Tuesday, November 23, 2010
White Fang Kent ~ A Story With Bite
White Fang Kent ~ A Story With Bite
Werewolf musk hung in the night air as heavy as his own balls. White Fang Kent stealthily moved behind a row of untrimmed bushes. Hidden by a corner shadow, he halted next to the rough-hewn lodge located inside an isolated forest clearing. The place, he’d discovered by simple observation, was a local alpha hangout for bikers and any shifter who was wolf enough to bloody his fangs, and ride with the top dogs.
Suppressing his groan, the one that throbbed like an MF from the crown of his cock, White Fang shot his night-vision gaze over the surrounding area. Nothing. No one. So far. He turned on the laser as he thought of it, peering through the thick log wall. He’d already scented those he knew from town. Now, he wanted a look-see before deciding on his next ‘investigative’ move.
After catching a whiff of Dante’s potent ~I could hump a rodeo bull and not get thrown~ odor near Kitty Kewtie’s backdoor, White Fang had cut short his visit with her. He’d excused himself with the truthful claim that Nick, the G&B editor, had texted, demanding a more sensational story than the one he’d turned in earlier.
White Fang didn’t give one snarling damn about Nick’s deadline, but Dante... howls of Lykouz fate! That was the lead he’d been patiently pursuing. White Fang tracked Dante with his nose, keeping his distance. Using his superspeed, he’d arrived at the edge of the clearing just as Dante grabbed his guitar case from the back of his tricked-out Harley.
Damien Hancock’s youngest cub strode inside the music-routy lodge like the on-the-prowl-for-a-bitch werewolf he was... only who was Dante really stud-panting for? Was it little Kitty Kewtie? Maybe he wanted a sweet piece of wolfen tail for the night to distract himself. Because what White Fang did know, now that he was this close. The odor of heartbreak clung to Dante like skunk roadkill.
White Fang continued his x-ray scan of the lodge’s bar area, seeing only a motley crew of ham-fisted, brew-tipping shifters -- none of them a problem to him -- that is, if they decided he wasn’t welcome.
Wait! Woof-woof. Hold onto his hitching cock.
White Fang scented cat tail inside. Femme fatale felines lookin’ for some scratching-wild sex to be journalistically precise. Ever since his carnal marathon with Bastet’s granddaughter at an Egyptian festival, White Fang favored discreet affairs with the fair feline sex.
As he slipped from behind the bushes, he told his steely shaft to lose the metal. No time like the present for the truth, he silently growled to himself. He needed answers, and fast. That is, if he was going to save Kitty, and the town’s shifter population.
So... Lykouz hell.. the urge to mate caused his balls to bang and rub as he sauntered toward the entrance. So, he was attired like a yuppie geek, the only leather being his Italian loafers. To complete the picture, White Fang stuffed his hands in the pockets of his khaki dockers.
He may have been another breed of wolf, but the pack frenzy had him gripped harder than his landlady’s hand this morning. Toothsome Tina as he thought of her, had made a grab for his lap package after spilling her cooled coffee on him. He’d twisted just enough so she’d seized his thigh.
White Fang strolled inside the dimly lit interior of the rustic lodge. The smells of humping musk, cigar and cigarette smoke, along with various alcoholic beverages, caused him to ratchet down the super-sense.
Easily, he located Dante’s position. He sat at a corner table with three pack buddies. Perched on a stool, he strummed chords on his guitar, not a tune White Fang recognized.
The werewolf band stood at the bar, obviously on a break. With bared teeth and jealous snarls, their mates warned off the few bitches present. White Fang sniffed for a story that would wag Nick’s tail while he edged toward Dante through the almost shoulder-to-shoulder crowd.
Freeze frame, White Fang mentally amused himself. Everyone stilled, swinging their gazes to him. Their eyes looked like miniature headlights that had been switched to brights. Prey or foe, they asked themselves.
Awareness pricked through White Fang as their hackles raised. Their low growls menaced. Jauntily, he lifted his hand in greeting. “Hey, fellas.”
Momentarily caught off guard, the crowd followed his progress as White Fang ambled toward Dante. Warily, the alpha-to-his-core werewolf eyed him. Alpha, yes, yet White Fang also witnessed the soul of a poet in the depths of Dante’s gold-flecked amber eyes.
“White Fang Kent, reporter for the Guts and Butts Gazette,” he introduced himself while offering his hand. “I’d like to interview you as part of an investigation I’m conducting.”
Setting his guitar aside, Dante rose upward, all bad-boy power. His gaze never wavered, even as he signaled for his pack to back off. With deceptive ease he raised his hand and gripped White Fang’s hand, shaking it.
Glad Dante didn’t engage in a contest of strength, so he wasn’t forced to reveal his true strength, White Fang asked, “Is there a place where we can speak privately, Mr. Hancock?”
“The name is Dante.” Rebellion sparked the young werewolf’s eyes. Not the normal rebellion of a son who is ready to paw his own way through the world. Cold brutal resolve lay beneath the sparks.
“Of course --"
“Kent!” The outraged screech squeezed the back of his neck like his mother’s chastising fangs. “You cur dog.”
Reluctantly, White Fang pivoted around. Leona Lane stalked toward him, her gaze slashing at him like the fangs she was starting to sport. “Nice seeing you, too, Leona.”
“Can the insipid politeness, Kent. What the hell are you doing in my territory?” She stopped in front of him. The high tilt of her chin might as well have been a dagger she aimed at his throat.
“Your territory, Lane?” White Fang allowed his eyes to flare. Acting like a geek was one thing, but he never backed down from an outright challenge.
“Nick assigned me the story on this backwoods bar. As if you didn’t know, super duper dog. Yeah, I know all about your --"
“Escort Ms. Lane to the lounge, will you, Brad?” Dante’s commanding, but calm voice interrupted. “If you want your story, Ms. Lane, you’ll mind your professional manners here.”
After a spitting hiss at White Fang, Leona whirled and with a huff of satisfaction, she accepted Brad’s offered arm.
Several thoughts hit White Fang all at once. One, he was Lykouz grateful he hadn’t had to kiss Lane to shut her mouth. Two, there was obviously more real red meat to Dante than he’d suspected. Three, had Dante intentionally left his scent so White Fang would follow? And, what did the mysterious werewolf want from him?
As he turned, facing Dante, the bad-boy werewolf gave him a grin.
“Since you’re not shagging my Kitty, super duper dog,” Dante flicked a knowing glance at his crotch, “how about I give you a story with bite and introduce you to Pasha?”
~ HAPPY TURKEY DAY ~
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~