A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Welcome to Brooklyn, now you’re dead.

June 17, 2010
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So what are you when you don’t know what you are? Lost?

Vargr, didn’t strike me as someone who was lost. A petty criminal and a shape shifter, he definitely was. But after his run in with me, back in 2009 when he robbed me of my belongings on the streets of Brooklyn, he became something else. All because I bit him. I don’t know if anyone’s every done studies on what a werewolf bite can do. When I bit Vargr, I was in human form, had very human teeth, that had all the powerful force of a werewolf’s bite and strength. I bit through his skin, till I hit bone. His collar bone. I bit so hard, I chipped my tooth.

Non’s just can’t do that. It might sound simple and easy, but muscle is tough, sinew is tougher. Breaking skin is easy, getting past the broken skin, sinking into someone’s bone, that’s actually harder than you’d believe. Of course, not to a werewolf like me. It’s kind of like forgetting your own strength and all that.

I let his words sink in, with the maniacal expression building on his face.

“I’m a, what those native indians call a shape shifter, I looked it up.”

Vargr was a shape shifter. Thanks to me? I frowned heavily. How did that even begin to work? I don’t really know how shape shifter become what they are. I don’t really know that much about their kind at all. But I am like ninety nine percent certain, you don’t become a shape shifter from a werewolf bite. If anything, he should have become a lycan.

My bite did something to him. Maybe, I infected a shape shifter with lycanthropy. Like he didn’t know he was a shape shifter or something and then I bit him and it activated it or messed things up in him? How is that even possible?

I glanced at Conall, ever ready to pounce on this guy, should he make a wrong move. What had I done to this petty criminal? Had I made a bad person, worse?

“How?”I asked him, because the question had to be asked. I had to know. I didn’t just walk through a cemetery for no reason, and not to confront Vargr. I hadn’t worried about this guy for a whole year, because I didn’t have reason to. I wanted an answer.

He shrugged his shoulders. “After you bit me. I become different.” He said cryptically.
Asshole.

“How different?”

He smiled with a cat’s got the canary kind of smile. Like he knew something I don’t know which should seem so obvious to me, if only I damn well knew what it was.

“You freed me.”

A chill ran over my body.

Freedom usually sounds like a good thing. Something to celebrate and enjoy. Only this was a criminal, an from what I could tell, he rather enjoyed being a criminal. Which didn’t make him the nicest person on the planet according to my judgment scale.

He moved away from me and started gathering up his stash pile of stolen items, shoving the small bits of jewellery and wallets into the larger handbags, he’d stolen from people.

Freedom to a werewolf was open spaces, and running and roaming without fear of anything being after them. It was the moonlight coursing through our veins when we were in tribal form on a lunar week. It was…

Moonlight. The moon. The lunar cycle. Lunar week. I kept jumping my thoughts along, trying to piece it together with what I knew, as Vargr seemed to pack up his stuff.

Shape shifters are bound by moonlight. At least, I’m pretty sure they are, I’ve only ever seen shape shifters change form on a lunar week. As far as I was aware, that’s the only time they can. Where as werewolves can change form at any time but have to shift on a full moon night.

“So, how does the whole, changing shape thing work anyway?” I asked curiously.

Vargr shoved his stash into a large duffel bag. “I don’t know lady and if I did know, I sure as hell wouldn’t be telling no werewolf about it.”

“Why not?” Conall asked, beside me.

“When you’ve been on the streets as long as I have, and you do what I do for a living, you learn to have some street smarts about you. You’re the first two werewolves I’ve ever met, but I’ve heard about your type before. Plenty of times. I ain’t stupid.”

“Well, you’re something alright, wandering into werewolf territory, twice now, attacking me once, stealing my stuff.”

Vargr straightened up, hoisting his duffel bag onto his shoulder quickly.

“The crypt’s all yours. I got other places I can crash.”

Both Conall and I stepped in front of him, blocking the entrance of the crypt. So there was no way out.

“You don’t want to do that.” He said at me, his voice getting deeper. Did he think he was testing me? Frightening me? Going to intimidate me, a werewolf, into backing down? Oh he really didn’t know werewolves that well. I won’t back down for anyone. Let alone a shape shifter.

