Werewolf Consort
By Breukelen Girl
© Copyright 2016
This book is intended for a mature audience. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may contain violent and sexual content. By downloading this book, and reading this book and, you consent to being of legal age for such material.
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You can find more of Bg’s free writing on her blog “A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn”
http://altijdbreukelen.wordpress.com
1
Waking up alone is the worst. Okay, let me give you some context on that. Waking up alone, after being with someone, investing your heart and soul into them, feeling their very physical being in-tune with yours as much as two beings together can be, is the worst. It’s like a downer. A total downer and for me, it’s weird. It’s not that I can’t handle being alone. I can. But I have a pack mate and my pack mate Paris is always in bed with me when I wake up.
For the most part, we fall asleep together and we wake up together, it’s a rather beautifully symmetric way to start your day. In cycle and sync with one another, thinking of one another. That makes me sound sappy doesn’t it? Paris is normally draped across me in some sort of all-consuming manner, as if silently saying “mine”. The heaviness of his arms and legs wrapping around me, is a comfort of assurance and security, emotionally as well as physically. He’s tall, six three and a body of muscle mass and I’m smaller, although not small at five eight. But it makes our fit rather good when we spoon together, hiding from the werewolf world in the comfort of our bed.
Most mornings, he wakes me up with sex. So it’s odd that’s he’s one, not doing that and two, not curling into me. Turning over quickly I look at the emptiness of the bed behind me, the space next me is cool to the touch. Paris is long gone. I begin to sit up and wonder if I’m in trouble here. If something has happened to him. His apartment in Manhattan is very secure. It’s probably the safest place I can be from anything happening to me.
Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I see a figure, a shadowy figure near the bed. I blink quickly and move to push back in the bed. If anyone should be in this room with me, it should be him. Think Bg, think. Get your damn brain into gear and out of panic mode. I find myself alert and awake, I notice, it is him. He’s already fully dressed, in dark colors, sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching me. Just watching me in the dimness of the room.
But with my werewolf eyesight I can still make the color of his eyes. They are dark blue and in their human form. But it’s like I can see a very caged and annoyed animal pacing back and forth behind them. And that animal look is focused on me. This is not a look of desire and longing. This is a look of an animal sizing up its enemy. This is not my Paris. My lover. My pack mate. This is dark Paris, which means danger. To me.
“Paris?” Even my voice sounds small against that look. It’s powerfully intimidating.
Especially since I do not understand why he would ever look at me like this. His actions alone, of stillness and waiting for me to wake, being prepared to face me clothed, tell me many things about him. The clothing is his armor. He’s spoiling for a fight. With me. Waiting patiently, for me, so he can start this fight. Very werewolf like, having all the damn patience in the world if you think it’ll get you what you’re after.
“Something you want to tell me?” He utters in a cold voice, his eyes never leaving my face.
It’s like I don’t understand the question.
We went to bed together in love, and tired and like any normal couple would. And I woke up in an alternate universe by the look of it. But let’s face facts, we’re not a normal couple. We’re both werewolves, from extremely different packs. He’s an alpha and a pack leader, he’s used to power and getting what he wants (he wanted me, he got me, after a fashion). And he knows how to fight, physically, but emotionally fighting, that’s my battle ground. I’m a…well, let’s go with different. Nobody’s really got a category for me just yet. But I’m a werewolf with abilities, that up until recently, I didn’t know I had. And being around his alpha-ness over there in the chair, is only strengthening them. We live in a werewolf culture, so our lives are in no way going to be normal. But even with that knowledge, I have no idea what is going on here.
“Paris what’s going on?” I try for.
“That’s what I’m asking you, Bg.” He replies still clearly annoyed at me for mysterious reasons.
“I don’t know why you’re asking me.” I say stating the obvious. “I just woke up.”
His eyes seem to study my face, darting around, as if looking for unconscious reactions from me in my body language.
“You were dreaming.” Paris states. “You were restless, more than normal.” He pauses waiting for me to clearly understand what he is getting at. I don’t.
“Did I hurt you in my sleep?” I ask puzzled. It would take a fair bit to hurt Paris, especially from a soft, supple body, that was in rem sleep. He is a hulk of muscle, big, solid and tough. Having alpha werewolf genetics on top of that, means he’s intimidating, and comes across as damn-near bullet proof, invincible. Of course, he’s not immortal but he can take more of a beating that most. I don’t have anywhere near that much power to physically break him down. So I’m perplexed as to what I could’ve done in my sleep to earn this greeting as a wake up call.
