Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Sun in Taurus howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers. And Happy Earth Day!
With that in mind, I hope you enjoy today's flash scene.
The Rising Sun's Invitation
"The rising sun's invitation," Selauni murmured to herself. Bathing in the bright sunbeams she luxuriously stretched, then moved through the arch-like opening at the base of her tree trunk home. Somehow, the enormous oak had survived among the pine and fir.
Drawn to what was now called Talbot's Peak territory in supernatural circles, Selauni had discovered the old wise tree on a walkabout, and asked permission to live within. So far, the arrangement was one of harmony and friendship.
She gave the big oak a loving pat, then hopped onto an emerging patch of green, the first leaves of wild violets. Her bare feet thanked Selauni. With joy singing through her, she jumped onto the next small clump of emerald green, made more brilliant by the morning sun.
Smiling, Selauni made a fun game out of jumping from patch to patch of new green life with the minimal use of her wings -- already fluttering to catch rays of sunlight. Although, her fun wasn't merely a game.
Selauni learned the sacred matrix of each plant, their frequencies musical notes inside her as she hopscotched through open areas of the forest. Later she would prepare her healing elixirs for the fae community, and whoever needed them.
A family of squirrels interrupted their search for breakfast to scamper around her, then playfully dash and dart in front of Selauni as she leaped, then hovered above wild iris blooms. Tinkling laughter at their antics, Selauni sent them her vibes of happiness.
When the fragrance of rushing water captured her senses, Selauni hopped in a direction she hadn't explored yet. The breezes carrying the scent of snow-melt and spring growth gently flapped the filmy dress she wore. A gift from her spider friends, the frock shimmered like pearls held in firelight.
Wanting to find out about the stream -- if it was pure enough for bathing and for her elixirs -- Selauni silently picked her way over the slick rocky surface that overlooked the water. Already tiny bits of moss had appeared, and spikes of green broke through the thin layer of soil.
Another smell caught Selauni's nostrils even as she halted and raised her gaze. A naked man bathed in the deep wide stream. Startled, with her heart thumping swiftly, she slipped behind an outcropping of rock, and almost stepped on a scurrying lizard.
Peeking above the rock, Selauni could barely believe her eyes. Whoever he was, the large man was magnificently formed. At least what she could see of him. His back was to her, and the dark-hued, sparkling water covered most of his ass.
Unable to move, Selauni watched sculpted muscles flex beneath tan golden skin. The man leisurely washed his torso, and when he raised his arms, Selauni panted with unexpected and unbound desire.
Could a woman fall in love with a man's arms? Lust, she quickly amended. Nothing but lust, a rare condition for her. Yet, his arms were so bold, so beautifully shaped and muscled ... "Dangerously irresistible," she breathed out.
As if the swirling breeze carried her words to his ear, the man twisted at the waist casting his gaze in her direction. He couldn't be merely human if he'd heard her, or even sensed her presence. Protected by the natural cloaking energy of her kind, she could only reveal herself by will.
Latent power in every line of his body, the man slowly spun toward her. Selauni ducked down, the image of his broad gorgeous chest filling her mind's eye. She mentally groaned with need.
Even as her breathing quickened, a sudden warning sliced through Selauni. Yet the man's low melodic song had begun. Oh-frick-no!
With her wings already beating furiously, Selauni whipped around to flee. Too late, the song's ancient tones trapped her. Invisible tendrils held her tight. Before darkness fully claimed her, Selauni dropped to her knees.
How strange, she thought, there'd been no hint in the man's physique about his true heritage as a Gradjinn, an offshoot race of Djinn. Frick-frack!
Snapping back to consciousness, Selauni stared into commanding eyes ignited by green fire. Brawny arms enfolded her, while the stream's cold waters swirled around her dangling legs.
"Who knew when I awoke today that luck would so favor me?" The man wove his baritone voice around her, increasing his magickal hold.