“Oh yes, I do.” I replied, letting my growl come through in my voice. Vargr flinched, taking a step backwards. What an amateur. He really had no idea about messing with werewolves or playing the card he’d been dealt. He sighed heavily and started sliding the duffel bag off his shoulder. Then he threw the bag out at us, slamming into Conall and trying to shoulder past me. Conall swatted the bag aside and moved to grab him.

I’d half been expecting him to pull out his knife on me again. I was beginning to dislike Vargr, a lot. I barely fell off balance as I growled and grabbed him first, throwing him back into the marble centre piece in the crypt. Causing him to bounce off it, grabbing his ribs. I heard something pop inside him.

“Welcome to Brooklyn.” I muttered as both Conall and I strode towards him. “Now you’re dead. For the crime of pissing me off.”

“Okay, okay, you want to know?” He winced holding his arms up in a defensive position, like he thought he was going to get hit. He sounded winded. Conall and I stood over him. What a whimp. I felt my wolf start to get restless. Whimps are weaklings and weaklings are prey, to a werewolf. Vargr seemed like slim pickings made easy.

“I can become animals, at any time. That’s it, I swear, after you bit me, I could just do it. It’s handy, It helps me get into houses easier, people have those pet flap door things, I just change into a dog or a cat and wander in, whenever I need the cash, I grab their stuff and leave.”

Vargr sounded like a stupid criminal if you ask me. Especially since it clearly didn’t occur to him to shape shift to fight either Conall or I.

“Versipellis.” Conall muttered lightly. Vargr looked over at him.

“What?”

Versipellis, the word rang around in my head. I’m sure one of the pack elders had told me the story of Versipellis before. Basically it translated to a shape shifter not bound by the usual limitations. They weren’t controlled by the lunar cycle and they didn’t neccessarily respond to the moon. The story I’d been told, made Versipellis sound like a trickester bogey man. Scary and troublesome. Of course, being told as a child, probably meant, a lot of things sound scary.

So I’d created a bogey man? Shape shifting had to have advantages. But I doubt Vargr knew that and I wasn’t about to let on. He clearly didn’t get the gift he’d been given or know how he’d gotten the way he was. He’d choosen to be criminal and now, he’d choosen to come back into my home. Brooklyn.

Conall clamped down again and continued to glare down at him. Vargr looked over to me desperately. He was literally backed into a corner. How utterly pathetic, my wolf was getting far too excited about how easy it would be to hurt him. I could feel the urge for blood lust coming on. It would be so easy for both Conall and I to take this douche bag out of existance. For god sakes, we were in a cemetary. Who’d look there for a freshly dead kill?

But I knew it was wrong. So I fought the wolf’s urges down.

“I should thank you for what you did for me.” Vargr stammered out quickly, still gasping slightly from his rib injury.

I shook my head and fought the urge to slap him senseless. I hated myself even more for having ever bit this scumbag. But maybe it wasn’t my doing, the Versipellis thing. Maybe that was a myth. A story told to children to keep their curosities and manners in line. Maybe Vargr had always been a shape shifter and never known how to activate that part of himself. Maybe it was all just a horrible coincedence.

Turning my back on him, indicating to Conall I was ready to get out of there. We moved towards the entrance.

“Get out!” I spat at him over my shoulder. “Tonight! Don’t ever show your face in Brooklyn again. If I hear about you robbing anyone in Brooklyn, I will see to it that you’re shredded out of your skin till you’re bled dry, and cut into pet food pieces.”

We walked out of the crypt.
Me leaving Vargr behind me, for good.

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Vargr

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.”

Shit.

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.”


Chelsea’s Coyote

March 4, 2010
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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.

Please.

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

Wake up and smell the lupine, people.


Aftermath

January 30, 2010
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When the Alpha werewolf goes in to fight and wins over whatever challenger was naive enough to fight him, or her, as the case maybe, they are not helped up.

For the Alpha, weather injured or not, it’s a show of their leadership in the pack, to walk away from a fight by themselves.

