Pack Read online

  The Pack

  By Breukelen Girl

  Smashwords Edition

  © Copyright 2012

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  It may contain violent and sexual content. By reading and purchasing this book you consent to being of legal age for such material. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to www.smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

  Writing takes time and effort and Breukelen Girl goes to a lot of it for your reading enjoyment.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover photo: B_Polinasergeeva by Creative Commons license by 2.0

  You can find more of BG’s free writing on her blog “A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn”

  http://altijdbreukelen.wordpress.com

  ebook titles by Breukelen Girl:

  Wild Life

  Lunar Nights

  The Pack

  Perception

  Growing Up Werewolf

  Lunar Nights

  Of Wolf and Male

  Lycan La Vida Loca

  Reasons

  Revenge

  1

  “Because in the end….we are pack!” The voice says with contention. Momentarily rattled I gasp out loud twitching and jerking in my bed covers. Awaking from the bad dream. It’s already fading fast. I can’t remember anything of it other than those words.

  Breathing heavily I try to relax, laying back in my sheets, allowing my head to feel heavy amongst the pillows behind it. But a frown forms as I think of those words.

  It’s not because they don’t make sense to me, they do. It’s because of the way they were said. I have no idea who said them, just the way they were said. It was filled with anger, annoyance, contention and frustration.

  Yet being part of a werewolf pack is not about those things. It’s about security, safety, assurance and confidence. It’s life. And that’s what the faceless voice in that dream was talking about.

  Speaking of…I twist and sit up on my elbows looking either side of me in the king size bed. Alone again. There is plenty of space around me.

  I look about room. My bedroom in my place in Brooklyn. The room is dim and has degrees of shadows silhouetting its layout. I know everything in this room. Not just because of my enhanced night vision abilities, due to my werewolf nature, but because it’s my personal space.

  And I’m alone in it. This is not a good thing.

  Rolling into a sitting position I throw the sheets off me and pad naked out into my darkened house, heading towards the second bedroom. The door is slightly ajar and I peep in at the sleeping male inside.

  Wiatt D’arenberg my appointed chaperone and younger brother to my pack mate, the Manhattan Maen werewolf pack leader, Paris D’arenberg is sleeping solidly.

  I scoot back to my bedroom. Paris was supposed to come by tonight when he was done, doing whatever he was doing.

  We don’t stay often in Brooklyn at my place. But we haven’t exactly tackled the most basic of issues about two werewolves from different packs dating yet. Territory. Living arrangements. I think we both keep avoiding bringing it up.

  He’s from Manhattan, I’m from Brooklyn. He’s a Maen pack werewolf; I’m a Breukelen pack wolf. He’s an alpha, I’m a beta. The differences between us go on. But we don’t care, because we want to be together. But most of the time because of his job being a pack leader, we are situated in Manhattan.

  Hell, I was half expecting to be woken up by his presence when he came home. I figured he’d slip into my bed and then well, maybe, slip into me. Gently push his thickened cock into me and slowly start making love.

  I’d wake up and sigh his name and push up further into a position to take him deeper into me and we’d rustle the sheets against our naked skin. Trying not to be the loudest things in an otherwise sleeping household.

  But I’m still distracted by my faceless dream. I’m sleepy and I don’t want to fall back into that dream space again. Be taken back there again.

  Werewolves aren’t really afraid of much. Even as a pup, I was never raised to believe in the concept of fear. I was only ever taught to recognise it in others and use to my advantage.

  2

  The morning light streams into my room and I groan. It’s not that I’m immune to sunshine; I’m just not ones for mornings.

  Werewolves walk in daylight and play in the night. Ninety nine precent of the time we look as human as the next person. But believe me we’re prone to our biology. Our animal self has a strong preference for night.

  I especially don’t like mornings where I wake up alone. Again I find myself looking at the sheets gathered around me and the space not filled by the warmth of my pack mate beside me.

  Paris never came in last night.

  I reach across from me for my cell phone on the nightstand and look at it, silently demanding it reveal why Paris never came to bed with me. But it looks like a cell phone does. There are no missed calls on it, no text messages waiting for me.

  Damn it.

  I put the phone back down and push off out of the bed. I’m confused and maybe just a little concerned. Paris distinctly said, he would meet me at my place and that he might be late, so not to wait up.

  My dresser drawers are yanked open harder than they should be because I’m annoyed. Correction, I’m upset. An alpha werewolf like Paris can take care of himself and so many others at the same time. I know this, because I’ve seen this. I know this, because I’ve also grown up around alpha werewolves.

  I know the breed. There are three in my family, the Sommers household. And I am not one of them.

  They’re capabilities compared to any beta wolf like me, are just outstanding in general. Before they even try to do something impressive with themselves. My eyes roam over the material in my dresser.

  Black three quarter length pants, black singlet top and hoodie with my favourite New York roller derby league’s logo on it – The Gotham City Roller Girls, is my outfit of choice.

  I should probably wear some underwear too I decide, grabbing boy leg shorts and a hot pink, cotton bra with white polka dots. After all, it’s more fun when you’re pack mate has to strip you in foreplay. It tantalises the senses and builds the anticipation for both of you.

