Monday, January 31, 2011

Red, White and Assassin's Blues

He was out there again. Gypsy could feel his presence, just beyond the light of the stage, in the back, in the shadows. Watching her dance.

She never saw him come into the Pleasure Club. Her name was announced and his spirit energy simply appeared on her radar. Once she left the stage he vanished. So far he hadn’t approached her. In spite of all she sensed from him, she had no fears for her safety.

Others, however, were paranoid on her behalf. Dante had pointed him out to her the preceding week. “Has that tiger been bothering you?”

She looked where he indicated. The sight of him stole her breath. Huge as a mountain, built like an oak, albino white in a stark black overcoat, handsome in a chiseled-by-adversity way. He didn’t look in their direction, but she was certain he was aware of them. Aware of her in particular. “No. Should I be worried?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ve heard bad rumors lately. If this joker’s who I think he is, a lot of people could be in serious trouble. I don’t want you to be one of them. If he does or says anything to make you nervous, howl. We’ll take care of it.”

Gypsy foresaw no physical danger to herself from the towering tiger. Her sight seemed strangely muted in regards to him, which she found disturbing. Then there was his aura, and the taint of sudden death it carried. “I’ll be careful. Thanks, Dante.”

She refused to allow his presence to interfere with her dance. Once on stage she came alive and joined her energy to the life-flow of creation. No tiger lurking in the shadows would ruin that for her.

The music took over and she gave herself to it. Her body moved sinuously to the rhythms of life. She briefly missed the presence of her occasional partner, Lamar. He had found himself another wolf to dance with. She wished them both happiness.

The music ended and so did her dance. This time, however, the tiger didn’t leave. She saw his silhouette rise from its chair and remain by the table. His blatant interest in her stretched between them like a binding cord.

Gypsy didn’t wish to be bound to anyone, and no man would hold her so. Perhaps a confrontation was needed after all.

She left the stage and circled around to the back, and the tiger’s table. He stood where she had last seen him, as if he had expected her to join him. Such presumption rankled. She smiled at him, friendly but reserved. “Good evening. Enjoying the show?”

“Very much.” His bass voice rumbled up from the subterranean depths of his chest. “I had hoped you would speak to me. I wish to express my appreciation. Your dance is beautiful. It renews my soul.”

What an odd way to put it. Her nascent annoyance gave way to curiosity. “How so?”

“I am new to this country. I have obligations that weigh heavily upon me. My soul sinks beneath them. Your dance dispels the burden. You are fire on stage. Beauty and fire.” He reached out and, before she could think to move, brushed his fingertips across her hair, lightly as a breath. “You are red wolf, yes?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “How did you know?”

“I have known your kind before. You are the poets of the wolf clans. Sensitive, not like the coarse grays. My people appreciate a good poet.”

“I’m not a poet. I’m a dancer.”

He shrugged. “It is all one. It celebrates life. Life is to be cherished.”

That wasn’t what her visions had told her of this tiger. She looked into his fierce blue eyes and saw melancholy and death. “Pretty talk,” she said, low-voiced, “from a hired killer.”

He smiled down at her. “Honest,” he pronounced her. “Refreshing. And not afraid. Also refreshing. You need not fear violence from me, firewolf. I will not bring harm to you. The world is a more beautiful place for your inclusion in it.”

“You mean harm to someone,” she whispered as the vision took her. “Someone close.”

“Perhaps. I’ve yet to be aimed at my target. My employer takes his time.” His voice dropped lower still. “He plays with death.”

“Leave,” she said abruptly. “Return home. There’s no dishonor in refusing to serve an honorless man.”

His shaggy brows rose. “You’re a seer too? Of course you are. The red wolves are known for the sight.” He shook his head. “I can’t do as you ask. I will discharge my obligations, but I will do it in my own way. He will learn what he toys with, to his regret. And I … ” This time when he touched her hair she didn’t shy away. “I will remember your dance. I will carry its fire with me into the dark.”

She took his hand briefly, impulsively. “Take care.”

“Always, firewolf.” He stepped away reluctantly, and left her. Drunken patrons swerved frantically out of his path as he strode from the club.

Gypsy clutched at the table to steady herself. Why hadn’t she called for Dante? What had she just allowed to leave?

Shaken, she returned to the closet the dancers sardonically referred to as their dressing room. A single white rose greeted her on the table by her mirror. She held it to her nose. His scent lingered on petals as white as ice, as white as his hair. But not cold. Not cold at all.

“Sergei,” she murmured. “I see death in your path. Please be careful. Please.”

We're looking at a two-day snow/ice storm, so if I don't show up on the boards it's because the library was closed. No picture this week, but for you wrestling fans, picture the WWE's Undertaker as an albino and you'll be pretty close to Sergei.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Accidentally Mated

Hi and welcome to a special Sunday edition of Shapeshifter Seductions. On Friday, the second installment of my Wild Lords series, Equal Partners, was released. A few days before, I had a fun little conversation on the Siren-BookStrand chat group about if Cissy had actually mated herself to the sexy elfin shifter lord Lleu by accident or not. So today I thought I’d post the snippet where she wakes up the next morning and finds out the dastardly Donnella tricked her. The spell to waylay an elf was really something else. Oh, that Donnella! Who’d have guessed you couldn’t trust a nasty assassin who tried to kill her way onto the forest elf throne?


There were no sounds of heavenly choirs, but she smelled fresh-brewed coffee and had spent the night in the arms of a fallen angel. Eyes still closed, Cissy snuggled deeper into the afghan, took a deep breath, and grinned. Apparently, this fallen angel made coffee the next morning.

“Are you planning to come out of your burrow anytime soon?” a deep voice rumbled from someplace above her. Cissy forced one eye open. She took it back— he was no fallen angel. He was every woman’s dream! Her elf was standing over her dressed in low-slung, faded jeans and was bare chested. His silky, pale gold hair fell in riotous curls to well below his broad shoulders. He held a steaming mug of fragrant coffee for each of them.

Cissy eagerly sat up, reaching for the offered mug. She saw his chocolate brown eyes grow bright with lust and realized the afghan had slipped when she sat up, baring one breast and part of her belly. She hastily rearranged it so she could hold her coffee and keep decently covered. It didn’t make much difference from what she could tell, though. His hungry gaze continued to caress her through the thick yarn. He didn’t comment, just sat on the edge of the sturdy steamer trunk she used as a coffee table. She took a tentative sip. Mmm, he’d made it nice and strong, just like she liked it.

She closed her eyes and took another deep breath, inhaling the fragrance of her favorite drink. Tea wasn’t bad for the middle of the day, but nothing beat waking up with a cup of joe. The rich, nutty flavor of the Kona blend she’d bought on a whim filled her senses, luring her to take another heavenly sip.

“I’d have never thought coffee could bring quite that reaction,” the elf commented in an amused voice. Cissy chuckled. Her best friend, Aubry, liked to tease her about her tendency to relate all things enjoyable to her love of coffee.

“Did you know they used to prepare coffee as a drink for the gods?” Cissy said by way of an answer. “Who am I to disagree with gods!” She chuckled again then opened her eyes. She found him sitting directly across from her, leaning toward her as if drawn by her enjoyment of the drink. He set his cup down beside him then dropped to his knees on the floor in front of her. Cissy fidgeted a little.

“So, about last night…” she began.

“What about last night?” he asked distractedly, lightly running his hands up her blanket-covered legs.

“I’m not sure why the binding spell had that reaction on us, but I had thought it would be spent by now.” She tittered nervously, slowly becoming aroused by his intent but gentle exploration.

“It is spent,” he murmured quietly. “And that was exactly the expected result of a mating spell.” Cissy stared at him, dumbfounded. A mating spell?


Here's the trailer for Equal Partners.

With that, I will bid you a wonderful reast of the weekend (assuming Mother Nature isn't giving you too much grief.)


Saturday, January 29, 2011

Week and Weather From Hell

No flash piece this week. The hour is late. I'm dawg tired. Tomorrow is another early morning to prepare for another blasted snow storm heading our direction. But, it's winter Solara, you say.

Well dear readers, I drove in the midst of the last storm gracing DC for 8 hours to get home to be stuck in my own driveway while my comforter shoveled it out. The snowblower got enough to get me up the drive way. Our lights had been back on for a hour at that point. I will have the car packed with essentials (pens, notebooks, maybe my netbook, a few books and magazines, along with dried foods and clothes) to hole up in a hotel near work. I drove in the aftermath of the two blizzards last winter. This time I came close to too many accidents and idiots on the roads. I will park the car near the room since the hotel has outdoor parking and be safe inside even if electric goes out. Lots of blankets and flannel will do the trick. Any way, I am off to ZZZZZZZZZZ land with my male counter part holding me tight. He is special, miene bear.

