Saturday, April 25, 2015

Would Be Rock Star or Did Someone Order A Dragon?

Gill roused, cocked his head, and listened.  The noise sounded again, louder this time than last.  Moving carefully to not wake Chloe, he rose.  He stuck his feet in his slippers and pulled on his bathrobe.  A chill had taken over the town again.  Great fluffy gray clouds blocked out the sun most of the last month.  The weather center predicted a late spring snowfall overnight.  

Half way down the hall, the noise grew in volume again.  Gill crept to the top step and paused.  Listening intently, he frowned.  Who snored so loud that the whole house seemed to snore with them?  No guests occupied the other bedrooms.  Was some dumb ass burglar trying to break in?  Or get out?  Whatever they were doing it was loud enough to broadcast they wanted capture.  

As Gill made his way down the stairs hoping, the creaks and groans didn’t give his approach away the snore as he called it ebbed.  Moments later as he grabbed the baseball bat he kept in the kitchen, bursts of light lite up the patio.  Gill rushed to the door ready to club whoever was out there.  As another blast of light flashed, he swallowed hard.  Shaking his head, he looked out the window again.  

Curled up with its tail over its long nose and horns, a large dragon lay sleeping.  How the hell had he ended up on the patio?  That was one question that could wait until morning.  As the old saying went, do not disturb a sleeping dragon lest you want your shorts singed.  And Gill valued what his shorts would be covering if he had any on.


Looks like the roadies and out of town guests for the Spring Band Festival are arriving.  A dragon though?  Has Chloe got some usual relatives she has told Gill about?  Or what?  Stay turned as I got a feeling this is going to be an unique festival.

Happy Spring and then .....more &**(&()*& snow?  I've heard from some Facebook friends snow is still happening from time to time.  The Spice homestead has a freeze warning in effect.  Keep warm and sharing a few good books with your spice and loves.  I know I am.

Until next week,


Friday, April 24, 2015

Photo Friday

Happy Friday!

Well, no flash from me again this week.  Sorry.  I'm down to the last two weeks in my school semester and I still have a math final to study for, a report to write, a PowerPoint presentation to put together and a website (with media queries) to create.  I'm running on vapors here. 

On the plus side, my Talbot's Peak characters have decided to cut me a break and are now making the most of their free time...most of which involves bouts of the 'hot and sweaty.'  Mz. Muse is giving me a break in her own way, she's not bitching at me, but she is making sure to scatter photos like the one above through my brain as little reminders that she's still there.

It's actually kinda nice.  ;)

So I just thought I would share some of Mz. Muses' visuals with you and wish y'all an enjoyable weekend!  Until next week...
May your weekend be filled with the 'hot and sweaty!'


Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Blast from the past

Happy Wednesday-ish. It's only 8:45pm where I am so technically, I am not late with this post. But I missed the last two Wednesday's, so I figured I needed to post something. As I am in the middle of a project that I can't really share and haven't been writing much that doesn't involve that story, I decided to go picking through my WIP folder and found the following hem, which I originally posted a few years ago. It's still pretty good though. Enjoy!



Hannibal glanced up when he heard Bambi open the door to the Ranger Station. Then he did a double-take so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. His longtime friend and coworker was no metrosexual by any means, but he was a mule deer and mulies tended to be very neat about their appearance. At 5’10” and 160 lbs, Bambi had the sleek build to pass himself off as a model in his US Forestry Service uniform. Most of the time. At the moment, Bambi was covered in paintball splatters, bird shit, and goat hair. Bo was pretty certain he hadn’t looked like that when he left the station for his regular patrol.

“I take it you ran into something out of the ordinary out there,” Hannibal said, trying his best to school his facial expression into something mature. It didn’t work; he could not keep the corners of his mouth from spasming in and out of a half formed grin. Bambi glared and shook his head as he stepped all the way into the station then off to one side.


