Saturday, September 20, 2014

GIll's Domestic Journey Continues




Chloe looked down at her baby bump.  She tried to smile in between her stomach lurching and her need to devour food as if there was nothing more coming.   Wearing clothes other than her stretched out sweat pants and Gill’s extra-large t-shirts left feeling dumpy and out of style.  Not that her current outfit helped either.  Her bright yellow nightshirt covered by the worn hot pink bathrobe she found in the thrift store two towns over along with her mismatched slippers left no impression of her concern with dressing up or doing more than relaxing.

She held up the huge mug of peppermint tea and inhaled.  Wonderful smells greeted her as she inhaled deeper.  Another batch of chocolate chip cookies baked in the oven.  Three dozen in, she’d called Louie for more ingredients.  An array of nuts, chocolate morsels, and other baking items littered the counter taking up the back half of the kitchen wall.  The cookies sold almost as fast as she could make them.  Of course, her taste testing took up a half dozen setting in her stomach, which seemed to growl with every bite.  Next to the mixing bowl holding the next batch waiting to take its place on the baking pans cooling on top of the oven, sat a half-eaten sandwich.  Cashew butter and peppermint apple jam.  Grandma Fuller, bless her heart, sent a case as soon as word reached the relatives in California. 

Cravings hadn’t started yet.  Zivia offered recipes for sauerkraut and haggis stew. Chloe thanked her for the recipe.  Neither she nor Gill ate meat. There was this yen for jalapenos and salsa that crept up on her late last night. Half way through the super-sized bag of tortilla chips and the second jar of picante salsa, Gill caught her munching down watching bad late night movies.  So much for Sunday afternoon football game viewing with munchies unless Bettina got Louie to haul more with him.

Chloe yawned as the front door of the mayoral mansion creaked open.  She didn’t need to breathe too deeply to know Gill was home.  The rustle and crinkle said he carried bags.  Blackie and her brood along with the male she’d taken up with needed food and kitty litter.  Milk and bread along with other breakfast items topped the list she’d sent Gill out with.  Maybe now she could take that nap she’d been avoiding.  Gods and Goddess, the little ones were demanding and snagging up her remaining energy left and right.

Twenty minutes later, Gill tossed the afghan Miss Ellie sent home with him over Chloe.  Her mismatched sleepers peaked out from under the couch.  Her soft snores told him their brood to be and his bride slumbered.  Gill trotted back to the kitchen and began scooping cookie dough on to the baking sheets.  Setting a timer and checking the cookies doneness, he could handle.  As he waited for the timer to ring, he unpacked the packet of work he’d brought from the council meeting he attended.  Who knew that settling down appeared to suit him?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Weekend Gang!

Gill's adjustment to domestic life continues.  Chloe is facing adjustment to her pregnancy.  I've heard rumors that quadruplets may lurk in the background of Gill's heritage.  Either way, Chloe's baby bump is growing.

Help me decide her due date:
9 months
12 months
10 months 
or your suggestion

The winner will receive a walk on role in a blog post in the future.

Until next week,
Solara

Friday, September 19, 2014

Leaping Lizards...It's Not Turkey?

It's okay, Erol. Don't panic!
Erol rolled, as any human would, across the casino’s back alley.  He remembered at the last minute that a typical human would not land on his feet, especially after having eaten as much as he had.

“And stay out!” Yelled one of the three steroid stinking bouncers.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He yawned, not overly worried about getting the boot from this casino.  More so, he wanted to make sure they did not touch his fiery mate.  Leaping lizards she was a site to behold spouting her righteous anger like flames surrounding her.

“How dare they do this!  How dare, they throw my man out the back door of their rotten casino!  See if I spend any more of my hard earned money in their disgusting, bedbug ridden pit!”

Erol smirked at her outrage on his behalf.  How could he not love this little sprite of a woman?

“Really, Karma, are you going to stop laughing anytime soon?”

“C-c-can’t!”

“This is really too much.  You know, Mrs. Elly wouldn’t throw Erol out for eating too much, she’d just make him more flapjacks.”

“The best flapjacks, Fair one, but she certainly has nothing to worry about on the bacon front…turkey bacon.  There should be a law against that.” Erol said, shaking his head. “You know, it tastes…skunky.”

“No-no, wait Greely, pl-please let me find my camera before you tell him!”

