A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Teeth, Claws and a Werewolf Heart

September 1, 2014
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“You can’t win a fight against me Bg, you know that.” Paris says not even slightly phased by my partial shape shift.

As if I’m a threat to him!

My claws are just itching to slash at his skin, because I am so damn pissed at him.

There was no reason to make me having a wet dream into an issue. Only he sees it as cheating. That I’ve cheated on him with another wolf, because it wasn’t his name I called out. Because it was a lycan who was making love to me in a dream, I don’t even remember.

Because that lycan is our friend, Booker Parish and Booker and I once upon a time, long time ago, dated and were in love.
Or so we thought.

“Oh I can win a fight against you Paris D’arenberg. Just not a physical one!” I growl at him. “I’m not the one who wants to fight here. I’m the one who woke up in the middle of a fight with you that she didn’t know she was even having! All because of some stupid, subconscious dream.”

“The subconscious doesn’t make that which matters to us any less real. You were clearly having sex with Booker in your dream. You orgasmed because of him, not me!”

Learning control over my orgasms is something we’ve been working on the whole time we’ve been together. It’s not like Paris and I lack a decent and active sex life. Far from it. And only when I am truly being punished do I not get to come.

But this wet dream with Booker Parish, that I don’t even remember the slightest detail from, is something else.

“Are you still in love with him?” Paris sounds more unhappy than angry as he asks me this. “is that it?”

I feel a breath leave me and my shoulders relax, the blood is rushing around through my veins pounding in my ears, deafening me. My claws retract painfully and shift back to my hands and I gulp for air as my teeth shift back to my human teeth.

Paris sees the small shape shifts and I wonder if my eyes have changed back. I can’t tell without looking at a mirror.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He mutters beginning to pace.

I honestly have no idea how to answer. So I do the only logical thing I can do.

“No, of course not.” I reply and he looks over at me and tilts his head.

“You seem to forget little wolf, I can practically taste it when you’re lying.” He looks away again, before saying “You’ve still got werewolf eyes.” Which is another way of saying, I’m still on edge, ready to fight, because my werewolf self, is still emotionally wound up and invested in this thing beating in my heart with confusion.

“I’m not lying. I’m in love with you, I want to be with you. I’ve no desire to be with Booker again.”
Paris walks over to me slowly.

“Maybe that’s what is. What I can taste on you.” He says still keeping a bit of distance from me.


“You might be in love with me, but on some level, you desire him.”

My mouth opens to retort something back, but I find myself speechless. Because it makes sense what he says. Booker and I may have not been a long term relationship. But he was my first love, and my first lover.

We’ve lived around each other ever since. We’ve watched each other have partners, pack mates, boyfriends, girlfriends and still when we look at each other.

We spark and we’ve both known better than to let any of our friends, see that.

And then I had to go betray that, by having a wet dream about him. And I don’t even know why.

I haven’t seen booker in something like a month. It’s not like we interact with each other every time I’m in Brooklyn or doing something for the Breukelen.

We have different placing’s in our pack and this means we move in different circles. Sometimes they cross.

“You should uh, go.” Paris says softly backing away from me.

“What?” I can feel tears welling in my eyes.

“I had no idea you felt this way about anyone, let alone Booker.” Paris says.

“I don’t feel this way, whatever way, about anyone else, just you.” I implore. My fucking werewolf head, such a trouble maker if ever there was one.

“I want to believe that Bg, but…” Paris sighs. Oh he is really messed up about this. And I don’t know how to fix this, to fix us. “I get that we’re similar looking, the physique, and maybe I’m just a substitute for him, that’s why you were attracted to me.”

“No, no, no.” I rush out. Although maybe, subconsciously it was why I initially liked him.

“I think over the weekend, you should go back to Brooklyn and really ask yourself if it’s me you want or deep down, it’s Booker. And at the end of the weekend, tell me your choice, so we can move past this, however we need.”