Hannibal jumped at the unexpected noise and got up so he could see over the high counter between the office space and the reception area. What he saw dumbfounded him. A black and white goat—not a mountain goat, which would have been an expected sight in these parts, but a common farm goat—being drug into the station by a rope around its neck. It was also covered in paint and bird shit. And considerably less goat hair than one would have expected.

“Bambi, what the hell is this?” Hannibal asked after a moment.

“I’m guessing it’s a fucking scapegoat.”

“A what?”

“A scapegoat. You do know what that is, right?”

“Easy with the sarcasm, Mike,” Hannibal replied, using Bambi’s real name, something no one, not even Bambi’s family, did unless they were trying to placate him.

“Fuck you and fuck those damned wolves and mountain goats, and whoever had the bright fucking idea to sell paintball guns, flash-bang grenades and god-only-knows what else to mountain goats and wolves!” Bambi snapped as he finally got the domestic goat into the office.

“So…” Hannibal hesitated, hating to agitate Bambi worse. Bambi didn’t swear, not even when he was angry. For him to be dropping the F-bomb multiple time, he had to be way beyond angry. But Hannibal was unable to control his raging curiosity. “What’s up with the scapegoat?”

“I saw that stolen Mazda we got an APB on up on Trailridge Road. It was a fucking set-up.” Bambi paused long enough to stuff the balking goat into a holding cell. “I told them to give up, that I’d just come back with reinforcements if the perp didn’t give him or herself up. This apparently was some kind of signal, because the next thing I knew, someone set off a flash-bang grenade, which scared the shit out of a passing flock of geese—”

“Literally, I see,” Hannibal cut in.
“Yes, literally. The bang also startled one of the wolves, who pulled out his paintball gun and started going to town. The next goddamn thing I knew, there was paintballs and bird shit flying everywhere.”
“And the goat?” Hannibal asked.
“I found it in my patrol car afterwards with a newspaper clipping tucked under the windshield wiper with a hand written note on it saying that if I really wanted a scapegoat, I could have this one.”
“So now what?” Hannibal asked, eyeing the goat.
“Now, I’m going to take a shower while you call Louie and find out if he’s the goddamned fool who sold the paintballs and grenades to the fools up on the Trailridge Road.”
“And the goat?” Hannibal asked cautiously.
“I have no idea what to do with the goat, but I figured I might as well bring the damned thing in for questioning…”

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Coyote Shapeshifter Lost On Earth

Sunny howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

This flash scene is based on the pic above, which was featured  at Coast to Coast am

AND, also on a flash scene I wrote some time back. Here's the beginning:

Shapeshifting Coyote in a Flying Saucer

Drukr almost yawned. He hated these reconnaissance assignments. It was either accept them, or be prepared never to set foot on the planet they currently investigated. That’s what he lived for, the on sight investigations. 

He wanted to run the terrain, not merely holo-map it. He wanted to mingle with the life forms where he could, not merely observe them through the scope.

His skill as a pilot, served him well, and also did not. If the saucer malfunctioned, he was the man for the job. Otherwise, the metal brain, as he called it, controlled everything. Star scat, he was only along for the ride, the days’ long ride.

So far, the wilderness night life entertained him enough, right now. Earth, and this Montana state, possessed it’s natural charms. However, several minutes ago the abundance of animals suddenly vanished. Drukr searched for the cause, and could discover no predator, or human hunters. That’s when his bored yawn had begun.

“What the furball unholy...?!” he barked.

For the rest of this scene


Coyote Shapeshifter Lost On Earth

'Worn down to parts I didn't even know were there,' Kesza mentally complained to herself. Unable to shift from coyote to human form because she was so insanely tired, Kesza laid her head on the discarded mattress.

Humans on Earth were a strange breed. No big fat scat doubt about that. Who knew if the undamaged mattress had been tossed as garbage, or lost when whomever was in route in one of those smelly, overly loud vehicles roaming along large ribbons of asphalt.

