A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

This skin

October 21, 2010

At the best of times during lunar week, werewolves are driven to fulfil their baser desires and needs.

The driving force behind the lunar tidal waves that shock our bodies again and again, are pheromones. Very powerful ones. So it’s not that surprising, when there are times, where we literally can’t keep our paws off one another, Paris and I.

Although to be honest, I’m the one who is worst out of us. He has more control than I think I can muster and the patience almost of a saint, I think sometimes.

But that can be worn down, if you’ve willing to see it through. And if you’re me, the one he desires, considers his.

After our previous night’s efforts, I decided being dragged out of a warm, happy place full of love, bed, was not on. So I trapped Paris to bed for the entire day. We ordered in for food and other than modest sheets covering us, we remain naked.

My teeth want to mark his beautifully smooth skin, I try to sink my teeth a little into the skin on his upper thigh and he chuckles.

“That kind of tickles.”

So I use my tongue to trace my teeth indentations around the marking. Which just makes him groan impatiently at me.

I sweep little moist kisses along his skin, to the sensitive skin between his thighs. My tongue traces a direct line along the side of him, to the top. I look back down at him, over his body as I sink my mouth around him, slowly devouring.

A loud sigh escapes him as his eyes widen, watching, just my mouth, he’s barely noticing anything else, as it moves over him. Hypnotically it repeats the movement.

The slow, languorous movement, of driving pressure through him, is maddening to both of us. But who wants this to stop so suddenly? Neither of us. Because it’s a benefit to both of us, to what we want.

We’ve both got a sole focus here. Mine is to drive him as insane as possible. His is the same, by watching what I’ll do for him, to him. Visual clues to a destination, that we both want to reach, but are in no hurry to get to.

You see, it’s the pheromones. They make me want to continue in some form or other, to touch his skin. It’s an Erotic ambrosia that the moon fuels our minds and that of the werewolves contained within with.

I could touch with my hands, let them skim over all that hard muscle, touch and flick his nipples. Trace the patterns, outlines of muscle, of shape. Or I could rub the curves of my softer body along his, pressing my breasts into his chest. Rub myself against him, without him being in me. Setting off erogenous zones that require as much attention as the rest of either of us. Straining my nipples onto his smooth skin.

Or I could use my mouth.

Taste him as well as touch him with my teeth and tongue. Of course, when I started down this path, it was about the time I wished I had the ability to do a partial shape shift so I could use my werewolf fangs on him. But alas, this beta wolf can not do that. But knows from experience, how turned on she gets, when the Alpha werewolf under her, does that to her.

So I offer my mouth, willing. A supplication to consume his body tenderly. Devouring him, in a moist heat. Paris’s hips jerk upwards slightly with one movement. But I’m not done yet, I want more.

Pheromone addiction or something. Well it’s not me that wants more, not just me. The wolf, his and mine, they’re so close and yet not connected enough. They need each other, I can sense not only his restraint to let me take him as far as he can with this slow ride of sensuality. But other feelings, near the surface, the scent of fur is becoming heavier to me. Mixing more with the amber and almonds I know that is his scent.

The werewolf is on the rise.

It’s pressing at him, to bring on the shape shift. To let it out to find the wolf it can sense within me. The pull of the moon, high in the sky is coursing through both beings. The sound of blood rushing through our ears, is just a small prelude. As the night wears on, our bodies become hotter. The blood driving through us, feeling more like a liquid heat of essential gratification.

It’s the deciding factor in who will win out here. Will it tip the power of the shape shift to the werewolf, so that Paris feels not just compelled to shape shift, but unable not to? This skin will out. It’s the testing ground for conceding all or holding just the slightest bit of him back.

Have I gone too far in straining his patience for so long? My mouth curves into a smile around him, as I plunge deeper.

When can a werewolf ever go too far?


June 16, 2010
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When important things happen in your life, you catalogue them internally. There are instant reactions and sensations that your body does that make them, that much more memorable to you.