Continued in… Breukelen Heart Beats


March 17, 2012
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The shape shift breaks me. My bones snap and shatter . I howl in agony, my voice straining between my clenching teeth. It’s hard to tell if I sound like a wounded animal or a woman screaming with every ounce of what is left in her.

My jaw is aching, my muscles are pounding and blood is surging in me. I try to remind myself, that the pain is temporary, it will leave me when the shape shift is complete.

The werewolf in me is pulsating under the surface of my skin, rushing me to get out. I have no control over this. Pain assails me roughly and without regard for my human self. I don’t fully understand it yet either. It’s been four months since I first shape shifted.

This hasn’t gotten any better or any easier than the first time. It’s just as bad, as hard to fathom as hard to get through the pain as it was then. Just like then, I’m alone. Only this time, I had a say in whether I got to be alone or not.

Not that it helps the shape shift become any smoother for me. It is the night of the full moon tonight and all werewolves in Brooklyn are shape shifting. All except the immature pups. My muscles spasm. They strain, they pull and pull until they almost snap. Then the tearing begins, fibre from sinew and sinew from bone.

There is so much agony that comes from this. And I endure it all. I’m not really sure how. I just know I am. My heart pushes up through my breast plate, straining to bend my ribs before pulling them inwards on me again. I’m waiting for them to pierce my internal organs. While my temperature bakes me from the inside out.

Then there is the thrashing, whilst all this internal conflict is going on inside , I move, I thrash, spasm and have a fit. But I’m conscious of the fit, I’m aware, my eyes are open and my mouth is gaping while spittle drools out of the corner. My throat is parched. It aches like skin that is too dry and splitting.

I never knew the human body could endure so much. I never thought I would have to. I really didn’t know what to expect when it came to shape shifting. But I’m fairly certain it wasn’t this.

I don’t think any other werewolves go through as much pain. When I would ask my siblings, prior to my shape shift, what it was like, they made it seem like it would be child’s play.

I thought it would be more like I collapse down on bended knee and have some intense cramps. Then somehow I’d double over and change. Transform. Shift. Become one with my baser nature. To evolve into my werewolf self. Not that I could change anything if I wanted to. This was always going to happen. I would have eventually had to shape shift.

Maybe it’s only this horrific because I’m new to it. Maybe it’s always going to be this horrific because those lycans attacked me on and brought on my first shape shift. Maybe that has affected it.

The air strums with the tension of the moonlight through it. It seeps into my pores and feels like a heart starter fuelling adrenaline. It keeps my mind awake and thinking. Ever so aware to every single breakage in me.

I hope for completion but I fear rides me that will never happen. My anxiety has not lessened each time I’ve gone through this.

I should not be anxious to be in this state.

I should not fear myself, my true self.

The werewolf within me.


To read more from Perception go to: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/133976

The Werewolf Within

November 21, 2010
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My first shape shift after the attack. Well, second if you want to get technical.

The first shape shift was done after I’d been attended to when I’d been found by Paris and the boys. But it wasn’t done alone and it wasn’t easy for me. Both Paris and Addison had to help me shift. You see, shape shifting isn’t always as seamless as the movies make it seem.

When the human side of me, is under duress and trauma, the shape shift is so much harder on me than it should be. I guess you could say, it’s like I can’t quite shut down part of my brain, to let that stuff go. It’s locked in there and it’s conscious in there, when the process of shape shifting begins. And so because of the memory of whatever it is that is stressing me, it reacts through out the rest of my body. Where I hold my stresses, where I feel my injuries. So the pain factor when my shape shift kicks in and my bones begin to break, is excruciating. Like a fresh new memory that floods my mind, as my body continues to do what it must. Changing form, awkwardly.

