Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Nanoo Nanoo... I mean NaNoWriMo.
Hi and welcome to your Wednesday fix of Shapeshifter Seductions! Rebecca here bidding you a Happy Humpday. Did everyone make it past Halloween safely with no new hexes, bites, or stalkers? I did, unfortunately, though I did get a hug from an abominable snowman. No, really. I did. He didn’t win best costume but that was only because the ork was more popular. (Who would vote for an ork? They are ugly elves who turned evil. No one likes evil elves.)
As you can probably tell, I went to a rather lively Halloween party this past weekend. One of my favorite local bands, The Fire Water Rock ‘N Roll Medicine Show, always does a Kiss concert for Halloween. It’s always a good show when those guys play, but for Halloween, they go all out. And typical of me, I took only one blurry picture because I was too busy getting blisters on my feet from dancing to take any more than that. And I got a hug from a guy dressed in the most incredible abominable snowman costume ever!
So now Halloween is over, the end of the year is heading towards us at light speed, and we have entered the time of NaNoWriMo. That’s shorthand National Novel Writing Month, a real misnomer since the event is world wide, not nation wide. It’s basically a challenge: participants sign up and try to write 50,000 words during November. What this means for me is that I will be getting no sleep this month. I was just about to start on a new story for my Wild Lords series and decided what the heck, I’ll participate this year and see if I can get the whole thing done in 30 days. After signing up, I realized I’m going to my mom’s house over Thanks Giving weekend and I’m expecting some edits any day now. Eh. Who need sleep anyway, right?
At the end of day 2 (I cheated a bit since I already had an outline drawn up) I am sitting at 8,814 words. No, I am not posting any of it- it’s horrid. I spell like a 3rd grader when I’m not taking my time, and at that pace, I am REALLY not taking my time. Instead, I offer you a snippet of a different manuscript which I set aside a while back when one of the characters decided he wanted to take it a different direction than I wanted to take it. It's still a rough draft so it hasn't been edited or even named yet. It’s also rather explicit, so if you’re reading this at work, make sure no one can see the screen!
The air was thick, like the feted breath of some mythical beast, making her stomach churn. Everywhere she looked, Sara saw bodies in motion. She figured she was the only person out here who didn’t feel festive during Marti Gras. She might also be the only one who knew what was out there, feeding off the mad energy from the city wide party. Sometimes feeding off the party goers, too. The old stories spoke of demons and dark fae coming out on nights like this to find their next meal.
Added to that were other predators- humans, themselves- and the Rougarou, or Cajun werewolves who “protected” the humans. Belligerently drunken humans, unpredictable wolf men, and soul steeling creeps. Yeah, N’olins was just kickin’ this time of year.
Like all girls born to a Louisiana Cajun family, Sara knew better than to be out on a night like this. And like all young people, she figured that applied to everyone else. At five foot eight with short cropped brown hair, she could pass for a guy. Her oversized winter coat hid her curvy figure in a androgynizing way that lent credence to her attempt to blend in to the background. She realized she had failed to escape notice of the darker side of the night when she turned off Canal Street onto a quite side street that led to her apartment above the clothing shop she co-owned with the best friend. Either the smell of the river was stalking her or she’d picked up a tale, no pun intended.
This was not what she’d had in mind when she stepped out for a bite of dinner after work. Trying her best not to look back or break out in a panicked run, she focused instead on the tales her Pappy told her as a child. The smell alone told her this one was a Wendigo, a type of lesser demon. The demons were drawn to high emotion and tended to choose those who walked alone. Could she fake it out?
Crossing a break between two stately old red brick buildings, she felt the thing tense to pounce. This was it, time to kiss her ass goodbye. Just then, the wind shifted and a different smell curled out from between the buildings. Wet dog? Maybe a Rougarou? Sometimes the ancient guardian race would run off a Wendigo- some times not. But a half a fighting chance was better than being raped and eaten by a cannibal demon. She turned into the space, trying very hard to look like it was a deliberate choice rather than a last ditch effort.
A half dozen steps into the alley found her slammed into the side of the building. Yeah, this might have not been the salvation she was looking for. The body pressing her face into the damp masonry was much bigger than her and she felt a deep rumbling vibrating from his chest into her bones. Startled, she froze. Was the Rougarou growling at her for entering his territory or at the thing that had been following her? She could feel him tensing and the low growling intensified to actual sound. He didn’t seem to be growling down at her but rather toward the street she’d just left. Relief flooded her as she realized her gamble had paid off- this one had chosen to defend her. Of course, what they considered protecting wasn’t always exactly what the Cajuns considered protecting.
What seemed like hours passed. The cold from the bricks leached through her coat from the front and the heat from his body seeped into her back. The wolf had stopped growling but was still tense as if the demon had backed off but not left. His scent, slightly dog-like but hot and spicy, reminded her of cayenne pepper and dark chocolate. It enveloped her senses, speaking to her body the way words might speak to her mind, waking up her libido. She felt his head turn toward her, felt his breath softly warm her cheek, then her neck. The wolf had realized the effect he was having on her.
Wild thoughts suddenly careened through her mind. She saw the two of them kneeling on the ground naked in the frigid air, her hands supporting her against the wall as his arms wrapped around her body, holding her hips still as he fucked her hard from behind. Oh, my. Was he psychic? Sara figured he was asking her if she was interested in having a little party of their own. To hell with reservations, she thought, I just survived an encounter that should have killed me. It was Marti Gras and the chance to indulge in hot, nasty sex with the preternatural stud who just saved her life definitely qualified as once-in-a-life-time. She arched her back, grinding her butt into his erection. He got the message.
I’ll close up shop for now. Have a safe and happy rest of the week!
Posted by Rebecca Gillan