Well, maybe not demand. I wanted to post this on my page but Google wouldn't let me add the picture. Serena offered to load it for me, but I decided to just post on the regular page. So here's your extra Thursday post. Hope you enjoy it.
Today we're going to discuss the origins of Sergei, the Siberian white tiger assassin. He's been described as close to 7 feet tall and favors a long black coat and a slouch hat, mostly to protect his albino's eyes from the sun. Where'd I get this mental image? Take a look at the photo up there. That's the Undertaker, long a staple of professional wrestling. I wanted to create a character who was imposing and scary, and man, is 'Taker scary. Picture all that black hair white and that's Sergei. As I've said elsewhere, I watch waaaaaaay too much television.
Fortunately, Sergei's character is evolving in a totally different direction. Like any good Russian, a poet's heart beats inside his chest. I don't think he'll be holding any cage matches or performing the Tombstone Piledriver on anyone anytime soon. But then, this story's taken a lot of odd twists and turns, so you never know. If Dwayne the Brahma bull shows up, or Stone Cold Steve the Texas rattlesnake, we might just have ourselves a smackdown. Only time will tell.
Four years was a long time to sit and plot revenge. Of course, revenge wasn’t the only thing Anoushka dwelt on. Where there was a will there was a way. Anoushka had spent a good portion of her time thinking about how to beat this cursed… curse. Her name meant “one who fulfills her dreams.” Her dreams had changed these past lonely years, but they were still as vivid as ever. She wanted a home. A real one, not some cave on the side of a floating mountain. She wanted cubs to love and cherish. And yes, she also wanted revenge.
To think this nightmare all started with an innocent prank. It wasn’t even her that pulled it, but rather her brother. Bijay was always pulling them. This time, though, his hijinks knocked a baser over and burned a hole in the master’s new carpet. The master decided that Bijay was too valuable to waste on punishment. He declared the she, his only sister, would pay instead. She was banished to this god-forsaken mountain, cursed to remain forever half-shifted.
The master wasn’t as careful with his curse as he should have been, though. Anoushka found a loophole. With the turning of the calendar from the year of the tiger to the year of the rabbit, there had been a brief lull in the magic that held her. She had almost missed the waning of power. But almost was good enough in this case—she had gotten a hasty spell together and called for help. The villagers had no idea why they were compelled to come to the top of this wind-swept mountain. Nor did they know that the mere presence of a mortal would set her free. No, the master hadn’t crafted his curse nearly as well as he thought he had.
They were almost here, no more than an hour away. So the master felt that losing a treasured, if unvalued, family member was a suitable punishment? Good. He had a son that fit that description very nicely. And Anoushka wanted a mate. Sher Khan would rue the day he decided to punish her for another’s transgressions.
**********
Hope you enjoyed that. I didn't start out to write that bit of flash last night but I was playing around with a new plug-in for my 3D program and the picture at the top just sort of emerged. I just knew she had a story that needed to be told!
Springtime howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers, may there always be a spring in your step, and a sparkle in your eye.
Ever wonder about the villain in a story? What makes him or her tick on the dastardly side of life? For my flash scene, I thought I’d delve into Shere Khan’s mind and being. As ‘emperor’ of the Yakuza in Talbot’s Peak, he plays a starring role. ~~~~~~ Tiger, Wild as a March Hare
‘Wild as a March hare,’ Shere Khan growled under his breath, once he shifted to full tiger and padded over the forest floor. ‘I will show those long-eared rodents what it is to be born wild.’
Scenting the warren of rabbits, he had found when first arriving in Talbot’s Peak, Shere Khan lengthened his stride. He leaped onto the deer trail, taking an inordinate pride in the powerful ripple of his muscles -- in the grace of his silent landing. In the splendid bold length of his tail, always a sign of prowess.
‘I will demonstrate the Tiger still reigns in this Year of the Rabbit.” Shere Khan sneered with a great snort. The disturbed night air stirred up a feast of scents, reminiscent of his youth spent in the wildlands of Japan and China.
Mentally, he praised himself. How wise had his decision been to establish his family, and his organization, in this remote wilderness in North America? Human stupidity, most obviously, was as limitless as the grand celestial kingdom.
With the night’s smells swamping him, Shere Khan experienced moments of real peace. If there was one thing, he would commend the werewolf infestation on, they controlled the riffraff. Either, the wolves ripped out their entrails and dined, or chased them out for sport. Increasingly, the dense forest returned to Life. The life of the Earth Mother.
It was good to be alone. To walk through the shadows and odors of the deep forest at midnight. At times, his iron-clawed rule became an unwelcome burden. His son, Guri, and his cookie addiction, had become a particularly distracting annoyance.
Shere Khan owned his part in coddling the cub. His own heart had betrayed him. He had been unable to separate his son from the mother, who had been determined to keep Guri out of the Yakuza. She had fed him sweet treats as she fed him a useless pablum of ideas about his ‘choices’ in life.
Ah, well, perhaps, he could find the boy a suitable mate, and settle him into some useful position that would provide necessary intel. Perhaps, he would even sponsor a bakery and rival coffee shop in Talbot’s Peak. Shifters and humans gravitated to such weak silliness. They talked like a river overflowing its banks, with little thought about what they revealed. They used those digital devices as though they were an umbilical cord to salvation. More importantly to his criminal enterprise, they conveniently spilled their guts online. Always an advantage to those in his take-over-the-world business.
Shere Khan yawned a superior smile, then stretched into an easy lope. His tiger nature celebrated the closer he ran toward the rabbits, and their spring mating frenzy. At least, the wild hare’s knew the importance of creating progeny. He had to wonder if his progeny understood their duty to the future. To him.
Loosing his own spring fever, Shere Khan madly dashed among the bunny breeding insanity. Turning and twisting, he swiped his giant paws at the ‘wild as a march hare’ bucks who rapidly bounded after mates. Zigzagging crazily, the overly lean bucks avoided everything but the brush of his claws.
Quick as his chasing spins, the screaming rabbits could be heard beneath every available thicket, where they had been enjoying each other. Hump, humpity-hump-hump, fast as fireworks rockets.
Shere Khan rousted the couples without remorse. With the scent of rabbit blood heating his blood to unquenchable fire, he crashed through and against the brambles. More interested in causing havoc and terror, than in dining, Shere Khan made no serious attempt at a kill.
Like a magnificent opera, his power sang through him, a loud splendor that told him who he was. Tiger. Killer. Ruler over life and death.
He’d always been compelled to rule. His very bowels roiled with the need. It was as if a serpent spiraled and rolled inside him constantly. In the past he had calmed this inner serpent with his devoted training in the high Ninja arts. The disciplined joining of spirit and matter gave him mastery over the material world. To a degree. However, it was not the complete perfection he sought.