So when I say Paris and Addison had to help me, it means, they had to calm my body down. They had to make me think, let my mind wander, to the sense of pack and werewolf. To fur and security surrounding me. There are various ways to do this, but the most common way to achieve this, so the shape shift is less, rough is by touch. I don’t mean sexually. I mean by reminding the wolf within of familiar senses. I guess you could call it frotting, if you really wanted to. We rub against each other, touch skin, rub our face over necks and chests. And the whole time we’re touching like this, we’re trying to remind our mind to seek out werewolves. To sniff the scents of those around us. Addison’s scent is a mixture of bonfire and fur.

The longer it takes for your shape shift to take hold, the worse it’s going to be. With Addison and Paris helping me, previously, it took around twenty minutes. As opposed to a smooth shape shift with Paris, that generally happens for me in two minutes. So it was bad. But I got through it, and was able to completely shape shift and hold form, once shifted.

That’s the other thing with shape shifting and trauma. If you’re too badly injured you might not be able to make it happen for you, and if you do manage to make your shape shift kick in, once in wolf form, you might not hold form, long enough to really be of any benefit to healing your wounds. It’s hard to say.

The werewolf within, has it’s own mindset. And you really only get to control it, when you’re in human form.

Sometimes it’s the opposite. The wolf knows just how to take complete care of you when you’re injured. And you’ll hold wolf form, longer than you might normally. To better your chances at recovery. Like I’ve said before, shape shifting isn’t an exact science. It just is what it is.

So Paris’s instance to Booker that he see me, to see me through my first lone shape shift, is justified. Not that Booker wouldn’t think so. He’s just trying to do the right thing by those who’ve asked it of him. He’s trying to look out for me. So is Paris. He’s come round to ensure I can shape shift without great difficulty. Cause shape shifting, when it’s not smooth, is ugly to watch, let me tell you. But worse than ugly is the agony that thrashes your body, that for at least, some of the time, you’re fully conscious of.

Paris is here, to help me forget all that stuff. To make me blank it all from my mind. To help me ease myself into a comfort zone to shape shift, because I don’t think we have enough time, to do it the other way. The way I really, like to shape shift, when I’m with him. Let’s just say, I’m still aware of where I am and that Booker, although not a werewolf, still has heightened abilities, like great hearing, because he’s a lycan. Even if he’s down the far end of the house. So I don’t want to be “noisy”.

So we touch, and we feel, and we look and we taste and I find myself getting lost in his gaze and sensing the werewolf from within, lurking close to the surface, prowling about his skin, waiting for my wolf, waiting for a shape shift and the caress of night to engulf us.

There are signs that my shape shift is on the way. My body temperature heats ups up and my skin, sweats, it’s like stage one in a varied list of how to know your shape shift is coming on. Paris’s lips kiss my collar bone and his tongue darts in the dip there, as he works his way back up to my mouth. My hungry little mouth that wants our lips to sear together, so I can lick the roof of his mouth.

Normally I guess you could say, I’d moan when I’m in the middle of foreplay with Paris, but the sounds coming out of me now, are more wolf than me. It’s not moans, it’s like low panting, rumbles of pleasure. Another sign, I’m even closer to shape shifting, if the vocal cords are going. That’s like stage eight on that varied list of signs to look out for a shape shift.

When my nose twitches and I find myself straining upwards, to sniff along Paris’s neck and shoulder blades. Inhaling the almonds and amber of him, mingling with the werewolf’s base scent of fur, it mean’s I’m just about ready to shape shift. When the mixture of his scent fills me and starts to overwhelm that brain of mine, it’s making me want to go looking for the werewolf within, him and me.

From there onwards, it doesn’t take long. My senses are all tuned towards that of the werewolf. Paris helps accelerate this process by doing small, partial shape shifts of his own, visual, sensory things to help me. So I’m staring back at wolf eyes, I’m feeling claws tapping against my skin. I’m being nipped by his wolf fangs in my flesh.

I’m hooked.

My werewolf wants out, and that part of me, that’s the girl that got attacked with a knife and silver, is fading fast to the familiar feel of reassuring strength flooding her through the werewolf within.