One last news item before I sign off, I sold a contemporary menage to Siren-Bookstrand with a ebook tenative release date of June. I'll let you know more as we get closer.

Stay warm, keep your spice and lovers closer, and a few good friends too! Share your books and remember comforters take on different shape and sizes!

Have a great weekend!

Friday, January 28, 2011

Love Is...

“Have you ever been in love, my little apẻritif?”

Danny’s blood boiled at Penny’s words and actions. How dare she make assumptions about him and ask questions about things as ridiculous as love. She stood before him, her finger curved around her upper lip; disappointment alive in her eyes. Did she view him as a thing instead of a person?

“Daniel, are you still with me?”

“What does love have to do with anything, ma’am?” It wasn’t as if there’d been an over abundance of the wishy-washy emotion in his life up to this point.

“Love is magical. Love heals our hearts and souls.”

“Bullshit, ma’am,” Danny squeaked. “Love is pain. It is a joke played on the young to keep them in line. Love is the emotion adults tout as a fix-it to anything that troubles you…”

“Daniel, stop! Love is special. It brings us trust and closeness…”

“No, Penny…what it brings is a hunter with a big, sharp knife to take your mother’s skin and drape it over some stinking monkey’s shoulders!”

Danny threw his hands over his mouth, shocked by what he’d just admitted to. Where had that come from? His past was something he’d hidden away inside himself and hadn’t shared with anyone until just now when he’d shared it with a dominant, female bird. What the hell was wrong with him?

Penny didn’t look any better. Her eyes were wide and filled with moisture she had yet to let fall. She’d paled and was covering her lips, now with all of her fingers rather than just one.

A knock at the door saved them both from continuing this conversation, but he knew they would come back to it at some point. He couldn’t flee this woman like he had the others as he needed her to get home, but perhaps he could convince her to leave sooner than she had obviously planned too.

“Ehem, apẻritif,” the gentle clearing of her throat offered up a chance to look away from her. “Please go into the bedroom, attend to your needs and then revert to your mink form. Wait for me on the bed. I will be there shortly.”


“Please, do as I say, Daniel and don’t incur a punishment tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Danny moved toward the back room as Penny went to the door. Why would she want him to become the mink…what did she plan to do to him in his alternate form?

Thursday, January 27, 2011

February belongs to "Belonging"

Bat bitches unite! For those who didn't see it over on Title Magic, here's the cover for "Belonging." Gay vampires, male prostitution, hot guy-on-guy action, slayers loose in the streets, references to "The Wizard of Oz" -- this one's got it all. I'm working on the final edits now. I have to work fast because I've been told the release date is Monday, February 7. That's what I love about e-publishing, the quick turnaround. No waiting for two years to see your book on the market.

I was also told there'd be a print version later in the year. I'm not complaining, but I am wondering because I thought the minimum word count for print was 60,000. "Belonging" clocked in at a little over 53K. Same for "Love on the Wild Side." Both stories together don't equal 60K words. This is good news of a sort, because it means we don't have to bloat up our anthology stories in order to make print. If we all end up with stories of only 10-15,000 words, we'll still be okay.

Our first storm dumped about 3-4 inches on us, then we had a break of a couple of hours, then Part 2 came along and delivered another 6-8 inches overnight. I just got finished excavating my car. Living in the northeast isn't fun this year.

Excerpts and a possible new blog to follow around release day. Since that's a Monday, which is my post day, it'll probably mean a blog. Now, who in the cast reads vampire romances, Maggie or Lamar?

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Guts & Butts Gazette, volume 2011-1-26
Police Blotter

1/25 - Report of a fight in the woods outside of the Interspecies Pleasure Club. Responding officers found what appeared to be copious amounts of blood and some animal fur appearing to be some kind of cat or wolf. No reports of injury to the hospital.

1/17 - Update to Report of fight in the woods behind the Interspecies Pleasure Club. Testing came back on the blood and fur found at last week’s fight scene. Either a very big rabbit got into a fight with an Asian Tiger or someone staged a hoax.

1/10 - DUI. Arrested was Edger Jennings Smith of 736 Wolfbane Lane. Shith was found driving erratic and was suspected of being under the influence of drugs when he began babbling about snakes turning into ken dolls. He stated that he had just left the Interspecies Pleasure Club.


“It’s all perfectly harmless, Sheriff,” Nick reassured the elderly non-human. Damn, the swore at himself. Almost said that out loud! With the strain of not dry humping in front of the sheriff and trying to find where the submission forms for the weekly blotter, he was having trouble remembering to act cordially toward the county’s top law officer. Too bad the shifter council wouldn’t let them field a shifter for the election. Who cared about keeping the humans comfortable. His life would be easier if he didn’t have to play intermediary between the humans and his own kind. It wasn’t like he was in charge of the local pack, after all. Now where did Penny file that damn form?

“Between all these reports of an inter-species pleasure club, whatever that is, and all the fights that get reported around there, I’m not sure I agree, McMahon.” The wiry old coot shook his head in disgust. “These kids today, I’ll tell ya. If it ain’t one thing, it’s another.”

“Kids gotta be kids, right?” Nick chuckled, finally find the damn submissions form under “S.” Why in Lycan’s name had Penny filed it there? Forms should be under “F.” She needed to get her colorful tail feathers back here ASAP!

“Youngster didn’t used to be like than back in the day…” the sheriff began. Nick fought the impulse to roll his eyes. Dinosaurs probably roamed these hills back in the day, as the old cook put it. Lycan knows why the sheriff didn’t just retire to some old coot’s home down in Florida. Every week, it was the same old thing. The sheriff bringing the blotter down personally rather than sending a deputy. Him bitching to Nick about how the county was supposedly going to the dogs. That part really put a flee under Nick’s collar- they were wolves, not dogs! Not that the ancient human knew that, of course, but still…

As the sheriff droned on about life in the Jurassic age when he’d been a boy, Nick spotted Zeva sashaying her sweet, tight little tush past his office. Was that a new dress she was wearing?

“Is there something you want to tell me, boy?”

Nick looked back at the sheriff quickly, pasting a bland smile on his face.

“No,” he replied airily. “Why?”

“Because the moment you saw Miss Wilk walk by, you started going at that desk like my old hound dog when ever there was a bitch in heat near by,” the sheriff replied. Nick looked at him, confused, then looked down. Aw, scat! He was dry humping the desk again.


I hope you enjoyed that little bit of flash. I couldn’t resist! Not much news this week. Or nothing that could compete with the stuff coming out of Talbot’s Peak, Montana, anyway! My next release, EQUAL PARTNERS, will be released Friday and is now available for pre-order. It’s book two of my “Wild Lords” series. Pop on over to BookStrand and take a look! And remember to have a little fun this week as we close out the year of the tiger and get ready to enter the year of the bunny.


Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Tigress Shapeshifter... meet the new boss, worse than the old boss...

Greetings Shapeshifter lovers, for this week I thought I’d have my tigress shapeshifter, Kytaira, give Talbot’s Peak a helping paw. After all, tiger shifters have played the villains, thus far. With the Chinese New Year on February 3rd, the tiger will yield to the rabbit. So, I thought it was only fair to give tigers a good name, too, and a last roaring hurrah.

WARNING ~ Gratuitous violence ahead.

Tigress Shapeshifter... meet the new boss, worse than the old boss...

I awake, a snarl vibrating my throat. I don’t bother yawning as the knowing surges through me. I face another mission.

Instead, I roll on my side, and nestle my head in the pillow. Within moments, the vision has it’s way with me. To even the playing field for justice, I am about to intercept a deadly attack on a shapeshifter stronghold, a town called Talbot’s Peak.

Before I can stop it my hand reaches out for Zurroc, my Black Tiger. But, the bed is empty. My inner tigress screams with a mate’s need for him. For my mission partner, and my lover.

When I became so attached, I don’t remember. My Zurroc is on a mission of his own to our homeworld. A report on the state of injustice on Earth has become necessary. Bureaucracies are a bitch.

Bitch. Yeah...not the claw-powerful bitch who champions the people. But, the weak-fanged bitch who demands endless tribute.

About to rise, my fingertips encounter a piece of paper, a sheet of linen by the feel of it. I lurch upward, grabbing it up at the same time.

Instantly, I recognize the writing of my Black Tiger, and blink away the remnants of sleep.

I know my tigress.
Wild fierce energy burning,
she is large of heart.
Kind to those in need,
she is a predator for justice.
Currents of white-hot fire arc
between us
when her Tigress spirit
mates with my Tiger soul.
Ancient passions ignite
when we tangle,
woman and man becoming one.
Savage is another name
for the beauty of my Tigress.
She frees me, my woman.
For, what is untamed in me
growls to caress what is untamed in her.

Tears spring to my eyes, slide down my cheeks, and drip on my Zurroc’s words. With a gentle motion I place his poem on his side of the bed where he will find it. And know how much he has moved my heart for him.

