Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
“Are you sure you signed up for the cougars and cubs camping trip?” Kevin asked incredulously. He eyed the woman in front of him. She looked to be about mid-forties, tall, slender and in decent shape. She was also wearing pink Prada espadrilles, a pink and black Juicy Couture velour track suit, and was toting a Louis Viton bag—pink and black, of course—that was bigger than she was. Oh, and she was definitely human.
To his horror, she gave him an annoyed look, then dug one of the flyers his mom had printed up out of her purse and handed it to him. He had not actually handed any of them out because the population of cougar shifters in the US was not really big enough to need it. Word-of-mouth advertisement was more than sufficient. That was the whole point of this camping trip, actually; to bring the younger generation together in the hopes of building connections that would help their species thrive better in the 21st century. Somehow this blond haired, blue-eyed Geriatric Barbie Doll had gotten ahold of one. Then it hit him. Middle aged human Barbie. Cougars and cubs.
She thought this was a dating thing.
“Ma’am, I think we have a bit of a misunderstanding,” Kevin chuckled nervously. “This camping trip is for mothers and children, not grandmothers with boyfriends young enough to be their children.”
“I assumed as much,” the female said angrily, flushing. Damn, now he’d offended her. This was exactly why he didn’t want a mate. With males, you said what you meant with none of this “how are they going to take if” crud. He was a cat, no a psychologist. He didn’t want to have to think his words over before opening his mouth.
“We;;,” he hedged looking for a way out of this that wouldn’t land him with a lawsuit. She definitely looked like the kind of Southern Cali woman who would sue over any little slight. “Your shoes!” he declared, looking at her feet triumphantly. He looked back up at her face, smirking.
“What about my shoes?” she asked in that quiet, too sweet tone of voice females of every species used to let a male know he was on thin ice.
“Well, your shoes,” he began again, gulping nervously. “They are very nice but this is a camping trip. You can’t hike in those frilling kind of shoes.”
“We aren’t hiking yet, though. Are we? Seems to me I’m still trying to check in.”
“Um, well, ok,” he shuddered. “What about a tent? We won’t have—“
“I understand the point behind camping, young man. That’s why I packed everything I needed—including food and a sleeping bag—in my duffle. I admit I didn’t bring a tent, but there isn’t likely to be any need for one this time of year.”
“Look,” Kevin finally said. “I’ll be upfront with you, lady. This isn’t the kind of thing women like you would enjoy, so—“
“Hell will freeze over before I leave now, sonny,” she said with a remarkably feline snarl.
Damn, damn and triple damn! he swore. How in the name of Lycos was he going to keep this silly human from finding out about shifters if she was underfoot all weekend? The point of holding a camping trip in early fall was so they could have the forest to themselves and so the cubs could be, well, cubs? The camping trip which he’d been looking forward to was no longer looking like fun anymore.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.
Autumn is here, and Halloween is already weaving around me like a spider’s web. Can you feel it?
Gosh, I bit off far more than I can chew with this Flash Scene. Which happens way too often. Still, here ya go... and apologies for the lack of a good ending point. It's way past bedtime.
Is This Man a Wolf
“Is this man a wolf?” Bregha dramatically placed the centerfold picture of a nearly naked, somewhat hairy man with cockiness written all over his face, beneath Kazni’s gaze.
Gingerly taking hold of what had been called a magazine approximately sixty years ago, Kazni demanded, “Did you take this from the museum?” She frowned at her younger sister, “Without authorization?”
The mutinous set of Bregha’s jaw, and the defiant spark in her eye, answered Kazni’s question. She sighed loudly, exasperation boiling inside her.
“One of these days you’re going to get into serious trouble, Bregha. I know you enjoy your position there. Why jeopardize it?”
“I’ll return it... undamaged. That’s all Jaeve cares about. Besides, he won’t rat me out.” With a careless shrug, Bregha pivoted beside her. “What do you think? A wolf shapeshifter?”
“I think he looks more like a bear shapeshifter. His eyes aren’t exactly wolfish in shape... not like...” Kazni shoved away the memory that was so intense, she could recall it easily, then relive the scene as though it was happening all over again.
“His face does look more round.” Bregha leaned down for a closer look. “More cuddly like a bear cub.”