October 21, 2010
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Werewolf seeks freedom

Cascade  in lunar light  naked

Breaking  crushed screams  boundless

Crest the night

September 25, 2010

There’s a Santana song playing somewhere near us, throughout the night, I recognize it, even as I’m distracted by Paris who’s just as eager as I am, that there’s no softness. No slow teasing and delaying now. Not tonight.

“I really thought you wanted Aaron’s blood.”

We’re under a moonlight night sky, the only place I feel I belong in this world without question, under a moonlight night and in Paris’s embrace.

“I did.” My hands slide up his chest. Committing the touch of him to memory.
“But I was practicing that thing, what’s the word for it…” I pretend to think about this as my lips race over his neck. “Control.”

Paris laughs lightly and my hands keep skimming over his chest. “When you asked me what I wanted to do to him, what I told you, was exactly what I wanted to do to him.” Paris flicks my hair out of the way and kisses me hard and breaks apart, panting heavily.

“I was letting you, you know.”

I know he was. I know that, but my wolf doesn’t. She wants out of me, has made me restless, angsty and frustrated since being denied the opportunity to let loose on Aaron. As much as my wolf side wanted the blood. I’d have hated myself afterwards. That guy was rude. It’d be like having a regretful one night stand I’d be unable to wash out of my mind. That was why I didn’t take the pass Paris was giving me.

Paris pulls me to him.

His mouth on mine and we’re shutting out the rest of the world. Whatever there is of it outside under the night sky. We belong here, together, with each other, for each other. We’re good together, real good. His arms lift me so he can guide me onto him.

That craving for blood and flesh is still there, I still flash back and recall the scent of it. With delightful ease. It’s like having a craving. Wanting candy and not acting on it, but wanting it all the same. I’ve been running an obsessive replay of it like play of the day in my head, over and over again. Lunar week and when a thought as erotic as allowing my true werewolf self to be out and about, doing primal stuff like licking up human blood is in there, it’s hard to think about much else. Kind of fuels my stupid restlessness.

Paris is helping me build a rhythm between us and all I want is harder, deeper and faster. As I try to eradicate that sensory overload of blood fuelling my brain’s memory. My wolf’s need. There’s a Feeling like I’m being turned inside out with sanity. Want to ride this night out, till I’m completely weak and sated of every bit of energy I’ve got coursing under my skin. To my mind grey’s out.

Paris’s hands move from my hips, to my ass and he groans deep in the back of his throat. We move with desperation, urgency. Driving need to touch, be touched, to enjoy and reach heights of passion that are there to be indulged in and not drawn out. Now is not the time for control. Time to let it go, give it up and forget about it, to really find the release this werewolf is craving as the moon heightens every fibrous being inside and out of me. Survival by any means necessary when the sensors are overloading me and my passion is swamping me.

Heat. Lust. Love. Blood. Sex. Moonlight. Rush, rush rush. Crest the night, hold tight.

I throw back my head, my hair flying out behind me and slapping down my back as I howl myself into the night air along with Paris’s underneath me. And the echo of our howling, lingers on the air before we relax, into each other.

Heated panting, heart beats drumming, as the temperature around us simmers from our body heat and I close my eyes, my mind preparing to shape shift so the werewolf in me, can come out and play.

The Art of Shape Shifting

August 2, 2010
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Shape shifting, is an artform as much as a natural ability to those of us who have it.  

Because shape shifting, can be a beautiful thing, that amazes and intrigues anyone who watches it and therefore understands it.  Or it can be an ugly, hard, painful and more grotesque form of processed torture if you don’t have control of it, understand it or have factors influencing you as you go through it.

 I should know that later – I’ve had a few bad shape shifts in my time.

So I probably shouldn’t be surprised then, that artist Justin Lowe (Non – at least, pretty sure he’s a non.) has created a new art installation at the Wadsworth Atheneum, that is entitled Werewolf Karoke / Matrix 159 He says the art piece is about, in a sense, shape shifting.  Of course, Justin doesn’t mean to the furry animal kind of shifting.  He’s an artist darling, it would of course, have more perplex and complex, double meanings than something so baser and simple.  He means, about perceptions, that people, have of themselves and others, in various environments. His piece is a recreation of an old defunct nightclub bathroom.