Agree to leave, tiger-human, and I will give you knowledge to save your empire. The rabbit’s voice cut like a well-used dagger through the red mist of Shere Khan’s beasting frenzy.
He whirled toward the daring buck, wisely hidden in the crevice between two boulders. One of the rabbit’s eyes watched his prowling advance. Save my empire? How would you possess such knowledge, fur coat?
From the one known as Blade Runner. I heard him speak with your enemies.
Shere Khan rumbled a fierce growl, but only for moments. Blade Runner, the extraterrestrial rodent interloper had shamed two of his Ninjas. However, that hardly mattered in comparison to his Yakuza empire.
Agreed. Only if--
There is a meeting tonight, the buck interrupted. The scent of his confidence filled Shere Khan’s nostrils. You will find the Batman, a chef rat, and a super wolf.
Shere Khan’s instincts raged now. His enemies made plans against him. The certainty spun through him with the force of a blade. Where?
Where Louie cooks.
Shere Khan wasted not a further second. Charging toward Talbot’s Peak, he ran until his speed lightened his body weight, until he phased to Flying Tiger. Wisdom dictated, he discover a way to listen while remaining hidden. Greater wisdom suggested he listen well enough to spring his own trap. ~~~~~~
Louie opened the back door and ushered his guests into the kitchen. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a rickety table by the far wall. “Crab puffs’ll be done in a minute. What can I getcha? We got beer, or we got beer.”
Brandon Wayne smiled. “Beer will be fine.” His companion also smiled, but didn’t speak. His eyes and nose took in everything about the small kitchen. He eyed the swinging doors that led to the bar with special attention.
“Bar’s closed,” Louie informed him. “Nobody here but us rats, and whatever the hell you are.” His long nose twitched. “You ain’t from the neighborhood, are you?”
“Hardly,” the other said. “However, our interests coincide.”
“Huh?”
“White Fang’s with us,” Brand translated. “He’s here to see Shere Khan taken down.”
“If you say so.” Louie seated his guests, brought them beers with a third for himself, and went to the oven for the crab puffs.
A squirrel scampered down from a shelf to perch on the back of Louie’s chair. White Fang smiled at it. “Well, hello, little fellow. I take it you’re the sous chef?”
The squirrel flared its tail and said, “Bite me.”
“Go easy on him, pal, he’s new.” Louie set the platter of crab puffs on the table and took his seat. The squirrel trotted up his arm and sat on his shoulder. “White Fang, this is Gil. He’s one of the family.”
“Only temporarily,” the squirrel said. “I get my cure, I’m out.” He focused on White Fang. “Brand says you have connections.”
“That depends,” White Fang said cautiously. “What are we talking about?”
“Gil here’s a special case,” Louie said. “He ain’t a born shifter like us. He did this half-assed spell – ”
“I wouldn’t call it half-assed. It worked, didn’t it? I mean, look.” The squirrel spread his paws. “Full moon rises, here I sit. Trouble is, I was supposed to be a wolf. The asshole who sold me the magic gave me the wrong fur. You better not be laughing, mister. I’ll chew your tail off.”
“I’m not laughing,” White Fang assured him. “I know I’m outnumbered here.”
“You got that right,” Louie said. “Batman, Superrat and Wonder Squirrel. Welcome to the Rodent Hall of Justice.” He swung on Brand. “How come all’a sudden you smell like a cat?”
“Brand is dating Leona Lane,” White Fang said. “Exclusively, I hear.”
“The cat lady? Whoo. You got more guts than me. Okay. Down to business.” He took a pull on his beer. Brand selected a crab puff and passed one to Gil. “I had a visit tonight from Crocker, Shere Khan’s cleanup man. He tried to lean on me. This is me leaning back. Crocker thinks maybe I heard or saw more things than I should’a when I worked in the kitty’s kitchen.”
“Did you?” Brand asked bluntly.
Louie grinned, his yellow teeth showing. “Of course I did. I’m a rat. It’s our nature to snoop. I don’t have all the pieces, but I can put a puzzle together. Khan’s building a library. The kind they got at Hogwarts, if you catch my drift.”
“Caught it,” White Fang said. “You’ve seen this library? You’ve actually seen the books?”
“Not me personal, but Gil here, he – ”
“West side of the house, in a floor safe under a Persian rug with a tiger design on it,” Gil said. They stared at him. He shrugged his little gray shoulders. “There’s an oak tree right outside the window.”
“Ain’t he something?” Louie’s grin spread. “He don’t smell at all like a shifter. When he’s a squirrel he smells like a squirrel, when he’s human he smells like a human. Khan got anything like him? No way. Gil’s a rat’s kind of spy.”
“Hey, man, I’m just a temp. One of those books is bound to have a spell in it to reverse the magic on me. That’s all I’m interested in.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” White Fang promised him. “How many books has he gathered so far?”
“I’ve seen three for sure. There may be others. If you’re going in there, watch your tails. Khan’s got this new guy. A big white tiger.”
“Yes. We’ve met.”
“And you came away breathing? Holy cow. I’ve seen the dude in action. Makes me happy he can’t climb trees. Just watch yourself, that’s all I’m saying.”
“I don’t think he’ll be a problem,” Brand said. “All right, gentlemen, here’s what we do.” They drank their beers and devoured the crab puffs and spoke long into the night.
White swirls of clouds danced before him. Edges of bone white lace filtered through his mind and settled along his peripheral vision. A cat like purr followed by a yowl brushed his ear. Light, diffused by the cloudy smoke rings surrounding him, pierced the perimeter of his magic circle. Only one who knew him dared to come this close and seek entrance.
Tongson shivered as two blast of icy bone chilling air enveloped him. Raising his hands, he waved and chanted. "Be gone any who seek to harm. All within this circle are mine and protected. If you be friend, show yourself now!"
Calling on his spiritual half, Tongson inhaled deeply and blew out his mouth. As he cupped his hand to his eyes, an image began to take shape in front of him. Two blues eyes followed by a cat like snarl shaped as the torso shimmered and glowed. Human in stature and feline in markings and physicality, his visitor formed near the center of his circle.
"Serge," Tongson whispered.Spirit Bear willed his breathing to slow and calm to exude through out him. Turning, he faced the white tiger shifter encroaching on his space.
They mimicked each other pacing around the circle until both had traced the outer circumference twice. Tongson stepped inward and waited. Would Serge follow?
Serge eyed the tall longhaired grizzly watching him patiently through dark human eyes. Human features fooled those who did not know the strength and wiliness of the one who watched and remained silent. Neither had forgotten their lessons. Nothing was ever taken for granted. Illusion could be its own weapon. Each had chosen their life's path. Vastly different and yet so alike. Serge moved forward. Tongson stayed where he stood, waiting.