“He’s on a bear rug, and I bet it’s real. That could be a clue.” After studying the antique photograph for several moments longer, Kazni looked at the magazine’s front cover. “Cosmopolitan. April 1972. Burt Reynolds,” she read out loud.
“He’s an actor. I don’t think he ever played the role of a werewolf, though. At least, I didn’t find anything in the archives. I did find him compared to a wolf as in chasing after a lot of women,” Bregha triumphantly stated.
Kazni carefully closed the magazine, which seemed to have held up well, and handed it back to her sister. “It’s back to my original plan.”
Hugging herself to stop her sudden shivers, Kazni knew she should have halted her words. But, she was used to confiding in Bregha. It had been that way between them since childhood.
Bregha deftly slipped the magazine inside a preservation wrapper, then whirled, facing Kazni. “You can’t. That’s sheer madness. You know it is. You have no idea where you’ll end up.”
There was no point in arguing. Her sister was right, and they’d already talked it death. “I have to know.”
The image of the dark gray wolf with silvery markings on his face, chest and legs overwhelmed her mind’s eye, and once again, Kazni watched him suddenly bound through the time vortex, and begin his gradual transformation.
She’d been at her station inside the protective booth, monitoring the tunnel’s frequency as usual, and waiting for a team of chrononauts to return as scheduled.
As the wolf morphed into a man, she’d been frozen with shock -- unable to move to save her soul. He stared at her the whole time, his eyes blazing feral at first, then becoming a golden-hued dark color.
The image of his naked body, which looked like it had been sculpted out of brown-gold granite, haunted Kazni. Worse, whenever she was alone, she flushed with a desire that threatened to drive her crazy. Way too often she fantasized about being with him -- wild erotic scenes.
When Kazni pondered on what occurred, it was as though he’d known her. Recognition glinted in the depths of his eyes in those few moments, before he’d swiftly turned and leaped into the swirling gray vortex.
Oh, she’d done the very sensible thing, researching meticulously until she’d unearthed every fact -- every legend and myth she could discover about shapeshifters, about wolves. In the end, it hadn’t been enough.
Now her curiosity was a ravenous beast devouring her insides, one painful bite at a time.
“I have to know,” Kazni repeated.
She and her sister regarded each other, the silence stretching between them.
“If you go, you better come back.” There was no compromise in Bregha’s voice, nor in her steady gaze.
“I have the box programmed, and ready.”
With an uttered cry, Bregha grabbed Kazni hugging her hard. “Be careful,” she whispered.
By rote, Kazni performed her duties at the time travel center. With her shift about to end, and no chrononauts expected, she dialed the frequency coordinates she’d memorized that night.
No one had ever questioned her about the wolf turned to man, because the event hadn’t been recorded. Why was a complete mystery to Kazni, and she sure as all-hellfire-loosed wasn’t going to do a holo report on it. That would have gotten her dismissed due to mental instability.
As soon as she could accomplish it without detection, Kazni had done a search of the wolf shapeshifter’s time period and location. She found the month and year, September 2011, but not the precise location, only knowing it was on the American continent in the northern latitudes.
After initiating the final phase of the singularity vortex, Kazni shut down the power to her booth, and walked toward the tunnel’s aurora-shimmering entrance. With her stomach roiling at the thought of the unknown, and her emotions spinning like a whirlpool, Kazni firmed her chin. She’d made her decision.
After a final check of her black box, Kazni flung herself inside. Her nerves screamed, and it felt as though her molecules expanded to twice their size. It was why she’d never qualified to become a chrononaut. Her body betrayed her every time.
Focusing despite the searing pinpricks of pain, she prepared herself to land. Her boots hit solid ground. The smell of pine swamped her even as she glanced at the box, memorizing the series of numbers and symbols.
Kazni gripped her phaser. Ready to fire, she looked around slowly, deliberately. By the slant of the light through the forest, it was late afternoon. With no civilization in sight, she scanned for a trail of some kind.
Kazni spun around, her heart racing at triple speed. There he was, her wolf shapeshifter, a cocky expression on his ruggedly handsome face.
With careless grace, he leaned against a tree trunk -- one that was thicker than his overly broad shoulders. He didn’t move, but observed her intently, his arms loosely folded.
Not seeing a weapon of any kind, Kazni eased her stance, and took him in. Russet brown in color, his long, wildly shaggy hair lifted in the breeze, and she saw the silvery highlights.
