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| Werewolves Of New York by IamFlameX: 11:21pm On Dec 24, 2018 |
I have started this story before but it seems like the story has been deleted.
So, I am starting the story again here.
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| Re: Werewolves Of New York by IamFlameX: 11:24pm On Dec 24, 2018 |
Werewolvesof New York: Nicholas By FlameX No Cliff-hanger in this steamy romance. Melinda Johnson is a smart, savvy, curvy brunette...and a very loyal friend. After she's embarrassed herself in front of the most handsome man she'd ever seen, she leaves to tuck her drunken friend Rose into bed. Walking home in the dark, deserted streets of Downtown Manhattan an unsavoury villain throws her into the shadows. But something scarier comes to save her. She doesn’t know who…or what. She’s too busy doing what he commanded her to do. RUN! Nicholas Jacobs went to the club looking for something superficial. When he locks eyes with a pretty brunette, something clicks inside him that’s anything but temporary. He follows her only to find her being attacked. No one must know werewolves exist, but Nicholas has to save her by any means necessary. Only...once he finds himself falling for the human female – he and his pack-mates must decide, can they trust her with their secret? |
| Re: Werewolves Of New York by IamFlameX: 11:26pm On Dec 24, 2018 |
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2018 All Rights Reserved No part of this story may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher. |
| Re: Werewolves Of New York by IamFlameX: 11:29pm On Dec 24, 2018 |
CHAPTER 1 Lacerated 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 Melinda who was attempting to keep up despite the hindrance of severely high heels and uncooperative club-goers. Melinda 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, Melinda 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 in the middle of a public place. I could yell Bleep 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.” Melinda smiled despite herself. “You are drunk.” As irritating as Rose was being tonight, Melinda 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 Melinda 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. 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 Melinda 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 Melinda’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 Melinda’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. Melinda stared after her 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 underwear ever invented–even without a mirror she knew she must look pretty smoking hot. So she put her hair back up. Running back to retrieve their forgotten purses from the booth, Melinda 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. Melinda blinked herself back to focus. She glanced around, grabbed the purses from the shadows and caught sight of her bleeped-up hair in the reflection of the mirrored table top. 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!” Melinda 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 favour and don’t.” “What the Bleep is your problem?” Melinda snapped. Backing down, the woman muttered, “Nothing. Just leave me alone.” As she headed for the bar Melinda stole a glance over to the green-eyed stranger. He was gone. “Linda! Hurry up!” Rose yelled. Distracted, Melinda 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 Melinda 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?” Melinda 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, Melinda 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. Melinda 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.” Melinda 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. Melinda 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, Melinda 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, Melinda 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 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 LovePeddler and slave in the bedroom. She wanted her clothes ripped off her…and... Straightening her spine, Melinda shook off her daydream and focused on the problem at hand. “Another time. You wouldn’t have remembered any of it anyway and...” 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 Melinda’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.” “Hmmm…” Melinda 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 was nice enough to help her get Rose in the car without having to be asked. Melinda 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 Melinda 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, Melinda met his eyes in the dirty rear-view 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 inquiring gaze out onto the dark city streets again. He dropped it. *** After tucking Rose into bed, Melinda 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, Melinda. 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 English 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 odour 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. “GET OFF HER!” The assailant was dragged off her like someone had tied his feet to a truck and put it in high gear. He shouted, and the preternatural voice echoed off the walls of her chest cavity. “RUN.” Raving mad, with hot tears blurring her vision, Melinda leapt up and ran, kicking off her heels and not looking back. Her bare feet slapped against the cold cement as the most terrifying, masculine scream came from the alley. She ran twenty whole blocks as fast as she could past late-night partiers, homeless people and even empty taxi cabs, not seeing any of them. When she got to her building on 1st Avenue, she grabbed onto the marble exterior and gasped for air, immediately hitting all the buttons on the security box. Someone buzzed her in and she shut the glass door behind her, staring out to see if anyone had followed. There was no one, but it didn’t make her feel better. She rushed to the staircase and up three flights to her apartment limping from the pain in her legs and the adrenaline that pumped through her. Shaking fingers found the spare key hidden along the top of the doorway. Rushing inside, she locked the deadbolt, grabbed a chair and braced it against the door, knowing she’d left her keys in the alley along with her driver’s license that bore her address. It would be a long night until morning came and she could change the locks. She wouldn’t feel safe until then. She crumbled to the hardwood floor and sobbed. 1 Like 1 Share |
| Re: Werewolves Of New York by IamFlameX: 11:31pm On Dec 24, 2018 |
Chapter 2 is coming soon.
Your comments will be highly appreciated.
*** Constructive criticism is also HIGHLY welcome. |
| Re: Werewolves Of New York by Divepen1(m): 12:00am On Dec 25, 2018 |
IamFlameX:This book belongs Faleena Hopkins.. https://books.google.com.ng/books/about/Werewolves_of_New_York.html?id=PiWhswEACAAJ&source=kp_book_description&redir_esc=y Send a proof that you're this author. |
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