Erol got a bad feeling, deep in his pleasantly filled gut as he watched a laughing Karma frantically search her bags.  “Tell me what, Fair one?”

“Please Gree, don’t be mean, just let me get a shot of that face when he finds out…ooh, here’s my camera.”

“Stop it, Karma.” Greely waved away her friend and turned back his way.  “Now Erol, you know Elly is a herbie, and they don’t eat meat.”

“So, what, the bacon is tofurky or something?”

“Try dropping the –rky.”

Oh fire and damnation!  A flash went off in his face as the realization hit. “Tofu!  She’d been poisoning me with gelatinous, skunky tasting weeds?”

“Got it!” Karma rejoiced with a fist pump and what he always called a happy dance.  The combo didn’t piss him off half as much as the idea of what Elly had been feeding him did.

“Not weeds, soy and soymilk.” Greely soothed, her small hand on his chest.

“WEEDS!”

“It’s good for you.”

“I’d rather eat skunk.  Or, camel hump!”

“Hey, watch it, slimy.  I’ve heard dragon balls are supposed to be a delicacy.  I haven’t ever tried them, but keep it up and I might.”

“Both of you stop it.  Now is not the time.  We’ve been kicked out of our rooms and by now, probably black-balled around town.”

"Oooh, oooh...there's a wise crack on the tip of my tongue, Gree."

"Not a word, Karma. We have issues to resolve, not ass to crack. Yes, the pun was intended, just for you, my dear."

"You're killing me, Gree, killing me!"

"I know.  Now, suggestions anyone?"
 
“Well if someone hadn’t ingested three-fourths of the all you can eat buffet, we’d be gambling right about now.”

“Watch it, Karma.”

“Ooh, why’s that, Erol?”

“Because I’ve still got room for Camel hump.”

“Forget it, you two," Greely said, grabbing several pieces of luggage. "Let’s just head out for London.  But first, I want to fly over the Hoover Dam.”

“It’s too early for that, Fair one.”

“Fine, let’s go take the tour, then on to London.”

“Sounds good…can we check out the buffet at that, New York hotel?”

Both ladies looked at him like he was crazy.  “What?”

“More food, Erol?”  Greely asked.

“What can I say…I’m still hungry.”

“Props, Erol.” Karma praised. “You know, you’ve got some big ba…”