For the challenger, it’s a show of their weakness. They are not acknowledged in any sense of compassion. To do so would be insulting to the pack leading Alpha. To do so would be like an act of defiance to the leader’s victory and ruling. It’s just not the done thing.

You get yourself into a fight with an Alpha werewolf, and you somehow manage to survive it, then you get the right to carry your own weary carcass out of the fight zone and warpath of the Alpha.

But you do it yourself.

And if you can’t, then you’re left exactly where you are. To figure your own way out of your own predicament.

Paris walks over to me, back in human form.
Back Dog lay curled in on himself, on the ground, still in lipwerei form. Breathing heavily and bleeding slowly. His back legs, pushing, and slipping against the floor and blood. Trying to move himself forward and up. Black Dog’s front legs are next to no use to him. He’s not even trying to use them. If he were a werewolf, we’d probably all be picking up on his pain. But he’s not.

So I force myself not to care.

Paris probably severed a tendon or two with his claws, when he sliced him open. Doesn’t always take much to make your enemy immobile, you just got to have the willpower to over power them effectively. But it can hurt like hell, and werewolves are not known for playing things safe or soft. If we’re in a fight, in our animal form, you can expect nothing less than ruthlessness.

The crowd breaks up and wanders off.
Music returns, flowing through the club loudly.
Everything as it should be.

People take to the dance floor again, drinks flow and gradually chatter returns to the soundtrack of the night around us.

You do not fuck with the wolves and get to brag about it.
We will have your pride served to you in the gutter over you bleeding, broken, body before that’s allowed.

Addison and the other seconds in command, check in with Paris, who assures them he is good. Waving them off before they all back off again and I’m left standing in front of him. I wrap my arms around him and bury my head in his shoulder. Listening to the rapid thudding of the heart beat in his chest. His arms close around me and we held each other tight.

Just because he won the fight, doesn’t mean he wanted to fight.
But he can not let authority go unchallenged and he can not allow an outsider, not a werewolf, to walk into our world and think they can insult any of us.

It’s one of the first sensations I picked up on when he shape shifted back, it was so strong. The aftermath of doing the expected thing. Of carrying the pressure of expectation. Of being the leader.


Dog Fight

January 29, 2010
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Always bet on the werewolf to win the fight.

In a true fight, beyond the usual pack politics and bullshit of dominance fights, we don’t cave. We don’t give in, until death sets in. We’re like a reoccurring wave of defiance. We always get up, we always, fight. It’s ingrained in our nature, no matter how gentle and soft our human appearance makes us look. The werewolf inside, is not so malleable.

Those that wish to test us, should take note of that.

We just won’t back down to anyone or anything else, outside of Pack. Because in the end scheme of things, all werewolves will unite together for the common goal of survival.
Why do you think we live in packs?

Black Dog found this out the hard way.

He not only decided to start something as stupid as a fight. He decided to do it with a werewolf. An Alpha werewolf.

That’s like the best of our line. The warriors. They’re abilities aside, they’re instinct, to fight, to protect, to win, is legendary.

I watch teeth like razors sink into the soft underside of Black Dogs lipwerei’s throat. The animal part of him, yelps in pain.

The Blood flow is instant.

The bright red liquid coats the soft fur and wolf claws rake along the spotted fur of Black Dog’s forelegs. Instantly tearing open the fur to reveal, muscled flesh and a bit of bone.

I can’t help it, my nose twitches and I sniff the air. We all do.
The scent of blood was flowing freely and my inner werewolf likes that smell. Especially when it was from prey. I want a taste. It’s like a burning hunger in my gut, nothing else is going to satisfy it, but the bloody meat of prey.

My werewolf could tell without having to see through my very human eyes, that Black Dog was prey. A weakness that a werewolf was going to take advantage of.
But Paris isn’t going to kill him and let the wolves savage him.

I know this because if he had been, he’d already have ripped Black Dog’s throat open or taken off his head. No delay, no cause to go beyond, an instant kill of satisfaction.
That’s the werewolf talking.
That’s how we roll.

Black Dogs lipwerei barely gets a chance to do more than grip the Alpha Werewolf mauling it’s body.
Digging claws in, as if holding on, for the sake of some sort of save-face.
The oversized grey werewolf releases Black Dog from its clutches and shoves the bloody and ruined animal aside, like he’s nothing but an annoyance.

