Reasons

  Reasons

  by Breukelen Girl

  Smashwords Edition

  ©opyright 2012

  Editing by Wonderdog Publications

  Reasons eZine is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

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  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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

  http://altijdbreukelen.wordpress.com With other published works listed at the back of this eZine.

  People will tell you - “Everything happens for a reason” or “There’s a reason behind everything.”

  Even though most of the time, what’s caused them to say this to you is not clear.

  Understanding is required. Then a reason for what it is you seek, what it is that was so uncomfortably full of your attention to begin this quest with, will reach acceptance. I mean, if it sounds reasonable, and to a degree that makes sense in your mind, acceptance is then a guaranteed answer to this quandary.

  I say this, because apparently, there’s a reason Gabby hates me.

  Gabrielle Colton, Gabby, Alpha female from the Manhattan Maen werewolf pack. She doesn’t know me personally and I don’t really know her either. But Gabby has never liked me. It was hatred at first sight.

  Which was when Paris, her pack leader, now my boyfriend introduced me to his confidantes and wolves, on a lunar night. Now I can understand that some werewolves can’t deal with inter-pack relations. Not a lot of wolves are happy that Paris and I are together. For one thing, he’s an Alpha werewolf and I’m a Beta wolf.

  That is to say, he’s like the top line in genetics when it comes to werewolf physiology and me, I’m kind of more like the common garden variety of what’s around. Alpha werewolves have capabilities and also responsibilities, that beta pack wolves, do not. It’s like a lifestyle choice, the good stuff or the average stuff. Only you never really get to choose which lifestyle you want, you’re born into it.

  Gabby and Paris are both from the same pack, The Manhattan Maen. I’m from the Breukelen pack, in Brooklyn New York. Each pack has its differences, and yet there are still similarities due to the werewolf culture and way of life. But I think it’s fair to say, that the Manhattan Maen pack, are more like your designer werewolf pack. The Breukelen on the other hand, are more like your working class pack.

  Being an Alpha werewolf not only means you’re different from the beta wolves, it means your better. Literally. You can physically heal faster, do partial and full shape shifts, you can bring on other wolves’ shape shifts, something a beta wolf can not do. You can also recall the shape shift at will for yourself and the other beta wolves too.

  All the other traits, that us werewolves share – night vision, exceptional hearing, tracking skills, strength and speed, are like doubled in an Alpha. More often than not, Alpha werewolves are also known to be exceptionally brilliant warriors in a fight. Most of them make strategic thinking look like child’s play to the rest of us.

  So really, if you’re going to have a werewolf not like you, then you really don’t want it to be an Alpha werewolf. Let alone a female Alpha werewolf like Gabby. I mean, she puts the itch in Bitch and has the skill set to do more than just be a bitch to me. But hey, baby steps in pissing off the wrong kind of wolf, that’s what I always say. Okay, I don’t always say it, but in Gabby’s case, let’s make an exception. Because I really don’t know why she doesn’t like me.

  Of course, the reason Gabby Colton might not like me, might not make sense to me, or be meaningful. But how am I to know this, if she is never going to tell me, and all she is ever going to do, is scowl at me and hit me, when the opportunity arises?

  So spending any more time than is ever necessary with her is painful, very painful, usually, and somewhat quite literally in my case. So imagine what it’s like when you’re stuck with your mortal enemy, okay, mortal might be going a little bit far, since you know, werewolf and all, but imagine being stuck with your enemy in a bad circumstance and wondering - what could be worse?

  Bitch queen, or the unknown enemy threatening you both. I mean, what do you do? Who do you choose? Which one if at all, is the lesser of two evils? What exactly makes a bad situation worse?

  Rock. Hard place. Me, Gabby and an outside threat to both of us.

  I don’t know what’s worse- her or the threat. Because neither is good, at least, for me. Welcome to Werewolf world, it’s never dull in the pack life. Especially in the city that never sleeps. Especially when you pit a beta wolf against an Alpha wolf and sit back to watch the fur fly.

  Gabby once called me a “velléitaire, sous développé, l'onu digne” - a week willed, unworthy, underdeveloped, werewolf. She was insulting me by attacking not only my breast size (small compared to hers), but that which I can not change. My bloodline. She meant, in lay-man’s terms, I’m just a beta wolf.

  Whilst she is clearly (in her mind at least) far more superior than me, because of her Alpha status and well, herself. So when I find myself in a bad situation with limited options for a good outcome, and she’s there looking on, her words come back to taunt me mercilessly, ringing through my head. Being a beta wolf can be frustrating. It’s literally like having limits put on you, in a sense.