Kesza sighed to herself, and suppressed a yawn. Her mouth felt like she'd been chewing on sagebrush. No use giving the unforgiving desert a chance to dry it out further.

The sucking blackhole hell of it, she'd never failed before. This mission to track one of her ET shifter kind had begun auspiciously enough. Drukr, an accomplished planet mapper for their commercial-trade starship, had been mysteriously missing for half a year, Earth time. 

She'd carefully analyzed the 3D holo-recording of his small mapping craft as it was laser-beamed out of the sky. The last image she'd seen was Drukr bolting as coyote from the plasma-arcing, destroyed craft. He'd raced at top speed into the old-growth forest, his tail on fire.

Even though, the robotic rescue ship arrived within a quarter day's time, and performed a grid search, there'd been no sign of, or from Drukr. The melted smoldering craft had been encased in an ice cocoon, and brought aboard for in-depth analysis.

Data had been recovered from the craft's core matrix -- the Earth terrain mapped, and a recreational stop at an underground shapeshifter complex known as the Interspecies Pleasure Club. Drukr had earned the privilege, and there'd been no evidence to suggest an ensuing problem.

While investigating the source of the laser beam attack by a competing merchant space race, as she discovered, Kesza had pinpointed their Earth base. When she'd used the ship's sensors to sweep the mountain cavity, suddenly Drukr's emergency ping registered. Yet as swiftly it disappeared.

Using her feminine coyote wiles, Kesza infiltrated the competitor's base. She'd accessed their surveillance system. Drukr had been there alright, but as a quick in-and-out intruder. Most likely he'd been looking for evidence. But why?

Once she made her escape from the mountain base, Kesza tracked Drukr through infrequent 'pings', and the various Mexican cuisine establishments he favored on Earth. Finally, after months, she'd lost track of him when he'd rented a car, and began a road trip through the Four Corners region.

Why he was on the run, Kesza hadn't found a scat-scent of a clue... if he was on the run. Often, she wondered if he'd decided not to be found. Although, her usually reliable sixth sense suggested otherwise.

Just two weeks before she'd nearly caught up with him at the car rental agency, Kesza had caught the barest whiff of his scent on a restaurant's barstool. Fear permeated the molecules.

Now... here she was lost in the middle of the desert, and lost on Earth, since her own emergency locator had 'somehow' been deactivated. To top it off, whoever the enemy was, they'd also disabled the Jeep she'd rented, zapping the hood with a manufactured lightning strike.

She'd shot away like Drukr from his craft, and run for miles as coyote. Then, there'd been the confrontation with a desert coyote pack. When the males had shown signs of accepting her, the hostile females attacked.

Not wanting to waste what remained of her energy fighting them off, Kesza outraced them, only to leap from a striking rattlesnake and slam her side into a huge cactus.
While her healing had been rapid, that had depleted her further.

Several days in search of civilization had cost her dearly. When a few skinny mice crossed her path, she'd snapped them up, hungry beyond belief.

Sighting a highway, albeit with no visible traffic, Kesza had numbly slowly padded toward it. Until the abandoned mattress. The oasis called to her, an irresistible force since she'd rarely slept -- then only curled up on the hard desert floor.

Weary down to every last bone she owned, Kesza began to drift off into a much needed snooze. Desperation, the fact that she was an easy target, kept her on the edge of consciousness -- kept her awake enough to hear the cautious approach of another coyote.

She opened one eye...

TO BE CONTINUED... since I've run out of time and energy... yeah, too many unexpected interruptions today.


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side ~ 


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Monday, April 20, 2015


Now this was just not right. Cordelia had honed her vampire’s nose over the centuries. She knew living from dead, human from otherwise. Some blood really did taste better than others. And some beings should not be here in her club. Shapeshifters, for instance.

She’d expected the leaders of Talbot’s Peak would want to meet with her. A new player in the game always warrants attention. However, she’d also expected the courtesy of an invitation. A covert infiltration? That was simply rude.