Though it’s nice of him, this werewolf thinks, to link Werewolves and the Matrix together.  I get the perception thing, between the two.  You can be who you are, or you can be who you’re meant to be.  Nice little message of self affirmation.  Who knew art had such self belief? Oh wait, that’s pretty much all art is, self belief.  

And I also think Keanu Reeves, is a very pretty man.  

Love me some Keanu.

Keanu as werewolf, mmmm me love you long time.

I don’t think it’s that surprising that non’s would choose to associate with the idea of shape shifting (whether they be artists or not). 

Humans are forever changing themselves, by appearance, by beliefs and ideals.  It’s done, quite often through out their life spans.  You do it to accommodate people, to be closer to people, to fit in, to stand out, to be noticed, to blend in.  It’s kind of like, Justin Lowe’s Werewolf Karaoke/Matrix concept in a way. It’s about how we appear to other people versus how you want to be seen, really.  It’s about lack of identity and need for culture versus stereotyping a culture and claiming one’s identity through it.  It’s about changing ourselves to better ourselves, to experience our lives in different ways, because, quite frankly, we can.  

Why do the same thing all the time, when you don’t have to?

The shape shifting of perception, or moving some’s mindset, is definitely a human trait, that werewolves take on and incorporate into their daily lives a lot. But for werewolves, the shifting of perceptions thrown onto them, is more of an inbuilt survival need. To protect their true identity, to blend in with their human counterparts and to keep their culture alive, by not endangering it.

Still, now I’m rather intrigued about Justin Lowe’s art piece and think after I watch me some Matrix (the original, the best), sing some Karoke (Hungry like the wolf?  Of wolf and man – anyone?)  I might go check out his art and see what is what.

No need to hold back

July 22, 2010
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Jack and Diane is a John Mellancamp song and it is also, an upcoming movie that heyyouguys.co.uk says

“Jack and Diane tells the story of two teenage girls who meet in New York City and spend the night kissing ferociously.”

I gather it’s a rather sexual movie in nature then, given this description.  

Apparently “Diane must struggle to keep their love alive while hiding the secret that her newly awakened sexual desire is giving her werewolf-like visions.”

And singer Kylie Minogue is going to get it one with at least one of the girls in the film.  Not bad going. 

Only I’m not sure, I get what “Werewolf-like visions” are.

Is this a desperate reach to link sexuality and werewolves?

Or some film maker trying to “re boot” the notion of werewolves to the film going public? 

Trying to out-twilight – twilight perhaps? Hmm.

Got news for you. 

Twilight works because it’s about epic romance. A sweeping scale of ideal epic fantasy. That’s it.  I’d want to hope that Jack and Diane if they’re going to do some sort of pseudo association with werewolves, they would not go down the twilight path of glitter.  I’d want to hope they attempt to give us werewolves a good name.

Well, they are setting the film, in New York, apparently. So there is good source material there, if they know where and how to go looking for it.  If they want the actors to go all method and get amongst the real werewolves of New York.  Or if they could get anyone to talk about our culture. We could act like consultants to them, I guess. 

Still, I’m not sure what “werewolf like visions” means.  I mean, if you want to go littoral on this term.  Are they saying that when the girl is turned on, her mind ticks over to that of a more baser animal and she see’s people through animal eyes, and gets turned on in a violent manner?

That’s not what happens to me.  No, there is definitely only a feeling of potential violence when there’s blood and running and screaming.  Then the animal werewolf in me kind of wants to go hunting.  But most of the time my werewolf is placid by comparison. 