Serge tossed back his head and roared. Human laughter followed. Regaining his composure, he offered Tongson his hand as he telepathically spoke. "Good to see you my old friend. I hoped the pathway we created as teens still worked."
Tongson grasped Serge's hand. Two paws of different species formed and brushed together.The two shifters briefly embraced. "It has been many moons and seasons since we last spoke via this medium. Why now?"
Serge stepped back, creating a small space between them. He raised his paw in the air and circled it over his head. "Keep what is said within this space and place. Let none know what passes here."
Tongson raised his paw and copied Serge's motions, repeating the magic words that bound the air surrounding them.
Serge squatted on his haunches and drew squiggles in the dirt near him. "My employer seeks more than he can handle or understand. My blood vow to him is running out. He saved members of my family two eons ago. My soul vow to the Gods and Goddesses over powers whatever else he thinks he's done to bind me permanently to him."
Tongson nodded. Sitting cross-legged, he picked up a hand of dirt and blew on it. "As the dust settles so does the corruption of his limited soul. Darkness eats at him taking away more and more of his humanity. Soon all that will be left is a caged animal pacing and looking for a way out."
Serge drew more images and spat on them. "I am bound to protect the innocent and those unaware of what is happening. Know you and yours are safe for now. I will not fight you unless I have to to keep mine safe. I know you understand."
Serge looked up. His eyes met Tongson's.
Tongson rose. "And I the same, my friend. I must preserve what matters most. The power he seeks is not his to own or possess. Only the Gods and Goddesses decide who it is bestowed upon. But many do not understand this."
Serge stood. Dusting off his hands, he turned ready to leave the circle. His tail switched as a familiar scent filled his nostrils. Gypsy was returning.
"Be safe my friend. Do not destroy the books. Hide them well. Do not tell me where or how. Then I cannot lie when asked what do I know." Serge reached the edge of the circle when Tongson's voice reached him.
"Be well my friend. Know your soul is not red from taking lives when you had to in self-defense. Do not kill without reason. And to your heart's question. . ." Tongson watched as Serge glanced over his shoulder as the clouds of smoke began to engulf him. "Elana and the kitts are well. My grandmother cares for them."
Tongson watched as Serge disappeared. Was that a smile however brief he flashed before he vanished? Serge's last heartbeat echoed "Thank you. Kiss my sister and nephews for me. Your cousin has done well by her."
Danny kept his eyes trained on the plush carpet cushioning his knees. The fibers were blue with swirls of purple and white—tranquil. It was like a peaceful sea. Perfect for a relaxing spa experience, but at total odds with the sex that was about to be had just a few feet away.
He still couldn’t believe he was being punished. Being forced to listen while Ma’am and Aussie boy had sex…pffht what kind of punishment was that. It seemed more like a reward to him, but who was he to quibble.
Invisible fingers moved slowly up the small of Danny’s back as he listened while Ma’am spoke to the blue headed bloke from down under.
“Ah, my sweet submissive, you’ve waited so patiently…”
Was she touching him? No! It didn’t matter what she was doing. He didn’t want to know.
“Do you know what happens to submissive little fledglings that follow the rules?”
Ball slapping, painful clamps, caning maybe? Impatience beat at Danny as he waited for the other man to speak. Would he fall into the trap and answer her questions and rack up a punishment or two, or would he wait patiently for permission?
“Such a good boy, Burgess…” Her words were followed up by a shuddered breath indicative of pleasure. It sounded like Aussie boy was on the receiving end of something delicious.
What was she doing? Danny was swamped by the overwhelming desire to raise his head just a little. To see if the something delicious was something he really wanted to do, as well.
“Your nipples are still tight and sporting a lovely red. Someday, I would love to place a pair of sweet and stinging clamps on these beauties. Would you like that?”
Again with the quiet Danny was starting to think was meant to disarm him. Torture him with thought of pleasure.
“You may speak, penguino…”
“Yes Mistress, I would love to wear your clamps.”
“Mmm, purrrrfect.”
Was that a purr—A guttural, back of the throat rumble coming from Ma’am? No, it couldn’t be, birds chirped and squawked. They were there to be eaten by, well, animals like him.
Danny squirmed, widened his legs to release his hardening cock and tender balls from their confines between his thighs. He now knew why this was a punishment.
His traitorous predator brain had taken hold and was gluing a picture in front of his eyes. He was hungry, ravenous and beyond aroused at the thought of sidling between their legs and having his merry way with Penny, no Ma’am—and her big blue penguin, too.
You knew it was coming—admit it. There is now an actual movement to nab Prince Harry. In the last week, he’s been listed as one of the most eligible royal bachelors, “Harry-hunting” has become a favorite pass-time of the Paris Hilton set, and the paparazzi is foaming at the mouth in hopes he does something they can trash him over. I admit, I also chase news of Prince Harry, but I’m not hoping or wishing anything on him. He’s always been, to me, everyone’s ornry kid brother. I don’t know if that’s what he’s really like, but I have fun pretending it is and even based one of my characters on the Prince Harry who lives in my imagination. If you ever read any of my Wild Lords stories, just switch “Eddie” for “Harry.” I’d like to think he’d approve of being cast as a royal pain in Rhys’s ass, but alas, it’s just wistfull thinking. Then again, I do like to write fantasies! (I did forget, though. You guys don’t know yet that Eddie drives Rhys up the wall. You’ll find out in my next book.)
So anyway. Enough of my waxing poetic about what a great model Prince Harry makes for fantasy characters. Here’s the continuation of Mooney and his mange:
**********
“Come again soon!” Marissa said brightly as she waved off her last customers of the day. Still smiling, she flipped the lock mechanism, shut the door firmly, then flipped the dead bolt and pulled the string to shut off her neon “open” sign. It had been a busy day, no thanks to yesterday’s bitch fight with that Maggie chick. The town’s shifter population had never really come in to her little coffee shop, snubbing it as they did most human businesses. The occasional non-carnivorous high schoolers would come in for a place to meet that was safe, but almost never any adults. Now that she—a lowly monkey—had picked a fight with a coyote shifter over a beta wolf and won, they were flocking to Java Joe’s en mass.
Oh lord, those shifters could gossip! Marissa thought she’d known a thing or two about shifters after spending most of her life with Lex. Just watch Animal Planet and MTV’s line-up of reality shows and you’d have the jist of shifter society, right? Well, yeah, but the gossip she’d over-heard and been dragged into today hinted that the sophomoric outer shell of shifter society was a thin film over much deeper waters. And she’d blundered her way right into it by fighting Maggie. She thought she had been brawling over a nasty bitch for being rude to her. The town’s wolf population had seen it as an attempt to claim Mooney, a beta wolf from a prominent local pack. Since they all knew Maggie but not her, they came to check her out before deciding which one they wanted to win him. Apparently they jury was still out.