When I spied Vargr, the world pretty much stopped on it’s axis. I mean, I didn’t hear a sound for a good twenty seconds. I was so focused on him.

I could barely remember what he looked like, because the mugging had happened so swiftly with movement and motion. I’d never got a clear look at his face, or a lock on his scent because of the adrenaline surging through me. Because I’d been reacting.

It was the sight of him and the realization, that I was finally catching up to my mistake. That’s what had me frozen beyond all other comprehension.

“This crypt’s taken find your own.” He muttered at us, as we entered the mausoleum he’d decided to camp out in. Then slowly, as if he realized something, he turned his head and sniffed. Jumping up to his feet. Looking at me and Conall with renewed interest. He knew we weren’t homeless bums looking for a place to crash. “Don’t I know you?”

“You ought to. About a year ago, you mugged me, stole my handbag, my ipod, my wallet.”

His eyes brightened. “Lady, you could be anyone, muggings happen all the time. New York’s not a safe place these days.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” Conall asked him stepping towards him. The damp air in the crypt suddenly felt tense. And still, I couldn’t get a fix on Vargr. Mould, dampness and dank, rife air that felt like it’d been compressed for some time, was showering my sense of smell. We’d already been in the cemetery too long, not to get overwhelmed by the mixture of it’s essence, which was essentially rot and decay, a smell animals know strongly.

“Who are you, man?” Vargr said tilting his head and putting his hands on is hips as he moved towards Conall. Not the least bit intimidated by Conall or me. He was rather smug about stepping up to Conall.

Conall stood still. Also not the least bit intimidated or worried about Vargr.
Vargr glanced back across at me.

“Oh you her man? Is that it? You come to make sure she’s going to get her stuff back from me?” Vargr said laughing as he backed away again slowly, his arms out wide. “Well you’re a little late, I don’t have it lady, I don’t have anything to give you!” He said slapping his arms down by his side.

I needed to get closer to vargr, to get a fix on his scent. I was struggling to figure out what we were dealing with other than a shady street criminal in a crypt.

“So what are you going to do about it?” His eyes twinkled. I know that look, it’s rather gleeful and simmering. It’s the ready to rumble look. Vargr was ready for a fight. I got the impression he wanted one. Maybe to test himself out, against us. To test his new abilities. Whatever they were.

“I’m pretty sure you remember me. I bit you on the collar bone when you mugged me.” I moved past Conall and kept walking towards him. His grin got bigger.

“Lady you got some balls on you, I’ll give you that.”

I inhaled him. I got past the dankness of the room, the stench of his body odor, the grease of his hair, and the stale smoke and beer smell his clothes seemed to be coated in. I got a faint tint of animal. But Conall was right. Not fur. Not exactly. Feathers? Fluff? Something else. He wasn’t a lycan.

Vargr wasn’t a lycan. Definitely not a lycan. Maybe this wasn’t vargr. Maybe we’d got the wrong guy. I mean, what was the likelihood we’d ever run into the mugger again?

“Oh, now, I remember you.” Vargr stated, locking eyes with me. “That bite, stung like a bitch with the clap.”

Some sort of animal, but why couldn’t I figure it out. It wasn’t coming to me clearly. Something about him. Vargr, I wasn’t making out.

“About that bite, did anything happen afterwards? Did you get sick? Have body spasms, anything like that?”

“Why, you try to infect me with AIDS or something?”

I hadn’t created a lycan. A small part of me was relieved. This guy would’ve make a psycho lycan. Which would be, so beyond bad. I heard Conall shuffle forwards and saw vargr’s eyes dart towards him.

“Not Aids. Lycanthropy. It’s not lethal.” I lied. It was only lethal if you didn’t survive it’s initial infection into the bloodstream. Vargr had survived it, clearly. “But you’d have had symptoms.”

“Lycanthropy.” He muttered softly back at me. Before chuckling. “Well now, that explains a few things.”