“Do I know you?” she asked in the English of the time period.
“You will, my woman from the future.” In slow motion, he straightened away from the tree, then approached her. “I am Deerchaser, leader of the White River Pack. I am called Chaser. Much easier on the tongue, don’t you think?”
Fear didn’t course through Kazni, yet she remained wary, reaching for her phaser again. “What do you want with me?”
“What every man wants from his mate.” He halted a good fifteen feet from her, his intense gaze fastened on her face.
“I don’t understand. Not any of this.”
“I am a time traveler from the antediluvian age, Kazni. We escaped here before the start of the intergalactic wars.”
Sparks of light flashed inside her head -- so it seemed -- and Kazni remembered. “I do know you. Not personally. I know about you. Your lost tribe.”
“You weren’t aware, Kazni, but I first saw you, scented you at the Conference of Temporal Ambassadors.”
“You attended? When?”
“Winter Solstice, 2061. You wore a diaphanous lavender gown at the final evening festivity. I dream about you in that gown.” His gaze hungrily roved over her face for long moments. “I dream of what I want to do to you, the pleasures I want to give you.”
Shaken to her core, Kazni couldn’t deny the truth of his words. Nor would she try. Uncertain what to do next, she took a step back. Given her head dizzily whirled with apprehension, and she suspected, also with desire, she tried to take deep breaths.
After all, she’d time-traveled here of her own volition. She’d wanted to know, to understand. “Why are you a wolf?” she forced out, her voice reed-thin.
A grin split his face, and sparkled his golden-dark eyes. “Why aren’t you a wolf?” he asked in a light, teasing tone.
The next instant, he’d crushed her tight against him -- so tight she couldn’t use her phaser, and her lungs lost most of their air. “Time to leave,” he growled in a whisper. “The enemy is here.”
“Oh god no,” burst from her lips, as Kazni heard the squealing hum of a dozen Graqueb fighter craft. “We’re dead.”
“I would never allow that, beautiful Kazni. We’ll be safe soon. The Pleasure Club is a mere half a mile away, and my underground tunnel is half that.”
Before she knew it, Kazni had been slung across his shoulders. Effortlessly, he ran back the way he’d come. The hum of the Graqueb fighter fleet sharpened as they entered the underground passageway. Sonic-boom bombs pounded against the ground on top of them, but remained harmless.
Then, there was nothing. The attack had ended. Yet, Chaser didn’t lessen his pace, and Kazni became lightheaded. With the affect of the vortex still working on her system, Kazni slipped into unconsciousness. But, not before she recalled his words and wondered if the Pleasure Club was a place that catered to sexual pleasures. She hoped so.
Have a Magickal Shapeshifting Week!
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
Monday, September 26, 2011
Another day, another second grade. Suzanne Coates hefted carriers into her van in the elementary school's parking lot. No one, not even the school custodian, had volunteered to help her. "You make them nervous, babies," she cooed to her charges. "Don't let it bug you. The children think you're awesome."
Her charges weren't bugged in the least. But then, reptiles weren't normally given to huge shows of emotion. School students, college zoology majors, museum curators, it was all the same to them. Give them a rat every couple of days and they thought life was peachy. Suzy had a few nervous nellies back at the rescue center, but she never brought those on public outings. Only the non-biters got to go on field trips.
She'd just placed the last carrier in the van and was about to shut the door when she realized she was being watched.
Suzy froze. Her tongue flicked briefly over her lips in a lifelong automatic gesture. She'd checked the parking lot before she started loading up, and seen no one. Her hand crept toward her pocket and the pepper spray she carried at all times. Too many break-ins at the reptile rescue center by animal smugglers and activists had left her paranoid on her charges' behalf.
She wasn't the only nervous one. Richard the iguana circled his carrier, making high, thin noises she'd never heard from him before. Homer, the laziest snake on the planet, had coiled himself into a corner and peered through the carrier's mesh, more alert than Suzy could ever remember seeing him.
Chiquita, in contrast, slid languidly around her carrier, making low, whispery hisses. Her movements reminded Suzy of ... no. No way. Snakes weren't that complex. But damn, she'd swear the way the albino python slithered around looked almost ... seductive.
A sudden hiss that hadn't come from any of her reptiles made Suzy whirl around. The author of the hiss stepped forward. Suzy's tongue washed over her lips again.