Selauni fought to merely think instead of being swept away by his supernatural force. And good frick! The lustful sensations swamping her. Even her eyelids had lowered to half-mast. "Luck," she mumbled through lips that felt like plumped up pillows.
"I am in need of a pleasure consort." His unblinking gaze roamed over her face, and approval lit his eyes, making them appear like emeralds blasted by sunlight.
Selauni did her own staring at the strong carved planes of his face. Only the slightly odd shape of his eyes gave away his Gradjinn heritage.
"If I am to be of service to Dante, my long lost cousin," he continued. His thumbs glided over her skin, caresses that inflamed her passions. "I need a woman who is able to match my power and my carnal desires."
Selauni felt herself frown but wondered if her brow had actually wrinkled.
"As you must know I am only part Gradjinn, beautiful fae. Most of my ancestry is human and werewolf."
If his words were true, then Selauni knew exactly how to escape his magick. But did she want to?
Btw, romance readers, this offer is at ALLROMANCEEBOOKS...
Wishing you full moon shapeshifting on the wild side…
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
Monday, April 21, 2014
Meanwhile, on the road to Talbot’s Peak, Cochrane had finally cooled down enough to realize he’d need more than a single gun and a couple grenades to take down a town full of shapeshifters. He needed more weapons. Also a plan. Also clothes. Otherwise he was just setting himself up for another dunk in purple paint, or another threat of butt probes. Or worse. Who knew what tortures the twisted minds of shifters could come up with?
He slowed and started watching the side of the road for signs of habitation. Talbot’s Peak was an aberration. Most shifters preferred to live solitary lives away from humans and even their own kind. Somewhere out here in No Human’s Land some lone shifter had a house, clothing, weapons and information Cochrane could use to carry out his assault.
Sure enough, that wide cut through the trees had to be an access road. He rolled the Chevy up it at a cautious creep. His guess was proven correct when he was stopped by a chain across the road. The sign dangling from its center read Private Road Keep Out Tresspassers Will Be Shot This Means You Asshole. The sign was only moderate size, the printing small but in blood-red letters.
Cochrane grinned. You’ll be shot meant We have guns, which mean soon Cochrane would have guns. He parked the car, palmed a grenade from his glove compartment, stepped over the chain and started up the road.
Damn, it was awfully quiet for dawn in the woods. Too damn quiet. Nothing but the sporadic gobble of wild turkeys. Cochrane climbed at a steady pace, slowed by the need to place his bare feet carefully to avoid jutting stones. Damned butt-probing bunny could’ve let a man keep his shoes. “The bunnies die first,” he muttered.
Something rustled the brush off to his left. Cochrane jerked in that direction. Almost at once he heard the clack of a shotgun. A voice said from his right, “This is as far as you go, mister.”
Cochrane turned slowly. Christ, it was a damn kid. A stupid shifter kid had got the drop on him. The kid was ugly, wiry and knock-kneed, but he held that gun like a pro. Cochrane peered around carefully and spotted another boy with a crossbow closing in from his left, and a girl with a wicked-looking knife edging up beside the boy with the shotgun. Noises from behind him indicated yet another one moving in from deeper in the woods.
Could they be human? Shifters didn’t normally go in for man-made armament.
Cochrane raised his arms, the grenade concealed in his hand. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” he said. “I need clothes and maybe—”
“You need to get your ass off our property.” The voice behind him was hard, no-nonsense and adult. “We don’t take kindly to visitors, especially not humans.”
Okay, that answered that. Must be herbivores. That meant they could be bluffed. Cochrane displayed his hand. “I got a grenade.”
“Big whoop. I got a grenade launcher.”
Cochrane risked a glance over his shoulder. Holy shit. That mother was almost as big as the wizened, ugly hillbilly wielding it. At this range there was no chance he’d miss. Cochrane snapped his jaw shut and froze.
“Good boy,” the man said. “Now toss that pineapple to my girl there. With the pin still intact, if you please.”