He was a lycan? What things did he mean? How could he be a lycan? Why was my sense of what he was, so screwed up? I wanted to glance at Conall. But if he’d have figured it out, he’d have muttered something to me. We were both at a loss as to what Vargar was.

“What do you mean?” I asked suddenly nervous.

“So you’re what a lycan looks like, huh?” He said slowly circling around me, visually examining me.
Okay, so vargr didn’t know about werewolves.

“Werewolf.” Conall muttered angrily at him. I would’ve let the insult slide, with his ignorance, not armed him with information.

“And you too, am I right?” Vargr said looking over at Conall, who gave no response, other than a stoic face.
“So I mugged the wrong woman huh? I got myself bit by a damn werewolf in New York. Well now, that is a first.”

“You seem to be taking it pretty well, considering you stole from one of us, your in a confined room with two werewolves, and we’re blocking your only exit out of here.” I replied as vargr stood opposite me again. He was about my height, hard to make his build under his layers of baggy clothing. But two werewolves against one man, the odds were in our favor, should we fight. Not that I wanted this reunion to come down to that.

“Why wouldn’t I be lady? No harm, no foul. I mugged you and I got bit. It’s my own fault, hazard of the job. I don’t have your stuff with me. But you can help yourself to whatever I do have that might be of value to you.” Vargr said indicating his latest stash pile of no doubt, assorted stolen items.

I frowned, not liking the sound of his words. A gnawing feeling of tension built in my gut. It wasn’t about the stolen goods, he was trying to fence me. It was about what he wasn’t saying, about why he was so at ease with being infected with lycanthropy, with being confined in a room with two werewolves and no way out.

Why he didn’t fear us, especially when Conall was there, doing his dark scowling thing.

Maybe it was because Vargr didn’t know about the other side of Brooklyn. The world, he and I belonged in, more than the regular, human world. The world that came alive at night and was inexplicably linked by the moon and it’s lunar cycle.

Was that why he didn’t fear a werewolf? The thought kept playing over in my head as I stared hard at his features, trying to figure it out. He knew I was trying to decipher what he was.

“I got handbags, I got wallets, you like leather?” He asked slipping back into con mode. Conall glanced at me, silent but clearly expecting me to indicate what we should do next. What the plan was.

Animals tend to live in a hierarchy system. There’s usually something bigger, and badder than they are and that’s what they fear. It’s the difference between Predator and Prey. Like when I get close to a domesticated dog or cat, they sense my werewolf and freak out, getting their claws out and going crazy. Like that children’s poem about the fly. The fly gets eaten by the spider.

“Will you walk into my parlour said the spider to the fly.”

Vargr stopped rummaging through his stash and looked over at me. He looked at me as If he knew I’d just figured out the puzzle that was him.

There’s only one thing I’ve ever come across that like a werewolf, lacks fear of a predator coming after them, because they can become a predator, themselves. Only, Without only being bound to the one shape.

“You’re a shape shifter.” I blurted out.

Conall looked over at me, frowning. “Are you sure?”
I ignored Conall.

Shape shifters aren’t obvious to pick up because of their multitude of shapes they can become, so their scents mingle and mix a lot. It’s been my experience, that shape shifters don’t tend to be seen in public, a great deal. They don’t act like lycans or behave like werewolves. Us werewolves, really don’t know that much about them, as a result of our limited interaction with them.

But I’ve come across three in my lifetime. Vargr, would make four.

Vargr straightened up and looked back at me. “Yeah, I believe that’s the name for my uh, condition.” He replied back at both of us grinning broadly. “Mighty useful.”

The Dead World

June 15, 2010
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I have this thing about cemeteries. I don’t like them. They creep me out. I mean, I’m not afraid of walking into one. I’m just…well, hesitant about it.

See being a werewolf has certain abilities, that carry over for me, when I’m in human form. Like ultra good hearing, strength and sense of smell, in particular. The thing about cemeteries is, it’s the smell. To humans, it’s not detectable, but to animals and me, it’s the one place, for me, that smells worse than a junkyard full of rubbish.

