome by the heightened senses we all go through during the week the moon goes through it phases. The good, the bad and the ridiculously horny. Being denied a sexual partner, when he’s had one quite regularly, well, that wouldn’t exactly curb his requirements or appetite as such. So cracking his resolve to savor and be gentlemanly about us, is easy enough.
Only he’s got the upper hand, as it were.
Paris pulls my top up and as it goes over my face, and mouth, my arms still raised above my head, he pulls the material in close. So I’m effectively blind folded and tied up. Tangled within my own clothing.
“I’m pretty sure we’ve discussed, messing with this Alpha before, haven’t we?”
His voice is serious and it makes me want to gulp down a nervous vat of saliva in my throat. “Now,” He continues on, tightening up the ends of my top, so it is tied and I can’t free my arms or get it over the rest of my head. “We’re going to savor some time together.” He pushes me lightly so I fall backwards, letting out a squeak as I land, bouncing on my bed. “You’re Alpha commands it of you.”
The bed dips with the movement of him, crawling over me, on it.
“Now, where am I going to start?” even though I can’t see where he’s looking my nipples tighten in response to his question, through my bra and I hear him chuckle. Like he’s noticed it, or he’s just aware of my anxious state for him to just start. But his fingers ghost over the skin of stomach, and play with the waistline of my skirt.
I bite my lip partially out of nerves, partially because I don’t want to start begging him. Those fingers leave my skin and I feel his warm hands slid up my legs. Making me want to pull them further apart from him. But I resist, it might be seen as desperate and I want him to be as desperate as I feel here. Otherwise, that’s really just not playing fair!
Warm hands glide over my skirt, pushing it up my legs, higher it climbs and I try to keep my breathing even.
“Yes, this is where I’ll start.” He says, and there’s a finger tracing the seam of my underwear. Running along my inner thigh. It feels good and ticklish at the same time.
I press my teeth harder into my lip, so I can suppress the giggle building there. But before I can even start to make a noise, that finger’s trail moves. Slips underneath the material covering me from him. And it touches me gently. My breath catches with the sensation of the touch and the finger slides deeper, inside of me. I lose all thoughts of being quiet and docile and moan loudly.
He chuckles at my response.
“More.” I mutter through the material still blocking my eyes from the sight of what he’s doing to me.
“More?” He asks innocently. “More of this?” He asks as I feel a second finger slick its way in. “Or do you mean,” He pauses as he pushes in deeper. “More like this? Or like this,” He says fastening the tempo before stopping it all together. “Be specific here, we’re on a time schedule after all.”
I bang my head back against the soft pillows in frustration.
“You’re going to kill me.” I groan.
“Only if the not having you part, doesn’t kill me first.” Paris replies sounding way to smug and playful. I groan and start fighting the constraints of my top that has tied me up. But the material doesn’t give, he’s done a dam good job of binding me in my own clothing.
“Stop thrashing about.”
I stop, sigh and breathe heavily. Giving up on getting out of my predicament until he lets me.
“It’s a tangled web we weave.” He jokes, before resuming my gentle death by delight.
Booker and I are laughing as we walk back into my house. The door shuts and the latch has barely clicked into place when there’s a pounding on the door.
My heart beat races, the pounding is loud and precise. Resilient in it’s restless need to get through the wooden entrance.
Booker looks at me, his face suddenly a mask of seriousness. The guy’s happiness has gone again. He’s always so serious now a days.
“Get to your room now, lock the door and don’t come out until I tell you, you can.”
“What?” I whisper fiercely back at him. “I’m not a fucking child!”
“Do it, Or I’ll drag you in there myself.” His firm reply as he stares back at me, daring me to challenge him further.
This whole safety over me thing, because of Gabby, is really beginning to annoy the hell out of me. I stomp off to my room but loiter in the doorway.
Booker looks back at the front door.
“Let me see her!”
I could be mistaken, but through the thickness of the door, the muffled voice sounds like Paris.
Booker looks back down the hallway towards me and indicates for me to get inside my room like a good little werewolf.
“It’s Paris, let him in.” I step out of my doorway. Booker’s hand is on the front door handle, but he’s looking at me.
“He’s not coming in here.”
I step right out into the hallway. “Yes he is. Let him in here Booker, he’s my packmate!”
“You know what my orders are from Bodil, she finds out I let him in here, we’re both history.”
“I can handle Bodil.”
“No, you really can’t.” Booker throws back at me, as Paris keeps thumping against the door. Demanding to see me. “Trust me, when I say, you don’t want to either. Just get out of sight for now.”
“Booker, so help me, if you do not open that door and let Paris in here, I’m never ever speaking to you or acknowledging your existence ever again in this pack. Open the door!”