  It also tests Paris’s patience when he has to peel more layers off me than he wants to. It’s like a game between us. He wants it off, so I layer up. In other words, we both get off on the seduction aspect. Otherwise I wouldn’t bother with underwear.

  Once dressed I walk into the hallway and see Wiatt, shirtless, barefoot and in jeans is already up and heading to the kitchen.

  “Morning,” He mutters looking back over his shoulder at me, rubbing his neck.

  “Yeah, as in the day after the night before.” Waitt looks at me oddly and we head into the kitchen together. A werewolf has got to eat. Even if she is officially in a bad mood.

  “What’s up with you?” He asks me heading immediately to the large retro style fridge.

  “Do you see your brother standing here between us?” I reply, hands on hips waiting for his bent over back to straighten so he can turn around and see me looking at him expectantly.

  Waitt pulls out the milk carton.

  “Do not even think of drinking from the carton wolf.” I produce a clear tall glass for him from a nearby cupboard.

  A smirk crosses Wiatt’s face and he pours a glass of milk. “You want?”

  I shake my head that I do not.

  “So Paris didn’t come in last night?” He says continuing our conver
sation. “Did he call to say why?” and digs into his jeans pocket, pulling out his cell phone.

  “No, he did not.”

  That gets Wiatt frowning and he scrolls through the screens on his phone and looks at it for a minute in silence. “Oh.” He says softly and put the phone back in his pocket and picks up his glass of milk again, even as I stare at him like I could drill holes into him with my werewolf daytime, laser vision.

  “Well, what? Did he message you?”

  “Uh yeah. I had the phone on silent and took it off vibrate, so I never heard the text come through.” Waitt says suddenly looking somewhat guilty as he raises the glass of milk to his lips.

  “And?” Waitt drinks a mouthful of milk and pauses with the glass again. He is toying with me on purpose. Probably cause I made him drink with a glass. Alpha fucking werewolves. Yes, Wiatt like his older brother is an Alpha, he is also a rarity in that he comes from a completely Alpha werewolf household.

  “Paris didn’t come in last night, because he got arrested.”

  “Arrested? Are you sure, this is Paris we’re talking about.” I state somewhat in disbelief.

  Paris D’arenberg, older brother to Wiatt D’arenberg, Alpha Werewolf, Manhattan Maen Pack Leader, all around strategist, fighter, and lover extraordinaire, is not the type of man to get arrested. That word sounds so common when you put it in a context with Paris D’arenberg.

  He is not the type of werewolf to do something noticeable in public, around humans that would arouse any type of suspicious behaviour and attention from authority figures.

  He’s just not that stupid. Like say my ex-boyfriend Conall Wakely who would go and get himself arrested.

  “Yeah, you really don’t know my brother all that well yet do you?” Wiatt chuckles sipping his milk. I give him a death glare. He laughs some more. Bastard.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “Paris can explain himself to you, or you know, you might figure him out first.” Wiatt says cryptically drinking more milk.

  I sigh and start going to work on making myself a coffee. The D’arenberg males are doing my head in.

  “So where do we need to go and collect him from?” I ask boiling the kettle.

  “Ah, we don’t. He’s home now. Spent the night in the tank and left first thing this morning.” I turn around and lean back against the kitchen bench.

  “He’s back in Manhattan?”

  “Yeah. I guess he uh, never left.”

  I shake my head, not really sure to make of any of it.

  “I know, it’s a rather elaborate way to not have to come to Brooklyn, getting yourself arrested but…” My head tilts down and my eyes sharpen on Wiatt. “I’m kidding! Jeez, lighten up Cadey.”

  I growl back at him for using my name. “Oh do not call me that!” It’s an abbreviation from my full name, Cadence. But it’s not how I’m known, or more importantly, how I wish to be known.

  “Bg,” Waitt says his voice becoming apologetic as he goes back to what I consider to be my name. At least, my werewolf name. Bg, short for Breukelen Girl.

  He finishes his glass of milk before he looks back over at me milk moustache and all. “You are so not a morning person.”

  “Not without my daily dose of Paris in the morning.” I mutter watching the kettle automatically turn off.

  3

  I’m feeling a bit hurt. Yeah the girl in me is being, stupidly girlie and caving in to the very human emotion of jealousy.

  Paris texted Waitt not me. Not his pack mate when he was arrested. What does that say about whom he trusts in turning to first for things?

  Paris and Wiatt are close and have a good relationship. Obviously Wiatt has been in Paris’s life longer than I have and they’re from the same pack. Which might be what this comes down to.

  Werewolf packs.

  I’m a Breukelen and I have done some wrong in the Manhattan Maen pack. Justified as it was, it kind of made an impression. All round. Which might be why he didn’t contact me first. Since it was the wrong impression to make with a Pack that already hadn’t fully accepted me.

  There might be some, residual issues between Paris and I. That have been buried and ignored since I took on Gabby Colton, alpha werewolf of the Manhattan Maen, with silver weapons that were intended to scar her for all to see.