He did as ordered. The girl caught the grenade with the ease of an outfielder snagging a pop fly. She examined it while her brothers kept him under guard. “It’s real, Pa.”
“Thought so,” the old guy said. “You’re a hunter, ain’tcha? Thought you’d get the drop on us, eh? How come you’re nekkid?”
“How come you’ve got a grenade launcher?”
“’Cause the government won’t let me keep a bazooka. Goddam federal regulations.”
“Screw the Feds. Ever heard of Dingles Hooper?”
The man’s expression lightened. “Yeah. He’s that Canadian fellah runs the trading post up by the border.”
“You want a bazooka? Let me go and I’ll put in a good word for you. The man has a way of getting things.”
The old guy looked thoughtful. “What’s your name?”
“Abel Cochrane. Yeah, I’m a hunter. I know my weapons, and how to get ‘em.” He nodded toward the grenade launcher. “That is one fine piece of artillery.”
“Should be, for what I hadda pay for it.” He looked toward his daughter, who was casually tossing the grenade from palm to palm. She nodded. So did the boys. “Tell you what. Instead of splattering you all over the trees, we’re gonna take you in. Put in a call to Hooper. If he says you’re on the up-and-up … well, we’ll have to see.” He made an even uglier face. “We need to get you some clothes. That poor puny little thing is wretched.”
He gestured with the grenade launcher. Cochrane started walking, ringed by the males with the girl in the lead. He had no doubt any one of the males wouldn’t hesitate to fire his weapon of choice. The girl would probably hurl the grenade. He imagined her throw would be accurate.
In spite of the situation, he discovered he liked this bunch. They were his kind of people.
The boy with the crossbow sidled up to him. “Can Hooper get us a flamethrower? Our old one gave out.”
“Don’t bother the prisoner, Jimmy,” his dad snapped. “We gotta interrogate him first. You run on ahead and tell your ma to put fresh coffee on. This could take awhile.”
The kid took off. The old guy got the ball rolling by asking, “You get your grenades from Hooper?”
“No, from this guy Elkins in Wyoming. He only handles the little stuff, though. You want to get serious, you call Dingles Hooper.”
“And you say you know Hooper personal?”
“We’re not tight, but we don’t shoot each other on sight. Anything you want … well, I might be persuaded to assist.”
“Yeah,” the old guy said. “You will be.” But he was grinning now. Cochrane took in the first easy breath he’d drawn in a long while. For some reason, he felt like he’d come home.
Saturday, April 19, 2014
Satin curled up against her favorite pillow, wiping her eyes. Two days without Kent and she felt sadder than she ever imagined. His mark and possession tattooed her with no doubt of who she belonged to. Not bad she kept telling herself. Yet, the forlorn feeling threatening to drag her down into the depths of longing and heated need refused to be sated. New batteries for her toys topped the shopping list she worked on.
Kent claimed her with his bite on their second round of sexual play. His nipped never drew the blood exchange he whispered of as he brought her to one powerful orgasm after another. His own release had his head tossed back with his neck exposed. Her bite drew the blood that flew over her tongue binding them in a way neither suspected. Now she knew. Did he?
Kent carefully packed his guitar back into its case. Two gigs behind them and the band was on the road to their next destination. Two lonely nights without the woman of his dreams beside him. Sex paled compared to love making. He hadn’t known the difference until he gave into her spicy pheromones coating him with her presence and existence. Love songs came from the heart. His feelings flowed out across the stage and into the audience pouring out his need and longing for one who now claimed a piece of him. What did their future hold?
Sorry for the short post. Busy week here at the Spice homestead. With the weather changing and work needing TLC, I've been busy. Satin and Kent's story appears to be taking a turn neither expected. I wonder if this one will be come a serial.
Enjoy the warm weather and change of seasons finally. I'm loving it!
Remember to take time to rejuvenate with a good book or two. Share them with your spice and loves! I know I am!