With ferociousness blazing through me now, I leap up. Before my mind’s eye I watch the internationally-spawned black ops team prepare to take over Talbot’s Peak -- while I prepare to eliminate them.

They adjust their blast weapons with precision. They will wipe out the shapeshifter population if I do not intervene.

Having pulled on my purple, body-hugging leathers, dragged a brush through my short locks, and fed myself, I launch up my spiral staircase. Atop my warehouse home sits my invisible jet.

The small, ion-fast craft can skim the ground or soar along the edges of the atmosphere. Rarely do I encounter any interference -- so far, easily outrun. Slipping inside, I run my hand over the instrument panel, activating the energy core, and in moments, I hover above the roof.

As I zip above New York City’s skyline, dawn heralds the first colors of sunrise. Flying toward Montana, I enter the darkness of night. On a straightline course, I remain high enough to avoid landscape obstacles, yet lower than the commercial flight paths.

Before the black ops team can detect the presence of my jet, I land out of range, on the opposite side of Talbot’s Peak. The arrogant, sanctioned killers believe they can sweep through like murdering locusts, instead of circling the town to prevent any escape.

Aware White Fang is waiting, I exit the jet quickly. Strong arms embrace me, then we are soaring above the forest at a rate of speed that is sure to tangle my hair.

Before he is able to land with me, deadly flares whizz around us. White Fang rockets back and forth, avoiding them successfully.

We sync mentally with each other, and decide on a wing-it, fling-it attack on our somewhat formidable enemy. He’ll wing it, then transition to wolf. I’ll fling it, once I have morphed to tigress.

Okay, not much of a strategy. But, at least, we have one.

Halting in mid-flight, White Fang drops me close to the ground. I whirl out of his arms, hit the forest floor, and crouch. Instantly, the stench of genetically modified humans assails my nostrils, even though the black ops team’s scent is supposed to be hidden from us shapeshifters.

As White Fang zooms out of sight to take up his position, I throw off my leathers, and begin my shift to tigress. Already, the yen to taste their iron-rich, alien-enhanced blood rages through me, and I salivate.

Leaping into a dead run, I phase beyond their weapons’ capability, yet maintain my body’s fighting strength. Righteous fury pumps through me, along with the hot pumping hum of my blood.

Despite their night gear designed to hide them, I sight twenty of the black ops team as they rapidly advance in my direction. Soon plasma bullets streak past me, a few of them glancing off my phase field.

It’s too late when they decide to hurl micro-burst grenades at me. They have misjudged my supernatural speed. I spring on the nearest of them.

Blood lust consumes me as I slam against him. He staggers while my superior claws rip at the nano-material made to be impenetrable. My fangs slash until I can sink them into the side of his neck and the meat of his shoulder.

I fling that large hunk of him to the side. At the same time, I disengage my claws knowing death will claim him in seconds. Without thought, I spin and charge for the legs of closest foe. All the while they rapid-fire their weapons into me.

Little do they realize the plasma energy only feeds my strength, now. Clamping my jaws on the man’s terminator-muscled leg, I twist, tearing it off. He screams, and falls.

One by one, I seize their foul-formed flesh with the plunge of my claws, and the strike of my fangs. No, the massacre is not complete. Those who can, are in full retreat. Not many of them.

Finished with my kills, I smell another carnage not far from my position. I stretch into a run, and sniff the air wondering if White Fang needs my assistance. Instead of his wolf scent, I am surprised by the ancient magick permeating that section of the forest.

Then, I realize, recalling the fragrance that clung to White Fang. A feline goddess. I know of their existence on Earth, but have never met one.

And, I won’t meet White Fang’s goddess now. She is gone, having removed the containment sphere she created.

White Fang lopes toward me as wolf. Blood saturates his lush coat as I know it does mine. I feel the stickiness penetrating the thickness of my fur.

Once we meet, we touch noses. It doesn’t take us long to mind-communicate our victories. We know, for now, the few surviving members of the black ops team have been picked up, and there is no plan for another assault on Talbot’s Peak anytime soon.

White Fang invites me to bathe in a nearby waterfall pool, and I follow his lead. Mere minutes later, we are splashing, rolling and swimming.

Our enjoyment stops as we both scent and hear an intruder. By the time the white tiger appears, we have shaken ourselves dry, and are on alert.

Sitting a distance from us, the white tiger’s manner remains regal and unthreatening. When he shifts to human, we do the same.

“Reminds me of a shifter nudist camp I investigated once,” White Fang remarks in his understated way.

“Sergei,” I address the White Tiger assassin, “what brings you to this backwater part of the forest?”

In a flash, an enemy I have encountered before, but have never chased to extermination, shows himself. To clarify, it is his immaterial body we are seeing. Of course, he is dressed immaculately.

Shere Khan bows, perfect in its formality. “I must offer my temporary thanks, Kytaira of the Other World.”

He pauses, eyeing White Fang with a respect I’ve never observed from the Tiger Yakuza leader before, “And, also to you, wolf from another realm, for your most impressive disposal of those who are the enemies of all shapeshifters.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I sarcastically croon. “If it hadn’t been a case of ‘meet the new boss, worse than the old boss’, I would have laughed at your scorched hide...dishonorable Shere Khan.”

He smiles gradually, widely, and with way too much satisfaction. My inner hackles rise.

“It is to your advantage the Black Tiger guards you, Kytaira. What a lovely addition you would be to my harem.” His gaze dines on my naked flesh. “Enslaved to my every pleasure, of course.”

I don’t answer. From the corner of my eye, I see Sergei take a step toward me. Besides, Shere Khan has vanished, his usual style, so he will not hear how my words slice him down to the nothingness of his soul.

For all his legendary power, Sergei approaches White Fang and I carefully. His silence, as he stands gazing at us for long moments, becomes annoying, as does his ice blue stare.

With a shake of my hair, I ask, “So, which side are you really on? ... this time?”

A hint of a smile twitches one corner of his mouth. “My own.”

“How banal,” I reply, then cup my hip with one hand as I challenge him with my gaze. Still, it is easy to know one reason why he has arrived.

He takes White Fang’s measure. Nobody’s fool, White Fang returns the favor. In spades by the canine smell of him.

“Do I get to watch the pissing contest?” I interrupt, before boredom crosses my eyes.

“Ah, my Tigress, only for you.” Sergei uses his most seductively charming voice. “I have placed your ridiculously purple garments on the boulder.” He glances at White Fang. “And, yours, as well.”

With that, Sergei turns and lithely strides into the forest, now golden from the sunrise. White Fang and I look at each other, questions in both of our gazes.

“Boulder?” I ask.

“Not far from here. Why don’t we dress, and I’ll introduce you to my Z’Pasha at the Interspecies Pleasure Club. Venison is on the breakfast menu,” he tempts.

“Pleasure Club. Hell, yeah. Zurroc and I could use a fantasy place to play. Earth is sadly lacking for shapeshifters.”



Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Monday, January 24, 2011

Tea Party

Tasman looked at his watch again and growled under his breath. They were late. They were always late. He detested lateness. They did this just to spite him, as they had when they were cubs.

He was about to go out and stalk them when they entered in a group and came straight to his table. “Sorry we’re late,” Guri said. “Traffic – ”

“Is non-existent in this backwater. Try again.”

“Very well. Ravi had difficulty in relieving himself.”


“I told you not to eat the burritos.”

“Enough.” Tasman gestured curtly to the chairs around his table. “Sit. We have business to discuss.”

The tigers took their seats. A human waitress with blue hair strolled over to the table. “Afternoon, gentlemen. What can I get you?”

“I will have tea,” Tasman said.

“This is a coffee shop.”

“But you serve tea. It says so on that sign there, yes?”

The blue-haired monkey sighed. “Okay, you got me. We serve tea.”

“Good. I will have chai.”

“And I,” said Ravi.

“I also,” Sanjay said.

“I’d like a cup of cream,” Guri said. “And a plate of those little vanilla cookies.”

The waitress left. Ravi lifted a brow. “Cream, Guri?”

“I like cream. I like to dip the cookies in it.”

Ravi shook his head. “I worry about you, Guri.”

“That will do,” Tasman said. “We aren’t here for cookies. Events have taken an unfortunate turn. One of our ninja was captured.”

“By a bunny.” Guri giggled.

“By a ronin trained in blade and in combat,” Tasman said, with a scowl at his brother. “I’ve heard of these. They don’t come cheap. I doubt if even Damien Hancock has the resources to employ one.”

“Brandon Wayne?” Sanjay suggested.

“Perhaps. Guri, you followed the bat. What did you learn?”

“He is worthless. A tail chaser. He spent the morning buying frocks for his latest she. Afterwards they went to lunch. I watched them from the bar. They stayed a long time. I had many drinks.” He giggled again.

“Guri, are you drunk?”