  Impression making, remember?

  Wiatt pulls up at Paris’s place and has barely killed the engine on his car when I’ve gotten the door open and start striding towards the front door. Paris appears in the doorway and looks past me at Wiatt and back at me.

  He fills the doorframe with his form and looks stoic as I get nearer to him. I’ve noticed this thing about Paris. He’s normally quite warm around me, but occasionally, when something is going on in the pack or I suspect he has problems on his mind he’s trying to sort through, he loses the warmth. Even with me.

  He’s normally quite reserved with most of the werewolves he deals with, outside of the inner circle. Never really lets them see him, for him. Ever the alpha leader. A life on the job, that’s what being a werewolf pack leader means. It’s not like you clock hours and switch off.

  You’re constantly immersed on some level in a community that actively seeks you out. They count on you for guidance and help. They expect things of you. You’re more than one of them. You’re every part of them. And yet you’re above them too.

  Which is why being a pack leader means more than muscle. More than presence. It means being smarter than the next two guys looking for the job. It’s hard work, all the time.

  So to hear the word arrested next to Paris’s name is just ludicrous to me. Because he’s better than “just getting arrested”.

  If Paris were to get arrested it’d be for something worthwhile. It wouldn’t be because he was drunk or got into a fight or keyed someone’s car. Petty and Paris are not in the same room together. He’s bigger than that.

  For him to do something “big” to get noticed by the authorities, he wouldn’t do it without thinking things through, without figuring all the angles and the implications for the pack. He wouldn’t do it without consulting his hierarchy of which I am included by association.

  Humans can barely deal with gay people. Imagine how they’d fare if werewolves and other paranormals were living openly out there for them to wrap they’re heads around.

  They wouldn’t cope. Which is in part, the reason I know Paris would never deliberately get himself arrested!

  Inevitably, some humans find out about werewolves, but over all in the larger picture scale of things, werewolves are not even a blip in the social culture’s consciousness. And I seriously doubt Paris would be the first werewolf to out an entire race of paranormal beings.

  Werewolves aren’t even a sub culture, we’re sub-par in the human world of consciousness.

  The thing with stoic Paris is, I can’t approach him like I would if the barriers weren’t up in place for me. I’ve figured out that much.

  That pressing myself into him and wrapping my arms around him, kissing him deeply as a greeting, doesn’t dent that invisible alpha male, emotional armour.

  It actually gets me shut out even more.

  So I have two options here that I figure. I can be casual and cool, nonchalant like nothing is amiss.

  Or I can be out rightly angry at him, wether I feel it or not. It’ll get a god damn response out of him, and might even get him to open up a little about whatever he’s going through at the moment in that busy head of his.

  Paris is leaning against one side of the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. He looks at me. Like he’s angry at me. Or he knows what’s coming.

  Ready for me is he? I’ll see about this. Let the power struggle begin. I’ll tango with him. It’s my right as his pack mate.

  I notice the bruise forming on his right cheek but ignore mentioning it.

  “Good morning,” I squeeze past him into his house. “I am starving, haven’t had breakfast yet. H
ow do you feel about cooking pancakes?” I yell back at him as he waits for his brother to come through the doorway.

  “I’ve already eaten.” He mutters loud enough for me to hear. I glance back at the two werewolf males as they clasp hands tightly. Before dropping hands and closing the front door.

  “She’s pissed.” My werewolf hearing allows me to hear Wiatt whisper to Paris as I head to the kitchen to make my own breakfast. I feel like yelling you don’t have to be a werewolf to figure that out!

  A heavy sigh follows and footsteps that lead the two males to the kitchen with me. I’m preparing myself a bowl of cereal.

  “About last night.” Paris starts watching me closely as I go through the motions of making myself breakfast. I glance over at him. “Sorry that I couldn’t make it.”

  I finish pouring milk on my cereal and put the milk carton down on the table.

  “Understatement of the year.”

  He leans back against a counter top and keeps looking at me.

  “You got arrested!” I state at him angrily, trying to prompt something from him.

  “I wasn’t actually arrested.” He states pulling out a chair from the kitchen table and waiting for me, on the opposite side of the table. I sigh and do the same and sit down on my chair. Paris sits opposite me and Waitt sits next to his brother.

  “I was just kind of rounded up because I was in the wrong company and we all got told to cool off over night. “

  “What happened? Talk to me.” I say softly, my hand shooting out across the table for his. His dark blue eyes drop to look at my hand and he seems to think about it momentarily before reaching for my hand in return.

  Paris shrugs his large shoulders loosely and glances between my hand and face. “I don’t know, some guy tried to pick a fight with me and I got tired of being the nice guy and doing the honourable thing and walking away. So I didn’t.”

  “Please tell me he wasn’t a non.” My voice is low. Paris in a fight with a non-werewolf. A human would be bad news. He’d slaughter the human, even at half speed and holding back half his power.

  Hell, even I can do more damage than a human could to another human being. And I’m nowhere near as powerful as Paris.