Until next week!
Friday, April 18, 2014
So in honor of Mz. Muse Liven' La Vida Lustful I figured this would be a good week for sexy pics. I mean, who doesn't need a good pick me up once in a while? This author got hers last weekend when she took Darling Diva to the movies to see Divergent. Hours in the dark spent looking at this guy...
Muse and I left the theater with a smile on our face and a new eye candy to ogle! So I thought I'd share a little Theo James with ya'll. Enjoy!
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
The Leprachaun story seems to have stalled out in my brain and I am suffering a book hang-over after reading Jennifer Harlow's latest offering, "Werewolf Sings The Blues." And if you have not read it, OMG! I lover her books, but this one's like a speeding freight train. It just sort of slammed into me in chapter 17 and didn't let go until the very last page!
So anyway. Book hangover, no more progress on the serial flash. So I dug into my files of half baked stories and pulled out something to share. Please pardon any typos; I know there's probably more than a few. I hope you like it.
Locker Room Hunting
The slow tick-tick-tick of water dripping onto soggy wood was the only company I had as I hid behind a ratty cotton shower curtain. The locker room wasn't filthy, just run down. The faucets all leaked, the cedar floor mats were all warped, and the tile that wasn't covered in wooden mats was cracked. Which probably explained the presence of the mats, I supposed. There was no mold or mildew, which I would have expected considering the constant moisture from drips and the air or general neglect about the place.
A snuffling sound joins the plop of water on wood. The werewolf has found her way out of her impromptu cage. She'd done it quietly, too. If not for the sound of her snuffling on the floor trying to catch my scent, I would have had no warning at all that she was coming. The tattered shower curtain bursts open and there she stands, growling fiercely in all her puppy glory.
"Oh, no!" I exclaim with fake panic. "She found me! Ah, ah! She's getting me!" I continue as my young daughter clambers into my lap and proceeds to give my face a thorough tongue bath. "Ack! I'm covered in Ro-Ro slobber!"
I giggle at the happy puppy noises she making and proceed to tickle her back. I had blown my mind when I discovered that Ramona, my two-year-old werewolf daughter, was ticklish in the ribs in both forms. How could I have known? It's not like I was a shape shifter.
My first clue that humans were not alone on this planet was when I gave birth to a wolf pup, the parting gift of my asshole ex. I had told him I was pregnant. He accused me of being a whore and trying to pin some other guy's brat on him because he couldn't knock me up. I found out later that it was incredibly rare for a human woman to be able to carry a werewolf pup past the first month. Something about our bodies recognizing the foreign DNA and rejecting it.
"I didn't hear you tip over the laundry basket this time," I say to her as I fondle her ears. She barks once and wiggles out of my lap backwards, her puppy tail wagging madly.
"Again?" I laugh. "We've been playing 'find momma' for nearly an hour, Ro-Ro!" She yips and spins in place. "Ok," I concede. "One more time, and then we get down to work." I pick her up and deposit her squirmy butt back in the empty laundry basket. She's getting bigger, about the size of a two-month-old malamute puppy now, so the basket's almost too small to present a challenge for her. I'd have to come up with something else for next month's full moon.
A burst of static from the intercom interrupted my thoughts. "Paging Rhonda De La Cruz. Ms Rhonda De La Cruz, please pick up a white courtesy phone." Another crackle of static signaled the end of the message.
"Well, shi-- er, shoot," I say, looking at Ro-Ro out of the corner of my eye. I didn't know how much she understood in werewolf form. She barely spoke in human form, mostly one syllable words. Especially swear words. I'd gotten pretty good at watching my potty mouth in front of toddler Ro-Ro, but sometimes I still catch myself slipping up in front of wolf pup Ro-Ro.
"C'm on, munchkin," I saw as I hoist her back up. "Mommy needs to find a white courtesy phone."