Or it could be a rival business owner, scoping out her operation. Cordelia saw no conflict in her opening a nightclub/restaurant here beside the interstate exit. The Caverns complex was miles away from Talbot’s Peak, and geared for the exit’s transient human market, not shifters. Humans rarely ventured as far as the Peak anyway, and there were certainly enough of them to go around. There should be no attrition in the Peak’s customer base.

Truth be told, Cordelia preferred no shifters patronize her businesses. She couldn’t stand the taste of animal blood.

“All right, dahling,” she murmured to herself, “let’s see who you are.”

She followed her nose across the packed floor of the club. The multitude of people dancing, laughing and drinking warmed what used to be her heart. The Caverns’ opening week had been a definite success. If she could keep this up, she’d be reaping huge profits, and fresh human blood, for many years to come.

First, however, she’d best deal with the pesky shapeshifter.

She found him at the bar, a lean-bodied cowboy with a narrow face and big ears. The ears sparked a sense of familiarity. His odor, more defined now that she was closer, hinted at a similar kinship.

Cordelia frowned. That wasn’t possible. He was a shifter. And alive.

Just then he turned, as if he’d sensed her presence. He flashed a smile at her, full of gleaming white teeth. Her eyes instinctively focused on his teeth. You could tell a lot about a person by their teeth. His canines were long, more slender than a wolf’s, and very pointy.

The kinship in his scent finally registered, as did the clue provided by his ears. Well now, Cordelia thought. This could prove most interesting indeed.

She joined him at the bar. “Good evening.” Oh dear God. “Good evening” in a Hungarian accent. What could be more clich├ęd?

“Howdy,” he responded. His own voice also held the trace of an accent, from a lot farther south of the border than Montana. “You the owner of this fine establishment?”

“You have me at a disadvantage, dahling.”

Perdon. I am Sandoval.” He executed a minor bow. How Old-Worldlian. Cordelia was touched. “I work on the Flying F, for Brandon Fledermaus. It’s a cattle ranch near Talbot’s Peak.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Cordelia said. “I did my homework before I moved in. Owned and run by bat shifters, correct?” She let her gaze rest significantly on his prominent ears.

He laughed with good humor. “Intelligent and beautiful. You’re going to succeed in the Peak.”

“I’m not looking to succeed in the Peak. Just here, in human territory.” She gauged the man’s eyes, his tone, his scent and body language, with the advantage of three hundred years’ worth of experience. “If this conversation is headed where I think it is, we should find somewhere more private.”

Every seat in the bar was filled, so she took Sandoval to her office. “Now,” she said, with the door closed and at her back, “you tell me what a shapeshifter is doing in a human establishment, seeking out a vampire.”

“A female vampire,” he specified, with a twinkle in his dark, inviting eyes. “You already know I’m a bat. Have you determined the kind yet?”

Cordelia tasted his scent. Aha, so that was the kinship. “A vampire is not a vampire bat, and vice versa.”

“How well I know it,” he said on a sigh. “But I’d hoped … The Flying F is mostly fruit bats, from Fledermaus on down. There are only a few of my kind at the ranch, and all are male. We have some true vampires in Talbot’s Peak, but the only female has been claimed by a rat with a cleaver. My brothers and I, we have difficulty finding women who share our … tastes.” Cordelia nodded in complete understanding. “So, when rumors of a female vampire arise, we investigate. Where there’s one, there may be others. You run in flocks as we do, yes?”

“Others, maybe, or so I’ve heard. I prefer to be queen of my kingdom. A solitary queen.” She showed her fangs.

Sandoval bowed again. “I didn’t come to threaten you, or to compete for food. We only require a few sips every few days, and we prefer to feed from beasts. Senor Fledermaus has been generous with his cattle. I came to offer something else. You see … ” He showed off his own fangs in a disarming smile. “I know the true curse of the vampire. Specifically, the male vampire.”

