Your Monday Wake-Up Call, and This Week's Episode

Here's a little something to get the blood flowing on a Monday. It was also my inspiration for the M/M vampire story Siren just accepted. They’ve mentioned a May 2011 e-pub date. I haven’t even gotten the contract yet, so it’s way too soon to post excerpts. I’ll start pushing those closer to release day, along with a new blog, probably on the thin line between inspiration, homage and plagiarism.

This is the same story I blogged about last January. Yeah, I know. I write slow. I’ve reposted the blog over on Title Magic (www.titlemagic.blogspot.com) for anyone who’s interested and doesn’t want to go digging for it. That picture up there is indicative of what I had going on in my head over most of this year. Writing is the greatest profession ever.

Note to Rebecca: in last week’s ep I mistakenly had Marissa working in a bar. She works in a coffee shop. My bad. It won’t happen again.

And now, on to this week’s installment.

THICKENING THE PLOT

The gamma-rank maid stood in the doorway, eyes submissively lowered. “Mr. Tufts has arrived, sir.”

Damien Hancock didn’t turn from the window. His den high up on the side of Talbot’s Peak afforded him a view of all that was his, and all that should have been his. He refused to look to the west. The Waynes held that, dog-damn their little bat dingles. Not for long, by Lycaon. Not for long.

“Show him in,” he ordered.

The maid’s feet whispered over the carpet as she withdrew. Presently another set of footfalls shushed across the shag. Damien let the stripy scat get settled before he turned to face him. Of course the feline flea-bus would pick his favorite chair. Any little thing to piss him off.

Without preamble the tiger announced, “Lord Khan requests a favor.”

“I’ll just bet he does,” Damien growled. Change “request” to “demand” and you’d be biting closer to the throat. Damned Tiger Yakuza, thought they owned the world. Well, they didn’t own Damien Hancock, and they wouldn’t own Talbot’s Peak. “And what can a werewolf do for the illustrious Shere Khan?”

“We’ve encountered a minor difficulty,” the cat said. “A reporter. White Fang Kent. His investigations into our activities have become annoying. We want them stopped.”

“And Khan can’t handle that himself? Maybe the old cat’s claws aren’t as sharp as he says they are.”

The tiger growled softly. “You have power in this sector, and in this instance we prefer to remain anonymous. Lord Khan thought you’d welcome the chance to repay us for services rendered.”

Right. That. Biggest mistake of his life. He should have gone after the Waynes himself and not hired outside help. He’d figured with Johann out of the way the Wayne land would fall to the pack. Only Brand and not that psycho Jack had taken over, and the whelp had proven tougher than the sire.

Now the dog-damned kittycats figured they had their claws in him. Well, hump that. “Listen, Tony – ”

“Tasman.”

“The Hancocks don’t play lapdog to the Tiger Yakuza, and I don’t run errands for cats. You take that back to your boss.”

The tiger shrugged carelessly. “As you wish. Where would you like the body delivered?”

“Body?”

“Of Devon. Your heir.”

Damien bared his teeth. His body quivered on the verge of shifting to wolf. “If Khan so much as twitches a whisker – ”

“You’ll do nothing. You’ll be in the pound, serving time for the murder of Johann Wayne.”

“I had nothing to do with that.”

“So everyone believes. That belief will change once certain facts are brought to light. Kent is on the trail of those facts. If he were to be driven off the trail it would be in everyone’s best interests, yes?”

Damn them. Damn their stripy hides and kittycat smugness. Damn him, for thinking he could deal with scat like the Yakuza and walk away clean.

The tiger rose with elegant grace. “I’ll leave you to make the arrangements. We expect the matter to be settled by the time of Devon’s party. Lord Khan sends his regrets that he cannot attend. However, a representative will be on hand. We’ve taken an interest in Devon. He’s a cub of much potential.”

“You leave him alone!”

“That’s no longer possible. Lord Khan has given orders.” The tiger bowed. “I’ll see myself out. Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Hancock.”

Damien ground his teeth and held himself back from charging the uppity cat. Tony there was only an errand boy. The real enemy crouched in the dark, beyond the reach of the pack.

Or maybe not.

He bellowed for the maid. She arrived in a blink, with her head tipped slightly to show her throat, just to be on the safe side.

“Have the car brought around,” Damien barked. “I’m going out.”