Marissa shook her head and chuckled as she gathered the trash from bins tucked strategically around the sitting area. Mooney was a nice guy to hang out with once he got over his need to act like a jock. She also had to admit that she had the major hots for him. Who wouldn’t? Six foot plus of muscular wolf, a head of luxurious hair and bright blue eyes that were always twinkling from some mischief he’d been up to. Just because the man, er, wolf could fill out a pair of jeans to perfection didn’t make him boyfriend material, though. And it sounded like this claiming him stuff was more serious than just boyfriend/girlfriend.
She dumped all the little bags of trash into the big, mostly empty one behind the counter, pulled the big liner out, and began tying it as she headed for the door that opened into the alley behind her shop. Besides, she mused, if she’d won the fight—and everyone agreed that she had—where was he? Mooney usually spent a good portion of his mornings at Java Joe’s and she hadn’t seen him all day. A whimpering sound caught her attention as she dropped the huge black trash bag into the dumpster. Marissa spun around trying to find the source. Not seeing anything, she closed her eyes to slits and opened herself up. She didn’t need a spell to find out who was whimpering. The kind of natural magic she specialized in came from the life energy of all things living. If there was anything living around her, She’d see their life energy as a glowing halo around them. What she saw was… unexpected, though. What was a wolf doing at her back door?
“Mooney?” she asked tentatively. She crouched down when the ragged bundle of fur flinched away at the sound of her voice. “Mooney, is that you? Why are you cowering away from me?”
The wolf, who would normally be beautiful, she suspected, inched twodrs her carefully. He wasn’t moving like he was injured but he wasn’t moving with any confidence, either. She waited patiently while he slowly worked up the nerve to come closer. When he was no more than a few feet away, the scent of mange hit her. Ah.
“So you went home with Maggie last night,” she said disgustedly, guessing.
“How did you know it was Maggie?” the wolf, speeking with Mooney’s speech paterns, though the voice was too low and gravelly.
“Because I hit her with a mange curse when we fought yesterday,” Marissa said, a little startled that he could talk. Maybe all those people who swore up and down they’d had conversations with animals weren’t as nuts as she’d always thought they were. “You didn’t have mange yesterday.” He bowed his head and tried to roll over onto his tummy.
“Don’t be acting all ashamed now, mutt. My shop was chock full of shifters today wanting to see the human who’d beaten a coyote in a fight over you. I had no idea where they got the idea that you were mine, but the fact you went home with her tells me you don’t think you’re mine, either.”
“Nick made me,” Mooney whined, wiggle like he was trying very hard not to scratch. Marissa looked down at him and shook her head.
“You’re a big boy, Mooney. Your brother may have told you to go with her someplace but you chose to sleep with her.” Marissa stood up and turned back to the door. She looked down at the scruffy wolf and sighed. “Come one. Let’s get you a bath before you infect the whole town.”
“I tried a flee bath,” Mooney grumbled. He did stand up and follow her inside, though he was hunched over and had his tail tucked in tight.
“You don’t have flees,” Marissa snipped. “You have a modified version of demodectic mange.”
“Hey! That a puppy illness!” Mooney huffed, clearly affronted. “I’m not no puppy!”
“No, you are a roving dog who will hump anything in site,” Marissa replied sarcastically. “Demodectic mange hits those who have a week or immature immune system. As a shifter, you are susceptible to Demodex magius, a type of mite which is very easy to conjure.” Mooney said nothing, just followed her as she finished locking up. He said nothing as she led him to her apartment in the basement beneath the coffee shop. He still said nothing as she ran a bath in the huge old claw-foot tube she’d installed shortly after moving in. “I can stop being a roving dog,” he finally muttered as she was working tea tree oil shampoo through his pelt. Marissa said nothing that time. She drained the water from the tub and began rinsing his fur with the hand held shower attachment.
“I really can, you know,” Mooney said, as if he was expecting her to say something. Marissa had no idea what he expected of her. She shrugged. She guessed this answered the question of if everyone thought she’d been fighting to defend her claim on him. That answer was yes. Now she needed to decided what she was going to do about this situation. She didn’t make many plans for the future but what plans she did have, didn’t have any wolf-friendly contingencies build in.
“Can and will are two different things,” she replied. “Ok, now shift back to human form and take normal shower—“
Before she could finish, he shifted. Where she’d had her hands full of soapy wolf fur a moment ago, she now found her hands full of sexy man.
“I will if you give me another chance,” he said as he took the shower handle from her.
Thank you, to everyone who participated in the Luck of the Irish Blog Hop.
Almost good news!!! Okay my writerly eyes are bleary, and threatening to spin like pinwheels in a gusting wind... my head is throbbing... but! The final chapter of Kandy Apple and Her Hellhounds is finished and close to being revised. That means, a final read through and revision... and it’s SUBMISSION time!
Howlelujah...
So, what you’ll be getting today, since I’ve been working feverishly all day and night... is a rough, unedited short excerpt from Chapter Fifty-Five ~ Sexcitations, Good, Good Vibrations.
Light of foot, she ran toward them. Thinking Zin and Zol should be able to see her by now, Kandace waved.
No response. Her hellhounds patiently waited for her. A match for each other, they stood with their hands dashingly placed inside their tux jacket pockets.
Behind them, a long slit formed in the dimensional bubble. Kandace watched as someone’s shoulder slid through.
“Zol, Zin, watch out!”
She screamed another warning, her heart threatening to pound out of her chest.
Her power surged, sparking like fireworks. Relieved beyond belief, Kandace raised her arm, and aimed preparing to blast the intruder.
Zin and Zol spun, halting her use of magick. With elegant execution, they handily dropped Major Odarran to his knees.
Busting through in pairs, the DOD team attacked, their guns firing laser pulses. Zol and Zin took them on, moving like James Bond in a fast-forwarded movie.
In a series of coordinated martial arts moves, her hellhounds dispatched their foes. Kandace watched their life force mist away. Oddly, their bodies became cubes, then vanished.
Ultra smooth, Zin flipped the mini weapon Vresc had retrieved out of his pocket. He pointed it dead center at Major Stiles’ forehead.
“Mind activated, I believe,” he snarled.
With no hesitation, the Major backed away. Behind him, the conjured bubble dissolved. Surging forward, Linda screeched. The enraged sound had Zol baring his teeth.
In a split second, he glowed like a fiery lava, and Kandace witnessed a demonic red fog form around her hellhounds.
Zol growled as the DOD handler drew a Star Trek looking Phaser. A split second later, a lick of flame, similar to a dragon, stopped just short of Linda’s face.
At the same moment, Kandace’s guardian leaped toward her. Wings outstretched, he protectively stood before her, hissing.
Kandace lowered her hand slightly, glad she’d been able to control her magick, just in case Zin or Zol had gotten in the way.