I’m not the only one who has this…well, I guess you’d call it sensitivity, to cemeteries. It’s actually quite common amongst beta werewolves for us to avoid, ever having to step into one. The abundance of scents, that come from within are just too much for me to handle, for all that long. So I guess, it’s why I never considered looking for vargr in one. Last place I’d want to go look-see.

Bones have a smell you know.

I deal with scents everyday, in the busy, busy, hustle and bustle world of New York. But not like this. I don’t know how to explain it, but cemeteries, are just, different.

I met Conall at the entrance to Greenwood Cemetery, he was waiting on the outside of the grounds. I wasn’t surprised to see that, considering the place was most likely smelling to him like fumes of the dead and rotting, or it was probably making his skin feel like it was being polluted in a toxic way.

Still, he was supposed to be tracking vargr. Not letting him out of his sight. I had to speak to vargr, had to confront him.

Being a lycan isn’t nearly half as fun as being a werewolf. Yes, there are distinct differences. Lycan’s aren’t allowed to live in werewolf territory. It’s pretty much every werewolf’s duty to make lycans aware of this and then to make the leading pack Alpha’s hierarchy aware of this, so they can be dealt with.

At the very least, I had to make sure Vargr was really okay, from what I’d done to him a year ago. You know, turned him into a lycan in the first place.

“Hey,” Conall greeted me with, flicking a bit of hair out of his eyes.

“Thanks for doing this.” I said walking up to the Greenwood Cemetery entrance and looking out in front of me. Even my feet seemed hesitant about me moving in there. Like my body was on alert, and knew it wouldn’t be pleasant if I stepped over the threshold of normalcy into the dead world, glazed over by perfectly manicured lawns.

“Where’s superman? Thought he’d be by your side.” Conall said looking away from me quickly. I’d have growled at him in annoyance at mocking my boyfriend Paris like that, but it wasn’t the time or the place to get into why he had to constantly be a prick to me about Paris.

“Let’s just do this, okay? No personal life melodrama. Just pack business, that’s why we’re here.” I replied

We walked in and kept walking. To the humans of Brooklyn and beyond it’s grounds, Greenwood Cemetary is rather beautiful.

To me, it’s a place that’s makes my skin crawl. I hate it.

Sure the concrete statues and marble mausoleums look innate and harmless enough. But what they don’t get is the smell. The cemetery smell of the earth mixed, leaves, rotted flesh, ash, dirt, fennel bitterness, tin and mould are amongst the first few scents that hit me when I take a deep breath and inhale. It’s how werewolves scent in the open. We get all the smells and we differentiate between them for what we are looking for. Then we can kind of lock onto it and track it.

You know, I can even tell when a cemetery ground has been consecrated. That’s got a distinct smell to it.

Of course, Conall was leading me to Vargr’s location anyway, but if Vargr, now a new lycan was able to sense us, he might consider two approaching werewolves a threat. In which case, if he was smart, he’d probably run. Conall and I would then have to give chase, on foot. So we needed to both be able to scent him if a pursuit was to follow.

More smells hit me. Mostly the repugnant smell of decaying bones. All around. Of course, I couldn’t see them, but the smell to me was being flooded throughout my entire body. I remained steadfast and kept walking, normally and with purpose, Conall by my side. He was doing just as good a job of ignoring the heeby-jebbies the cemetery was giving off.

“How did you come across Vargr?” I asked him, as we set off deeper into the cemetery grounds.

Conall shrugged his shoulders loosely. “The dude just walked past me on the street and I just caught the faintest whiff of your scent. Thought I had it wrong, so followed him and sure enough, I got your scent mingled with something else …I dunno, couldn’t put my finger on it exactly. Kind fluffy. I knew it had to be Vargr because your scent was entwined in it.”

“Fluffy?” I glanced at Conall. “What I bit him so now he’s a giant teddy bear?”

