Werewolves of New York: Nathaniel

C
opyright
© 2015 by Faleena Hopkins

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The story you’re about to read is fiction. Any similarities to people living or dead are unintentional.

M
ichelle Nero
is a smart
, savvy, curvy brunette...and a very loyal friend. So much so that she leaves a club where she's locked eyes with the most handsome man she'd ever seen, to tuck her drunken friend Rose into bed. Forgetting to have the taxi wait for her, she finds herself walking home in the dark streets of Downtown Manhattan. When an unsavory villain throws her into the shadows of an alley, a powerful someone comes to her rescue, but she doesn't know who. She's too busy doing what he told her to do: RUN. 

W
hen he went
to the club,
Nathaniel Jacobs
was looking for something superficial and very, very temporary. When a pretty brunette's skirt accidentally hikes up and mortified, she flips around and locks eyes with him...something clicks inside his chest, and there's nothing temporary about it. Needing to have her, he stalks her to Rose's place and it's a good thing, too, because there he discovers her being attacked in an alley. Things get out of hand and Michelle's too upset to know what--or who--came to her rescue. He can't tell her
what he is
...or can he? And will his three packmates let her be the first human they've ever told? 

This is a stand-alone complete story with no cliffhangers!

L
acerated
by flashing blue and yellow club lights, Rose made her way through the crowd, yelling, “I need to get laid!!!!” Headed for two seats that just opened up at the bar, she didn’t see the rolled eyes and exasperated look of her friend Michelle who was attempting to keep up despite the hindrance of severely high heels and uncooperative club-goers. Michelle watched as Rose stopped in the middle of the room, imprisoned by a fresh beat blaring through the expensive sound system, drunken arms flying up as her hips swayed.

Descending upon her, she said, “Be careful! Don’t say those things so loud!”

“Oh, you’re always so uptight!” Rose snapped, her light brown hair bouncing as she resumed her oh-so-purposeful journey to the bar.

Affronted, Michelle grabbed Rose’s arm and swung her around. “Coming from a
lawyer
, I take that very personally. I am not so uptight! I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get hurt.” She added in a loud-whisper, “This is New York City. A woman has to be careful!”

Rose scoffed loudly, and then slurred, “We’re smack in the middle of a public place. I could yell FUCK ME NOW, just like that, and no one would do anything about it.” With a dramatic swing of her pretty head, she looked around. “See? They just think I’m drunk.”

Michelle smiled despite herself. “You are drunk.”

As irritating as Rose was being tonight, Michelle loved the hell out of her. The girl always had a way of making her forget about work, her lack of a partner, and the fact that they’d cancelled The Paradise after only two seasons. They’d met when one of the companies Michelle was working for with her private social marketing business, broke the contract and didn’t pay her. Rose had come with high recommendations that said she was a viper in the courts who’d get the money due, and then some. When they’d met for their first consultation the two had hit it off as if they were sisters…and sometimes got on each other’s nerves in exactly the same way. Best friends ever since, and that was two years ago. Oh, and Rose took that company to the fucking cleaners just like the referral promised. It gave Michelle enough money to be choosier about who she worked with, a luxury she’d never stop being grateful for.

In especially rare form tonight as it was her birthday, Rose reached behind Michelle’s head and unleashed the messy bun from its elastic band, tossing it in her face. “There! That’s better. Loosen up!” Dark chocolate-brown locks cascaded onto Michelle’s bare shoulders, the spaghetti straps disappearing entirely on her little black dress. “And I AM drunk. What’s wrong with that? It’s a celebration!” she said with sarcasm, then flipped around and took off running.

Michelle stared after Rose and glanced down to her own loose, long hair. It smelled like sweet shampoo, still slightly damp from the shower, and with her cleavage hiked up–thanks to the most insane underwire ever invented–even without a mirror she knew she must look pretty smokin’ hot.

So she put her hair back up.

Running back to retrieve their forgotten purses from the booth, Michelle wondered,
Good Lord, why are birthdays always so hard?
Her elbows stuck out as she fought to tie her hair into place, and she knocked into people along the way, distracted and trying to get to their bags before they got stolen. “Excuse me!” On seeing the booth still empty, she exclaimed, “Oh, thank God!”

In a hurry, she climbed onto the red leather cushion on all fours, her mind still on men, not wanting the distraction of them,
and
on her drunken friend who was probably surrounded by them this very minute. In her haste, up went the hem of her very tight, little black dress. She yelped and straightened up like a shot, tugging the skin tight fabric to a safer location as she peeked behind her to see if anyone saw.