In slow retreat, Linda moved backward. “Hellhounds,” she sneered like a curse.
“And the day keeps on remindin' me, there's a hellhound on my trail. Hellhound on my trail, hellhound on my trail,” Zin and Zol sang as a duo.
Hearing Robert Johnson’s iconic blues lyrics sung in a Cary Grant croon, nearly had Kandace laughing. If she hadn’t been intent on keeping her witchy powers strong, she would have cracked up. ~~~~~~
Now this, Lamar thought, is one weird-ass dream. Normally his nocturnal fantasies involved beaches at midnight and hot, sweaty male bodies writhing and coiling to the beat of steamy salsa music. Lately his dreams had taken a turn for the chaste. Since he’d started dating that sweet-assed but closeted Jamie, as a matter of fact.
Take now. As usual, in his dream he and Jamie had left the orgy and gone for a walk on the beach. Jamie liked strolling barefoot through the surf, and Lamar enjoyed watching him. Especially since the longer they walked, the more of their clothes dissolved, until both were butt-naked and damp with salt spray. At this point Lamar would make a move toward his lobo rojo, but the damn mutt would shift into wolf and scamper away. Then Lamar would awaken, stare down at his dozing (and dressed) cuddle puppy, sigh, and head for the bathroom to take care of business alone.
Not tonight, though. Tonight the wolf ran off just as things were getting interesting, as usual. Lamar set off in pursuit. He was tired of waiting around for Jamie to make up his mind. Jesu Cristo, dating Jamie was practically like being celibate.
Then all of a sudden the beach was gone. He was wading through a meadow of ankle-high flowers. The sun was up, and bird song had replaced the salsa beat. Lamar looked around. The hell? His dreams were never this Disneyfied. Had he wandered into his lobo’s vanilla fantasies by mistake?
He spotted Jamie up ahead, still in wolf form. He had settled in beside a – Oh, for Quetzalcoatl’s sake. Lamar planted his fists on his hips. “Chico, you gotta be funning me. A unicorn?”
The unicorn inclined her horn in Lamar’s direction. “Hello, Lamar. Won’t you join us?”
“Sorry, sister, I’m not your type. I haven’t been since I was fifteen. Tell me I’m dreaming, please.”
“You’re dreaming,” the unicorn confirmed. She sounded amused. “So are you, Jamie. I sensed your conflict and thought I could help.”
Lamar looked at Jamie. The wolf’s fur had gone bright red from snout to tail-tip. So that’s how he blushes in his dreams, Lamar thought. He looked really pretty that color. “Help him, me, or us?”
“Both of you, but mostly him.” She brushed her horn tenderly through the red wolf’s fur. “You and I have been acquaintances for far too long, I think.”
“So you really are … ?” Lamar snickered and shook his head. “And here I thought you were just playing hard to get. Chico, that’s harder than I like it.”
“You don’t get it.” Jamie was human now, just like that. Hey. Dream. “It wasn’t fun for me growing up. I used to get beat up regular for – for wanting to love somebody. And my family – hell, forget it. There ain’t many red wolves around. We’re expected to … breed. With shes.”
“Horrors.” Lamar pretended to fan himself. “So what? You’re ditching me for Gypsy? I don’t think her tiger will like it.”
“Knock it off. I ain’t running out on you. I been talking to Lyssia here for awhile. Almost since I got to Montana. Since I met you.” He ran his hand through the unicorn’s mane. It looked like it would feel like silk, like Jamie’s own hair when he bothered to comb it. “Been trying to get my head on straight.”
“Straight,” Lamar said. His gut did a nosedive.
“Not that kind'a straight. I’ve had a chance to be me since I got here. Ain’t been whupped for it, and nobody seems to care. So I think … ” He patted the unicorn’s neck. “No offense, but I think I want to be me with him. Y’understand?”
“Of course I do.” She nuzzled his neck affectionately. “I approve. You two are good for each other.”
“You do?” Lamar said. “I’m seriously poaching on your territory here. You’re good with that?”
The unicorn shook her mane. “It isn’t purity of body that draws us. It’s purity of heart. Of love. You always get that wrong.” She nudged Jamie toward Lamar. “You go enjoy yourselves now.”
“Hold it,” Lamar said. “Tell me this is Jamie’s dream. Tell me I haven’t fallen so low I’m having dreams about unicorns.”
“It’s your dream. Specifics would spoil it.” She laughed and galloped away.
Lamar woke in a sweat with the sheet bunched up to his chin. Jamie jerked awake at exactly the same moment. “What the hell?” they said in unison.
They stared at each other. “Did you just -- ?” Jamie started.
“Did you -- ?” Lamar shook his head. “No more tequila and nachos, ever. Oh shit.” He glanced at the clock. Better that than show Jamie his face just now. “It’s going on 7. We gotta get to work.”
“Yeah. Listen, I been thinking.” Jamie blushed again. He was the prettiest blusher Lamar had ever seen, and now the reason made sense. “Y’know, we been together a while now. I think we should ratchet things up a notch. What say we have dinner tonight? A real dinner, not that takeout scat you eat all the time. My treat. I’ll even cook. Show you what real food’s like.”
“You can cook Mexican?”
“I said real food. And maybe after we can … ”
Would you look at that blush. It’s a wonder the sheets didn’t catch fire. Lamar mussed his bed-rumpled hair. “Make the place unicorn-proof?"
“Dunno if I’m ready to go that far just yet. But hey, who knows? I get enough beer and gumbo in me, I turn into a wild man.”
Yeah. He could just imagine Jamie’s idea of “wild.” Hey, might be fun. Hell, would be fun, once Lamar got him heated up. Salsa music pounded through his mind. “You got yourself a date there, chico.”
# # #
Nick was up and waiting for his first of many cups of coffee to brew when he happened to glance out the window. He heard the hoofbeats and figured some horse-shifter was out for a morning gallop. His jaw dropped when he spotted the unicorn cantering up the street. It passed in a blur of flowing mane and a hide that shimmered like a rainbow. By the time he’d rubbed his eyes and refocused, the creature had vanished from sight.
He stared, but the beast did not reappear. Finally Nick said, “Nah,” and reached, somewhat desperately, for the coffeepot.
“Oh hell,” Nick moaned; franticly searching his lust filled mind for a reason to give the young intern, as to why he was nearly defiling the young sapling he’d found on his morning run. “Well, see, because…er it’s young.”
“Um, okay, but…”
“No, really, look here at the wood,” Nick waved the small sprig in the air, trying to get the intern’s attention. “It’s young and therefore still green in appearance.”
Laticious lupas, the kid was blushing.
And why wouldn’t he be considering what he just found you doing. At least your pants weren’t down. Yet.
“Shut up,” Nick snarled
“I’m sorry, m-maybe I should come back later.”