Conall gave me a look that silently told me to stop being so stupid.

“No, it’s something else. Kind of makes me think prey, but maybe not. I didn’t smell fur.”

I raised my eyebrows at this news. All werewolves and lycans, have a tainted fur smell to their physical being, even in human form. It’s just how it is. How could vargr not have a scent of fur to him?

“Maybe you didn’t get close enough, or he just was to fast moving for you to get a lock on all of him.”

“Hmm, maybe.” Conall muttered. His tone of voice letting me know he didn’t believe that was the case at all.

Claws and effect

June 14, 2010
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Karma is a concept of cause and effect. But perhaps in my case, that should be claws and effect. In layman’s turns, most people will say to you, when speaking of karma “What goes around, comes around.” In otherwords, you’ll get what’s coming to you in the end. It usually implies all manner of bad behaviour and doom and gloom. And it never specifies the timeline for your karmic retribuition to be layed down upon you.

In other words, karma, my friends, is a bitch.

If you don’t live your life well and good and treat your fellow beings with the same respect you show unto yourself, or would like show unto you, then you’re screwed sunshine.

I got a phone call from all people, my ex boyfriend – Conall. Yes, I know I should have deleted his sorry name from the existence of my cell phone. But I haven’t. I guess I forgot. I should have put a block on it also. But I guess I forgot to do that too.

Although now, after the phone call I received, I think I’m rather glad I didn’t block his number.

Don’t get me wrong, pack, is pack and always will be, with us Breukelen werewolves. But Conall and I will never be together again. However, despite our differences, you could say, we still look out for one another, because we’re of the same kind. Werewolves, Breukelen werewolves.

The point to pack, is this. Protecting one another. I guess that’s why he called me.

It was a shock to my system to get his call. After all the stuff that’s gone down lately, and just when Paris and I seem to be closing the gap on our own little spat together. We couldn’t be more solid, especially since Paris told me he wants to help me find out who the lycan hunter was. He’s promised to help me, look into that lycan.

Then I get this voicemail from Conall.

“I know you’re going to be tempted to erase this message when you hear my voice. But you need to call me. This isn’t about me, It’s related to Vargr.”

You know how people will describe having something like chills run through their body at the sound of bad news or having a sinking feeling about some approaching badness? Yeah well, Vargr is my bad thing. My doing.

When Conall said that word, the hair at the back of my neck stood to attention and pulled, like a screaming child, fighting the hand that holds it still.

I swear I felt my wolf, kick me with her claws, internally. Bile rose in my throat. Not a normal reaction to a phone call, Conall or bad news for me.

But that’s because Vargr is my doing. I still carry the shame of biting a non around with me. I couldn’t come up with a solution to the problem of me possibly infecting this human with lycanthropy that didn’t involve time travel.

What was done, was done. Even if it was in self defense. Still, that’s hardly an excuse for a werewolf. We have to be in more control than some sort of reaction state.

I bit vargr in human form. So I hoped like hell, that the lycanthropy wouldn’t carry through to his bloodstream. Although, I probably broke his skin, with my supposedly “human” teeth. I bit down so hard, I hit bone and chipped my tooth.

I’ve never known any werewolf to pass on lycanthropy to a non in human form. As far as I am aware, you have to be in your tribal werewolf form to do that.

But who knows? Not me.
So I called Conall.

“I uh, got your message. How do you know it’s vargr?” I asked him nervously.

I was alone when I was mugged. So how could Conall know who vargr was?

“His scent, it had something familiar in it. Like the lightest trace of you.” Conall replied back at me. “I’d know you’re scent anywhere. You know that.”

Of course I knew that.

Werewolves can lock scents into their systems, human or animal, for their whole life and recall, the memory associated with it.

Then again, Conall and I did go out for a long time also. So I guess you could say he knew me well.

“Shit.” I decided panicking was in order.