“No!” Guri said. He hiccupped. “Maybe.”

“Brandon Wayne is dangerous,” Tasman said. “He shows the world one face and his enemies another. We must be cautious with him. Ravi, you will take over surveillance.”

“If you can stay out of the litterbox,” Guri added.

Ravi turned to Tasman. “May I kill him?”

Their teas arrived, and Guri’s cream. Guri dipped a cookie carefully into the cream. It took him two tries to find the cup.

“We won’t be killing anyone,” Tasman said in a low voice. “Father has hired a specialist.”

“Not another buffalo,” Sanjay groaned. “Herbivores make terrible assassins.”

“Frikkin’ herbies,” Guri agreed. He popped a cookie into his mouth.

“Not a herbivore,” Tasman said. “This is a cousin. One of us, from the Siberian branch.”

Ravi and Sanjay sat up, alert. Guri tried to sit up and nearly lost his balance.

“I know them,” Ravi said. “They’re vicious. They’re as likely to kill us as their target.”

“This one can be trusted, up to a point. He owes a debt to Father.”

“When can we expect this Siberian cousin?”

Tasman nodded toward the door. “Right now.”

Heads turned, and not only the tigers’. The newcomer commanded attention. He stood close to seven feet tall. His long black coat strained over muscles solid as iron. When he moved, the rickety tables trembled. The blue-haired waitress started toward him, thought better of it, and wisely retreated behind the counter.

“Inconspicuous,” Ravi muttered sarcastically. “Our enemies will never notice him.”

“No, they will not. I know of this one. His record is unblemished.”

As unblemished as his skin, Tasman thought. Both his hair and his skin were as white as Russian snows. He strode to their table and removed his dark glasses. Pallid blue eyes as cold as the heart of winter glowered down at Tasman.

“You are the sons of Shere Khan?” he rumbled.

Tasman nodded. “We are. And you are … ?”

“I am Sergei. I am here to kill.” He eyed Guri’s plate. “Are those cookies for anybody?”


I've posted the cover for my upcoming release, Belonging, over on I'd have included it here but I don't know how to add a picture anywhere other than at the top. I'm working on it. I can either post the cover here Thursday or wait until the book actually comes out. Since I sent the edits back Friday, that could be March. In the meantime, visit the Previous Posts and enjoy my shirtless inspiration photo. I feel inspired just thinking about it.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Tales Of Passion, Hearts of Joy

Mickey pulled back the shower curtain and reached for her robe. Instead she encountered a warm hand. She jumped and squealed. "Who's there?"

Pushing her wet hair out of her eyes, she squinted and blinked. Warmth crept up her neck and flooded her cheeks before worming its way back down to her belly. Unsure what to say or do, she tried to cover her nudity with the shower curtain.

Night Hawk smiled at Mickey's reaction. He knew she wouldn't think he'd be waiting for her, ready to assist her out of the tub. Spirit Bear's two bedroom condo overlooked the heart of the city and offered a spectacular view. But its bathroom presented obstacles Mickey didn't deal with in her tribal home. "Come and let me help you."

Mickey shook her head no and pointed toward the open door. "What are you doing in here?"
Her hand trembled with each word and gesture.

Night Hawk held her robe out to her. "I'm taking care of you as Spirit Bear and the powers-that-be decreed. Come now and put this on before you chill."

Mickey pulled the curtain tighter around her. "Put it down and leave. I can do it by myself."

Night Hawk shook his head and moved toward her. "No, young doe. I'm the protector. You must listen---"

Mickey's hiss and yowl echoed through out the bathroom. "I'm not helpless. Nor are you my appointed master."

Night Hawk cringed on her last word. Spirit Bear's instructions were extensive and detailed. No woman or man wanted to yield to anyone without a reason. Perhaps this is why Danny fled. Love made one crazy. And passion made craziness multiply. Still his job remained. Keep Mickey safe and mind the store until Spirit Bear returned.

"Fine," Night Hawk tossed the robe on the bathroom counter. "I await you in the bedroom. Regardless, we share a bed here. See if I offer the warmth of my body and snuggles when you wake in the night cold with need."

He turned and stalked out the door. Passion and joy two sides of two different emotions. How the hell could they be misconstrued or even close together, he didn't know.


Cold (another four letter word!) permeates the air across the land. Find your warm spice and friends to snuggle with and share warmth. In amongst all that share and caring, read a couple of good books together and take time out to discuss what you've read.

Have a great weekend!


Friday, January 21, 2011

The Naughty Little School Mink...

Could a mink, in relatively good shape, succumb to a heart attack while still in his youth? Danny thought it a distinct possibility considering the way blood throbbed behind his left eye. As he reached the third floor landing he was panting like an overheating dog, but only part of it was from his hike up three flights. The other problem was the long, boot covered legs in front of him.

Purple leather, eyelets along the back and skyscraper heels all teased him as he waited for her to slide the card into the lock and let him into her room.

“I’ve decided to address you as Daniel, or apẻritif, which ever suits my mood.”

Were the boots short, barely reaching her knee, or did they climb higher and slide close to her intimate parts.


“Ah huh, wait…what. A pair of tits?” Danny dropped the load of luggage Miss prissy Penny insisted on having in this over the top room with a view. “I’m not a woman, Penn…Ma’am.”

There was that eye again, glittering with knowledge under her raised brow. She’d used the same look down at the car when she’d loaded him up with enough bags for ten women while informing him that he would be her very own pack mink. Hot.

“Apẻritif, Daniel, emphasis on the if.”

Oh hells, yes! Here it came, her channeling of all the third grade teachers he’d ever had. Hounding him to be good, correcting his errors and telling him what he could and couldn’t do. And, she even had the stance right; standing up straight with her arms crossed over her chest—disapproval and dominance written all over her face. The look left him with a dick in need of release and wasn’t that just flat out disturbing. He was a man’s man, most of the time, though here she was—confusing him.

“Just take me home, Pe…” The look, the look, drilling into my brains… “Ma’am.”

“No, Daniel. Now, do you know why I will call you apẻritif? Do you know what it means?”

“Come on; just take me home…like Nick told you too.” Then he could get back to work in the mail room and trolling Dante’s club for hot males willing to quietly partake of some of the tight female bodies and forget this Alaska fiasco ever happened.

“Nick has enough on his plate right now, Daniel. Besides, he owes me…”

Damn wolf, what could Nick have done now, to owe a bird anything more than a set of fangs and a nice bottle of Chardonnay. Leave it to his luck to get someone here to rescue him that wasn’t cowed by Nick.

“Now, since I gather you don’t know what your new nickname means, I’ll tell you. Apẻritif is French for appetizer. I’m calling you that, because in your current state, your partners would scarily survive on what little you bring to the sexual table.”

“Oh frack you, ma’am,” he hollered, his hours of Galatica adoration clear in his anger. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Even as he fumed about her comments and stupid nickname, Danny feared she, like Mr. Tongson, had hit a little closer to home than he liked.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Winter Wolf Moon

Shapeshifter lovers, this is from my Kougar Kisses blog, Rise of the Winter Wolf Moon, written yesterday. I thought I’d share it here, too. Because I simply let The Wolf speak without any knowledge beforehand of what would be spoken.

Rise of the Winter Wolf Moon ~ the lore behind the name of Wolf Moon can easily be found on the world wide web, or as some say, the world wide wiretap... however, the Kougaress thought she would commune with Wolf Spirit for a current day message... that is, if The Wolf is willing to speak...

Howls, my human brothers and sisters. Special nuzzling yips to all the beautiful women. Being a wolf,~wolfish grin~ yes, I am ravenously fond of the ladies. Ah, give me moments to connect with The Shining One of this year, 2011... we wolves bathe in the moon’s benevolent rays, soaking up her subtle enlivening essences. For, we only thrive if she constantly embraces us with her light.

My message, since I have been asked is: give up your unnecessary greed, my human brethren. Abundance is the starry night. It exists everywhere, as thick and numerous as the stars you see. There is enough at every moment. Like our canine cousins are trained to obey, you have been trained in a falsehood by those who seek your unquestioning obedience. You believe in scarcity. There is never scarcity in this grand universe. Not for one moment. It is only the false, force-fed belief in scarcity that makes it so. No, it is not about what you humans call positive thinking. It is about reality. You are cubs who have been brutally taught the forest, the lands around you are barren of game, and will remain barren. You have been taught only a small portion of life is available. You have only been allowed to feed on the crumbs of life. And, you are told it is a banquet, and you should be grateful. No. Do not be grateful, my human dear ones, for this unnatural poverty. Be grateful that Nature will tell you the truth. Be grateful the Divine holds forth the hand that reveals, and gives you true sustenance. Remember, we Wolves stand with you in spirit. Always. It is the way of our kind. We stand by your side as warriors, as hunters, as members of your human family, as you are members of our Spirit Pack. Be well. Be powerful. And, howl at our beloved Moon. For, we will hear you, and join in.



Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Naughty Witchy Woman

Hi and welcome to your Wednesday fix of Shapeshifter Seductions! This week’s blog is actually going to be a excerpt from my up-coming release, EQUAL PARTNERS, which will be released on January 28th. I had been planning on doing a little something more with the squirrel and tigress but got wrapped up in a WIP and forgot to write it. I hope you won’t mind meeting Cissy and Lleu, instead.

The top picture is my attempt to make a 3D model of Lleu from the gorgeous cover designed by Jinger Heaton. I'll let you decide how close I got.


“You have interesting coloring,” Lleu commented a few hours later. He’d been admiring her hair in particular. It was a beautiful shade of gold with a wiry texture he’d never seen before. With her rich toffee skin and light blue eyes, it gave her an exotic look to match her exotic name—Cissy Trahan, he’d learned, of the Bayou Gauche Trahans.

“I’m Creole, cher,” she replied with a laugh. “There’s no telling what a Creole child is going to look like until they are a few years old. There’s enough color in my family that I have dark skin and enough French to have gold hair and blue eyes. How do you like the tea? Do you need some more?” she asked politely.

“I’m fine.” Lleu found himself enchanted by this unusual woman. He was also enjoying just being with another person, not something he was accustomed to. He was very old and had enough mental scars that he was uncomfortable in the company of others. As he’d sipped the three cups of tea—he wasn’t a tea drinker, either—he’d kept tasting it for potions or drugs.

“There was a time when a Creole woman with my coloring would have been highly sought after. They called us quadroons, courtesans and mistresses of the wealthy men of New Orleans. You, though—” she said as she turned and sauntered toward him, “I don’t know what you are.”
“Why do you say that?” he slurred. Lleu felt uneasy but couldn’t figure out why he should be bothered by her remark. She slid onto his lap, her long, slim legs straddling his hips. She slipped her hands over his shoulders and locked them behind his neck.

“Because, cher, it should not have taken so long to enthrall you.”
The unease flashed to a five-bell alarm, but he couldn’t seem to get his body to stir—other than his privates, anyway. That would be the point behind her enthralling me, he thought to himself. This kind of treachery is why I keep to myself!

“Are you in the habit of enthralling everyone you meet, then?” he asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm despite being slightly slurred.

“Only the ones I wish to waylay,” she said, smirking.

“And you wished to waylay me why?”

“Purely selfish reasons, cher,” she said, her voice heavy with arousal as she grabbed a double handful of his hair, jerking his head back sharply. Lleu’s thoughts scattered when she lowered her head and drew her tongue from the base of his throat to just under his chin.

“And what reason is that, m’bandraoi diultach?” He gulped as her teeth nipped his chin, hard enough to sting without drawing blood.

“Donnella offered me an elfin spell if I promised to waylay her pursuers. For the chance to spend one night with an elf, I couldn’t resist,” the woman whispered in his ear. He realized she’d discovered it was pointed when her tongue lightly traced the outline of it. Ah, gods!

“You might have just asked if you wanted to mate, m’bandraoi diultach.” He groaned harshly when she wiggled her tight little butt and ground her center into his.

“What does that mean?” she whispered into his ear.

“What does what mean?” Lleu slurred, his mind completely fogged. His hands had crept around her trim waist of their own accord. One was holding her hips tightly to his swollen groin while the other was working her top up her back.

“What you called me, m’bandraoi diultach. What does it mean? I don’t know your language.”

“My treacherous witch.” He gulped as her teeth gently raked his lobe. “It means ‘my treacherous witch’ in elvish.” He whimpered when she pulled away to brush his hair back from his face, exposing a nasty scar from a sword cut that had almost beheaded him. He fought to make his eyes focus on her face and saw her eyes widen in shock. Not what she was expecting! his inner beast gloated. Lleu silently agreed. The little female may not have chosen him with honor or even an understanding of what she was doing, but she had chosen him. Her bright blue eyes locked with his then widened farther.

“Your eyes! I can see something moving behind them!” she gasped. Lleu clamped his arms down, steel vises holding the wildly squirming female from getting away.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Your games woke my wolf, m’bandraoi. Did no one ever warn you about using sex magic to enthrall a shifter lord?”



Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Blade Runner ~ Rabbit With a Rapier

Yeah, you try finding a decent picture of a rabbit holding his nano-tech blade.

Greetings, Shapeshifter lovers, may tomorrow’s Full Moon in the water sign of Cancer assist you in bringing forth the practical goal you desire most.

Last week, Blade Runner, my outer space rabbit shapeshifter, made his first appearance in Talbot’s Peak. I get to blame the following flash scene on our beloved Pat Cunningham.

And, I quote from last week: “A kick-ass bunny in a world of carnivores ... yeah, he'd better be tough. I'd love to see him take down one of the Tiger Yakuza. Then head out for the Pleasure Club for some time with the ladies afterwards.”

Okay, the scene didn’t quite turn out that way. However, Pat is very inspiring.

Rabbit With a Rapier

Blade Runner slid his translucent weapon from his sleeve. The flash of movement temporarily halted the rapid stealthy approach of a Ninja type – so he assumed by his study of Earth warriors, movies included.

The pungent-meat smell of tiger caused panic to grip his belly. That is, before his warrior training kicked in, and the power of his legs doubled.

With the Goddess Moon nearing her full display of beauty, Blade caught the shadow-like movements easily. By the hungry odor of the tiger ninja, he knew he was being hunted as prey. Not as an enemy.

On the trail of a wealthy heiress who frequented the Interspecies Pleasure Club of late, he’d obviously stepped into more of a turd-pile situation than he’d bargained for.

Aware it was too late to make a weaving dash for it, or summon up his ability to time-phase, Blade stood his ground in the large clearing near the club.

He sliced the night air with his wand-slim weapon, preparing to win. Super-speed moving from tree to tree, the tiger human stalked him.

With ultra-quick precision, Blade performed a series of martial art moves. Prism colors ribboned from the swift spin of his weapon. Still, the hidden tiger looked for his opportunity to attack, and dine.

Sensing the ninja’s rush toward his back, Blade whirled. He met the tiger-man’s leaping flight, and their blades collided. In a frenzy of moves, they counter-attacked each other, looking for weaknesses.

Using the clearing as a battle arena, they moved back and forth in near silence. The punishing blows of their blades as they struck each other only fueled Blade.

With his blood a ferocious heat, he jumped, kicked off his expensive loafers, and formed his rabbit feet. Whirling like a mini cyclone, the ninja morphed to part tiger, part human. He sprang, his fangs shining in the moonlight.

Blade spun across the clearing with his own tornadic force. Leaping high, he whipped around in mid air. As the tiger-headed ninja launched, ready to snap him in half, Blade thumped him between the eyes. Hard.

Huge claws scraped his sides and Blade rapidly pistoned his legs, kick-boxing the beast’s eyes. With a split second’s advantage, he threw his weight forward, plunging his weapon between the tiger’s glazed, but savagely feral eyes.

Even though, it rubbed his ears the wrong way, he let go of his prized blade to somersault backward, then land on his feet. Jerking it free would not have allowed him to stand clear as he did now.

“It won’t kill him.” The feminine voice confidently spoke from behind him.

Blade dived for his weapon. Pulling it free, he whirled to face another possible enemy. However, a wolfen man he recognized as Brandon Wayne’s good friend, and the G&B crime reporter, approached.

“Quite a story, if I were to write it for the Guts and Butts Gazette.” White Fang’s dry tone was a good-natured tease. Although, his expression remained close to grim. “There’s a special containment area for members of the Yakuza I’m aware of. I’ll take care of it. Go see to your wounds. Blade Runner, isn’t it?”

Tilting his head in formal acknowledgment, Blade straightened to his full height, then bowed his head slightly. “Yes, that is my name, Mr. Kent.” Instinctively knowing when to leave well enough alone, especially since it involved the Yakuza, he added. “Thank you.”

“You can thank my associate, Xakara. She heard your fight as she passed by.”

“Your hearing must be superior.” Blade bowed at the waist, as the diminutive woman minced over the forest floor toward him.

Dainty in the extreme, her filmy garments fluttered around her like the mists of his meadowland home, now three light years away. Unabashedly, Blade stared at the beautiful, orb-round shape of her breasts. He honored her tiny waist, then the ripe flare of her hips with his appreciative gaze.

Once Xakara stood before him, she smiled like a vixen. Blade wondered if she was a fox shifter, even though, he detected no telltale scent. Instead, the fragrance of summer wildflowers enveloped him, and made him want to roll with her all night long.

“Blade Runner,” she sang soft as a breeze. Her eyes were pure sorcery as she gazed at him. The large shimmering pools, the color of smoke and wild iris, invited him to dive in for a vigorous and lengthy swim.