Shite, now the kid was red to the tips of his ears and probably thought Nick was a crazy, uber-perv.
Well aren’t you?
Woman, stop pushing me.
Giant white teeth and a warning growl filled his head. Great, now he’d pissed her off. He’d never had a death wish until…well hell, until Zeva with the kissable lips and the perpetually perky nipples had entered his life.
“What did you want, mmm…” Nick snapped the fingers not gripping the piece of tree he’d just been fondling, trying to come up with the kid’s name.
“Robby.”
“Right,” Nick went back to eyeing the wood in his hand, covertly, of course. “And what did you want?”
Birch, the wood was white with black markings, not to be confused with Poplar and would look fantastic falling across Zeva’s round ass. Would she let him pinken her cheeks with this beauty? She seemed to enjoy the ruler, but…
“...is it green?”
Damn, he’d zoned out again. Nick looked up at the kid now waving the shamrock colored edition of the Guts and Butts, known this week as the Greenie Meanie edition. The reason for his distraction stood behind the young bear, trussed up in whiskey colored leather boots and a minty green dress that had to have started its life as nothing more than a silk scarf.
“St. Patrick’s Day, Robby.” Zeva eased up close and spoke with a tease in her voice that Nick knew would drive him up the wall sooner or later. “You know, green beer, green rivers, Leprechauns and pinches for those not wearing a stitch of green.”
“Iiiieeeieieee…” Robby screeched.
Nick knew from the young man’s startled look that his undisciplined mate had pinched his ass. Even though Zeva was clearly at fault, Nick snarled and sniped at the recipient of his woman’s touch.
“Hmm, boss man’s upset, Robby, you better take off.”
Though Zeva stood between them, Nick was grateful that Robby knew better than to run. If he had any lick of common sense he’d also take his break.
“Damn woman,” Nick grumbled as Zeva drew near. “Why do you start shite like…Yiipp.”
“You’re not wearing green either, Nicky. By the way, you almost had the pot of gold. I was going to let you use that sweet little twig on my round ass as you called it, but then you thought me undisciplined.”
Nick felt faint; do mostly from the mass exodus of blood from the big brain down to the little one. He was so hard at the thought of her bent over his big wood desk, taking and enjoying each swing of the sapling he still held, that he nearly missed her parting shot.
"Why is it green?" Josh startled and looked around. Standing close to the end of the bar, Sally pointed to the pitcher setting in front of him.
“The beer. Why is it…” Sally gestured and rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding that you expect me to serve that.” She resumed drying the clean damp pitchers, fresh from the dishwasher, before lining them up against the back wall below the ornate mirror.
Josh smirked. “Even out in the frontier, folks still celebrate most any reason to get drunk.” He reached below the bar and picked up the flyer the local college had put out. The bold print across the top read St. Paddy’s Streaking Contest. He shoved the flyer toward Sally.
She picked it up and read, laughing so hard she wiped her eyes as she laid the flyer down. “Fools. They think running naked wearing leather boots and silk neck scarves are going to keep them from freezing their arses off?”
Josh joined her laughter. “A few will need liquid encouragement—aka a green beer or two. The fool hardy ones will need more than a few to warm up their hands, nipples, and nether regions.”
Sally smiled, as Barry the newest bar keep entered muttering. “Barry what’s up love? You look like someone stole your pot of gold and drank the last of your hundred year old whiskey.”
Barry blew Sally a kiss and slumped on the closest bar stool. “What in all of species heaven are you setting up for in the lower level of the dungeon area?”
Sally glanced to Josh. Since he’d added the BDSM play area complete with dungeon and orgy facilities, business had boomed. Barry’s position as watchdog, in the most literal sense, and bartender kept things under control most nights. A little interspecies play never hurt anyone.
Josh moved closer. “You know the Irish oil well workers from Dublin came in last week and met with me privately.”
Sally nodded looking to both. Barry shook his head. “Please tell me it ain’t so.”
Sally bit her tongue knowing what had to be coming next. She waited for Josh to continue.
Josh turned and picked up the medium size box near the cash register. Prying it open, he spoke. “There are male and females amongst them. And they’re shape shifter vampires.”
Barry groaned. “Drunken Celts are bad enough. Drunk and batty Celts are another problem. Male and female sloshed at the gills---oh Gods and Goddesses save me.”
Josh snorted and pulled two packets of shamrocks. “And horny too I am sure. The game is they down a beer in human form, shift, fly backwards around the room, and see if they can hang upside down to kiss the hearth Blarney Stone I recently installed.”
Sally slowly crept away from Josh and Barry trying hard not to bust out laugh. St. Patrick’s day was gonna be one hell of a boom or bust between streaking humans, horny drunk vampires, and whatever other species decided to grace the bar with their presence. ~~~
Wheel keeps spinning, ‘round and ‘round … Jamie thought that had to be a song lyric or something, but he couldn’t remember from where. Or maybe it was a line from one of Lamar’s dirty books. He couldn’t seem to get his head to stay on straight long enough to figure out which.
That wheel surely couldn’t be spinning any faster than the world right now, that’s for dang sure.
A voice that sounded like a crypt forming words went off in a basso boom behind him. “Is the cub all right?”
“He’ll be fine.” That was Lamar. “A little too much of the green beer, I think. Geez, chico. Never try to go Irish all in one night.”
“I’ll make a note.” Jamie’s stomach lurched. He bent over the toilet again. Almighty Loup-Garou, was there anything left in his innards?
The bathroom door creaked open. “How’s he doing?” a woman’s voice said.
“He recovers quickly. Your brother is tougher than he looks.”
“He isn’t my brother.” She sounded amused. Her slippered feet whispered over the linoleum. When Jamie blinked the stall into a semblance of focus, he spotted Gypsy kneeling beside him. She held a stein to his mouth. “Here. Try some of this.”
“No way.” He recoiled the few inches into Lamar’s steadying arms. “I done enough trying tonight.”
He shouldn’t have moved. Movement sent off a seismic tremor in his guts. Lamar bent him over the bowl. “Better back up,” he advised Gypsy. “Looks like we’ve got aftershocks.”
“Hump you,” Jamie croaked. It echoed off the porcelain.
His audience waited patiently for Jamie’s hacking to stop. “Not brother?” the sepulchral voice at the stall door said. “He is red wolf, yes?”
“Yes, but we aren’t related. Would you wet a paper towel for me, please?”
The voice’s owner moved away. The bathroom shuddered. Or maybe that was just Jamie’s head. “What the hell’d I do?” he groaned.
“Well … ” Lamar ticked the points off on his fingers. “You drank a pitcher and a half of green beer, for starters. That’s on top of the cocktails we had before we got here. Then you told me you loved me and you wanted to celebrate. Then you got up on stage and tried to Riverdance.”