Good God, the man was gorgeous. She thought at once of an ancient Aztec warrior, brought to vibrant life. Tall, well-muscled and slender as a snake, just the way she liked her men. Smooth-as-scales copper skin unmarred by scars or blemishes. No body hair. Suzy couldn't stand body hair; it was so ... bestial. Head hair, though, that she liked. His fell like an ebony waterfall past his shoulders. It moved as if stirred by an invisible breeze, or like the flutter of feathers. Each tiny movement sparked a cascade of rainbow colors through the black. Those colors were echoed in his wide, unblinking eyes. Were they gold? Were they green? Were those really slitted puplis? She teetered on the brink of falling into them.
The need to breathe, and the slitted pupil question, finally broke her fascination. Suzy slid a protective half-step closer to the van and shut the door. Nobody was getting his hands on her babies without one hell of a fight.
So far he'd said nothing. He stood utterly still and stared at her. Chiquita got like this when she had her eye on a rabbit. Suzy swallowed thickly. "Can I help you?"
At the sound of her voice the warrior sighed. A smile appeared, full of perfect white teeth. "Like birdsong," he said. He started toward her.
"Stop right there." Suzy took up a defensive stance and assessed her chances. She had her pepper spray and her self-defense training from the Y. A few narrow escapes from reptile thieves had sent her to the gym, where she discovered her own unexpected, sinewy strenght. If she struck fast and hard enough she could take him by surprise. He had no weapns on him that she could see.
He had no clothing on him either. Son of a snake, he was naked. How the hell had she missed that?
He froze at her warning. A scowl replaced the smile. His tongue darted out, imitation of her own habitual gesture. Her gaze instinctively dropped below the belt, or where a belt should be.
More than a belt was missing. Her menacing Aztec had no spear. A smooth expanse of skin stretched from sculpted thigh to sculpted thigh. Not so much as a hint of a dangler. Where was she supposed to aim her knee?
"This is sudden, I know," the warrior spoke, "but it was meant to be. You are a daughter of the mighty sky god, and I am -- "
"A woman?" Suzy blurted. "You're a woman?"
Nonplussed, he gawped at her. Slowly his stare followed hers down below. His dazzling smile reappeared. "Ah, of course. We are not mammals, to parade our shortcomings before all strangers' eyes. The scaly folk keep our deadliest weapon safely tucked away. You wish to see? Of course you do. All brides want to know if their husband will bring sufficient attributes to the marriage bed. Practical. I like that."
He set his muscled legs apart. The slit between them peeled back. A wedge-shaped head emerged, followed by a thick,coppery body. Suzy half expected to see a forked tongue poke out of it.
"This really isn't necessary," Suzy said hastily. "I don't need confirmation. You need some pants. That thing needs a leash. And I -- "
The anaconda between his legs reared up to study her out of its single blind eye. Suzy backed against her van, unable to look away. "Oh my god."
The Aztec beamed. "Precisely."
Where the hell were the cops when you needed them? Assuming the police would even bother booking someone over a minor infraction like indecent exposure. This was, after all, Talbot's Peak.
Nor was he indecent. Quite the knuckle-biting opposite.
Suzy made a choking noise. Her legs trembled. "What do you want from me?"
"What all men want from a beautiful woman. Your acceptance of my troth." He held out his hand. "Join with me, my bride. We are meant to be. It is destiny."
"Who the hell are you?"
A little indentation appeared between his brows. "I am Itzcoatl, the Obsidian Serpent. And you are -- " He peered at the logo on the side of her van. "Suzy the Snake Lady. Is this a description, or your sacred title? Are you a priestess of the Feathered Serpent?"
"Rick hired you to fuck with my head, didn't he?"
"I know of no 'Rick.' I know only that you are for me. We are meant to rule this wrold together, our coils entwined through eternity."
Great. A naked nutcase, coming on way too strong. However, he'd been nice enough to provide her knee with that hefty, unmissable target. Suzy struck like one of her snakes, with blinding speed and deadly accuracy.
So much for godhood.
With the "Obsidian Serpent" coiled upon himself in a well-muscled ball in the street, Suzy threw herself behind the wheel and sped off in a squeal of protesting rubber. The minute she got home, she would lock her door and alert the police. Then she'd phone Rick and give him the verbal version of what she'd just delivered to his flunky. Three months after a nasty breakup and he still couldn't just let it be? The nerve of some people.