My mind raced. So vargr, the mugger, I had initially bitten in self defense had survived the lycanthropy. But I’d created a lycan. Seriously bad news.

“I’m following him now.”

“Where are you now?”

“Headed into Greenwood Cemetary.”

No wonder I hadn’t been able to find vargr when I’d tried tracing his where about after the mugging. I’d never thought to look in a cemetery.

Why would I?

“I’ll hop on the subway, and meet you there. Just keep your distance following him. We don’t want to spook him.”

“Sure, but what are you going to do once you’re here? With him?”

“I don’t know.”

And the thing was, I didn’t. I’m not the strategist in my family, that’s my sister Bodil. She’s got the smarts for that.

“Alright, keep you posted. Get here soon.”

“On my way.” I disconnected the call looking at the phone stupefied. My mind awhirl of mixed emotions.

What’ve I done?

Sensing the wolf

May 22, 2010
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What’s worse than getting the last word and still feeling horrible about it?

Getting the last word, feeling horrible about it and then having to go back to the person you dumped on, for help.

Seriously, talk about taking the wind out of your sails.

I faced that dilemma. The scratches along my arms were stinging and the corner of my mouth was starting to throb painfully. My muscles were stiffening and aching too, as the adrenaline that had been in them, left my all too human body.

Way to remind me I’m still just a mortal, even if I’m part werewolf. Sigh.

So after watching my boyfriend, the Manhattan Maen pack Alpha, stay very much in control of what was sure to be a building temper. Due to what he and Addison thought were foolish actions on my behalf. Getting into a fight with a greater opponent than myself.

I had to fix myself, at least physically. Which meant, shape shifting.

See once the body shifts to the werewolf, the process of healing begins. Somehow the werewolf body knows just how long you need to be in your tribal form, for all the injuries to recover. So it holds the form for that time frame, before, automatically shape shifting back to human form, when it’s done. It’s rather brilliant like that.

Shape shifting on demand outside of a lunar week, is not always hard. But it does depend greatly on the werewolf involved. In my case, it also depended greatly on the injuries I’d already sustained from my bitch fight with the lycan hunter and from how much pain my human body was going through. Well, not so much pain on the physical level, as shock and trauma on a muscular, body level. My human body was holding me back. Because of this and the fact that because of this, I couldn’t focus enough to make the shape shift I needed, happen for me.

Which meant, one of two things.

1) I could either skip the shape shift and deal with the physical scaring.

2) Or I could ask for help.

Yes, way to get back me, karma.

Make the werewolf with the biggest amount of offended pride, have to go and ask an Alpha werewolf, for help to bring on her shape shift.

I’m a little bit vain, and I was beginning to feel tired from trying to do what was fast becoming the impossible for me, so I chose option 2.

Paris was obliging, although, it was still a little weird. Strained between us.

We didn’t speak to each other, as we stripped of our own clothes. He didn’t attempt to undress me any more than I did him. Normally we’re all over each other. Loving the contact and the possession of the other one. Not talking and being aware of the silence between us, was different to just trying to be quiet and not making any noise.

The thing with assisting a shape shift, it can be done without physical contact to one another. You just have to be close to one another, within personal space etc, to make it happen. But an assisted shape shift will probably go a smoother and faster if there is physical contact. And I don’t mean, holding hands.

I was standing there naked, beginning to wonder how we would do this. When Paris took the decision making out of the equation for me.

I felt his calloused finger tips smooth their way along my hamstrings, like they were out taking a leisurely stroll along my skin, the still smooth and unscarred skin of my upper legs. I breathed heavily as my heart beat picked up and he cupped my behind, feeling it rest in his hands. Pressing himself against me. He ran his nose along my shoulder and kissed my shoulder lightly, as he brushed my hair away from my neck. My heart was happily thudding away in anticipation of more. But the anticipation of sex, is not enough to bring on a smooth shape shift. You need to sense the wolf for that. It’s an oddity, I’ll give you that. Sex helps relax but you still need to focus on sensing the other werewolf presence to bring your own into play. So you know, no getting carried away with the first part of the exercise!