“You don’t remember your dream?” He questions me. His body is tense, his clothing is tight against it and it shows not only his bulk but also, how he is not in anyway relaxed or okay.
“No.” I know I feel good, like I got a great night’s rest. Which makes his attitude towards me, even more perplexing. I try to remember if I even knew I was dreaming. I wonder if I’m dreaming now, and this is somehow my anxiety playing out on my nerves.
“You were making noises.” He watches me closely. “Moaning.” Okay. I still don’t get this. “I woke up because of it.” Paris says at me and I frown. “I watched you to make sure you were okay, that you weren’t having a nightmare. It definitely wasn’t a nightmare.”
Really? He’s going to be pissed at me because I made some noises in my sleep? That’s just pathetic and does not in any way deserve the third degree of interrogation that I’m getting here, now! I feel righteously justified in giving him a serve of my mind, but he cuts my thought of with his next words.
“You called out a name and then appeared to come in your sleep.”
I tense and I see a recognition in his eyes that he notices the smallest of movement in my body at his words. “It wasn’t my name you called out Bg.” Paris says back at me and I feel a sense of dread wash over me and I am all too awake hearing this now. “So again, last time I ask. Is there something you want to tell me?” He persists and his voice is low and deceptively calm, less annoyed sounding. But that’s just to fool me, to suck me into him so he can come at me with his damn, male pride and anger.
“Paris, I don’t remember any of that, I don’t know what you want me to say. What to tell you.”
“I want you tell me why my pack mate, came, calling out a lycan’s name! I want to know why you called out Booker Parish’s name in my bed!” He growls at me.
My heart beat thuds in my chest like it is trying to expand it so I can breathe. I only see anger in those stormy blue eyes before me and it’s all he has for me. Where has the loving Paris I know gone? He gets dark sometimes, but it isn’t usually around or because of me. I’ve se
en it once before. Paris can let the werewolf in him seriously take a hold. To the point that he almost gets buried inside, like some kind of internal shape shift is happening and the alpha werewolf starts to control him. It’s like his heart get’s replaced by the darkest parts of the beast. But this darkness, it’s brought on by the werewolf trauma of fighting through life. Not over an erotic dream that I had while sleeping next to him. This is, scary, this is Paris jealous. Really, jealous because of me.
“What?” The word whimpers out of my mouth because I’m wounded. I don’t understand what is going on here. How it could go on here.
“You had a wet dream about Booker Parish.” Paris goes on steadily. “And I want to know why. It wasn’t a regular dream about anyone else in your life, it was very clear to me, it was a sex dream with Booker. So when did you start sleeping with him?”
My whole body is trembling. I push up in the bed to a sitting position now, to face him properly. But it’s not fear that is making my arms shake and my chest pound. It’s anger. “I’m not sleeping with Booker Parish!”
The bed cover slips down me and Paris’s eyes divert briefly to my naked breasts. He looks away, as if pained. “Cover up.” He instructs like he can’t bring himself to look at me anymore. Like he’s disgusted by me.
“No.” I growl back at him and his head snaps back around to me. “You sit there, accusing me of sleeping with your and my friend,”
“and fellow pack mate to you,” Paris stings me with.
“Right, right. We come from the same pack so we must be sleeping together!” I am truly annoyed at him now. “Grow up Paris.” I pull back the covers and slide out of the bed, looking for clothing. Fuck him! He wants to attack me when I’m vulnerable to suggestion, just waking up, when I’m naked. Well I know how to play this fucking game of punch-up! I pull on clothes quickly. A pair of leggings and a long sleeved top. Armor. Cover me from him, so his gaze can’t affect my being.
“So?” He asks again and I turn on him.
“Are you fucking serious?” I yell in disbelief. “You honestly think I’m sleeping with Booker Parish because I said his name while I was asleep?”
“You didn’t just say his name Bg, you repeated it, over and over again and then I watched as you shuddered and came, touching yourself. While I was spooned up against you. And I know you and Booker are, friends as well as pack mates.”
And there it is. “I’m going to loose it.” I mutter to myself. “You’re jealous of a fucking dream Paris, a dream!”
“A dream that made you come.” Paris states back at me. To Paris, I am his this means body, soul and especially sexually. Coming for anyone but him, it would be betrayal on my behalf in his eyes. I rub my face. This should seem ridiculous but I know him well, he won’t let me masturbate when he is not present. I get punished if I do. Especially if I use a vibrator without his permission. Sex to the alpha werewolf is almost as essential as air, and just as valued.
“If you were horny, you would’ve just woke me up and rode me.” I roll my eyes and slam my hands down onto my hips. This is ridiculous beyond belief!
