“Reinforced steel pipes, heavy duty rubber tubing, a gross of nuts, bolts, S-hooks and a short Red Riding Hood costume with crotchless panties.” Glenn set down the scanner and looked up at an impatient Nick and his blushing brother Mooney. “Ah Nick, does Ziva know about all of this stuff?”
“Oh Lupa no! And she better not hear anything either…” Nick raised an eyebrow his brother’s way before looking back at him and continuing. “She’d never let this happen, Glenn, so better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.”
“Nick, my man, do you remember the mantra we went over when you first started buying here…Safe, Sane and Consensual? Hell, damn near anything is safe for shapeshifters and sane, well in this town who could really pinpoint sane vs. insane, but most importantly is the consensual. Ziva has to be fully on board with, ah…” Glenn looked again at the assortment of tools and could picture half a dozen uses. None of which he figured Ziva would go for. “…whatever you have planned.”
Glenn watched the light bulb go on as Nick surveyed the items he’d picked.
“Ha, no…no, this isn’t for Z, well, the Shorty dress and crotchless panties are, but the rest is for something special.”
“Ooh, I’m telling Ziva…not special, you are so bust...Ow!” Mooney rubbed the ear Nick cuffed and started to pout.
“I meant something non-sexually special. Papa wolves don’t tattle, Moon, and they especially don’t pout.”
Nick threw money on the counter to pay for his treasures and looked towards his brother. “Now grab some stuff and let’s get it over to the grill.”
“How do we know they’ll even be there?”
“Moon, its Halloween and they just harvested all that unsatisfying and repulsive roughage. They’ll be serving it to the Herbies…and so will we!”
“It’s bad enough Mom felt she had to take off with that meat-eating lupine, but did she have to do it around the harvest?”
“Stop bitching, Bo and start making the pumpkin flapjacks.”Hannibal shoved him; hand over face, back into the kitchen. “The crowds are getting restless.”
“Suck it, Peewee Hornman.” Bo knew insulting his brother’s smaller horns was a bad idea, but he didn’t care. This whole hitching and bolting action of his mother’s really put a crimp in their lives. Now they were all doing double duty at their jobs and the restaurant. He was cooking, which he hated. Mary served, which really didn’t work well and Hannibal was the general ‘pain-in-the-ass’ manager. Odds were damn good the Bighorn Diner would be run into the ground before she got back.
Bo ran from the fuming Bighorn sheep now occupying his brother’s space next to the griddle. Hannibal never could maintain his composure or shape when challenged. Ten minutes later, the kitchen was wrecked, batter flung everywhere and Bo still couldn’t feel his hands or arms after using the cast iron frying pan on Hannibal’s head.
“Like I was trying to tell you, lug nut, we’re out of pumpkins.”
“Not possible, Bo,” Hannibal grumbled, holding his head with both hands. “We harvested over an acre of those damn things and they were pretty tightly packed.”
“Well they’ve sprouted legs and run away, because they are not here…”
General chaos erupted in the seating area out front. Women screamed, children cried and the men swore.
“Roasted buck nuts, what was that!”
Bo didn’t have time to answer his brother as he was already trying to decipher Mary’s frantic signing. “Slow down, sis,” he both spoke and signed. “Lick moon pump across…honestly, Mar, slow…”
“Fricken sex-fiend and his idiot monkey lovin’ brother are chuckin’ pumpkins at us from across the street!” Hannibal bleated, his control appearing to be at an all time low.
“Ah, Nick and Mooney are tossing pump…wait, pumpkins?” Bo ran to the window just in time to see another orange projectile hit the sidewalk in front of the flapjackery. “Hell, those are our pumpkins! How’d they get our stash?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.” Hannibal blew through the dining room, tossing tables and chairs out of his way.
“Get your ass over here and help us.”
Mary was on her knees pulling blood red hunks of flesh from the bottom of the cooler and putting them in a massive mixing bowl while Hannibal pulled funny looking weapons from the closet. “Okay, now. Yuk.” He pointed at Mary’s heart attack in a bowl. “And, what the blazes are you doing your ranger guns in the closet? Those kill, man.”
“When’d you turn into such a little girl, Bo?” Hannibal pushed past him and headed back to the window and door with Mary following close behind, dripping blood across the floor. “This here is a bleacher reacher and the beaut currently being loaded by our tough as nails sister is the T-shirt Gatling gun. These babies will beat that stupid looking slingshot the desk humper has.”