He turned me around slowly, so my back was too him, against him. I could feel the heat of his chest warming me as he swept my silky hair over my shoulder so it was again, out of the way. Paris ran his nose back along the top of my shoulders, sighing lightly as he picked up my scent. He move to the right side shoulder and did the same, only when he came to my neck, he ran his tongue up behind my ear.

I couldn’t help but shiver.

Then he did something rather special.

Whilst his mouth was kissing the back of my neck, his hands, resting gently on my hips. He shape shifted his teeth, as he was nipping the back of my neck, so I could feel the sensation of the shift against my skin. So it would stir the sleeping werewolf inside me with the feeling that it ran over me. I felt the sharpness of his teeth, pressing slightly against my skin and I groaned, dropping my head forward.

It was rather heady. I felt dazed, as his fingers dug tighter into my hips, telling me silently that he was keeping control of his own desire. As he kept holding me to him. I felt the heat of his body intensify and sniffed the air, mingled with cologne and the musk of heat from the man behind me, was his werewolf scent of amber, almonds and sunlight on fur.

It was all I needed, as my mind visualized what I already knew, Paris’s werewolf looked like and my skin started to shimmer, the shape shift kicking itself into motion.

I am

May 3, 2010

Ever wanted to turn the tables on someone?
Have a do-over on your terms? Well, I believe, if you ever get the second chance, you should take the shot.

Only I don’t use guns or weapons. I don’t need to.
I am a werewolf. Altijd.
I am the weapon.

When the scent of The Hunter came to me, it was like a burst of recoiling terror in the pit of my stomach. Made my insides clutch as my breath froze me. But this was quickly replaced by steely anger, that was so red hot, it burned me from the insides out. Had to remind myself, I’m not fourteen anymore and to breathe. Slowly.

This is my life. The Hunter just made a massive mistake in coming here. Re-entering my life.

I moved with stealth to fall in behind my prey.
The time had come to go hunting again.
This time, on my turf, and my terms.
This time, I’m the hunter.
My prey doesn’t have a clue, what it’s really up against.
Hasn’t a clue I’m coming for it.
Hasn’t a clue about me.

This isn’t about revenge.

It’s about a fair fight and righting the wrong done to me.
Revenge would be about pain, hurt, torture and leaving a constant reminder with my prey, forever. Although I’m pretty sure there’s going to be some form of hurt involved in this reunion. I haven’t figured it all out, because I’m almost too scared and excited at the same time to think to rationally.

But there’s no mistaking that scent of ash, hay and wet fur tinged with copper. That’s the hunter who thought it’d be fun, to play with my life, without regard for anything about me or mine.

The Lycan that hunted me.

Apparently, I wasn’t even the first werewolf the Lycan has hunted.

I can track this hunter for; forever if need be. That’s how driving the force inside of me is with the scent of that time, riddling my brain. I wonder if anyone has ever tried a hunt in the urban jungles of New York before? If my prey runs, then that’s what I’ll turn this into.

All I have to do, is wait till the timing is right.

The Hunter

May 1, 2010
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Talk about a bad day.
Remember how I mentioned werewolves scent things?

Once we have a scent it’s like a play back movie in our memory banks, whether you want it to be or not. I can automatically recall, everything about that person, time, place, thing, all because of a scent.

There is a particularly strong difference between humans and werewolves.

If a human experiences trauma, they can blank it out and eventually forget it all together, if need be. The human mind is designed to be, kind like that. The memory gets harder to keep over time and doubt can set in, things become vague. Where as on the other hand, if a werewolf experiences trauma, it’s more often than not, going to be locked in our minds, because of scent.

See, when our hides are under attack or in a bad situation, the wolf takes over the thinking for us. The survival instincts kick in and all our senses become our weapons. So even if we’re not deliberately trying to scent, more likely than not, we’re doing it unconsciously. Like recording the details of the event, so we will know what to do or how to get out of it.