“There’s no fucking logic in dreams Paris, they’re just shit that comes into your head!” I continue to yell at him.
“Look, I know you and Booker are friends as well as pack mates,” I growl at him again, beginning to bear my teeth. “And whilst you don’t have a lot of contact with him here, when you’re in Manhattan Maen territory, you can’t say that’s not the case when you’re in Brooklyn. He’s one of your sister’s posse and one of the first called on each time your protective detail is given.”
My eyes widen till I think my eyebrows are going to fly off my face. “You think, I fuck around with Booker when I have the chance? When I’m over in Brooklyn and you’re not there with me?” He’s silent again. Dark blue eyes never leave me and I begin to pace around the side of the bed, furthest from him. How could he think that about me? How could he doubt how I feel about him about us? My relationship with Paris is the best thing to ever happen to me. But we are from two different boroughs, and that means commuting and communicating between two packs. I’m like a liaison to my pack, the Breukelen for him.
“Okay, you want to know about Booker and me.” I still and look out at him, letting out a deep breath to calm myself. “I’ll tell you about Booker and me.” Paris looks ready to explode as he hears my words.
“Booker and I dated.” I hold his gaze. “A long time ago, before I met you.”
He opens his mouth and stops, grinding his teeth instead. “How come I’ve never heard this before now?” Male wolves, they have a fucking ego on them, let me tell you. That’s why he’s never heard this before. Because Paris is the type of male to be jealous of anyone who was with me before him his feelings for me are so deep, that the logic of Booker being a part of my past, doesn’t even enter into his reasoning. Male wolves can get seriously possessive.
My ex before Paris, Conall Wakely was possessive of me. But he went about it in a rather subtlety manipulative way, so it took me awhile to see what he was doing. Even though other’s could see it, eventually I saw through it. Male wolves and their pack mates. It’s an intensity you need to be ready for.
“Because nobody knew we dated. We were a secret and kept it that way. Even now, you’re the only one outside of either Booker or myself who knows this.” I explain. I see him try and digest this information as he looks away from me briefly, but it’s not a reprieve from the situation at hand.
“We all have pasts Bg, but I don’t have wet dreams about the women I’ve slept with in the past.” And here comes the second wave of attack. “How old where you when you two got together? I always thought, you dated Conall before me.”
“Booker came before Conall. ” His eyes narrow on me sharply as he frowns deeply.
Oh fucking wrong choice of words Bg!
“He’s the one isn’t he?”
“What?” I ask missing something in our conversation that clearly hasn’t been said but is playing out loud and clear in Paris’s mind.
“It makes sense now. You remember I once asked you about who you’re first lover was? Who you gave your virginity too?” Oh Christ on a crunch. Here we go. “I thought it had to be Conall, but it was Booker right? He was your first love.” Now it’s my turn to look away. Which just confirms everything he’s said and we both know it.
“You’re still in love with him, some part of you is still in love with him, that’s why you came in your sleep, calling his name not mine.” My heart is beating like crazy because this is the weirdest confrontation I’ve ever had and I don’t know how I feel about denying that statement. I’m not sure if I would be lying to myself or to Paris or what. “Look at me!” Paris roars across the room making me flinch. Anger is evident in every part of him and I know better than to look away from the werewolf who is spoiling for a fight with me. If I do, he’ll come for charge at me.
“It’s not like that.” I say softly. But I’m not actually sure if it is or it’s not. “I’m not involved with Booker, I’m with you. I love you.” I try to reach him, but Paris’s anger and jealousy are intense as the man himself.
“I don’t believe you.” Paris says dropping his voice.
“What?”
He doesn’t believe I love him? What the hell, where did this come from? Because of an unconscious action in a dream? Some mumbled words? I feel my legs begin to shake and my hands twitch. My skin is getting hot. Pain shoots across my abdomen. Oh shit, I’m so upset it’s bringing on a shape shift. My fingers flex and stretch, waiting for their extension and nails to break and push out talons for claws. Paris stands up and looms on the opposite side of the room taking up a lot of space.
“I can’t handle this. This idea that you’re in love with him.”
Sweat beads across my forehead and feel the flutter of my eyelids close down heavily before I blink back up at him, through my werewolf eyes. He stares back at them. He has to know how I am feeling right now. Because heighten
ed emotions bring on my partial shape shifting abilities with ease. Sometimes I’m not even aware of it happening to me, it’s that damn smooth, when I’m that wound up and lost in feeling.
“Okay, you wanna fight? You got a fight.” I growl at him as my werewolf teeth push through my gums and blood drips into my mouth.
Werewolf Consort Page 1