A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Wanton Werewolf

June 8, 2015
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Here’s the next Free Zine for my readers, Cheers Bg xo.

Wanton werewolf cover 1

Bitch Please

February 4, 2015
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bitch promo

You Say Bitch like it’s a bad thing…

February 3, 2015
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So Much For The After Glow

October 16, 2014
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I look at the apartment keys in my hand and wonder if I should use them. Then I chide myself internally for being a chicken-shit. I was issued with an ultimatum of sorts, not that my pack mate said that to me, but I can read between the lines. I pause to realise how out of hand this has gotten.

Welcome to my crazy life.

Just when you think things are going well and quiet, shit stirs up again and it’s always more than it seems.

A wet dream equals ultimatums of fidelity and revelations of dark deeds done by lovers past and present. Not that I wasn’t faithful beforehand. Just his ego going bug-nuts over me coming in my sleep because it wasn’t him making me come. Alpha male, why am I surprised?

Try to do the right thing, figure it out, confront your past to move forward with your future and what do you end up with?

What I have now. I put the key in the door and turn it. Push open the front door and look inside the apartment. It’s silent in it’s own darkness, and that makes it seem sinister in it’s own way. When it should just be home to me.

I sigh and lean back against the door closing it, and locking it with one hand, without bothering to look at the task at hand.

“Yeah, lock yourself into the situation you have to front up to.” I mutter not liking what is ahead. “Chicken-shit.” I mutter to myself and push off the door and carry my overnight bag with me to the bedroom.

The door to the bedroom is open and I pause to lean against the door frame and look in on the room. Again, it’s in shades of black and night.

The shape of a male presence in the bed is unmistakable. Paris is lying down his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He notices me at last and looks at me. I can’t tell what his reaction is.

He is the king of masking his cool. I drop my bag beside me on the floor and start stripping out of my clothing. There isn’t much. A jacket, a top, bra, skirt, and socks. He watches me strip at the doorway. Doesn’t stop me.

“Paris, I’m going to tell you everything you want to hear. All you have to do, is ask me.” He stares at me hard and I know I’m pushing him to open up those emotions of his. A proud werewolf male who has no problem fighting, negotiating business and controlling an entire pack, but speaking about his feelings, well, that’s just a fail.

I watch the rise and fall of his chest but he remains silent. “Silence doesn’t work for you. It creates a lot of negative, misleading energy in your head and in my world.” I pick up all my clothing and grab the bag off the floor and carry it all over to the bed and drop all my clothing that I wore away and back onto the bed beside him.

“I haven’t showered, all weekend. Just deodorant.” I say tossing the bag away again and crawling into the bed. “So if you don’t believe me when I say I didn’t fuck him, go ahead and see what you get on my clothing. But it won’t be much more interesting than my scent.”

All he has to do, is scent me, if he dares.

Paris’s arms drop from behind his head and he moves towards me quickly. Reaching for me. “I love that scent.” He mutters heatedly.”I was so angry and stupid.” He pauses but then continues to grab me and pull me down onto him. I get out before as his face looms before mine.

Our lips meeting and we become engulfed in one another again. Paris’s kiss is deeply desperate for my mouth. Like he wants to cover every last inch of my mouth with is tongue. Like it’s a competition to kiss away the blues.

It’s wonderful now I’m in his embrace and we’re together. I forget that There is a world outside of this, as he cups my face and I creep my body further up his. We’ve missed days of this intensity, as we become all hands and mouth on one another.

“I’m yours.” I gasp between breaths as he leaves me breathless, working his mouth down my throat towards my breasts. I can’t believe I had to go three days without this.

“No more secrets.” I state softly as his tongue flicks out at my nipple. “That includes yours.” I say as his lips suck in my nipple and we push the covers back so I can straddle his lap. Paris stops and looks up at me.

“Yeah, you.” I repeat. “You’re concience, surfaced in Brooklyn this weekend, in the form of a certain Lycan, we both know. ”

Paris is in thought as he hears my words. “So much for the after glow.” He mutters.

“We’re not back there, not anymore.” I say cupping my breasts for him. His teeth graze at my nipples and he lifts my hips up, so I can feel him press against me. Paris slides into me slowly.

It’s like we control time when we make love. The focus on one another’s reactions is what we look for, what we want. Paris opens his mouth as he moans and I can see his teeth are sharpening.

“That’s the trick to this thing, remembering who we are, with one another.”

Manhattan Wolf

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I frown. “I’m not following.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damon, I know a Damon.
Damon the lycan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods his head and we fall into strained silence.

Continued in Torrid Little Life

A Wolf For The First Time

September 22, 2014
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The werewolf memory is great catalogue of sensory information. So despite what I might have once felt for Booker Parish when he first became a lycan, and joined my pack, the Breukelen.

It doesn’t mean I feel it for him now.

Rather, that memory of him, of how great it felt to be in love with him, of how incredible those lips felt gliding over my skin, can trigger me to fool my emotions into thinking that’s how I feel now.

“I’m going to kiss you.” He mutters moving in to my mouth. “I always want to kiss you when I see you Baby Girl.”

I didn’t know that. But then again, I didn’t need to, did I?

He tilts his head and I am lost to the approaching anticipation of one last kiss, with the first love of my life.
Do you ever forget the first love of your life? Maybe that’s why this seems so hard to figure out. Booker and I never worked out. Just couldn’t get it to work. But then when we were around each other, alone like this, that never seemed to matter to me.

What am I doing? Reverting ?

His lips brush over mine, and like Paris you’d never assume he could be so damn soft and tender. Big bulky werewolf, who knows how not to crush me. Just how to touch me. I guess he should, I was the first thing, Booker Parish saw when he opened his eyes after the werewolf attack, that left him a lycan forever.