No, this fight, is about Black Dog learning a little respect.
He’s going to be horribly maimed. At least for tonight.

Which if his shape shifting abilities suggest, he should be able to recover from in the lunar week. But it’ll give him cause to think, to stop and think about this, before he tries anymore tricks on the Manhattan Pack.

Pisses off the Alpha.


Lipwereri

January 28, 2010
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Have you ever seen a true werewolf fight?

Been to any of the underground Alpha dominance fights they hold around Brooklyn? They change the location after every fight, so you might find it hard to get into them. It’s kind of like you have to be in the know or know someone who knows someone who knows someone involved with organizing the fights to find out where they are.

Yeah, well I have.

It ain’t a fight unless there’s a ton of blood spilled, and someone’s almost dead or completely incapacitated at the end of it.

It’s not a fight until one werewolf, Alpha werewolf, gives in.

Can you imagine?

Take the most competitive, the most macho person you know. The toughest, bad ass and the most stubborn son of a bitch you know and roll them all into one hombre. Now pit that hombre against themself. Watch the pride and egos swell and surge.

We’re not allowed to deliberately kill one another, even in a dominance fight.

Werewolf lineages, low birth rates and all that. But werewolves are allowed to beat the absolute living crap out of each other to within an inch of death.

Go figure.

Alpha werewolves do not fuck around with that shit. They play hard and they hit harder, even in human form.

That’s the other thing about the dominance fights, they’re only held between Alpha werewolves and they’re held in human form.

No shape shifting allowed.

So you’re talking about a being who can take the hits and cope for far longer than any human could.

The beatings are mega powerful and they go on, for like forever. And one of them is ‘expected’ to give in. To take the beating, and then admit, someone else is the winner.

It’s beyond bitchy.

The tension in Crescent is so sharp, I’m beginning to think it can slice skin open just because we breathe and move in it.

But Black Dog isn’t an Alpha werewolf.

He’s a shape shifter, not that I think that holds some sort of advantage to him and disadvantage to Paris. It just means, that when my Alpha, Paris, beats his human ass to a pulp, he’s not going to going to be able to crawl away half as fast as a loser in a regular dominance fight.

I just hope Paris doesn’t murder him.

Black Dog circles around Paris, his arms up like he thinks’ he is actually going to be able to land the jabs he hopes to throw. He’s even got the boxer stance happening and is bouncing from foot to foot, lightly.

The crowd at Crescent have all but stopped whatever they were doing before this. A semi circle has formed around the shape shift and the Alpha werewolf. Paris has his shirt off again. He’s ripped. Broad shoulders, that show off a running display of back tattoos. Arms that look heavy and full of nothing but raw power. He’s just eyeing Black Dog.

Daring him.

Black Dog smirks back at him, moving far too much for someone who should not be nearly as confident as he appears to be for someone who’s going to get ripped to shreds.

This isn’t a sanctioned fight, isn’t about dominance or leadership. It’s about fighting, for the sake of fighting.

So that means, the normal rules of dominance fights don’t apply.

I guess that’s why I gasped, when Black Dog suddenly shape shifts. It’s like a slow blink of an eye. His body flows like fluid until before us all stands a giant creature.

Kind of looks like an Egyptian jackal. But that’s not right, the ears are wrong.
Then it comes to me.

Lipwereri.

More commonly known these days as a spotted Heyena.

Teeth bared like salivating wolf fangs, but a small face, and spotted fur, short ears and strong fore legs and hind legs.

Black Dog’s lipwereri throws back it’s head, and unleashes a haunting howl, that sounds like laughter filled with death.

Most of the wolves in the crowd, raise their hands to their ears and shrink back automatically, as if the laughter alone is like poison touching them.

But not Paris.

The man stands his ground, doesn’t even flinch at the horrible sound.

Instead, he launches himself straight at Black Dog, before he can finish putting his head back down from the howl.

As fluid, as the shape shifter, his figure shape shifts in flight, off the ground. His clothes tearing to pieces as the Alpha werewolf breaks out of his skin.