“Stomachs!” Greely interrupted.  “Big stomachs.”
~~~
I have to say, I love shocking Erol.  He's just uptight enough to make it fun...and how he missed the fact that Mrs. Elly is a herbie, I'll never know.  Could be he just didn't want to believe he was eating poisonous weeds, er, tofu.  I'm surprised though that he didn't blow and torch part of the strip.  Could be Greely's been a good influence on him. :)

Have a great weekend!
Serena

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Officer Tom On Call




   “Patrol Car 54, do you copy?”
   Tom glared at the radio, defiantly taking a sip of his coffee before picking up the hand set.
   “What do you need, Betty Lou?” he asked, exasperated. The regular night shift dispatcher had been out for almost three weeks on maternity leave and for reasons he didn’t even what to know, the Chief had hired batty old Betty Lou Harris to fill in during the duration. Betty Lou was closer to eighty than to sixty, and had watched an awful lot of cop shows during her many years as a home maker. Tom knew this because the old lady was very fond of trying to quote them over the radio. It wouldn’t be so bad if she were getting the quotes right, he mused.
   “Well, Tom sweetie, I just got  the strangest call from some out of towner who called in on the official line—” Tom had learned that when she said this, she meant it came in on the 911 network rather than the local police dispatch phone number— “He sounded pretty upset and was saying something about there being a unicorn laying on the side of the road. He said it looked like it had been run over by a Mac truck or something.”
   “10-4, Betty Lou, a bystander spotted road kill. Can you give me the location?”
   “Oh, sure!” she gushed. “That young man on the phone said he saw it down by Carver’s Road, on the left hand side between the shoulder of the road and Schitt Creak.”
   “OK, Betty Lou, I’m on it,” he replied as he tucked his go cup into a cup holder and fastened his seat belt. This was not sounding very good. For one thing, unicorns were pretty much invisible to mortals—unless they were, in fact, dead. Second, the only way a Mac truck could have hit one is if it were, you guessed it, already dead. If you startle a unicorn, it pops out of phase with reality, rendering it invisible to the naked eye and insubstantial. A shifter’s nose could still identify them when out of phase, and magical weapons could still hurt them, but that’s about it.
   Despite not being in any great rush to get to the scene, it only took him about 5 minutes. Talbot’s Peak just wasn’t that big of a place. What he found when he pulled up made him wish it had taken him longer. Parked on the side of the road the neon green Toyota Prius belonging to that pair of Seattle nut-jobs who’d come to this part of Montana to “commune with nature.” Most of the guests who stayed at the Wilk Pack’s commune were a little odd, just like the Wilks themselves. This pair were more than odd, though. They were obnoxious and had made pests of themselves over the last week and a half.
   “Just so you know,” the loud-mouthed male said as Tom stepped out of his patrol car, “I already called the news stations and reported it to them, too. I’ve seen what you back woods rednecks call justice in this town.”
   Tom shut his door and slowly ambled over to the pair. As he did so, he sampled the air very carefully. His heart plummeted when he picked up the scent of a unicorn. Damn. There weren’t very many of them around and every one that was lost was a kick in the gut. But he also picked up the scent of wolves, specifically Mooney McMahon and Moon-Moon, who’s proper name was Josh, but every one called him Moon-Moon because of that internet meme that started a few years ago about the stupidest werewolf alive. He looked around for the dead unicorn but didn’t see it.
   “So where’s this dead animal you guys called in?” he asked with every ounce of professional curtesy he could muster.
   “It’s right behind you,” the female yuppie said in a superior tone. “We saw it running around with some hunter’s cruel arrow in it. And then it dashed across the road and got hit by a mac truck!”
   “Let’s see you bill billies find a proper hunting tag for that!” the male added loudly.
   “Well, I need to see the carcass first,” Tom said as he turned and began looking around, sweeping the beam of his Maglight is wide arches. He honestly didn’t see it. He could smell that it was there, or at least had been there, but he found nothing but churned up grass.
   “Well, it was here just a minute ago,” the male yuppie said, sounding confused. “I tried to get a picture of it but my iPhone’s camera wasn’t getting enough light to get a good shot.”
   “Can you point out the blood trail for me at least?” Tom asked.
   “Phu, blood trail,” the female said dismissively. “Everyone knows that unicorns don’t leave blood trails! You need to look for glitter!”
   “Ma’am, I’ve never seen anything that left a trail of glitter when it’s shot with an arrow,” Tom replied very carefully.
   “Unicorns do,” she replied stubbornly. Tom just looked at her for a moment before turning back toward the area the pair had pointed out earlier. He walked though it carefully, looking for any signs of a struggle.
   It had been long enough that he probably would find something. After all, the SOP in town when a non-resident found out-of-the-ordinary road kill was to sneak the unusual dead body away and replace it with something normal. He’d picked up the scent of the two wolves that usually took care of clean-up duty for the McMahon Pack. That pack owned the local paper, so it made sense that the McMahons had responded first. It didn’t really matter if anyone got pictures of the unusual animal because thanks to internet hoaxes and Photoshop, no one believed cell phone photos if there was no body to present as proof. The question was what he’d find. And then he found it.
   The beam of his Maglight slid over the body briefly before he realized what he’d seen. The female yuppie’s shout of excitement when he found it again was joined with the male’s shout of triumph. Tom just stood there staring in total disbelief. How the hell had those two knuckleheads gotten it planted in the right spot just in time to fool the yuppies???
   Just then, the Butts & Guts news van pulled up to the side of the road, Lamar and Jamie hopping out almost immediately. Jamie had his camera out and was snapping pictures a mile a minute while Lamar raised the portable light boom on the van, flooding the whole area with light.  The yuppies' shouts of triumph chocked off as their trophy was fully illuminated--the biggest freaking stuffed unicorn doll he had ever seen.
   Tom squinted at the harsh light and looked back at the yuppies. “Is this what you all saw?” he asked, not really trying to hide his smirk. He was totally going to have to track Mooney and Moon-Moon down to find out how they snuck that monster in right under the noses of the moronic yuppies!

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

FLASHBACK ~ Freedom was a beast she wanted to ride.



Mid-September howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

First, take a look at this new Nessie sighting.

HEADLINE-SNIPPET: Is this the Loch Ness monster?
Is this the Loch Ness monster – spotted 150 miles from its traditional home?
Photographer Ellie Williams captured this amazing image of what she believes to be a creature from the deep while taking snaps in the Lake District.
The 24-year-old had set up her camera tripod to automatically take photos throughout the day at Windermere.
It was only when she reviewed the images, which were supposed to be of the colours of the changing seasons, that she came across the shocking snap.
—mirror.co.uk/news/weird-news/loch-ness-monster-creature-photographed-4204637~
~~~