“At your service, most lovely one.” Cupping her delicate hand inside his, he lifted her palm to his lips and touched a kiss. “If you’ll excuse me a moment.”

Keeping his gaze fastened on Xakara, Blade took a few steps back. He shifted back to full human, the cold ground reminding him he was barefoot.

Thinking to recover his loafers later, he raised his arms. With a twirl of his weapon, and flick of his wrist, he placed the blade back inside his sleeve pocket.

“Oooh, a rabbit with a rapier,” Xakara cooed. “From what I witnessed your fighting prowess is impressive, Blade Runner.”

She swayed toward him, while his male ego expanded to the size of the universe. “Are you as talented,” she paused, her gaze alighting on his fluffed cock, “with another rapier?”

“I am a rabbit, lovely one. You’ve never heard of our well-deserved mating reputation?” he bantered.

“Your shoes, Blade Runner,” White Fang hollered. An instant later, they landed beside him. “You’re safe inside the club. Xakara will take care of you.”

“I will.” With obvious flirtation, she shook her cascading waves of ebony hair, then slanted a seductive look at him.

Fascinated by the silvery blue shimmer of her tresses, Blade couldn’t determine if it was the magic of the moonlight, or because of her kind – still a mystery to him.

Their hands met and clasped. Blade had never felt this weightless over a woman.



Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Monday, January 17, 2011

Close Encounters

Leona turned in a slow circle to examine all angles in the dressing-room mirror. The dress was red as sin and rode her curves like a jockey. Its bodice gave the illusion she had more up top than Nature had provided. She pulled her thick ebony hair into an upsweep to test the effect. Nice, but would it stop a man dead in his tracks? Only one way to find out.

She stepped out of the dressing room. “How about this one?”

The look in Brand’s eyes answered all her questions and sparked a couple of naughty ones. His gaze started at her legs and worked its hungry way up her body, over her faux bustline to her face. He didn’t growl, as a wolf might have; he made one of those high-pitched sounds bats used when hunting prey. “That one’s definitely a keeper.”

“It’s a little short for a formal party.”

“I wasn’t thinking about the party.”

His expression made it clear what he’d been thinking of. Leona’s thoughts had been running in similar channels since she and Brand started dating. She turned in a slow, enticing circle just to hear his high-pitched whistle again. Her mind calculated how quickly she could get this dress off her body. She suspected Brand was figuring the same.

“None of this is about the party, is it?” she teased him. “You just wanted a fashion show.”

“I want to see you outshine every other woman at Hancock’s gala. If I wanted a fashion show I’d have had you model lingerie.”

“That can be arranged.”

“I was counting on it.”

What’s happened to me? Leona wondered. Where was the suspicious, hard-edged reporter? “Leona” and “soft” had never belonged in the same sentence before. One look at Brand and the razor-clawed panther turned into a purring kittycat. Not that she minded. “Okay, this one goes into the buy pile. You don’t have to foot the bill for this.”

“As I told you from the beginning, my motives are entirely selfish. Let’s see the blue number again. I think that’s our party dress.”

She grinned at him. “Our?”

“Yours. It wouldn’t look as good on me. I don’t have the legs for it.”

“Your legs are just fine.” So was his butt, his arms and his lips. Leona, you stupid cat, she chided, you’ve fallen for a man again. What’s wrong with you? She swept back into the dressing room. “Be right out.”

One quick change later Leona emerged, this time sheathed in a shimmering gown the blue of tropical skies. Brand had wandered off. Leona raked her gaze over the shop’s interior. She didn’t find Brand. She did find disaster.

Oh Bast. Devon Hancock.

Before she could duck back into the dressing room, he spotted her. He started across the floor. Leona held her ground and kept her claws retracted for the time being. “Devon. What a surprise.”

His gaze took her in just as Brand’s had, minus her tingly response. She’d walked away from Devon long ago, once she stopped being such a foolish, star-struck kitten. Thank Bast for the lack of lingering after-effects.

“Holy scat, Leona,” he said. “You look fantastic.”

“Thanks.” And you sound different, she thought. “I hope you’re not looking for a dress.”

He chuckled. “Not for myself. Wouldn’t that be a hoot, though? Show up in a ball gown and tell Daddy I’ve gone swishtail. No, I don’t think so. That’d be mean. Funny, but mean.”

Really? It sounded like just the kind of stunt he’d liked to pull back when she’d known him. Back when they’d both been young and stupid. She managed to hide her surprise. Like “Leona” and “soft,” “Devon” and “mature” had never been known to mingle. Wonder who she is, Leona thought. Who made a wolf out of the puppy?

The answer glided to his side like Death on padded paws. The woman took his arm in a proprietary grip and regarded Leona out of hooded emerald eyes. Her voice was a throaty purr with a razor in it. “Did I hear you say Leona?”

At that moment Brand returned, with a selection of clutch purses. He held one up to Leona’s dress. “Yes, this should work. I’ll leave the shoes to you.” He pretended he only now noticed Devon. “Well. Mr. Hancock. Fancy meeting you here.”

Devon drew himself erect. “Likewise, Mr. Wayne.”

While the males postured and puffed out their chests, the females sized each other up. Another cat, Leona saw. What was it with Devon and cat-tail? This one, however, wasn’t any empty-headed kitty. Something about this one sent Leona back to the ancestral jungle, and life-or-death fights over prey.

But not over Devon. That was long over. She slid her arm around Brand’s waist to make that clear. The other cat noted the action and relaxed somewhat. An uneasy truce grew between them.

“Honey,” Devon started in, “this is Leona Lane, my – ”

“Old friend,” Leona cut in smoothly. She smiled at the other woman, who bared her teeth in response.

“Uh, yeah. Leona, Mr. Wayne, this is Rakshashi, my fiancée.”

Leona barely hid her gasp. Devon’s intended failed at hiding her own. “Well,” Brandon said. “It appears congratulations are in order.”

“You could say that. You mind keeping it quiet? I intend to announce it at the party.” Devon smiled viciously. “Daddy doesn’t know yet. I want it to be a surprise.”

“You’ve succeeded,” Rakshashi muttered. She was clearly in shock.

“Yeah. Oh scat. I’m sorry, darling. I was going to ask you at lunch.” He folded his body around her smaller form, the wolf in full protection mode. “Would you two excuse us? We need to talk.”

“Yes,” Rakshashi said. “That would be wise.”

The couple hurried away. Leona watched the retreat with a number of wild emotions swirling through her brain. Regret, however, was not among them. “Some things don’t change,” she murmured. “Like him. Never thinks things through. I hope he realizes what he’s let himself in for.”

“And you don’t mean only marriage,” Brand said. “You know who she is, don’t you?”

Leona nodded. “Shere Khan’s daughter. Devon’s really stepped in it. All four paws.”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “Sounds like quite a story.”

“I’m sure there is, but I won’t be telling it. Devon’s a beta wolf shoved in an alpha suit. He never deserved to be raked over the coals. I’ll leave that to Maggie.” And leave Maggie to face the wrath of the tigress. The notion cheered her immensely. “Now him, on the other hand … ”

She nodded toward the far side of the floor, and the tiger pawing distractedly through a rack of cocktail dresses. Somehow she doubted he was a swishtail either. Not with that tense body language, or the bulge of the gun beneath his jacket.

Brand nodded fractionally. “The one who’s been following us all morning?”

“You noticed?”

“I make it my business to notice.”

“Same here.” She leaned in close to him. From a distance they looked like no more than a couple in love. She whispered in his ear. “I could do with a bite of lunch myself. Or a bite of something. Let me get out of this and we’ll take off. Let’s see what our shadow does.”


For anyone with a book ready to go, and Penguin Publishing are running their Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award again. Published authors can enter. You have to join CreateSpace, but that's no big deal. I entered two years ago and made the semifinals. I don't expect to get anywhere this year, but I'm using the deadline to motivate myself into whipping an old (non-romance) fantasy ms. into shape. They start taking entries next week. Info is available at If anyone wants to give it a shot, let me know how it goes.

Saturday, January 15, 2011


Spirit Bear tossed the tablet on the counter and growled. "Why, my young pervert? Why?"

Shaking his head, he walked to the rear of the store and opened the double doors leading to the loading dock. "Night Hawk, can you and Mickey watch the store for a few hours?"

Night Hawk bound up the loading dock stairs. His eyes roved over the dock and back to Spirit Bear. "Yes, Shaman. We can do this."

Spirit Bear reached out and touched Night Hawk's shoulder. "Be careful what you say away from the tribe. None know of my power and prowess here in the city."

"Too many eyes and ears to take in secrets and covet what is not theirs to have." Night Hawk nodded as he spoke.

"Do not judge humans too harshly. They are part of us and in many ways we them. Our human half understands our magic and power in ways full humans cannot. Jealousy and ambition mask the real fear." Spirit Bear moved into the store, stopping close to the door marked office.