It’s like watching muscle rip open, replacing all that was human about him, with nothing but the Alpha werewolf.


Comfort

January 26, 2010
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I think I found my happy place.

Everyone should have a happy place like this.

It’s under fresh cotton sheets, in the crook of Paris’s arm. Our bodies touching and the warmth that flows from him, keeps me heated too. His heart beat is like a persistent soundtrack in my ear as he plays with my hair, brushing his fingers along the top of my head. The morning light streams into the room, through the not quite tightly shut wooden slates.

Hmm, I don’t want this feeling to end, feels like comfort.

He’s trying to convince me I need to stay in Brooklyn for awhile, while he deals with Black Dog in Manhattan.

I turn around, out of the crook of his arm, lean on my arms and face him. This is not the way I want to start my morning, after finally, getting him back to his place, after the whole Black Dog thing. By the time we’d gotten back, I was more than in need of release and shape shifting wasn’t going to take the edge off that kind of need. In fact, it can make lunar lust worse, some times, especially during lunar week. Like it’s not hard enough to get through in one raggered piece.

He pulls me in closer to him. So we were touching, again skin on skin. Pushing the sheet down off my back, so my lower back is exposed he walks his fingers across my body. Sliding his hands down to cup my bottom.

I can feel his body responding, already recovered from our first round, ready to go again.

“It’s this thing with Black Dog.” Paris sighs heavily. “He saw you at Crescent the other night and I think he liked what he saw.”

For now, it appears, Black Dog is happy to leave the Manhattan Pack alone. His hands move my legs apart as I lay, half on his body, looking back at him. His fingers brush over sensitive skin and I move my thighs further apart.

“His eyes, they bleed red, when he’s….excited. He calls it blood lust. Never really told us why it happens or what it means, But I’m pretty sure it means attraction. It happened after he spotted you. He probably sees this as an opportunity to mess with me and mine.”

Blood lust.

I’ve heard of this before. It’s not a common trait in most werewolves these days. I think it is the one thing that kind of has been weeded out of the werewolf lines through the generations. Not sure how. But I think it’s more common in other paranormal beings than it is in werewolves.

Only I thought it always kind of resembled another emotion, that of rage.

I can’t help but feel cold inside after that thought. Even with Paris’s hot touch on my body.


Need

January 24, 2010
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“Stay here.” Paris instructs me, kissing my forehead again as he opens the door.

I move over to the glass wall touching it with a finger. The frosted glass goes clear making everything inside the club visible again.

The muted thud and thump of the music in the room matched the movement of the werewolves of the floor and surrounds, who moved together and around each other, with more and more flesh on flesh becoming available.

Got to ignore the heat stirring in me.

It’s early but I’m glad I’m not the only one giving in to needful things so soon. I keep my finger pressed to the glass, watching as Paris and Addison now fully dressed stride through the crowd with purpose.
The movement of their bodies like a disharmony to the rest of the club.

They are tense, alert and angry. Not a good mood to be in a wolf club in. Our collective feelings, werewolf moods if you will, the atmosphere, we kind of all share it. If the Alpha of the pack isn’t happy, then those that aren’t consumed by their lunar lust, or distracted by the flesh and sex show around them, will rise to alert mode too. It’s natural to follow the leader.

You could instantly get an army of werewolves revved up to riot, based on their pack leader’s mood.

Even though we are the modern day version of an ancient lineage, and we do things differently now to times past, there are some things you can not take out of the werewolf.

Like, the need for hunting and meat.

We all struggle with it around lunar week. So when someone challenges the status quo for a fight, you’ll tend to find most werewolves, are more than up for it. Because it fills a need in us.

If the Alpha of the pack is unhappy, there is usually a damn good reason for it.

I watch Addison point in a certain direction of the club, but it is too hard to make out between the strobing lights and the masses of faces who he is pointing to.

I press my hands flat to the window, watching. Dating Paris is still rather new and I don’t really know his pack all that well yet.

Addison and Paris are joined by two other werewolves, obviously part of Paris’s second in command, security guys, whatever you want to call them. They are the back up. Which must mean this Black Dog character is bad news.