There’s this thing about shape shifting, that we all work very hard to obtain and keep when we’re taught as werewolves grow up.   The mindset of the human you, can affect the mindset of the werewolf you.  So if you’re aggravated and traumatized and upset when you shape shift, then you’re wolf is likely to keep those sensations when your body physically changes. And you come to, in tribal form, like you’re on a rage spree. That’s when stuff is not good.

It’s also partially why we shape shift with partners, or in groups.  If your werewolf comes to in a highly hyper-active state of anger, then there will be other werewolves there to contain the situation of your overly emotional state. Basically, they’ll pull you into line and put you in your place.

Werewolves, we look out for each other.  

Werewolves and lesbians is there a difference? Well I’d want to hope whatever the difference was, it was a positive one, since Jack and Dianne is associating one of the lesbian characters of this movie with “werewolf like visions”.  That term disturbs me. Makes me think the wrong thing. That maybe it’s some sort of euphemism for a way of saying same sex /werewolf sexuality is not normal. Which I’d hate to think was the message being sent out.

I’m assuming that the by saying “werewolf like visions”, that this term more than likely refers to some sort of carnal lust and control issue, when the horny teenager is at her wits end and turned on completely.  Guess they are going down the twilight path, horny, teenager, holding back , werewolf visions…blah blah blah…yawn.

Anyway, I have to get ready for my night out, with my Alpha wolf in the clubs. No need to hold back. Thankfully, I’m not a teenager.

A little city werewolf fun

May 30, 2010
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The Appalachian at night, is peaceful.

The stir of wind brushes trees and that seems like a lullaby to a werewolf padding around the ground. I put my nose to the ground and sniffed. Dirt, mountain air and leaves. I lifted my head and looked at the large grey wolf staring back at me with dark eyes.

Paris, with a “Well are you coming or not?” kind of look.

Running outdoors was something Paris told me he hadn’t done for years. Not like this, in the sanctity of a forest or mountain range. Anything with a natural sense of space and ever changing landscape to it. He’d only started indulging in this type of night time excursion when I’d come along and started whining about wanting to do it every now and then. Just for a break in routine.

It’s a way to keep the wolf at bay when you felt your sense of control slipping easily. Stress, makes me my control, too easy, to mess up. All the recent run-ins with my ex boyfriend have been clearly, subconsciously weighing me down and carrying it all around inside of me, is like extra baggage, that having a duel identity does not need. Along with the rest of the drama of my life.

This little excursion into the shrubbery and undergrowth was meant to help burden me of that load. Regain focus on being able to keep the control on my werewolf self that I’d been taught all my life.

For if you are to survive in today’s world, you need to have control. Werewolf rampages, randomly attacking people, and maiming or possibly killing them, or even infecting them with lycanthropy, is not acceptable. For starters, werewolves do not kill for pleasure or fun. That is not the werewolf way. That is however, the lycan way. No werewolf in their right mind would want to lower themselves to lycan standards. Werewolves are predators, we kill because we hunt or have to. That’s about it.

I padded over to Paris’s side and snorted at him. Telling him I’m good to go.

His mouth opened and his tongue lolled out the side, a wolf grin that said “well alright.”

I’m beginning to think Paris wants this run more than he’s been letting on. All along he’d been saying it would be a good thing for me to do. How beneficial it would be in the long term, sating my wolf. Keeping that sense of control that we werewolves always need.

Control and blood lines, some would say that’s all that sets us apart from the lycans.

Without any further warning, Paris sprints off quickly through the bushes ahead of us. Cheat!

As a beta wolf I might be many things that an Alpha like Paris wasn’t, but running over long distances, this Breukelen werewolf can handle. Especially since I’d done it more by the sound of things, in my lifetime, than Paris had ever allowed himself to.

As a beta wolf, I don’t often remember my time spent in werewolf form. That was I didn’t, past tense. Until I meet Paris. I guess I’d never really tried to remember it, afterwards. I’d just accepted that I didn’t remember it, like it was a dream I knew I’d had but couldn’t remember the details of.

Only around Paris it’s different, now.