"What is the real fear?" Night Hawk opened the door, smiling as Mickey looked up.

"Fear of not belonging. Not being accepted and valued. Many think to acquire and horde. They seek to build up that which they cannot find in themselves." Tongson moved into the office.

"Mickey, thank you for updating my accounting system and entering all the data."

"You're welcome Sha---" Mickey hesitated seeing Night Hawk's vigorous head shake.

"Night Hawk, please sit down so I can quickly explain what I need you and Mickey to do." Spirit Bear rounded his desk and opened two drawers.

Tossing several forms on the desk, he motioned Mickey and Night Hawk closer. "On the shelves are several tomes in ancient languages. Mark the number we have on this form. The Magic Institute in Montreal wants to borrow a few for a display on magic and superstition. Without knowledge of what period and time, I am not sure letting magic information out of the tribe's reach is a good thing."

"I can take care of that." Mickey picked up the form.

"Night Hawk, please inventory the set of books and spell casting reference books in the case closest to the front. They are mundane and beginners level. There might be a book or two there that the Institute can use." Night Hawk reached for his form.

"Remember if anyone asks how you know me, I am a great uncle." Spirit Bear opened one more drawer. He pulled out a black bag and began packing crystals and two animal images in it.

"What do you take with you?" Night Hawk and Mickey watched intently.

"I take power with me." Tongson held up two blue crystals. "These will show me where Danny fled. The red one will show me his heart."

"Why did he flee? I don't understand." Mickey's sad face tugged at Tongson's heart.

"Ah, my young doe. Danny fled because he's scared. Change and acceptance are not easy for one who has not known either." Tongson pulled on his coat and slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Acceptance is better than loneliness. Belonging is what we all seek." Night Hawk helped Mickey to her feet.

"Yes, my children. Except Danny is afraid. His heart changes as we speak. He could not leave without a note and thanks. I suspect he will be back." Tongson reached the door and turned. "And of his own free will too."


Mid January and snow (that miserable four letter word) is flying around all over. Even Hawaii has snow. How the world and climate can still amaze us!

Danny is off on an adventure that has me even wondering if he's lost his mind. Tune in as his story continues. Spirit Bear is following him. Let's hope neither ends up in something over their head.

Share a book or two with your loved ones and friends. Take time to enrich your mind and heart.

Have a great weekend!


Friday, January 14, 2011

Aussie Game On!

“Buggering clacker,” Burgess wandered through the sea of parked cars wishing he could jog out his frustrations, but with the crack of fat in his pants he be more likely to hurt something he hoped to be using soon. “Whinging whacker!”

“I’ve always loved that about the souls down under, anger equals incomprehensible Australian slang.”

“Holy Dooley, Tongson, ya right bastard. Scared the cranky right out of me…it’s good to be seeing you, mate.” Here was the bloke the Elder Council had sent him up here to talk to about the Tiger Yakooza’s sticky fingering of their tutelaries. “Hang out in parking ramps often?”

“Only when I have to track down a naughty little pervert who thinks to escape his punishment.”

“I think I met your wee perv tonight, Tongson. Shifty little mink interrupted what could have been hours of raging submissive naughtiness that would leave me grinning like a shot fox for the rest of my time in this bloody cold dunny!”

“You know…” The Spirit Bear looked him over, top to bottom, and let him know with the twinkle of an eye that his own sexual hedonism’s were clearly on display. “I think, Elder Orgrove sent me just the right penguin to fix both our problems.”

“Does your plan include me skinning the little bugger and chaffering off his hide on the black market?” Yeah, he’d be willing to bet that soft little mink fur would be a real bargain to the right woman in this freezing land.

“Ha! You could definitely put the fear of the deities in my little pervert, but the more important lesson to be learned, I think, can come from the interaction between you and a certain colorful bird. You game, Aussie?”

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Squirrel Interupted and Other Amusing Tales

Hi and welcome to your Wednesday fix of Shapeshifter Seductions. Rebecca here, writing while huddled in front of my heater, wearing a fluffy afghan like it was an article of clothing and sipping hot chocolate laced with Bailey‘s. How about those frigid temps hitting most of the northern hemisphere? Normally I’d be wishing I was down south, but I’d rather be freezing than trying to outrun a wall of flood water like they did in Australia this week!

Let’s get right to the news stories, shall we? This first one has nothing to do with shape shifters but it was just too good not to include in the blog. A man in Union, NJ, stabbed 2 women while seeking the portal to hell in their shed. A woman noticed stuff that was supposed to be in the shed strewn around the yard last Friday morning and went to investigate.

Rules of engagement in horror movies say that was a very bad idea- the woman who investigates something like that is destined to be attacked by a knife-wielding weirdo. The woman’s roommate trying to help just fed into the Rule of Stuff You Shouldn’t Do. Luckily, the neighborhood hero, baseball bat in hand, came to their rescue and knocked said weirdo out after sustaining a few stab wounds himself. No, I did not make any of that up.

Also in the news last week was a wedding between 2 magic snakes in Cambodia. The ceremony, recommended by fortune tellers, lasted two hours and was attended by hundreds of villagers. The bride was a sixteen-foot, two hundred pound python who’d been a part of the Vy family for sixteen years. The groom was just recently caught by Ms. Min Hao but in those few short days had already come to be like a son to her. I really liked this story. Unlike a lot of the oddball stories out there, this one has nothing but happy vibes. Most Cambodians are animists and also Buddhists. It’s almost a shame that more religions can’t be this benign about how to find peace and good luck in the new year.

Last but not least, a video that has inspired me to write a bit of flash fiction. A squirrel found itself in a tiger enclosure at the Buffalo, NY, zoo and lived to tell the tale.

As I sat watching this vid, a whole scenario popped into my head. It would seen Gil got into trouble trying to get a few wolf hairs so the coven could alter the shape shifting spell so he could not be a squirrel any more. For those of you just tuning in, a while ago Pat wrote a bit of flash involving Gil who just wanted to be a werewolf… but wasn’t careful enough about his sources when obtaining is magic-working supplies. Here’s the link back to that post.

And without further ado, Squirrel Interrupted:


“Where was that wolf enclosure again?” Gil asked himself aloud. Everything looked different as a squirrel than it did has a human. The zoo kept the wolves indoors at night to avoid noise complaints from the home owner’s association for the high-dollar condos down the street. Complaining about howling wolves because your dumb ass bought a condo right next to a zoo was up there in the stupid rankings right next to bitching about noisy airplanes after buying a home next to an airport but he had to admit it was to his advantage. There was no way he’d be able to get into the wolf enclosure to get a sample of hairs in his human form and no way he’d be able to get past the wolves as a squirrel.

He was still smarting a bit at the way the jackass magical supply dealer had laughed at him when he demanded a full refund on his last purchase. He’d been told he was buying wolf hairs, not squirrel hairs. That simple fact, in Gil’s book, meant the “sold as-is” clause was null and void. That’s what he got for patronizing a donkey, though.

Ah! This must be it, he though gleefully. He took a quick glance around to make sure there were no zoo keepers or guards around and darted into the enclosure.

Twenty minutes later…

“Now lady, maybe we can talk this over,” Gil said to the tigress below. He wished all he had to do was console a pissed-off female, but she looked way too pleased with herself.

“You bet, my luscious morsel,” she purred like a cat lapping up cream. “Come on down here and we’ll just have a little heart-to-heart chat, shall we?”

Gil looked down at her then up at the softly glowing full moon. On the one hand, he would be able to shift back to human form as soon as it set. On the other hand, he had no idea how he was going to explain being naked in a tiger pen…

“You don’t want to eat me,” he chuckled nervously. “I’m way too stringy.”

“You are male,” she purred happily. “And if my nose is correct, you aren’t only a little squirrel. I have not had a male in a long, long time…”

Oh shit. Gil gulped nervously. It just dawned on him how unlikely it would be for a real tiger to be able to talk to a talking were-squirrel.


That’s about it for this week. Have a marvelous rest of the week!


Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Blade Runner ~ Rabbit Shapeshifter

An homage to Harvey, the giant invisible rabbit.

Greetings Shapeshifter lovers, currently my thoughts are a mishmash. And, I even have a good reason. I spent a good portion of the day battling a snowfall, and the resulting accumulation. Yeah, it was one of those times I had to get out and get stuff done before even worse weather moved in.

BTW, anyone ever found a rabbit under the hood of their car, van, etc.? I’ve never found a rabbit under my hat, but yesterday before I left, I started the minivan, then opened the hood to check the antifreeze level. Suddenly, I was staring at a rabbit. I screamed because it was so unexpected. Poor bunny, a cottontail, scrambled and dived out the way it had probably gotten in, at the back of the engine block. It was a tight squeeze, but I’m assuming, hoping Bunny is okay, and in a better comfy spot.