“Whoya…eat it, Herbies!” Taunts and chuckles came at them from across the street as did more fruit.
“What the hell is wrong with those two?” Not like he needed to ask. After all, this was the McMahon brothers, a prankster pair at home with gross destruction of property.
Another pumpkin found its way to the sidewalk, splattering in front of the open door and flying in all directions. Some landed on Bo’s shoes; a glop ended up in Mary’s hair and a large section veered off and flew through Java Joe’s plate glass next door.
“Damn it, Nick, not there. Marissa’s gonna kill me or worse douse me with mange again…gah!”
“Man up, Moon.”
Bo swallowed back a yelp of hysterical laughter and put his hand out. “Someone give me a gun.”
“’Bout time, brother.” Hannibal jumped up and slapped him on the back. “Here, you take the cannon while I get me a little Gat action.”
Gourds of all sizes pummeled their side of the street even as raw meat flew back. The mess was atrocious, but the combatants were beyond caring. There could be only one winner in this family war and Bo would be damned if it was those stinky wolves.
“Fire in the hole!”
“That’s it, Moonster, let it fly…wooo!”
Mooney had to admit, manning up or regressing down, sure felt good. Marissa was going to have his balls for defacing Java Joe’s, but who knew, maybe he could sweet talk his way out of the mange. Right now though he was going to enjoy chuckin’ pumpkins.
“Told ya you’d love this.” Nick was grinning ear to ear, but why not. This was burned into his alpha nature. Besides, he had the money and pull to get him out of anything.
“Yep, you did. Load me up.”
“What in the name of the great Lupa is going on here!” “My restaurant!”
“Scat…oh scat,” Mooney whined, letting go of the rubber tubing. He watched the last pumpkin hurl its way into the street only to explode all over his new stepmother. “Pops is gonna rip our guts out with his teeth.”
“Nope, only yours.”
Mooney heard the feminine scream, then panic set in as he watched his dad shift to wolf. “Why only mine, wood whisperer?”
“’Cause I run faster!”
Nick changed and bolted before he even had a chance to think of becoming wolf. The last thing he saw with his human eyes was a Bighorn sheep mama chasing three hard-headed kids into the destroyed eatery behind them and a pissed off dad snapping big assed teeth towards his tail. Time to tuck and run.
YOU REALIZE THIS MEANS WAR
The weapon of choice: pumpkins.
The warriors assemble on the field of battle: Dan and his three brothers, Larry, Doug and Norm. Norm’s the one in the glasses. He’s only a frosh, but he’s the brains of the group. Steve—“Tantor” to friends and foes alike—ambles up in his low-riders with his habitual sneer in place. The mob milling behind him consists of various cousins and whatnot. Dan has never bothered to learn their names. Tantor’s the head of the herd, the only one who matters here.
In the bleachers sits lovely Amelia, excitedly twisting her scarf.
Dan and Tantor face off, broad nose to long nose. “You know the rules?” Dan kicks off the challenge. “Are they acceptable?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tantor snorts, affecting boredom. “Farthest pitch wins. Let’s get on with it, kittycat.”
Dan bristles and growls. Tantor’s bigger and broader than he is, has been since their rivalry started in grade school, but he can’t let that throw him. Honor is at stake here, the pride of his family name. If there’s one thing the Lyons understand, it’s pride.
“Where’s your gear?” Norm asks.
Tantor smirks, as if at a private joke. “In the trunk.”
Dan’s glare doesn’t budge an inch. He tells his brothers, “Get the catapult.”
The Lyons race for Dad’s pickup. Tantor gestures, and his hangers-on run to fetch the pumpkins. The Lyons have brought their own pumpkins, of course, swiped from neighboring farms. Norm did the measuring and picked the ones most likely to fly well. Dan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and tastes victory.
Amelia watches, prepared, perhaps even eager, to become the property of the victor.
Dan’s brothers bring out the catapult, and it is indeed a thing of beauty. Norm drew up the schematics after much research on the Internet. It’s only a scale model, barely six feet, but their practice chucks hurled pumpkins half the length of a football field. The neighbor's cat escaped a launching only because Norm is soft-hearted.
The Tantons return with their ammo. Dan wrinkles his nose. These pumpkins are big, but already going to rot. The side of some have caved in already. They’ll make a pretty splat when they hit, but will they even fly? And what are they going to fly on? Dan still doesn’t any Tanton machinery.