# # #
The world Itzcoatl intended to rule gradually came back into focus. He picked himself gingerly up off the street. His nut-pouch throbbed in agony like a heart ripped from a sacrifice's chest. He'd forgotten these fleshly monkey-suits came with limitations.
Feathers of the sky god! He'd actually made a mistake. The divine essence of Quetzalcoatl coursed through his intended's veins. Of course she would be a warrior. That did not, he thought with gritted teeth, excuse such mistreatment of her lord. She deserved chastisement for her sin. Preferably delivered from a distance.
He levered himself upright and swayed on naked feet. His teeth flashed briefly, in spite of the pain. No serpent could have made a quicker strike. Or a more well-aimed one, he thought ruefully. The Snake Lady would prove a most able queen of creation, once he schooled her into showing proper deference.
He eased his abused spear-shaft back into its pocket and peered up the street. Her noxious chariot was long gone, but her taste remained on his tongue. He would find her again, and approach her again. More cautiously this time.
Shifting form from man to giant snake, Itzcoatl rose into the air. The encounter had taught him much, including the need for discretion. This was a new and possibly dangerous world, even to a god. His feathers shimmered to match the light around him, rendering him unseen. Now cloaked from mortal eyes, he soared in pursuit of his mate.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
When I first started writing paranormal fiction, I never once thought how addictive it would become. Gargoyles (Winged & Dangerous series), Aliens (Alien Hunger series), Werewolves (Carnal Moon and Moon Thrall), Vampires (Her Dark Lord) and now...shape-shifters with my first self-published work, Identity Shift!
I get a buzz out of creating new creatures and their worlds and try hard to make sure each book is different in its own right.
The idea behind my story, Identity Shift, came about after a couple of stories in the Australian newspapers—even on some morning tv programs—featured the different sightings of big black cats—panthers/jaguars? in parts of Australia. Grainy video footage and numerous photographs show this is no hoax. One of the theories is that US soldiers brought the cats in as Mascots at the end of World War 2, some of which escaped weeks later.
I built my own little world around the foundations of those reports, with Alexia Leigh on a mission to prove the existence of not just the existence of big cats in Australia, but shape-shifters too!
Alexia Leigh is determined to prove big-cat shape-shifters exist. But she never expected Blake Powell, the key to the shifter race, to rescue and seduce her—never expected to want him like he's her last damned breath! She's never experienced such raw pleasure, has forgotten what it is to truly feel alive. And now she is torn between him and the proof she needs.
Guns ‘N’ Roses blared from inside nondescript apartment fourteen. She took a deep, calming breath as adrenaline surged within. She had him. At last her quarry was within reach. She raised a fist and hammered on the flimsy, peeling wooden door.
The music shut down. A baby wailed a few apartments down, a small dog yapping into life inside another. Heavy footsteps approached from the other side of the door.
One word. One deep, masculine, primal intonation.
Her pulses jerked in response, her nipples beading tight beneath her black leather jacket and tight burgundy singlet.
If this is what he could do to a woman with one monosyllable behind a closed door, she could only imagine what he could do with a whole sentence, and up close and personal.
She cursed under her breath. She’d clearly been too long without a man, someone to ease the heavy ache of her breasts, the deep throb between her thighs. Just as well she wanted nothing more from him than answers.
Hesitating for a beat, she asked, “Mr. Powell?”
She closed her eyes at his long, drawn out silence. Then she heard him release a heavy sigh before returning wearily, “Who wants to know?”
Impatience drummed a loud tattoo behind her skull. A migraine was all she needed right now.
“I’m here on behalf of my father. He is—“ she swallowed back a wave of bitter loss and grief ”—was an archaeologist. You may have heard of him? Professor Thomas Leigh.” At the thick, almost suffocating silence that followed she continued more loudly, “He believed in the existence of human-panther shape-shifters—”
Her sentence ended on a startled gasp as the door flung open and she was jerked unceremoniously inside.
“Enough already,” Blake growled.
She hissed out a breath at the current of electricity sizzling through her arm’s every nerve ending; at the cheek of him dragging her inside. She tugged free, and looked up…and up.