Eyes of the palest green flashed upward and locked on her mortified face. Frozen, kneeling on the leather seat, her bun askew on her head, she stared back at a man who was without a doubt the most handsome she’d ever seen. He had thick, dark, wavy hair, a square jaw and sexy lips parted in surprise. He wore an expensive suit, complete with tie, and his hands rested casually in his slack’s pockets. From the darkening look on his features, he’d seen the crotch of her lacy pink panties and hadn’t minded at all.

Michelle blinked herself back to focus. She glanced around, grabbed the purses from the shadows and caught sight of her fucked-up hair in the reflection of the mirrored tabletop. Her thunderstruck brown eyes widened and she mumbled, “Great. I look like a spaz,” as she pulled down the ridiculous bun and let her hair go free. Climbing out of the booth rather gracefully despite herself, she kept her eyes on the floor, but could not help casting a glance to her left to see if he was watching. He was. They locked in a visual tug-of-war until…SPLASH.

“Dammit! Watch where you’re going!”

Michelle cried, “Sorry!” wiping off the cold, clear, olive-smelling liquid from the girl’s red blouse with her hand. “So sorry!”

“I just bought that martini! Stop doing that!”

“Sorry! I’ll get you another one! I’ll be right back.”

“Do me a favor and don’t.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Michelle snapped.

Backing down, the woman muttered, “Nothing. Just leave me alone.”

As she headed for the bar Michelle stole a glance over to the green-eyed stranger. He was gone.

“Chelle! Hurry up!” Rose yelled.

Distracted, Michelle muttered on her way, “I have the worst luck with men.” But she couldn’t help searching one last time.

With a seductive yet somehow slightly pathetic smile on her face, Rose leaned over the glossy, black countertop toward the baby-faced pretty-boy working behind it. Her breasts threatened to tumble out for all to see, so Michelle gritted her teeth and warned her, “Rosey…watch it, baby. You’re about to fall out of that dress.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” the bartender smirked.

“Look at that smile,” Rose purred to him. “Did I tell you yet that it’s my birthday? Wanna be my present?”

Michelle rolled her eyes as he reached for a bottle of Patron tequila. “Your birthday, huh? Well, then it’s time to celebrate.”

Rose winked at him. “You knew I was drinking Patron, huh? You were watching me earlier, weren’t you?”

He cocked an eyebrow that said he had been.

Staring between them, Michelle couldn’t take it anymore. The dude was obviously a douche-bag and nothing good would come of this. That might have been what Rose wanted now, but in the morning, not so much. Friend-to-the-rescue time. Michelle threw out her arm to stop him from pouring. “Don’t. She’s had enough.” He ignored her. “Okay, that’s it. I’m sorry, but she won’t be drinking that. We’re leaving.” She shoved Rose’s purse at her, feeling slightly bad about the
oof
her friend made as it knocked the wind out.

Pointing to the full glass, he grunted, “I’m not pouring expensive booze down the drain. She
ordered
it.”

Michelle shot him a look that meant business. “No. She didn’t. You did. And you can clearly see she’s drunk. It’s illegal to serve her, and you know it. So, pour that tequila out or get a call from the city declaring your liquor license removed for negligence.” She wasn’t a lawyer, but she’d seen Rose act this way enough times to know what to do. Rose glared at her, though. Apparently imitation is the sincerest form or
irritation
when blocking one’s bed-buddies.

Michelle yanked her off the chair and pulled her toward the exit.

“I don’t like you!”

“You love me, and you know it.”

As she thrust her friend into the fresh air of Manhattan’s West Village, Michelle set her down by the wall and went to hail a cab. Outside the lounge club patrons stood in clumps smoking and chatting in private tones, unconcerned with the argument beside them. It was New York after all. People could be stabbing each other and no one would blink.

“He wanted me!”

“He would have taken you home and never called you again.”

“What wrong with that?” Rose grumbled. “It’s my birthday.”

With her arm in the air, Michelle admitted only to herself that birthday or no birthday, she too could use a good romp in the proverbial hay to release the tension of the last, oh, five years. Ever since she’d graduated college, it had been work work work mixed in with friend-time and inconsistent dates with inconsistent men. Men raised by women. Men who were really boys. Men who wanted their mommy. Well, she didn’t want to be her lover’s mommy. She wanted to be his bitch. His conquest. His slut. His lady and equal in public, but whore and slave in the bedroom. She wanted her clothes ripped off her…and...