  My bad situation was more than just Gabby.

  She’s been a reoccurring bad situation for me. It’s like, I go shoe shopping, turns out I go to the place she shops at, we get into a fight (over shoes). I go to a nightclub for a night out with my packmate, her leader, turns out (she doesn’t like me there) we get into a fight. When I met her for the first time, she was the first werewolf out of the Manhattan Maen to throw an insult, openly at me, to my face. I would’ve got into a fight with her then and there, but, I was trying to impress my boyfriend, Paris at the time.

  My bad situation involved revenge.

  Revenge is a powerfully blinding motive, much like reason is a constraining thought that won’t let you expand your mind onto anything else. Revenge, is an emotion that once in your system, is hard to let go of. It grips people to it, like a mother nursing a child. You feel right at home there, if you go deep enough into the emotion.

  This emotion, revenge, fuels your needs, wants and anything and everything else in your life. Revenge will not be sated easily. Revenge, can only be sated, personally. That’s how it works. You build yourself up in this raging emotion, you simmer, you focus, you plot and you plan and then you execute. your therapy session through your need for revenge. Through attacking, that which will bring you the most resolve to this relentless need.

  By attacking me, a despised werewolf.

  The despised werewolf, is built on legend and myth. We’re seen as nothing more than mindless, out of control monsters with an insatiable desire to maim, kill and pillage whatever is in our path.

  Of course, this may have been a true enough account of werewolves back in the dark ages of 1600s Europe, when they were in hiding, and hunted by men in silver, until ash coated the skies, flames licked the lands, and bodies, were staked on display through villages, as calling cards of nature’s unholy affinity with man, magic and beast.

  However, the werewolf of today, is nothing like their ancestors of long ago. We live in cities, in the country, all
around the world. We appear now, as humans amongst the population. We live in neighborhoods, boroughs, with all ethnicities and we actively involve ourselves, rather than cut off ourselves, from communities.

  The Breukelen pack from which I am from, encourage this. It strengthens our understanding of humans and them of us. It helps us to essentially live a fairly harmonious life. One that doesn’t involve being hated constantly, and hunted ruthlessly.

  Not all werewolf packs follow the example of the Breukelen. Many still believe in keeping a safe but firm distance between pack and their human counterparts. Some, like the Manhattan Maen, will compromise and come in somewhere in between on this way of thinking.

  They’re not heavily involved in their community. But they don’t shun it either. They allow some human interaction, on a regular basis. Just not during lunar weeks, when the werewolves of New York are often tested, in quelling that age old beast, that lurks within their very human skin.

  This isn’t to say that being a werewolf in today’s age is all well and good with sunshine and lollipops, under control. I mean, when has Mother Nature ever allowed herself to be tamed?

  No, we work at control and reminding ourselves, that we can be werewolves without being mindless, meat attacking machines. At least, most of us do, the pack werewolves. But it might be a different story altogether for lone werewolves, or even lycans.

  There’s a difference in those two types of wolves, like there’s a difference between Gabby and me.

  I’m nice. Gabby’s a bitch.

  Lone wolf, is the nicer version of these two. Usually. It’s usually a werewolf who for whatever reason, has broken away from a pack. The theory on lone wolves is, they just aren’t people persons, or you know, people - wolves. They prefer some sort of solitary lifestyle but they conduct themselves in much the same way as a regular pack werewolf. They’re governed and up held to werewolf laws.

  In theory.

  The second wolf, the Lycan is much more like Gabby the bitch. It’s less well liked. Lycans are humans that have been infected with Lycanthropy from a werewolf bite. That is to say, they are humans who have been attacked by a werewolf, and survived the attack to find out, they’re forever furry once a month for the rest of their fairly unnatural, lives.

  Which might sound well enough to manage, except, Lycanthropy in humans, doesn’t make them werewolves. The physiology may appear similar when they shape shift to their animal form, but that’s about where the similarities end. Of course, you have those that manage their ‘condition’ better than others. The Breukelen pack have one Lycan living amongst them, who is considered to be a pack wolf. However, Lycans, tend to have massive behavioral issues. Rage being one of the worst. It’s the Lycans that are more prone to revert, it seems, to the stereotyped image of the werewolf of yester-year.

  The monster, the killer beast.

  My bad situation, it seemed, was my life. I rather liked it, but being a werewolf means you’re prone to many unusual circumstances occurring to you. Like say a deranged, psychotic woman, hell bent on cutting your spinal chord.