They walk out onto the packed dance floor, making their way through the thick, throbbing crowd before stopping in front of one individual who stops dancing. A male about five feet eight. He looks ordinary enough. They are talking and Black Dog is clearly pissing them off, I can see Paris’s shoulders tense even more, even from where I am, so far away from it all.

Then the strangest thing happens.

Black Dog looks over Paris’s shoulder and straight across the room, right at me. I suddenly get the feeling that his gaze on me isn’t unlike being caught in a gun sight. He raises a hand and waves at me.

I jumped back and the glass instantly frosts up again. It’s not that he saw me, that made me jump.

It’s just, I swear for the briefest nano second, Black Dog’s eyes glowed red.


Black Dog

January 23, 2010
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“Who is black dog?”

Paris dresses quickly.

“More like, what is black dog?” He replies, zipping up his pants.

Turns out Black Dog is a Shape Shifter. Which is to say, he’s unlike a werewolf.

Yes, we werewolves can shift to our animal self, the wolf, at will and under moonlight even more so. But Black Dog is not a werewolf, he’s a human who can shape shift to animal form, including that of a wolf. Only it turns out, he doesn’t get the same abilities it would seem, as us werewolves.

He can only shape shift, during lunar week. In regular time outside of this, apparently he can’t do it. Just doesn’t work for him like it works for us. But they’re not really sure about all that he can do, or be, so to speak.

I watch Paris do up the bottom three shirt buttons.

“So why’s he a problem?” I ask curiously.

“Because I once dated his girlfriend and she left the pack.” Paris watches my face carefully before adding, “She was one of ours.”

He’s some pain in the ass human who once dated a pack werewolf. Lardy-dah, BD thinks he’s special.
The romance turned sour, ended, ran its course.

I don’t know any Breukelen who have willingly left our pack.
Ever.
But then, not all Packs are created equal or run the same way. Which in itself is odd, a werewolf leaving a pack structure, but not completely unheard of.

Apparently this girl Black Dog dated, just wanted a life outside of New York, outside of the pack, so she up and left in the middle of the night. Didn’t tell a soul she was going. She just left. With no forwarding address. She wanted to be gone, so she did her best disappearing trick, and it worked. Black Dog didn’t take to kindly to the news, he’d been so unceremoniously cut out of her life. So he decided to take out his frustrations on the Manhattan Pack.

In particular, on Paris.

He kisses me hard, and it’s rough and needy. I know he wants me as much as I want him and he’s torn that he had to do his Alpha duties at such a shitty, inconvenient time.

But if you’re going to be werewolf pack leader, you do not play leader, you are the leader. It means living up to your responsibilities to pack. Even on a lunar night.

Every now and then apparently, black dog re-appears to cause trouble for the Manhattan Pack. Seems like this lunar week, is one of those times.

“This is about pack.” He says cupping the side of my face.

He kisses me again. This time its tender and filled with longing as he consumes my mouth. He’s letting me know in that kiss that I have no need to feel stupidly insecure about some past romance that was before our time.

“Pack.” I repeat.


Question

July 28, 2009
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So it doesn’t stop there.

Aimee’s established with me that she’s okay about, things, about us. We can still be friends.

But there are questions, more questions.

Always, with the questions.

She was just being respectful of me considering the news I’d had to deliver that I’m part pet, as well as human.

Her first question to me, was is Lycanthropy a disease?

I say it’s Hollywood’s attempt at movie magic to elicit sympathy for it’s characters. Honestly not trying to be trivial here. But explaining something as ingrained as your identity to someone is hard.

As far as I’m aware of, maybe it started out that way, but from what I’ve always been told and read about it, it’s a gene.  A “were”gene. Which has evolved and now somewhere along the lines, the gene has started to regress again.

Because birth rates amongst were-wolves are lower than previous decades.  Yes, were-wolves it would appear, are a dying breed, so to speak.

If current birthing trends continue, we will be just another race that breeds out.

Means, I guess, that the only wolves then around, aren’t shape shifters, they are natural born wolves.  Just wolves that are animals, you know the ones you see in the wild.

I don’t find it easy to talk about all this stuff, especially when her curiosity just makes me feel like a freak show.

So more Q& A’s later, some other time.


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