Being around an Alpha on lunar weeks, shape shifting with one, is having beneficial side affects for me. I can remember some things.

Paris is always helping me to gleam parts of my time spent in werewolf form. He was actually encourages it. Doing these little memory mind tests with me. Trying to get me to be more conscious of what I do when in wolf form, when I’m with him.

The sense of running, of my padded feet hitting the ground and flying up again as I duck and weave through shrubbery, underground, and over indentations of dirt mounds and rocks, is something I remember the feeling of well. It’s not the imagery that comes to mind when I recall this, it’s a sensation, feeling.

It courses through me, like blood and life and freedom and excitement and makes my body hum. It’s like the ultimate sensation for a werewolf to have, leave the humanity of yourself behind and be in a place with no restrictions, no limits and a place that you’re truly a part of, that’s the kind of feeling you get from a proper run in an open space.

The sound of crunching leaves off to the right off me stops my senses. My ears twitch. I skidded to a halt, kicking up dirt and slowly back tracking towards the area I think the sound has come from.

It was probably a rabbit, maybe a dear and I’m really hoping it isn’t a black bear. I’m not looking for that kind of run in.

Still werewolves have a curious nature. I sniff around the ground, towards the area I thought I’d heard the sound come from. Of course, I’d given the creature whatever it was, precious seconds to flee. Or go to ground, because I’d been so slow to stop. Hadn’t been expecting to, after all, I was on a chase. Chasing Paris. I was out for a run, just a little city werewolf out having fun. But even the werewolf can’t resist hunting when in a natural setting like the Appalachians. It’s our version of being in a candy store.

Besides, it was more like I was trying to keep up. Paris’s head start on our run had put him well in the lead of me, and out of my night vision range for seeing him. As far as I knew, I was only heading in what was probably, the most logical direction he’d started out in.

As I looked up at the trees, bushes and saplings in front of me, I saw it. Two eyes shining like headlights at me. A large dark figure loomed and came crashing over the top of the undergrowth and down on top of me.

Toppling me over with the force of a small cyclone made of fur and fangs. Well not so small.

The ambush was a blur and I sniffed and scrambled at the same time. The scent of Paris filled my mind and I looked up at the male wolf on top of me. I shucked him off me and his mouth opened again, tongue out as he nuzzled my neck and started to lick it.

I think he was having more fun than he thought he’d have.

Okay, so it wasn’t going to be so much as a run, as it was hide and seek.
Still fun.

I could be

May 6, 2010
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The werewolf shape shifting doesn’t really kick in, till a wolf hits puberty. That’s not to say other wolf traits, don’t already exist before then, it’s just the shape shifting has to wait till the body can take it on, or some such, I was told.

So at fourteen years old, I didn’t really have a grasp on all that I could be, would be. I didn’t understand how it all worked.

I mean, it’s one thing to be told what it’s going to be like, or what you might expect to happen to you. But it’s another, to actually go through a shape shift.

My family had been taking me and some friends of mine out on these trips, away from the NYC ever since I was twelve. Readying all of us to go through the first real big changes in becoming a full gown werewolf.

Supposedly ‘going country’ for the initial shape shift, is supposed to ease the werewolf into being. You know, let them get the scent of open spaces, mountains and dirt and forests and other animals. That kind of thing. That’s how I ended up in Wisconsin and in the sights of the Lycan who would hunt me down for mere amusement.

The hunting party, my father and I would discover later on, had a regular little game for werewolves like me.

Once they’d managed to identify a werewolf, They would make it run through unfamiliar woods, that they themselves knew like the back of their hand. Wounding it repeatedly with silver coated buckshot. So they could take the intended target down. Then they would capture the injured werewolf. Always an inexperienced, young wolf, who would fall more easily then an older full grown werewolf. They would remove the buckshot, allowing the werewolf to shape shift back to human form. Then when they saw who their human form was, they would torture the victim again.

They had me for  hours before my father caught up to the hunting party.
Apparently, in their warped world, that’s a new record.