  “You’re just another animal. Don’t think I can’t tame you.” She whispered in my ear, her breath hot against my already tempered skin. I stood still and tense. I hate getting threatened. “All I have to do is put you on a leash.”

  This woman had balls. Big brass ones. But she was also over confident. Guess she had to be, to threaten me. Because what’s the point to a threat if you don’t believe the conviction behind it? Especially when you’re stupid enough to threaten a werewolf?

  I guess she figured I was not a threat in myself. Just a beta wolf. Didn’t mean I couldn’t fight, or wouldn’t.

  But she clearly knew that, or didn’t care. Either way I was okay with that. Because I am a werewolf, and when you’re born a werewolf, you’re raised in the strongest terms possible. It’s ingrained in you, that we do not run from threats. We do not back down. And we always, always, attack if called for.

  “Yeah, that’s all you have to do. Put a leash on me. In a club surrounded by a werewolves. Outnumbered by a pack of werewolves who have already picked up on my anger. See?” I said nodding my chin up and out.

  The werewolves of the nightclub hadn’t stopped moving, doing whatever they were doing, but almost every line of sight was directed our way. A werewolf male to the left of me frowned deeply at the woman beside me and tilted his head to the side, it was an animal movement. In the human world, you see pets do it, and it usually represents curiosity or questioning.

  A need for understanding even. When the blonde haired wolf did it, it represented menace. And control. He was holding back. Because he knew something was up and because he was waiting for a signal from me. His eyes never left the strange woman’s face.

  She inched in closer to me, till her breasts were pressing into my back, slipping her hand around my waist, pulling me against her. I felt an odd shape against my lower back.

  “It’s a knife.” She stated, as if reading my mind.

  “All that separates it from your spinal cord, is the bits of material you wear and the pocket of my jacket. So if you think they can get to me before I push this into you, I’m willing to find that out. Just tell blondie over there to give it his best shot.” The wolf’s eyes flicked over to me. He’d heard her, even from three and half meters away.

  Bad situation to be in.

  I looked away, as good a don’t do it signal, which was as clear as I could be to the other wolf without seeming weak. All it would take would be for her to know where a major artery on my body was and knick it with her knife before I could even begin a shape shift.

  I’d bleed to death, pretty damn quick.

  “I’m not afraid to die. Why do you think I walked in here of my own volition? Don’t you think I’ve already tied up my affairs? Don’t you think I know, what I’m doing because I’m not one of you? Because I’m a human, as god made us to be?”

  I needed to think fast. Because she was probably right. The knife would plunge into me quicker than the wolf could move. But possibly not faster than I could react, if I could get her off guard.

  “So maybe I’ll just gut you instead if he even so much as takes a step over here.”

  I was wondering what to do, when the strangest thing happened.

  As if being threatened with spinal chord detachment by a human woman wasn’t the strangest thing in itself. Gabby Colton strutted, through the anxious bodies of wolves around us, straight towards us. Without fear, hesitation, or the slightest bit of concern for my well being. Typically self involved Gabby behavior.

  I wanted to mutter shit. But a small part of me knew to be smarter than to arm my already armed stranger with more ammunition to use against me. I could deal with Gabby anytime. But a knife at my back was a little different. I didn’t think it was silver because I couldn’t smell the acrid smell that silver always fills my nostrils with. Still, being cut open, and having my spinal chord severed, would hurt a hell of a lot and even I didn’t want to find out if a werewolf could recover from that injury with a shape shift.

  I’d rather not press my luck. Or you know, sever my back, as it were. The woman pressed the sheathed blade a little tighter in towards me as Gabby got closer.

  Gabby was a vision let me tell you. Of hell in heels.

  She carried off the “I’ll walk all over you attitude” far too easily. I believe in humans terms, the type of woman Gabby is known as, is as a man-eater. Possibly a ball breaker too. Either way, she looked like a smugly arrogant vision of bitch in heels. Blonde hair styled perfectly, make up perfect, long legs perfectly on display, in high heels and some sort of bondage dress would be the best way to describe the short, tight fitting dress she wore.

  “Stop.” The woman spat at Gabby.

  Gabby stopped, a meter and a half away from us.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m the one you want to talk to around here.” Gabby said, sweeping her arms out wide, indicating our surrounds.


  “No, you’re not.” The strange woman replied angrily. “I want your pack leader.”

  “Paris, is not here. I’m second in command in his absence.” I masked my response to that. I didn’t know if that was true or not. I always thought Addison was next in line to the pack after Paris. But it was possible, they had a rotating system of leadership in one or the other’s absence. It was also possible Gabby was bluffing. Either way, I wasn’t about to let on to the woman threatening me.