The kiss is deep and growing hungrier for more access to me and I feel booker’s fingers curling into the back of my hair, gripping me. This kiss tells me he misses me more than even I knew. More than he wants to admit.

He awoke in a hospital room after the attack, but smelt the fur and wolf and sweetness of my scent. It would’ve been confusing to figure out, when he was looking at a human female before him. I remember he tried to struggle out of the hospital bed and I tried to stop him. The hospital gown doing nothing to lessen the look of his physique or the erection he was sporting underneath it. Booker grabbed my wrist so hard, it bruised with his finger marks on it. Of course, it faded away after I shape shifted.

But now it’s like an invisible reminder.

A lycan marking a werewolf, territorial and unheard of I’m pretty sure. Not that I think he meant it, but even now as we kiss, I feel his thumb brush over the soft inside of my wrist, back and forth, back and forth.

Like he knows, this is where he bruised me, branded me his, at least, in his mind he did.

I think that was it for him. I was locked into him, in a truly deep way. Because I was there at the time, all his lycan senses kicked in as he awoke, a wolf for the first time. I don’t know how it is with lycans and love, but despite our attempted dating, breaking up, hovering around one another, having other partners since then, Booker has always had eyes for me.

And the thing is I’ve always damn well known it.

And now, I have to do something about that.

Other than return this kiss.

Continued in…We The Wolves

Wolves Love

April 11, 2014
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Wolves Love

Werewolves and lycans aren’t known for getting along.

You could argue that hostility and hatred of the lycans can’t be faulted. Given, to be a lycan, means as a human you were attacked by a werewolf and survived, only to turn into one of them.

Tatum Lee only knows this existence all too well as a new lycan. It’s only been a few months since she turned and has found herself in a relationship, with of all creatures, a werewolf, Wiatt D’arenberg. But loving Wiatt means, Tatum has to live by the rules of Wiatt’s pack , and it means there’s not much living in it when the Bronx lycan community find out exactly who Tatum is.

She’s either one of them, or she’s not welcome, just like werewolves in the Bronx aren’t welcome. Tatum’s relationship with Wiatt becomes strained as she battles to find her place in her new wolf life, with Wiatt and amongst all the wolves of New York City.

Wiatt finds his thinking pushed as he must confront the reality of the werewolf culture and his own personal happiness with a lycan for his lover. Can Wiatt and Tatum find a way to make a relationship between two very different types of wolves work? Or will they simply be torn apart, by each other and every other wolf that wants to hurt them?

Available at www.smashwords.com in July

Metallica – Of Wolf and Man

October 26, 2009
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This is going on my Halloween play list…

The standard, has been set.

August 26, 2009
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The Standard, is a “unique” hotel in New York.—-> HIGH LINE HOTEL ENCOURAGES NUDE CLIENTELE

Maybe ‘someone’ spent a little to long in were-wolf ‘friendly’ clubs during lunar weeks. And got a little restless and impatient with the whole having to wait till lunar week kicks in, for themselves to get their kicks.

Seems it’s taken a year now, for the media to truly tune in to what they can no longer ignore in the appropriately entitled “meat packing” district.

The New York Post reports  about how hotel guests and staff are encouraged to nude up, and well, fuck up, as it were, against the floor to ceiling windows of the hotel.  For their own sexual exhibitionism pleasure. As well as others, one would think.

I can tell you right now, whilst I don’t frequent The Standard I do know many a were-wolf who goes there.

It’s about as good as it gets for those of us when we want to be with Nons.

Because you know, whilst were-wolves are encouraged to be with others of their kind for pack structure, growth, survival and blah blah blah.  There are still those amongst the Breukelen and other wolf packs I’m sure, that prefer the company of Nons in a sexual playing ground.

The Standard kind of, uh, opens up doors for both sides of New Yorkers.  Non-’s get to play with were-wolves; were-wolves get to have sex with them.  Everybody gets something.

You know we have a name for people like that.


Non-’s who deliberately seek out were-wolves for sex, even when not during lunar weeks.

But more often than not you’ll hear some one refer to them as

Coyote Ugly, Paradoxes, furry fuckers, PETA lovers, Omega’s, screechers, Skin coats, Skin walkers, howlers, beef chow mein and beasts. Non-’s prefer to call themselves  “Coat warmers” when talking about getting their furry freak on.

Yes believe it or not there are those with furry inclined fetishes.  Because if you haven’t guessed it, were-wolf sex, is the best.

Don’t knock it till you’ve knocked boots with it.


Beloved wolf

August 24, 2009
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Aimme asked me what my wolf was called.

Noticed that I spoke of the werewolf part of me like ‘she’ is a second person.  I told her, the wolf isn’t so much a second person as another aspect of me. Part of my personality, not really, more like part of my genetic biology.  You know, that part of you that you can’t fight, never get a say in, that makes you up into who you are.

Yes my wolf, does have a name, it’s a Breukelen name that was given to me when I first shape shifted.

My wolf’s name means Beloved. I was given my name for obvious reasons, mum and dad wanted me to know above all else that I was loved, even if I wasn’t from their tribal lines.

Everyone in my family has  a Breukelen name.

We all get names given to us upon the first time we shape shift.

Some were-wolves are able to shape shift from birth. In particular Alpha’s. They end up knowing no different because it’s so inherent in them.  So second nature to them, even as pups.

But Beta were-wolves like me tend to shape shift some time in the first five years of our birth.   Sometimes, it can even take as long as puberty before the whole ability really kicks in and gets sorted out.

Just depends I guess.

Being a were wolf isn’t exactly an exact thing.

We are tactile in our being and instinctual in our behaviour.

We have no say in being a were-wolf when the lunar week hits.  Any other time, we can at least feel like we have a sense of control and understanding of what we’ve been lumped with.

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