“You go first,” Tantor invites. “Then we’ll show you how it’s done.”
The Lyons assemble their launcher in record time. Dan himself loads the first pumpkin. Norm pokes around every inch of the catapult, making last minute adjustments. “Let ‘er rip!” Dan roars.
The pumpkin’s flight is sheer perfection. It soars nearly the entire length of the football field, almost through the goalposts, which was the Lyons’ target. It hits the ground and ruptures with a whump audible clear across the field. Pumpkin guts go flying. Amelia leans forward to observe the gourd’s demise, then flashes Dan a thumbs-up.
“Yes!” Dan cries with a fist-pump. “And that’s the way the big cats do it, you—”
A section of rotted, squishy pumpkin hits him square in the chest. Through squinted eyes wet with pumpkin juice he sees now the extent of Tantor’s treachery. They never meant to hold an honest contest. It was all a ruse. While the Lyons kept to the rules—human form only—the elephants have shifted.
Tantor and his clan hurl their putrid ammo at the unprepared lion-boys. They can’t throw a pumpkin as far as a catapult, but with their victims right in front of them that isn’t a problem. They’re a lot more mobile than a catapult too, and fling their gourds with the force of a cannon.
Like the man said, it’s in the trunk.
“It’s a trap!” Dan yells, even as Larry goes down with a face full of pumpkin guts. “Run!” He dashes after Norm, who’s already sprinting for the bleachers. The elephants won’t be able to follow them under the seats without shifting. Once they’re human, they’ll be done for. You want to play it this way? Dan mentally snarls. I’ll teach you to mess with the king of the jungle.
It’s a decent plan and he’s got the heart for it, but Tantor has other plans. They’re fast, for such big beasts. They cut the lions off from safety. Even shifting to animal form won’t save Dan and his brothers now. The Tantons curl their trunks around their pumpkin bombs and move in for the kill.
It’s Tantor himself who screams first, when something hard and painful dents his big wrinkled behind. He whirls with trunk and pumpkin raised, and takes a shot in the eye. His screech rattles the bleachers. Amelia covers her ears.
It’s Norm, of course. When you’re the runt of the litter you have to be smarter and tougher in order to keep up with the pride. Norm always has a Plan B. He plants himself before Tantor and takes careful aim with his modified paintball gun. He’s got a shoulder bag loaded with the little mini-Jacks the farmers market hands out to the little kids. Dan had wondered why he brought those along. Now he realizes just how rock-solid the tiny pumps are, when blasted at a target at close range. Dan’s been on the wrong end of paintballs often enough to know how they can hurt.
Norm shoots, he scores. He aims for the eyes and the knees. Once he’s got their attention he starts shooting at their underbellies. Dan and the elephants realize simultaneously what Norm’s aiming for now. Tantor trumpets a shrill retreat, and the whole herd pounds for their truck, amid rock-hard, flying Jacks.
The Lyon boys are still playfully cuffing Norm and slapping his back when Amelia runs up. She brushes right past Dan and Larry and Doug and goes right for the gun. “This is ingenious!” she exclaims. “What is it? Did you make it?”
“In shop class.” Norm puffs out his chest. “Say hello to the Pump-Zooka 2000. The test firing smashed our bird house from thirty feet off. Normally I wouldn’t use it on a living creature, but circumstances—”
He’s still talking while he and Amelia amble back toward the school. Dan can only stare after them, slack-jawed, as the girl of his lustings walks away with his runty little nerd of a brother. It occurs to him all he had to do was bring her a kill and she might have looked his way. Who knew swans were so bloodthirsty?
# # #
The winner? That would be Digger the wolf and his human girlfriend, Laurie. They were strolling past the school when the battle went down. After the fight they came out to harvest the seeds. “I’m going to see if I can grow one of these babies,” Digger says. “Make some pumpkin pie. Laurie’s got a recipe. I love pumpkin pie. Don’t tell the pack I said that, though, okay?”
Posted by Pat C.
A Witchy Menagish Delight
Melissa ducked as another pumpkin flew by her. A second and a third one barely missed her. A heavy thud sounded as pumpkin guts spattered her goggles. Air swirled around her as her broom took a nosedive toward Edwards Pond. The sky around Talbot’s Peak was alive and full tonight. Sharing airspace with flying debris was not on her flight agenda.