Of course, you might not consider it much of a threat, what I threw at him. Except, to Booker and to me, those words are still a pretty big deal. Neither one of us wants to not know the other. Not that we’d say it out loud. Even if we’re not together anymore. Not that anyone outside of the hallway or in our pack knows that. Not my over protective sister and best friend to Booker and not my packmate Paris, Booker’s old friend.
Booker and I were a rather passionate secret.
I start walking towards him and he reaches for the door suddenly, unlocking it. Paris pushes on the open door and straight into Booker. Looking past him towards me.
He shoves the other male aside, not easily but successfully all the same and rushes towards me.
“You can’t be here man.” He says as Paris stops before me.
“I tried to contact you, you’re sister and her possee, they intercept me, cut me off from getting to you. What’d they take lessons in how to sabatoage and block?”
“You can’t be here, if Bodil finds out you’re here…”
Paris turns around abruptly fast. The move of the angry wolf, whipping around to deal with it’s common enemy. Annoyance.
“I need to be here. It’s lunar week, she’s got to shape shift. We don’t know how she’ll be affected after…what happened.”
I reach for Paris’s hand and stand beside him, looking back at Booker.
“It’s my house, he’s staying.”
“I’ve got my orders.” Booker replies firmly, scowling back at us.
“Booker if he goes, then I’m going with him.”
His frown gets deeper.
“The hell you are.”
Paris’s body tenses at Booker’s words. I don’t want to see these two fight, especially over me. “My orders were to keep you safe, not leave you alone.”
“Well then, you fulfilled your orders. I’m safe, and I’ve got two Alpha’s with me. What could possibly be safer than that in my own house?”
“Look, Bodil will be swinging by here,” He glances at his watch and back at us. “In an hour to check on you. If she finds Paris here, all hell will break loose and I’m not going to be able to stop her.”
I nod my head in understanding.
“You can’t stay.” Booker says looking Paris in the eyes. They stare each other down without blinking. I can’t help but wonder if they’re passing some sort of silent message to each other. Or if it’s just anger. Or in seeing which Alpha wolf will back down first.
“You got forty minutes.” Booker says walking off into the other end of the house. “And then I’ll kick you out myself.”
I ignore the unhappiness and anger in Booker’s voice and turn away from the sight of him marching off into the opposite end of the house. He’s either trying to give us privacy, as wolves, even lycans have exceptional hearing, or restrain himself.
Paris and I walk back towards my bedroom and I finally close the door when we’re both inside. My heart is pounding as I look back at him and move towards him quickly.
But he puts his hands out and keeps me at bay.
“We don’t need to rush this.” He says and scoops me up, walking me over to my bed.
“uh hello, time limit.” I mutter back at him as he lays me down.
“Well, I don’t want to rush this.” He replies, leaning over me and tugging at my top.
In the darkness of Brooklyn’s night, we arrive. We’ve barely spoken to each other and that pains me. I don’t want this. Like this. We sit in his car, outside my house.
“You could always stay for awhile with me.”
Paris offers a half smile at me softly. “No I couldn’t and we both know that. But thanks all the same.”
Of course not. There’s work to be done. A werewolf pack to maintain. Punishment to be dealt out, Gabby to be found.
“It’s… I just don’t want you to think that…”
“We revert to what we know.” He says cutting me off and shrugs his shoulders quickly. “It’s what we know in who we are. It’s a safety net. Even us werewolves have them.”
I sigh heavily.
“Yeah, the human side of the werewolf has it. I should be more than…” I wave a hand up and down the front of me trying to figure out what I’m saying. “this.”
His eyes widen and he stares at me, his mouth agape.
“No, don’t do this. Don’t you dare think you’re somehow responsible for what Gabby did.” He says putting my face in his hands. “She knew, damn her, exactly what she was doing to you. And I like you for you. The way you are.”
His lips press into mine and we kiss. It’s like being swept up in moment of escape. And makes me lean into him, cling to him. We part for air and Paris rests his head on my forehead. His eyes closed.
“I hope you like me because I can be strong for you, for us. You don’t have to go after her.” I state somewhat hopelessly. When what I should say is he doesn’t have to go through whatever he’s feeling, thinking of doing, alone. I should be there with him.
I don’t want him to have to go after her. Not because I don’t want Gabby to be reprimanded or punished or called out for what she did to me. But because every time Paris, has to do things like this, in his leadership capacity of the Manhattan Maen, I loose a bit of him. To a very dark place.
I don’t think even he likes going to the darkness that is somewhere, situated in the depths of the wolf’s soul. Darkness is not just an absence of light in the world we live in. I can tell that Paris resigns himself to the fact that he has to at some point. That he will go there.