Cordelia grimaced. “Yes, there is that. For a man, being undead means the parts don’t always work. So what can you offer me, Sandoval?”

His smile widened. “A night of enjoyment and no strings. With all working parts.”

The vampiress considered. She hadn’t had a break since she bought the property. Building the Caverns had taken all her time. This offer certainly came housed in a pretty package. And solitude grew tiresome after many decades, as did celibacy.

Cordelia smiled fully. Sandoval gazed at her fangs as a human man would at her bustline. Yes, this could prove most beneficial all around. What better way to establish friendly relations with the local shifter population?

“I’ll need one thing more. Not that, dahling,” she amended when he tugged down the collar of his shirt. “Introductions. Your Mr. Fledermaus will do for a start. I’m sure he can set me up with the Mayor, and your business council, if you have one here, and anyone else I need to meet with.” Enough with the waiting already. Sometimes the woman had to make the first move. Such as now. She extended her hand to Sandoval. “But that’s for later. Come with me.”

# # # Employees tending to cleanup in the early morning hours paused in their sweeping and wiping to listen. From the depths of the complex, in the still-closed-off sections, came what sounded like high-pitched squeaks, and cries of, “It’s alive! It’s alive!” However, these workers were locals, and had known all their lives that the Talbot’s Peak area was a strange place. The monster elephant that burst out of the earth months ago had pretty much underscored that. They shrugged and went back to their cleaning.

Saturday, April 18, 2015


“Hello and Good Morning!  Tabby here on Peak 205.6.”  Static and fuzzy music poured out the radio setting on the bar.  Louie reached over and dialed the station in better.

“Tabby needs more cat java before he gives out those call letters and numbers.”  A slurp followed by another sounded.  “Ah, now let’s try that again. Peak 105.6 coming at you from the 6 AM hour on.”

Louie chuckled and went back to chopping vegetables and meat for the stew he prepped for the evening meal.  There’d be a crowd tonight.  Gill’s shift started at ten and ran until four a.m. when state laws required they stop serving alcohol.  Though no one knew what came in the door on its own between four and seven when the coffee and breakfast folks began showing up.

“We got a hot time going down in town this weekend.  A band around town gig happening.”  Two more loud slurps blasted out the speaker followed by an obnoxious belch.  “Sorry folks.  Good eats from Rattigan’s and a cup of Java from Java Joe’s is worth the extra sounds.”

Louie looked up as the kitchen door swung open.  Bettina walked in holding a stack of flyers.  Her hair stood up in places and her slippers scuffed along the floor.  Her ankle-length nightgown billowed out with each step.  She leaned on the prep table squinting at Louie.

“Thorn delivered these.  The man can bellow worse than a bull moose in heat.”  Her eyes glowed as Louie held out the blood pack he pulled from the small refrigerator under the prep table.  “Warm it up first.  That is O-negative.  That stuff is wicked if you don’t heat it up.”

Shaking his head, Louie tossed the pack into the microwave.  Hit thirty seconds and faced Bettina.  “So the Bandstand Festival is on.”

Bettina yawned again as she nodded.  Before another yawn over took her, she spoke.  “I hope Tabby makes the announcement about no X-rated lyrics and no grunge bands this year.”

As the microwave timer dinged, Louie answered.  “Tabby’s got the solo gig on the way early show.  He’s going to record the commercials later on when his other daytime partner is in studio.”

Bettina took the packet from Louie.  She pulled open on end and sipped.  After her second hefty swallow, she stood upright.  “Here’s to another all over town party.  Who knows what entries we’ll end up with?”



Hope you and yours are enjoying the warm weather.  Don't let your allergies get you down.  Time to get out and enjoy being warm is here!  Take time to share a good book or two with your loves and spice.  I know I will!

Mage and his wife are off visiting family. DP's Gal Pal is busy preping her home for a make over.
DP is getting his new business off the ground.  And I'm working on new stories.  Life is good!

Until next week,