Then, here's a flash-scene I wrote back in August 2011. Since it follows the *lone wolf* theme Pat intro-ed for her Monday flash, I thought you might enjoy it. Plus, I added a little update.

Anyhoo, I need time to finish polishing my mss, Ride the Roan Stud, so I can submit it, then move onto the my next WIP. I've been begging for an out-of-time closet where I can write to my heart's content, then simply step back into current time... but, so far, my request to the writing goddesses and gods has fallen on deaf ears... yeah, maybe, someday. ~silly grins~

~~~~~~

Freedom was a beast she wanted to ride.

“Get yer motor runnin’... head out on the highway,” Kristy screaming-sang the words of the Steppenwolf song playing in her head. She barely heard them because they were whipped away by the blast-furnace winds on either side of her.

Why she’d hopped astride her Harley, roared it into gear, and taken off down the nearest highway beneath the high noon sun... well, she knew why. Freedom was a beast she wanted to ride.

No, not wanted -- had to ride. Right now.

Kristy hadn’t just reached the end of her rope, she’d been forced to climb way past it. Her nerves shrilled painfully, every last one of them. Yeah, like chalk scraping on a chalkboard. So too bad she was old enough to remember and cringe at that sound. Even now.

Good god! Where had her life gone?

To hell and back several times, she answered herself.

And, no, as she’d patiently and impatiently explained to family and friends, freedom wasn’t the name of her bike. Freedom was what she wanted. What she craved. What she yearned for until it became a torment inside her, and finally she acted.

Acted, despite all the endless, weight-of-the-world responsibilities calling her name each and every moment of every effing day. Christ, she was tired. Tired in body, mind, soul and spirit, as she put it to herself.

Hell, on top of it all, she had unbidden visions of being hooked up to some mad scientist’s colossal, sorta steampunk battery. Static electricity sizzled the air, waves and waves of it. In true movie style, gigundis, streaking bolts of lightning formed and flashed to white hot, and Kristy saw her listless body juiced up.

As the vision-fantasy progressed, and it always did, the leviathan flares of lightning raged around her. Edged in a fiendish shade of purple, the sinuous flares danced and twined like frenzied dragons. Until finally she heard, “She’s alive...she’s alive!”

These days riding her Harley, whenever Kristy could manage the time, had become her only escape. Her only true joy.

Sheer, fierce, get-away-from-it-all freedom, that’s how Kristy described it to herself, as she hauled ass down the twisty, backwoods highway to nowhere. At least, nowhere she’d ever been.

To freaking hell with everything she had to do... everything that was expected of her. Her life had become little more than a day to day grind -- an existence she’d never wanted.

Crap, double crap! Even her ongoing sacrifices weren’t appreciated, much less noticed.

So, the sun relentlessly beat down on her back now, and she sweated like a pig. So, heat waves shimmered up from the asphalt, putting her into a light trance. Every now and then, she felt instants of relief as she zoomed through the shade of a tall tree. Especially since the highway’s elevation increased.

“Lookin’ for adventure...born to be wild,” she shouted the lyrics that were her soul.

On a flat stretch Kristy hit full throttle, and revved the Harley to flying speed. Leaning forward like a jockey, she smiled as she focused on the center line.

The zone enveloped her. Born to be wild, she rock-n-roll howled in her mind.

Everything felt incredibly deliciously perfect. The fast hot vibration between her thighs. The powerful roaring beast-machine beneath her that seemed to come alive. No, to be alive.

The sparse, old wood forest around her blurred, and the sensation of speed thrilled through Kristy. Speed, she adored it to her core.

Peace enveloped her, even as pure excitement shot through her like bolts of electricity.

“I’m alive! I’m alive,” she chanted.

The creature she suddenly glimpsed from the corner of her right eye, just before it dashed in front of her, had to be a wolf. It had to be, but it was too large, not shaped quite right. And why was it suddenly standing on two legs... just before...?

Kristy swerved with all her might to the left, and knew her time had come. I’m dead...I’m dead, she sang as the rear tire screeched her death. No matter what her excellent reflexes tried to do to save her, the Harley slid along the asphalt for such a long time, out of control.

This was as good a way to end her life as any -- saving an animal -- even it had been stupid enough to run in front of her when there was no other traffic. Because her last look at the enormous, dark gray creature before she smashed into the guard rail, and was propelled off the road... before the massive tree trunk filled her vision... it had been a wolf of some type with an almost human look to its eyes.