“You dance well,” the voice boomed from the sink.
“I did what I could to cover for you,” Gypsy added. “The crowd thinks it was part of the show. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you from falling off the stage. Thank you for catching him, Sergei.”
“I assumed he was kin.”
The bathroom door opened and a new voice squealed, “Hey, what’s that she doing in here?”
“Men’s room is closed for cleaning,” Sergei thundered. “Get out.”
“But I gotta take a – ”
“Use tree.” The door was slammed shut with finality.
Gypsy patted Jamie’s sweaty face with the damp paper towel. She offered the stein again. “Try some of this. It will settle your stomach and perhaps clear your head.”
With Lamar’s aid he held the stein steady and downed a healthy gulp. Then the taste kicked in. Gypsy snatched the stein to safety before he could fling it away. “Dayum! That’s vile.”
“He’ll be fine,” Gypsy assured Lamar. “I need to get back to the stage. He can lie down in my dressing room.”
“Thanks, Gypsy. We owe you big time.”
“I will see to the cub,” Sergei added. Jamie clutched at the toilet bowl. No way he liked the sound of that.
Between the two of them, they got Jamie upright. Jamie got his first look at the owner of the voice and felt the world go sideways again. Lordy, the boy was big. Make that BIG. And white as a trout’s belly. He smelled like a tiger, with a hint of vodka. Sergei carried him out of the bathroom. Lamar led the way to the back.
“Why is it green?” Sergei rumbled.
“Why’s what which now?”
“Your hair. Why is it green?”
“Oh, that … we dyed it. Lamar and me. 'Cause of the holiday. Thought it’d be funny. His is green too.”
“He is snake. I assumed it was natural.”
“Ain’t nothing natural about that boy. Soon’s I know where my feet are I’m gonna kick his tail.”
Lamar held the dressing room door for them. Sergei laid Jamie out on the tiny leather sofa in the corner. Lamar coiled up beside him. “Gracias, hombre. I got it covered. Go watch Gypsy dance.” The monstrous tiger nodded and went out.
Jamie pressed one hand to his head and the other to his stomach. “I feel like a 100-pound bag of scat,” he announced.
“You’re more fun at a party than I pegged you for. We gotta get copious quantities of beer into you more often. What’ve we got coming up? Easter? April Fool’s?”
Please, Jamie prayed to the Loup-Garou, let me pass out. And he did. ~~~
“Talk about wearin’ of the green,” White Fang muttered as Pasha entered the Pleasure Club’s Irish Pub.
The emerald green evening dress clung like a faithful dog. Bad as the spectral, but real Dublin Black Dog, he wanted to lick every nook and cranny -- take his time savoring her juiciness.
Holy hell, no surprise his cock gave a jerky salute beneath the polished wood plank table. To distract himself for a moment, White Fang tipped up his mug of Guinness, and took a deep swallow.
Feck and kiss the blarney stone, he could have poured straight whiskey down his throat, and not burned as much as he did now.
White Fang figured the woman cat goddess owned every carnal hormone rampaging through his body. Lykouz! Worse, he had to resist shifting into a wild wolf beast, and jumping on her statuesque bones. Right here. Right now. Grrrrr-pant-pant...AHROOOOOOO...
So far, their matings had only occurred in human form, but...and, Pasha’s butt was so round and sumptuous, White Fang dreamed about handling her ass when they weren’t together.
She swayed toward him from across the large room, all sexual grace, and he sure as all hell was going to enjoy the show she put on for him. After all, Z’Pasha, granddaughter of Bastet, was the queen of seduction. In and out of the bedroom.
Slowly, White Fang traveled his gaze from Pasha’s exotic feline face down the column of her lovely neck. Her peridot shamrock earrings dangled, caressing the top of her mostly bared shoulders.
Her voluptuous breasts were confined by the heavy silk of her dress. Still, her aroused nipples pushed at the fabric, begging for the tug of his teeth.
White Fang gripped the handle of his mug hard. Not wanting to shatter it, he set it aside. To torment himself further, he sniffed in her perfumed scent -- woman feline heat mingled with jasmine blossoms.
“Do I have your attention, super dog?”
Like an itch that had to be scratched, her low purring voice scratched his study-ready balls. “Pasha, gorgeous pussy, your jaws are clamped on my attention.”
Knowing she wasn’t finished with him, White Fang waited, his gaze lapping at the revealed swells of her breasts.
She leaned slightly, her breasts subtly jiggling. “Pant, pant, super dog,” she sultrily crooned.
At the same time, she trailed the chiffon silk scarf she carried on his shoulder. Then, like a breathy whisper the scarf brushed his earlobe.
Bending over, his seductress traced the rim of his ear with the point of her tongue. “Leather boots and the scarlet book I magickally sent you?” she asked, her whisper a soft purr.
“In front of the fireplace,” he growled, low and needy.
“Later, if you want my pot of gold and a marathon ride between my thighs... remember, my love wolf.” She paused.
Her fingernail lightly clawed his other earlobe, and White Fang nearly gnashed his teeth. His cock gave a mighty jump, threatening to bust through his old-fashioned leather breeches.
Her lips seized his. All too briefly. With a rub and cuddle of their noses, she straightened.
Waving off his gentlemanly attempt to rise, she moved opposite him, and seated herself. White Fang devoted his gaze to the hump-inspiring slink of her hips.
“Remember?” He raised a brow.
“Do not ask ‘why is it green?’”
Pasha’s wide smile reminded him of the infamous cat who had eaten the cream. ~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Celtic Good Luck... or just nookie?
“Why is it green?” Mooney moaned softly as Marissa’s fingernail flicked over his painfully cold nipple.
“Why is what green?” she asked distractedly.
“Your hair,” Mooney moaned. “I liked it better when you had it dyed blue.” That much was certainly true. He’d grown up expecting to be a typical wolf, find a typical job and a typical mate and be all things typical of a beta wolf. Not in a million years had he expected to fall for a prickly tempered goth-girl witch. Her naturally black hair had at least a few hanks bleached blond then tinted various shades of blue. It should have offended his lupine sensibilities.
“Sh, love,” Marissa said with a smile. “It’ll be blue again as soon as this temporary dye washes out. “Now hold still. We had a bet, remember? I agreed to be your designated driver so you could go bar hopping and try everyone’s green beer and get smashed on Dublin’s best whiskey…”
“And then I let you use me in a Celtic ceremony of luck,” Mooney finished, shivering as the silk scarf she’d used to pull her hair back brushed his ear.
She had him kneeling in front of the stone fireplace thingy that she’d made out her in the woods. They were both butt-naked, not a pleasant thing at midnight in March in Montana. Of course, he had enough whiskey in his system to make sure he didn’t freeze too bad but still. He wished she'd finish painting that while stuff on him already so they could get down to the cuddling before the fire part of this Celtic Ceremony.
