Big Bad Wolf

Sometimes a book gets pulled and I am left with a review that just sits here in limbo. This review I love. I shall leave the review up in hopes the book returns to the store someday. The feelings here and style of writing are one of those worth preserving, and my reactions to this book are a moment captured in time.

~Sylvia

"Champagne," I said. I was giddy with delight. What was happening here? I loved every second of this. This is not what I was expecting. I was expecting to be demeaned and treated badly and aggressively the Way Werewolves were made out to be. This was not the case at all. Yes, they were probably shrewd hunters, but in the bedroom they were adoring little puppies. They were my little puppies, and if I only had them for this one night then I too would enjoy the indulgence. Mason disappeared out of the room. Blake finally lifted his head and looked at me and said, "I'm so glad you came. If it's not too much to ask would you stay the night here, With us? Let's enjoy ourselves." 

I smiled and nodded my head yes. He kissed me passionately and then stared at me for a long time.

Big Bad Wolf

The book starts out strangely detached, with this feeling that I don't have enough information to process what's going on. Who is she? Why is she in London? What about Nebraska? What does she look like? What does she do?

And then she meets him in the park, and he walks away.

And my mind is still wondering why.

I never get my questions answered, but by the end I don't care.

She doesn't meet just one rich, immortal, successful werewolf - she meets two.

And they treat her to delights. A private estate. Food. Lust. The entire fairy-tale princess treatment.

And then it ends.

We dote upon reasons why and facts, but I get this ethereal feeling none of it means anything. It is like meeting someone dark and handsome in a club, feeling his touch, and letting him take you away to a high-rise penthouse where not just one but two men ravage you and not one fact or reason in this world matters.

And you get dressed the next day and go back to your life.

To hunt them down, put meaning on the event, or somehow rationalize what happened would demean that bond. It would cheapen the moment. The facts do not matter.

We do not know who they are. That they run billion dollar tech companies. That they have mommy issues. That they have this void in their life only I can fill. That what happened between us was something somehow magical, a once in a thousand year finding of a mate.

Knowledge is the enemy here.

Facts take away from the moment.

Stop trying to explain.

Stop.

We seek the false shelter of meaning. Our insecurity leads us to build worthless temples of reason. We worship knowledge because it somehow makes us feel secure in a life where passion and feeling are the only truths. We try to explain and find reasons why to salve the feeling of overwhelming ignorance.

What mattered here was the moment.

That singular connection.

That passionate night spent together.

Stop.

Just feel.

As trying to explain the moment takes it all away.