No more fucking bills to pay, she thought. No more taking care of everything for everybody else. No more struggling like a complete idiot day after day with very few moments of relief.

Still, Kristy felt sadness at the loss of her life. This wasn’t how she’d wanted to die, splat against an unforgiving tree trunk. But then when had she ever gotten what she wanted?

Except for the Harley, that was about to be blamed for her somewhat early demise.

***

Darthos couldn’t let the woman be murdered by the two serial killers waiting around the next curve. Already, the lab-created, human hybrids had claimed thirty lives he knew about.

Craving their next victim, they’d been about to chase the Harley rider down in their deceptive-looking, super-charged pickup truck. Using the isolated forest to their advantage, they planned to toy with her for miles, then go for the thrill kill.

Darthos had been tracking the two teenage males for the past week, and had come upon the scene too late. There’d been no way to capture the pair quick enough to save the woman. If he’d made his presence known and tried to stop the genetically bred killers, they would have eluded him while still sport-hunting the woman.

Not that it had been a particularly smart move on his part to send her careening into a monolithic sized pine tree. Darthos regretted that.

Dammit-ram it, the bare trunk she bounced off like a flung ragdoll was about twenty feet high. As he judged it now, the pine’s girth had to be four foot in diameter. He’d have to heal the tree’s extreme lacerations once he brought her back to life.

No evidence of the accident could remain.

Darthos raced as wolf toward the limp, nearly lifeless woman. He thanked the One Spirit she remained unconscious. Having rolled down the long incline, she lay on her side mostly, her body cushioned by a thick bed of pine needles.

Damn, stop the presses! Darthos had never seen a Harley so mangled and twisted. And he’d witnessed quite a few after they’d been wrecked by Hell’s Angels. The chrome brute could have been a gruesome art piece in a museum -- the artist hailed for his eccentric genius.

Darthos gently licked the woman’s bloody, torn up face. Not wanting to waste his energy, he didn’t shapeshift into his human form. Besides, his saliva as wolf entered her bloodstream, preparing her body to heal at a rapid pace.

Darthos hoped he could breathe life back into the woman fast, and affect her resurrection without too many questions. Yeah, yeah, likely just delusional thinking on his part, since he couldn’t morph until she was close to being totally rejuvenated.

As soon as the woman moaned, and while she remained on the edge of unconsciousness,  Darthos pressed his nostrils to hers, and blew softly. He kept breathing his life force inside her until her eyelids flew open, and remained wide apart.

Saucer-shaped green eyes -- the color of a deep forest just before twilight -- focused on him. The woman stared in utter disbelief.

“What the bloody fuck...?” she sputtered. “This can’t be heaven. You’re not an angel,” she accused angrily, “you’re...you’re a wolf!”

Darthos backed up several steps as she bolted upright, her gaze fastened on him like a hunter’s rifle. Halting, he pointedly directed his gaze at her legs.

She followed, and when she caught sight of her youthful shape, and the beautiful gleam of her skin through the blood-soaked rips in her heavy-duty denims, the woman uttered a sharp startled cry.

Now frozen in place, she watched him with a glassy bewildered expression. Even as he slowly shifted into a man, she didn’t move. Couldn’t move judging by her fear-scent.

“There’s no time,” he began. Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone must have reported the Harley. Or the teenage killers had discovered his presence, and knowing they couldn’t overcome him, this had been their little fuck-you gift.

Darthos offered his hand. “You’ll have to come with me.”

“Where...?” broke through her obviously parched lips. But it was the lost, forlorn, scared-down-to-her-toes look in her green eyes that did him in, that grabbed his heart.

Seizing her hand, Darthos hauled her upward. “Got a new place in Talbot’s Peak. You’ll fit right in. I promise,” he added, before whipping around and tugging her after him.

In short order, the woman gave up, running lithely with him. Darthos sensed her surprised yet reluctant joy at how superbly her body worked.

Somehow he’d make it up to her with a new life. After all, his decision had been spur of the moment, and at least, she’d been saved hours of mental and physical torture.

And hot damn, if she wasn’t one beautifully packaged woman. Darthos decided he couldn’t wait to unwrap her. One way or another, he’d make his unit commander understand. That, or he’d go lone wolf on the super bad hybrids.
~~~~~~ 