“Patience, lovely wolf,” Marissa whispered in his ear. “You know I’ll reward you well for letting me have my way with you.”
Yeah, he thought, then smiled. His itchy-witch did a great job or rewarding him…
Hi and welcome to your Wednesday fix of ShapeShifter Seductions. I was going to post a snippet about what happened to Mooney after he busts out of Nick’s trashed office. However, tomorrow is the start of out St. Patrick’s Day blog hop and I’ve got a nice Marissa and Mooney flash all planned out for it. I didn’t want to confuse everyone about time-lines, so I’ll save the bit about Marissa finding a mangy wolf in her trash can for later. Since I’m actually not doing a “Between the Covers” blog for April, I’ll share some naughty news stories with you all today.
For those of you who have never read my monthly guest blog over tat Whipped Cream Guests, I am a news junkie. Sometimes I run across stories that sound like something out of an erotic novel. Except things like that never go as well in the real world so they end up in the police blotter. (Yeah, that’s why I like writing the blotter for Talbot’s Peak.)
First off, we have a story out of Florida about a box of stolen dildos, courtesy of Abby. The story, at first glance, isn’t too remarkable. Upon further reading, though, we find that the “gentleman” who stole them worked at the Banana Bay Resort. He found them in a trailer behind the resort and gave them to his ex-girlfriend, who turned him in after he beat her up. The box of dildos apparently belonged to the guy’s former boss. And if you are like me, all kinds of questions are popping into your mind. Questions like who in their right mind even owns a whole box of dildos and why would they choose to keep them at work?
Police in Russia are once again on the hunt for a gang of hooligans. The crime spree? Kissing. While the Irish go around kissing the blarney stone for good luck, bored Russian artists go around kissing cops. No wonder Yuri came to Montana looking for a she of his own…
A pet snake died after biting it's owner's fake boobs. Dang, that reads like a really bad joke, doesn’t it? This might actually be worse than sitting on a kitten and killing it. It may be a good thing Lamar likes red wolf swish-tails...
Last but not least, trolls have been “outed” by a Charlie Sheen victim. Maybe Dante's efforts to prepare Talbot's Peak hwere just in time?
With that, I shall part ways until tomorrow. Remember to drop in and check out our special St. Patrick ’s Day post and drop by the other blogs on the trail!
Shapeshifter lovers, here it is, the Ides of March. While I’ve never been particularly superstitious about this goodbye-Caesar day... however, with what is currently happening worldwide, I gotta wonder. Cause, it ain’t over, and will only escalate from this point forward.
So, one question becomes, what do I write as an author. Unless, I have a specific inspiration for a story/scene/flash that begs to be penned... do I offer readers something NOT gloomy doomy. Or, do I fantasy-mirror an aspect of reality?
This is a question for me because I have this deep desire to do GOOD for humanity however I am able... so, what is best in this moment? Of course, that could vary for each one of us. Any thoughts on this? ~~~
Also, since I’m worn out from a long stressful day, my flash scene will be short, and stars Z’Pasha. Once again, here’s her character bio. Z’Pasha, granddaughter of the Egyptian goddess, Bastet, lives for the day when she can sink her poisonous claws and fangs into the Tiger Yakuza. Two of their Ninja assassins shredded her human friend’s body so brutally, the murder wasn’t reported in the news. Having tracked the elusive assassins across the globe, Pasha believes she is about to corner and castrate the fiendish tigers in the backwoods of Montana. She just needs a bit of super dog assistance. And she knows how to get it. After all, seduction is second nature, and her feline kind knows every shapeshifter male’s weakness.
~~~~~~
Z’Pasha, Cat Goddess Shapeshifter
Z’Pasha raised her arms toward the heavens, an invitation to the magickal forces crackling like erratic electricity around her. In reverence for her night forest surroundings, she slowly spun around, listening to the varied voices of the animals.
She listened to the murmurings and songs of the trees, of every plant within the radius of her energy body. Z’Pasha rejoiced, and the sounds transformed into a kaleidoscope of waving color inside her.
Despite her reason for arriving at the Interspecies Pleasure Club, to avenge the death of her friend, Z’Pasha had developed a fondness for this region on the mother planet, Gaia.
Everything whispered of a time in the ancient past, when the land had been loved and tended to with a devotion that had inspired harmony. Centering herself, Z’Pasha gazed at the stars, jeweled beings who balanced the galactic flow of energies.
She widened her arms in an embrace of the night sky, sending her vibes of love to all of the good-force celestial beings. Their answering rays filled her with knowledge, and expanded her spiritual awareness.
Right now, that was invaluable. Since meeting White Fang, she’d been thrown off balance by the unbound and sensual explosiveness of their passion.
With her ability to focus challenged at times, Z’Pasha relied on her centuries of discipline in the magickal arts. Arms outstretched, she whirled, creating a sphere that was in the world, but not of the world.
Lonely for her longtime companion, Z’Pasha had decided to reunite with her. Currently, Ghelyssia lived in a neighboring realm, safe from the Tiger Yakuza.
Z’Pasha had not wanted her harmed because of the revenge she planned to claw and fang exact. Soon.
Even now, she had the foul tiger shifters targeted, and in her cat-stalking sights. However, her approach remained silent, and patient.
A trap sprung too quickly was a trap not set.
With the large sphere formed, Z’Pasha halted, and closed her eyes. She communed with the One, asking if All was according to divine order. After receiving her answer, a feeling of calm assurance, Z’Pasha turned until she faced the gateway’s shimmer outline.
Practiced in the ancient sorcery rites of Egypt, she intoned a melodic series of sounds. In response, the sealed gateway between the two realms gradually opened. When the dimensional fabric temporarily dissolved, there was a flash of white, and the sound of dainty hooves. As Ghelyssia galloped through the gateway, stars streamed from her pearlescent horn.
Once the unicorn abruptly stopped in her tracks, Ghelyssia’s pale platinum coat took on the darkness of night and the greens of the forest. She shook her head, and her long mane silkily rippled.
Swishing her tail with elegant attitude, Ghelyssia whirled and walked to Z’Pasha. Finally, you have seen the light, foolish feline woman. You cannot be without me.
“Ghelyssia, my adored one, no, I cannot.” ~~~~~~
***Oh, note for Nick, the esteemed alpha werewolf editor of the Gut and Butts Gazette, not only is a unicorn real, but a Loch Ness Monster is in your future since Sivakka, the English Nessie has arrived in Talbot’s Peak.*** ~~~~~~
REMEMBER ~ The Luck of the Irish blog hop is March 17-19. Join us for the Greenie Meanie edition of the G&B Gazette. There is a fabulous lineup of authors, plus a Kindle, and lots of prizes, at the end of the rainbow. ~~~~~~