Beneath scruffy dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt the man was a mountain of fluid muscle and sinew, repressed energy that vibrated with emotion and patently raw sex appeal.
“Are you mad?” she said through gritted teeth. “All I wanted was a civilized discussion, not to be dragged inside like I’m nothing more than…than a cave woman!”
He slammed the door shut behind her and pushed home a large bolt. When he peeled off his dark sunglasses—ludicrous inside the near dark room lit only by a naked bulb—she took an involuntary step back. His eyes were an unnatural gold-yellow. Beautiful, but deadly.
She sucked in some oxygen, forcing a calm she didn’t feel. Damn it all to hell, he really was sinfully delicious, with more vague hints of darkness beneath his honey-warm skin that tantalized and teased even as it repelled.
“I know who you are,” he said.
“Yes.” He sighed, tunneling a hand through his thick, dark hair that was an inch away from scruffy. “I’m sorry.”
“About your father.”
“Why?” Her voice rose an octave, “Because like everyone else you think the world is better off without another crackpot and his loony beliefs?”
“No. I’m sorry because he was a great man who thought above and beyond the restrictions of science.”
Hostility fled her body, leaving her oddly drained and a little disorientated. How long had it been since someone had said something good about her father? Too long, clearly, for her to appreciate even a scrap of praise. Snide remarks and innuendos had become part and parcel of their life for the three long months since her father’s discovery.
“You look about ready to collapse.” Somehow his silky rich voice stroked her senses, hummed along the nerve-endings behind her eyeballs and soothed away her stress. Turning it into another tension entirely. Sexual tension. “Please. Take a seat,” he murmured.
She managed the couple of steps needed before all but flopping into a ripped, vinyl two-seater lounge. “You knew my dad?”
“No, not personally. But I read all his articles. He was ahead of his time. A brilliant and ethical man.”
And look where that had got him. Mocked and ridiculed until he’d been stripped of all his dignity, his beliefs. His life.
A wedge of hair dropped over her eyes from her scraped back pony tail. She abstractedly pushed the dark blonde length behind one ear. “Then you know why I’m here.”
He moved into the tiny kitchen, where a half-empty bottle of scotch resided on the counter. He poured them each a glass. She gulped hers down like it was a tonic for all the ills in the world.
He smiled and took a mouthful before giving a nod. “I gather since your father uncovered the bones, he also found the journal and deciphered the names on the list?”
“Only yours,” she conceded. Her father’s long held view of honesty being the best policy had burrowed deep into her psyche, despite its obvious pitfalls. “What else have you concluded?” she pressed.
He raised a dark brow. “That now you’re hoping to track down the Illawatti tribe.”
She released another long, slow breath. “Let me guess. You think I’m a raving lunatic?”
Just like my dad.
Blake stalked over to the window and peered between the moldy, almost transparent curtains. “No. Actually, I don’t.”
Wow. Was he serious? She snorted disbelief. “So you agree there’s a possibility the Illawatti tribe exist—”
“We need to leave,” he growled.
She frowned. “No. Not until I get some answers—”
The breath whooshed hard from her throat as he threw himself at her. His weight knocked her to the ground simultaneously to the window shattering, glass raining down like blades of ice.
The dog a few doors down once again took up its relentless yapping. She closed her eyes, aware the muscled bulk of Blake’s body sheltered her. But she was even more aware of the ping of a bullet that had torn a hole through the opposite wall.
Shock pushed her heart rate into high gear. “Someone is shooting at you!”
He effortlessly scooped her up and half-ran into what had to be the only bedroom. “No,” he corrected grimly. “They’re shooting at us.”
Her blood pressure spiking, she looked up. The pool of light leaking into the bedroom allowed her to note his composed expression, his strange-colored eyes that scanned the room, seemingly considering every possible option before he acted. “What the hell are you saying?” she hissed.
She was a target?
He glanced down at her. “I apologize in advance. Your hellish day isn’t about to improve any time soon.”
And here's the buy links for 'Identity Shift' , only 99 cents.
Visit Mel Teshco at ~ melteshco.com
Moon Thrall~Ellora's Cave
Her Dark Lord~Nocturne Bites
“What the?” Tamara dropped her binoculars and rummaged in her pocket. “Where did I put that hanky?” Her hand came out empty. Blowing on the lens, she dabbed at them part of her overlarge t-shirt.