Update:

Talbot's Peak, September 2015

Wearing the Halloween costume she'd designed for this year's Unmasked Ball at the Pleasure Club, Kristy sauntered into the bedroom. "What do you think... my very own big bad wolf?"

Darthos rolled toward her in that sexy wolf way of his, and like always desire madly thrummed  through Kristy. Yeah, too bad the sheet covered his exceptionally hot assets.

A slow grin of sheer appreciation appeared on his rugged, unshaven face as her wolf-man roamed his gaze up and down her barely covered assets. "I could eat you up, darlin' little red riding hood." He paused, a wicked twinkle in his dark eyes. "And come back for more."

"Mmm-mmm, devouring does sound good." Kristy languidly rolled her hips, then provocatively thrust one of them. She palmed it. "But am I delicious enough to chase through the woods?"
~~~~~~


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side ...

Savanna 

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Monday, September 15, 2014

Moving Out


Virgil Hancock carefully loaded another box into the bed of his pickup. Today’s the day, he thought. Today I leave Montana behind and start a new life. My life.

What kind of life it might turn out to be, or where, he had no idea yet. But it would include a she-wolf, that was for damn sure. And pups. Don’t forget the pups.

The Hancock shifter pack might be progressive in a lot of ways, but when it came to mating rights the leaders clung to their ancient privilege like a wolf with a bone in its jaws. Only the alpha pair got to mate and reproduce. Sure, the lower ranks could hump all they liked. Pack law had loosened up that much. They just couldn’t hump she-wolves. Non-wolf partners only. Pups resulting from such liaisons couldn’t rise to leadership. Full-bloods could be seen as a threat to the alpha’s authority. And alphas were utterly paranoid when it came to enforcing their authority.

As a low-ranker, Virgil was far enough down the line to be unnoticed, by females as well as the males. Those higher up the ladder took their pick of available non-wolf women. That didn’t leave much left over for Virgil and those at his level. Therefore, a permanent road trip was necessary.

He wrestled a trunk into the bed of the truck. Work fast, he ordered himself, before you change your mind. All he asked of life was a she-wolf to share it with, and maybe pups to raise. Was that too much to hope for?

In the Hancock pack, hell yeah.

He leaned against the truck to catch his breath, just as a she-wolf burst out of the pack compound’s main lodge. Virgil didn’t recognize her. She was high-rank and out of his reach. Hot on her heels charged a wolf Virgil did know, whose face prompted swearing and sub-vocal growls. Oh scat. Darnell. Mr. Beta-Enforce-the-Rules. Virgil turned back to his loading. Another hour and he wouldn’t have to put up with Darnitall any more.

The two stormed past him and his truck without noticing either. Typical up-ranks. Darnell caught up with the she some distance off. They argued hotly, in low tones, though not low enough that a wolf with sharp ears couldn’t pick up on the gist of it. A wolf such as Virgil, for instance.

“Why can’t I just—”

“You know why. This is too important. This affords us a chance t to—”

“I won’t be used like some kind of—”

“Well, if you hadn’t—”

My fault?”

Perhaps, Virgil considered, a quick duck into the lodge might be prudent. However, before he could move the she-wolf stalked past his truck and stomped back inside. Okay, one crisis averted.

Now here came Crisis Part Deux. Darnell sauntered up to him, as if the preceding drama hadn’t just happened. He looked Virgil up and down. That smile couldn’t fool a blind mole. “Vinnie. You’re up and about early.”

“Virgil.” Not that it was going to matter in about an hour or so. He slapped the side of the truck before Darnitall could start asking questions. “Hunting trip. I could be gone for a while.” Yeah. Try forever.

Darnell nodded absently. “Any chance you’ll be running into humans?”

“I’m not planning on it, but there’s always a chance.”

“You know the rules. No open conflict. Self-defense only. Be discreet.” His narrow eyes flicked toward the lodge. The porch still burned with the high, acrid scent of angry bitch. “Our survival as a pack hinges on discretion.”

“I’m going outside our territory, so it isn’t going to matter.” I.e., no chance he’d gossip to the other low-ranks about anything he might have just witnessed. He saw by the glint in Darnitall’s eyes the anal beta got it.