Luckily, I find one just inside the locker room I'd chosen to be our impromptu full moon puppy training gym. I wasn't ashamed of my daughter but I didn't want to parade her around in this form, either. According to my mentor and boss, Malcom, she was the only known full-blooded femwolf alive. And she was born, not turned. This made her incredibly vulnerable and made my job as her primary source of protection dicey. I preferred to leave her enmities unaware of her existence.
I take my call, retrieve my message--nothing important--and then smuggle my squirming daughter back to our room. Call me paranoid, but it seemed to me that the easiest way to locate me would be to page me. There was no good reason for anyone at this convention to know where I was at eleven 'o clock at night. It might be nothing or it might be something. Either way, I'd rather be back in my room with my stash of defensive equipment. Ro-Ro would just have to do her scent training there, where I could ward her.
I'm not a witch but I had spent the two years since her birth learning everything I could about things that went bump in the night. For instance, I'd learned that there was a good deal of defensive magic that could be done by non-magic users. Some runes that drew power from collective belief, some herbs that worked on a physiological level to discourage would-be attackers.
Powdered wolf's bane worked on werewolves the same way mace worked on humans. Peridot irritates tolls enough to make them steer clear of it. Undead and soulless things couldn't cross thresholds warded by salt. Tourmaline warded against psychic attack. There was a Norse peace prayer that, when chalked on a wall, cause those with ill intent to ignore you.
I had some of those tools with me at all times, along with my Smith & Wesson .40 caliber handgun. I couldn't very well set up a salt line in a public locker room, though, and never mind trying to chalk Norse prayers on damp walls. So, back to our tiny room with its double twin beds, microscopic 3/4 bath and arthritic a/c unit.
But first, a little parting gift. Just in case I was right. The spell was mostly harmless and would resolve at sunrise. It was enough to let me know if someone tracked my call to that particular courtesy phone. I may be paranoid, but that didn't mean someone wasn't out to get me.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Pic from ~mysticinvestigations.com~
Blood Moon howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.
In honor of this rare celestial event, here's a flash scene about what happens if you dare intrude on Talbot's Peak territory with the intention to harm.
Blood Moon Rout
About to quaff the blood moon ale Dante had brewed for the night's howl and prowl through the forest in celebration of the first of four Blood Moons, Stone paused, the enormous stein held partway to his mouth. He'd sensed more than scented a rush toward the door by two horse shifter types, as had the three other musketeers in his wolf pack
One for all, and all for one, Stone and his pack glued their gazes on the biker bar's well secured door, where two werewolf bouncer types stood guard. "Open the door, mates," Dugger, the dingo shifter broke the sudden silence, "Before Catcher and Diamond bloody bust through. No use making Dante pay for--"
Too late... almost too late, either Catcher or Diamond shoulder-slammed the heavy wooden door as one of the bouncers whipped it open. A golden-coated stallion slid to a fast stop on the rough-hewn floor, followed by his sable colored buddy. The night's blackness framed them while empty chairs and tables flew to the side -- having already been deserted.
"What has your long tails in a knot, fellas?" Dugger tossed cool as ice amid the blowing snorts and anxious pawing of the two shifter studs.
"BLM troops," a woman breathlessly shrilled from the doorway. The petite woman dressed in horse-endurance racing gear moved inward quick, grabbing hold of the sable stallion's mane.
"Serenity, what is it?" Dugger's better half, Symone approached, one hand on the long, strange super rifle slung across her shoulder. Stone had never seen the enhanced-human warrioress without it. 'Course, his musketeer pack had only been part Dante's patrol crew for the last six months.
"They're building a staging whatever you call it," Serenity burst out. "Weapons. SWAT vehicles. They're, they're massing on Talbot's Peak territory." She sucked in a breath. "Looks like they have the Turkles ranch in their cowardly sights," she spat contemptuously. "We've got to do something. Now!" she shouted, her righteous passion obvious -- her breaths heaving in and out.