Before the Breukelen Alpha came along, they’d never gotten caught in the act.

Best part of Lunar Week

October 4, 2009
1 Comment

Burning Ground is an interesting club. It gets quite a mixed audience during Lunar Week. Where as The Reflex is for the younger crowd, and Disco and Rhyme is more my sister and her friends crowd and their nostalgia over the 1980’s music scene, Burning Ground is neither. Or rather, it could be both.

Everyone goes there, there’s no specific age group or music type or look to it. Which I’ve always found quite fascinating. It’s kind of like, anything goes is the golden rule there.

So second night of Lunar Week and that’s where Conall and I decide to be. You see, we don’t necessarily lock ourselves in our houses when Lunar Week starts up each month.

What would the point to that be?
We’d probably destroy everything in the house, in the process of shifting or coming to, in werewolf form.

The clubs are like foreplay for werewolves.
We’re all riding a wave of sexual wants, needs, desires and fantasies during Lunar Week. So we start our evenings off at the clubs, not so much to get us in the mood for sorting out those sexual needs. Rather for heightening all that sexual tension that we carry around with us, in the daylight hours of Lunar Week.

A pack atmosphere filled with heightened werewolf pheromones, it’s like we all use one another in there. Of course, all the dancing, sweating, grinding, rubbing against one another, adds to that desire, till you can feel it dripping down your skin. The sweat of sex, seeping further into you until you really can’t take no more, at least, publicly.

Although this is not always the case.

Sometimes you need to go with just how you feel.

A darkened corner in the club, and everyone is too busy doing their own thing to notice you and yours.

Eyes close briefly as a tongue licks up the side of my neck. His teeth sink into the back of my neck. He’s in no mood to wait and be restrained. He’s been patient enough all day. Going about normal life, working, doing the daily routine until he could be himself at night, with me, in Burning Ground. Till he could get me here to do just this. What he wants.

He wants me.

Hands run up the side of my body, holding me tightly, controlled with need to soak in the feel of my body in his hands. His thumbs brush the underside of my breasts and his teeth get harder, sinking into the skin across my back shoulder blades.

Serves me right for wearing a halter neck top.

Normally about this time, when his hard body is pressing into me, making sure I can feel what he isn’t verbalising to me, and he’s touching me so much, we would leave and head back to Conall’s place.

Normally I’m the instigator of this routine behaviour. After all, the boy has to shape shift for every night of the lunar week, I don’t. Especially not on the second night.

Sex helps shape shifting.

Well more precisely being with another wolf, helps shape shifting. There’s a feeling of safety and recognition and protection, which makes the werewolf calm down and so it doesn’t necessarily feel like you’re body’s being torn and ripped apart from the inside out. It tends to go a lot smoother if you are with another werewolf.

Add sex to that mix and it’s even better, smoother for those that need to shape shift around their partner.

It’s almost seamless and effortless and for the best part of all, fast.

A normal shift for a beta werewolf can take fifteen minutes to an hour, depending on the werewolf and circumstances. When you partner up and introduce sexual release into the mix, a shift is more like two to five minutes, max.

Conall and I know, exactly how long we have to tease out the sexual foreplay before he has to shape shift.

So he rides it out, because he can, because he wants to get me as worked up as him about what we’re both thinking of doing in the dark, at Burning Ground.

I don’t need to tell myself that this just for his benefit, as the back of my skirt slides up out of his way. Because it’s for my needs as much as his.

I may not need to shape shift, but I need to be with my werewolf.

Insanity would be what it feels like to be soaked in the air filled lust of the clubs during Lunar Week and then be alone and do nothing about it. I mean, the atmosphere the pack of werewolves creates in heat, is maddeningly delicious and touching it, tasting it, just once, would never be enough to be satisfying.

It’s like a powerful aphrodisiac, the body craves and responds to. It’s something I’d rather not, go without out.

After all, that’s the best part of Lunar Week.

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