Straightening her spine, Michelle shook off her daydream and focused on the problem at hand. “Another time. You wouldn’t have remembered any of it anyway and...whoopsie!” She ran to grab slumping Rose before she hit the unforgiving pavement. Resting her against the dark window, she pulled at her friend’s short blue dress to keep her decent. Rose closed her eyes and there was sadness to her face that broke Michelle’s heart. She smoothed down the shoulder-length light brown hair and held her friend’s cheek, saying quietly, “Happy Birthday, lovely. It’s not as bad as it seems.”

“Hrmmm…”

Michelle sighed and went back to hailing a cab, stepping off the sidewalk this time to show she was serious. The first two drove by taken, but the third stopped. The driver, a round-faced man who originated from the Dominican Republic, was nice enough to help her get Rose in the car without having to be asked. Michelle slid in next and before he closed the door, she said, “Thank you.”

“It’s Saturday,” he shrugged, like been-there-done-that-every-week. “Where are you headed?”

“Downtown, please.”

As they rode, Rose snored and Michelle stared at the passing buildings with a growing sense of disappointment. For what, she didn’t know. Her job was fulfilling in its own way. She loved the creative aspect of getting a great product seen by structuring compelling social-media marketing campaigns. She knew how to leash and control the power of the Internet and most of the executives at the major companies hiring her had no clue, so her voice was heard and appreciated. But between all the hours she put into promoting their products, and promoting her own name to maintain consistent income, it left little time for play.

“Boy, do I need to have fun,” she told the closed glass window.

“What do you do?” the driver asked her.

Surprised, Michelle met his eyes in the dirty rearview mirror. “What? Oh…I have my own business.”

“No, what do you do for fun? You just said that you needed to have fun.”

“Did I say that aloud?” She glanced away from his kind, inquiring gaze out onto the dark city streets again. He dropped it.

A
fter tucking Rose into bed
, Michelle locked up and took the elevator to the lobby, wondering why she didn’t ask the driver to wait for her. It was hard to get a taxi downtown this late, but when he’d asked her that question, she didn’t have an answer and it unsettled her. The club wasn’t fun, save for the two brief minutes she’d held the attention of Mr. Gorgeous.

Walking out, she glanced around the dimly lit street and crossed her arms considering waiting for a cab. Calling one wouldn’t do any good on a Saturday. Why hadn’t she worn a coat tonight? “Because I thought I’d be inside a freaking car, that’s why.” Sighing, she started walking to her one-bedroom apartment in the East Village, planning to catch the very first cab that passed even if it had someone in it. She’d jump in front of it if she had to.

With her clutch bag tucked under her arm and her eyelids blinking way too much, she kept her head down and didn’t see the limo sedan parked a block or so up the street. Nervous at being out this late alone, she passed several darkened businesses until she spotted something that turned her stomach. An alley on the left coming closer by the second. Baby hairs all over her body shot up as scenes from horror films passed before her.
Don’t be such a wimp, Michelle. No one’s going to be there. You’re scaring yourself for nothing.
But another voice whispered, ignored,
Call a fucking cab!

The shadows grew as she crossed in front of the alley. She looked left even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. No one was there, and she relaxed, smiling and chiding herself inwardly for watching those damn films in the first place. To face the fear, she stopped walking and stared into the darkness of the empty alley, taking deep breaths. There was debris on the ground, and a graffiti-covered metal trash bin to the left, but no monsters or ghouls. She grinned at her immaturity and called into the darkness, “Boo!”

So engrossed in her own personal psyche-out, she hadn’t seen a hooded man crossing the street. Hadn’t heard his filthy sneakered feet swiftly making their way over. Hadn’t seen the look in his eyes as he clocked her and glanced around to make sure she was alone. It wasn’t until he was two steps from her did she hear him and turn, startled, nearly falling over as her heels caught the seam in the sidewalk. Before she knew what was happening, he shoved her into the shadows. She cried out as she hit the gravelly surface. Her clutch bag fell to the hard ground, its contents spilling out. Stunned and scared, she stared up at her attacker, but couldn’t see his eyes for the sunglasses he wore. He was Caucasian and from his skin, maybe mid-thirties.

He sneered and lunged at her. She tried to get away but he pinned her down and covered her screams with his hand. “Shut up!” He pushed her legs open with his as she fought him, tears rushing from terrified eyes. The stink of body odor perforated her nostrils and she gagged. Hearing his zipper open was the worst sound she’d ever heard in her life. She squeezed her eyes shut.
If I don’t see it happening, it won’t haunt me for the rest of my life.
She felt faint but kept fighting him through the dizziness that descended upon her, kicking and hitting. It did no good. She had no training.

A strange unearthly sound came from somewhere outside of them, a wild animal’s snarl but greater, because it was paired with a voice so thunderous her body vibrated with its every syllable.