"Scat, we're in." Stone leaped to his feet, his pack following. As they shed their leathers, and began their shifts, he growled, "Time for a Blood Moon rout of the enemy."
"Yeah, mate." Dugger's guttural tone suggested he morphed to dingo.
"Let's get it on," Symone yelled.
Stone swore the woman's blood blazed as fever-high wild as his -- as his pack's. Through wolfen eyes he watched the tall warrioress seize a handful of the golden stallion's mane and jump astride. Serenity had already mounted her sable stallion lover, who now backed through the open door rapidly.
Dugger's excited yip-yip-yip as he charged with Stone and his pack -- following Catcher and Diamond -- fired Stone's bloodlust through his veins even bigger and badder.
Hunger stronger than while on the hunt for dinner, raged inside, owning every last wolf hair of Stone. Brute. Beast. Monster. Oh howls-scat, yeah, he was all of that. And more.
As if they chased the wind, the two stallions raced along a well-used forest trail that led to a long stretch of prairie. From what Stone mentally picked up from the woman, Serenity, the paramilitary encampment lay atop a great rise of ground yet in a hollow -- somewhat shielded from view.
Not his view. Not his nose. As they broke out of the dark forest onto the moon brightened prairie, the stench of human sweat smacked Stone in the nostrils. Oh hell yeah, the blood game was on. These were seasoned killers, mercenaries of the worst sort.
Stone salivated to crunch their bones, spurt their blood. Eliminate them from beautiful Mother Earth.
He knew little about the Turkle ranch, only that a Turkey shifter family owned it, and they were right handy with rifles. Damn smart when living among predator shapeshifters, and surviving. Why the Turkles were targeted by the bureaucratic agency, if they were, mystified Stone. That is, unless their land held a value prized by those addicted to big money.
Catcher and Diamond's hoofbeats resounded like low rolling thunder as they galloped over the Spring-awakened land. The blasting heat of bloodlust rolled off Stone and his pack... off Dugger and every wolf, coyote, big cat, and half-breed shapeshifter who ran with them on mostly silent paws.
"Lasers!" Symone shouted the warning over her shoulder. "Spread out," she ordered. "Evade and attack."
Scat sure enough, pencil-thin beams crisscrossed above them. Given he was in the lead, one laser weapon locked on Stone, between his eyes. He knew by the matrix-energy around him several of the others were also targeted.
Breaking his stride, Stone launched upward and to the side as shots rang out. Grinning, a super thrill sliding along his spine, he dug in sprinting past Catcher and Diamond. Amid whizzing bullets, his always-courageous pack ran loosely beside him, their scent as hot and savage for the taste of mercenary blood as his.
Howls hell no, you creepazoid bastards -- not one of their shifter pack had been picked off, or injured. Stone would have sensed or heard the thud of a bullet penetrating flesh.
He credited Dante, given the alpha in charge held regular training sessions for this type of combat. Still grinning, Stone felt his energy spike to monster status. He saw through a red sheen now, and his muscles exploded with power.
Stone figured they were less than a mile out, and they raced uphill -- faster than the average demon wolf. Oh scat yeah, faster. Oh, and by the way, enemies, our razor-sharp fangs rip through Kevlar like good raw steak.
A frenzied chaos of movement by the paramilitary troops, and shouted orders, entered Stone's ears, but he hardly heard the words. What he knew, he and his musketeer pack led the charge inside the encampment.
Shots dully pinged into Mother Earth's skin, missing Stone and his pack. Taser-like advanced weaponry buzzed like a den of pissed off rattlesnakes. Bolts of electricity hit Stone.
He grinned wider. That's right, ape scat, give me the juice. Time for a Blood Moon rout.
Stone sprang, snapped his jaws around an aimed assault rifle, and crunched mangling the weapon. He flung it aside. Before his enemy could stumble backward, Stone sank his fangs into his exposed throat.
Wishing you full moon shapeshifting on the wild side…
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~