With the Chinese Year of the Rabbit on the near horizon, I had to wonder if this was spiritually significant. Maybe, as I suspect from other happenings, Rabbit wants his/her own shapeshifter story. Yes, I have a few WIPs. One of them deals with the Rabbit as time traveler, which is a traditional role for Rabbit in some cultural myths.

So, can a Rabbit Shapeshifter survive in Talbot’s Peak, a town owned by a Werewolf pack?

Blade Runner ~ Rabbit Shapeshifter

Banished from the Mother Ship because of his lackadaisical, don’t-give-hop performance, Blade Runner maneuvered his flight sphere into the densest part of the forest that surrounded Talbot’s Peak.

So he’d made a deal to get a lighter sentence, and agreed to report on the inner workings of Earth’s shapeshifter community. Turds, he was better off avoiding the hungry fangs of the werewolf population than patrolling the Warren workstations.

As a quality control officer, he’d been cross-eyed with boredom. Overseeing who did their job well, and who wasn’t up to hippity-hop par, had long since lost its appeal as a route for advancement.

Using his mental prowess, Blade settled the plasma light sphere within a huge thorny thicket close to the underground cavern he’d claimed as his own. It hadn’t taken that long to spook the trolls into leaving for good.

Given the sphere adjusted its size, Blade generally traveled as his rabbit self. It made him less of a target for UFO hunters, ghost hunters, and the black ops squads. Now, he hopped through the plasma skin, and entered his cavern home.

Minutes later, he’d shifted to human form and dressed in a sleek, about-town suit. The dark chocolate color emphasized his brown eyes and matched his slicked-back hair. In contrast his open, white silk shirt showed off his Latte-colored skin.

After a glance at himself in his makeshift holo mirror, Blade reached for the weapon that was his trademark. The slim nano-platinum blade was the length of his forearm. He slipped it neatly into the hidden pocket of his sleeve.

When it came to the weapon’s use, no other Rabbit Warrior had ever defeated him in sports combat. He’d retained the title, First Blade, for so long, the name had stuck like a fur-buried burr.

Moving to the only empty area of his comfort-filled home, Blade time-phased into the hallway outside of Nick’s office. No time like the present to convince the editor of the Guts and Butts Gazette he needed a reporter who had access to the highest social circles, unlike the butt-sniffing, gossip-mongering Maggie.

“Where the scat-hell did you come from?” Nick snarled. His eyes glowed dangerously, and the points of his fangs gleamed.

Blade gave him a small unconcerned grin. He took a moment to casually adjust his suit jacket, then pointed straight up.

When Nick growled menacingly, and his claws burst out, Blade offered his hand, human style. “I’m an intergalactic traveler. I also travel in the elite social circles. Give Brandon Wayne a ring. He’ll give me the wingtips up.” Pausing an instant to assess the werewolf, he added, “Blade Runner is the handle.”

Ignoring Blade’s extended hand, Nick nodded toward his office. “Let’s talk more about your qualifications. You can also explain why you smell like a buck rabbit.” Pivoting toward the open door, Nick halted. “Enter at your own risk,” he growled over his shoulder. “I missed a meal.”

“I’m an extraterrestrial species and not palatable to your kind.”

“Yeah, yeah, save it for those who believe in that woo-woo, outer limits scat. If you got creds with the Big Bat I’m all pricked ears, Fluffy Tail.”

“Speaking of tail...” Blade did some sniffing of his own. “I can offer excellent advice on mating with the female of your choice.”

“Shut up!” Nick snapped his jaws. Indicating the chair before his desk, he growled, “Sit, humper thumper.”

Some ten minutes later, Nick stared at him with a dumbfounded expression. Not because the ‘Big Bat’ had verified his claim that he could report on the rich and famous from the inside, but because...

“A Star Trek Cottontail... well, ain’t that just grand. Welcome, Fluffy Tail, to Earth. But, you mess up here and I’ll not only fire your ass, I’ll eat it.”

Blade savored his urge to draw forth his version of a rapier, and prove to the werewolf his rabbit ass wasn’t so easily dined upon. However, he contented himself with the knowledge that he’d gotten precisely what he wanted. For now.

Hippity-hop, hippity-hop. A buck bunny like him wasn’t so easy to stop.



Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Monday, January 10, 2011

Show Stopper

What the hell you doing, Jamie’s head said to the legs carrying head and body down the stairs into the Interspecies Pleasure Club. This ain’t your kind of place. Get your tail out of here now.

Too late. His legs kept him walking behind the wolf waiter who guided him to a table by the stage. There they sat his body down. He was committed now. Might as well treat himself to dinner and a drink big enough to ease his nerves and shut his head up for awhile. This wasn’t home. Nobody knew him here. Nothing too bad could happen to him, could it?

The waiter handed him a flagon. “Compliments of Miss Gypsy.”

“Thanks,” Jamie said, even though he didn’t know any Miss Gypsy. He prayed it wasn’t Lamar in drag. That’d be too much to take.

Since lighting was dim down here he sipped at the flagon and let his nose bring him up to speed. “Interspecies” sure hit the prey in the throat. He picked up whiffs of a dozen wolves from at least three separate packs, cats all over creation, a buck deer in leather and chains, three types of birds and a clutch of coyotes. Most were dressed in biker costume, except for the ladies, who seemed to take “dressed” more like a suggestion. A few of the fellahs followed their lead. Jamie kept his eyes on his flagon and his thoughts to himself. The contents were beer, and not half bad.

Everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves. Jamie felt too wound up to join in. He didn’t see or smell Lamar, or anyone else he knew. Okay then. Finish his beer, say his good-nights and scoot on home before any of this depravity rubbed off on him.

Before he’d enjoyed another gulp the lights dimmed out except for a spotlight on the stage. A lean, limber she-wolf with legs as long as the Mississippi slithered onto the stage. She wore a gauzy wrap over a few strips of leather set in strategic places and a thick cable strung around her neck in place of a bra.

Music started up out of hidden speakers, with a beat hard enough to shake the tables and melodies in the higher registers that only shifter ears could pick up. The she-wolf went into a dance that sparked howls from her audience, even the ones who weren’t wolves. Her performance didn’t do much for Jamie, but he had to admit he liked watching her. She had an energy and a joy about her that lit up the dingy room.

Dang, she was something. Supple as a –


He leaned in closer to the stage and put his nose to work. Spirits of the Loup-garou. That cable round her neck was Lamar.

While she did her dance he went into his, using her body like a stripper pole to coil around. The crowd loved every bit of it. Goodie for them. So that’s why the loopy constrictor had insisted Jamie come here, to watch him slide all over a half-naked woman. In public. Gods of the pack.

He tried not to watch. He sat with his hand over his face but couldn’t resist peeking out between his fingers. Oh, who was he kidding? He couldn’t have looked away if his life depended on it. That damned boa was one big rope of muscle and he had every inch of it under perfect control. Forget the she-wolf – how did even a snake get into positions like that?

Jamie felt a tug on his loins and cursed aloud. The damned snake’s dance had done what the she-wolf’s hadn’t, and fired up Jamie’s mating urge. Thank the Loup-garou he had the table to hide under. You’ll pay for this, he sourly promised Lamar.

The she-wolf stretched out her arm. Lamar twined down it to form a puddle of coils on the stage. The coils shimmered and Lamar rose up in his human shape to continue the dance. The crowd devolved into animal grunts and hoots and whistles.

The boy was buck naked.

Jamie’s hand dropped to the table. Oh Lordy. What the hell did he think he was about, slinking around up there with no clothes on that sexy body, all twisty and flexible and –

Minus a couple essentials. Lamar was as slick downstairs as a Ken doll.

Right, Jamie remembered. Snakes kept their privates tucked away inside. He hadn’t known that applied to snake-shifters too. Sounded like neither had a lot of folks in the crowd. Sight of nothing made a bigger impact than the sight of a male hangin’ loose. All those gasps must be the target he and his partner were aiming for.

It set Jamie to wondering how much Lamar kept hid, and what it would take to get him to show it – no! He didn’t want to find out, dammit!

All of a sudden Lamar twirled himself up to the edge of the stage, right by Jamie’s table, with all his nothing right in Jamie’s face. The shameless bastard grinned down at him. “You like the show so far?” he asked.

“Get the hell away from me, you idjit.”

“Not until you give me a dollar.”

“Ain’t nowhere to tuck it.”

“I can think of a few places. You know your accent gets thicker when you’re flustered?”

“Where’s your’n?”

“Mine comes and goes as circumstances dictate. I don’t fake it with people I like. You owe me a dollar.” He flashed Jamie a bright, cocky smile and swayed back over to rejoin the she-wolf.

Now the audience was watching Jamie as well as the show. The whispers had already started. Jamie hid his head in his hands and wished he was dead. I hate snakes, he thought.