“All right, then. Have a good time. Bring us back some—” His usual suspicious frown returned. “What are you hunting?”

A life not dictated by hidebound high-ranks. “I was thinking elk. I might try Wyoming.”

“Good luck, then.” Darnell swept past him, on the trail of the outraged bitch. Never mind that an elk was too big and tough for a single wolf to bring down on his own. That wasn’t the point. As long as Virgil didn’t yap about anything he’d just seen, he and his plans didn’t matter a beaver’s flat ass to Darnell. Just the way Virgil wanted it.

He transferred the last two boxes from ground to bed of truck, then covered it all with a tarp. No good-byes. One last go-over in his quarters and then it was off to a brighter, better future.

There was no sign of Darnell or the she-wolf in the lobby, Virgil was happy to note. He made it to his room without incident. He had very little to pack up here—some extra clothes, bits of cash he’d stashed away, his favorite running shoes. Nothing in the way of mementos.

It frightened him a little, how easily he could walk away from the place that had been home and family to him for almost twenty-seven years. His place in the world was defined by the pack. What awaited him beyond its borders?

His first thought as a lone wolf brought a thin smile to his lips. Let’s find out.

Returning to his truck, Virgil checked the tarp and found a number of the ties loose. He snorted and secured them. Pups, sniffing around. He was going to miss the pups far more than their rank-rigid parents. His own pups (once he found a mate) would be raised to be more open-minded.

Before he climbed into the cab, he dug a quarter out of his pocket. He had no destination in mind, other than away. Heads, east, tails, west. Virgil tossed the coin, caught it, and slapped it onto his wrist. “East it is,” he murmured.

He drove out of the Hancock compound without a single backward glance. From here on out, everything was forward. He was packless now. With a little luck and a lot of effort on his part, that shouldn’t hold true for long.

# # #

Miles and hours rolled by before Virgil finally glanced in the rearview. He noticed not one but two ties on the tarp had come loose. Fortunately a road sign announced an upcoming rest area. He kept a close eye on the tarp for the full two miles, and pulled over.

His possessions were all still intact. Along with the one he hadn’t packed.

“Hi,” the argumentative she-wolf said. She smiled up at him brightly. “Where we going?”

Saturday, September 13, 2014

SNEAK PEEK SUNDAY: Her Midnight Stardust Cowboys ~ Chapter Thirty-one

savannakougar.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html

Her Midnight Stardust Cowboys

Note: While not x-rated in actions, Sherilyn and Zance's conversation is adult. They are still learning about each other.

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First SIX paragraphs from ~


Chapter Thirty-one:
Zance stared as his mate blinked...

Zance stared as his mate blinked her gorgeous green eyes. Absorbing his words, she plucked a paper napkin from the fifties-style restaurant container, patting her mouth. The full mouth he wanted to kiss, and feel kissin' him all over.

When his cock hankered for her lips, Zance took a mental bite out of his thoughts. Now wasn't the time to lunge for Sherilyn like a rutting dog.

Reminding himself a good mate always took care of his woman's needs first, he put his attention on her.

"Aren't we all?" She quirked a brow. "The whole Carl Sagan "we are made of stardust" thing."

At her mention of the high-profile, gone-to-his-reward astronomer, Zance couldn't help a grin. "Or, sweetheart," he reached for her hand, and once her soft palm met his, he prompted, "what you said to me about your climax."

As she remembered, her eyes flashed like starfire. She blushed, her face becoming a soft pink. Zance enjoyed it like all hell, but kept his feelings to himself.

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For more Sunday Sneak Peaks ~sneak-peek-sunday.blogspot.com~

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Blurb & Excerpts for HER MIDNIGHT STARDUST COWBOYS are on the page above.
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Wishing you shapeshifting cowboy love on the wild side...

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~