I fucked up once upon a long ago, in my life, big time. Well, we now know it’s more than once. But before the whole Vargr incident.

When I was fourteen, something happened.
Something bad.
I was nearly killed.

Needless to say, I clearly got through it, because here I am. But that was because my father, the Alpha of the Breukelen rescued me. I’m under no illusions that’s why I survived being hunted. Problem is, we thought we’d dealt with those responsible for trying to hunt me.

Even though, years have passed since then, I can still be transported right back to the day, all because I got the scent of those responsible, locked into my animal side. It’s like keeping the post traumatic stress of the event. One moment I am normal, the next I am thrust back into the trauma of the moment, the assault, the terror.

So imagine my shock, when I’m the subway and a group of people get up to exit at the next stop and I smell, ash, hay and wet fur tinged with copper.

The scent of the hunter who took great fun in turning me, into summer time sport.

Now it’s my turn to go hunting.

Werewolf behaviour 101

February 27, 2010

Here’s a bit of an education for you.

When it comes to werewolves, we scent a lot of things, a lot of the time.

It’s one of our strongest senses, regardless of whether you’re an Alpha or Beta wolf. We all use it this sense, a lot. When it comes to making your intentions clear to your pack mate, girlfriend, boyfriend, etc, we do this by scenting them.

You move in to their neck, as if going to kiss it, and you run the tip of your nose just over it, not quite touching it, right up to the back of their ear.

This is known more commonly as werewolf behaviour 101.

You take in their scent, and it gets committed to memory, it fuels the desire that’s already building inside you.

It pleases the wolf inside you, as it gives it a sense of pack and pleasure. It lets you keep your urges a little bit more, under control.

It also shows your intent, or level of interest if you want to call it that, to your intended.

And once you have a scent locked into your memory, if you smell it again, later on someone, you can automatically make the connection of where you know it from. It’s like taking out a library book and putting it back later. It’s all their, an inbuilt knowledge system.

It’s why we can track so good.

With each werewolf there is a different scent. We all have a base pack scent, that if you obviously know the pack, you can recognise instantly.

All werewolves have a scent of ‘wolf’. The common denominator that gives away the ‘wolf’part smells like warm fur. Then you start to pick up on the other things mingled with it. Then you add into the mix, our base human scent that is entwined with the wolf scent and you get, all of the package.

I run my nose over the air just above Paris’s neck as he sleeps. Ignoring the fresh smell of cotton from the pillow’s under his head, and the shampoo of his hair, I can smell amber and almonds on his skin. I run my nose up to his ear, and graze my teeth over his ear lobe ever so lightly.

Soft moan leaves his lips and a smile tweaks along them, as his hands blindly grab at me, dragging me right up against his body. His eyes are still closed, by this grip on me is strong and as I peak under the sheet covering us, I can see he’s more than awake.

“Don’t let me stop you.” He murmurs softly at me, his hands cupping my breasts, as they lean heavily into his palms.

During lunar week, our pheromones are strong. Very strong. Sometimes it seems like we’re being turned into human lollipops.

You just want to lick skin, touch skin, kiss and caress and eat these scents. They get so ingrained into your blood. It’s like having a craving, throughout your entire body.A craving that’s not going to be satisfied until find the right mix of scent on the werewolf you seek.

My lips glide over his jaw and I run my tongue under it, and down his throat. Pausing to suck his adams apple into my mouth, brandishing my teeth around it, just enough to provide a little, pressure.

He moans louder this time and I release him as I continue my journey down his body. Tracing his collar bones with my tongue.

His hands go to my hair, entwining themselves in it.

Still my mouth moves on, over him, leaving a moist hot trail over his skin. It’s like he’s just this very delicious piece of candy that I am going to take my time savouring.

Paris has told me I smell like a combination of vanilla and marshmallows. Tells me again and again, as my mouth moves on him, it’s his favourite smell in the whole wide world.

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