She tried pulling up and leaning back hoping to regain her altitude. Thank the Moon Goddess, she wasn’t sitting sidesaddle as many of her broom-riding group insisted was proper etiquette. Luck wasn’t with her on reclaiming her prior course and missing all the projectiles littering the sky.
One action might bring things under control. The one spell she knew might work. Melissa wiped her face, goggles included, against her shoulder and spoke. “Caldrons, stars and sky help this witch make a correction from this terrible flight. Show me the way to avoid the pond and land safely.”
Two bright beams of light crossed before her. Another arced across the night. Two huge pumpkins crossed before and disappeared back into the dark. As the second spot light appeared, Melissa aimed for it. The ground beneath her appeared. Two men stood underneath a tree close to where she aimed to crash. As she whispered more magical words and prayed, her descent slowed. One of the men looked up. His eyes seemed to lock with hers. Ridiculous as it felt, Melissa focused on him. His goatee beard and dark hair attracted her. His companion glanced her direction and smiled. His neatly trimmed hair and mustache added an air of mystery to him.
Rhys rubbed his ear as a clap of thunder sounded. Two more pumpkins flew off the catapult near the school. Three others launched near town. Twice Jon yelled duck before they got the spotlights working. At least they could avoid any incoming misfired shots and keep the pond from bombardment they hoped. Their crab apple grove was the center of the upcoming Thanksgiving maze contest. If too many of the trees were damaged, the maze would be less intricate and daring. Who in their right mind had deemed Halloween as if it flew, then chunk it night?
Jon yelled and pointed again. This time to an object heading straight toward them it appeared. Rhys squinted. What had Jon called it? A UFO? Unidentified Flying Object? Gods and Goddesses, how could they identify a bloody thing in the sky when anything and everything was flying and airborne? Still there was a unique shape to the item. “Oh hell Jon, run for cover. It’s coming straight at us.”
Jon pulled the lever working the skylight backwards. He whistled and grinned. “Rhys, we got a witch coming in at ---oh man straight for the pond. Grab the boat. She’s covered with pumpkin too.”
Rhys uncovered his ears and headed straight for the small boat he and Jon kept near the pond. The small fishing boat would hold the two of them. He hoped the poor woman ditched the broom before she hit the water. Separating witches and their brooms wasn’t a common thing or getting them to do it easily either.
As they tracked the witchy female, Rhys calculated how long until impact. It would be moments. He pushed the boat out into the water. Keeping an eye on where he stepped, Rhys got in and padded toward the center of the pond. Rhys turned the boat around as he reached his destination. He shielded his eyes and blinked. Parts of the spotlight beam hazily illuminated her. Not a bad figure. Her flight suite hugged tightly to her and her long red hair, though spattered with pumpkin, reminded Rhys of fire. Knee-high boots with several buckles covered her lower legs. “Nice,” Rhys chuckled as two splashes sounded.
Melissa quickly blessed her broom as she let go. She tossed her goggles and tucked into the best swan dive form she knew. The broom hit first. A small splash reached her ears as Melissa dove headfirst into the pond. Spitting and sputtering, she broke the surface. She pushed her hair off her face and blinked.
“Want some help?” A male voice sounded near her. Melissa turned around struggling to keep afloat. Wet leather didn’t stay buoyant long. She swam toward the boat that came into focus.
“How kind of you.” Melissa reached for the outstretched hand in front of her. As her hand touched his, images and heat seared their way up her arm. Two nude men kneeling before her as she lay near a roaring fire in a fireplace flashed and faded deep within her psychic third eye.
Minutes passed as Rhys struggled to get the witch into the boat. “One more pull and we’re good.” He pulled hard and caught his fishy smelling witch. As he rowed for shore, he wondered if she had felt the heat and desire as much as he had.
Jon met them at the edge of the pond. He grinned as he helped the witch alight. “A fine catch you got there friend.” Rhys laughed. Jon needed to watch his ironical sense of humor. No telling what the witch might turn him into if he pissed her off enough.
“Melissa meet Jon. Jon, Melissa.” Rhys pulled the boat out of the water as two loud splashes sounded followed by several thuds.
“Shit, they are chunking anything they can find tonight. The Peak has gone bonkers.” Jon shook his head and grabbed Melissa’s hand. “Come on with us and let’s get somewhere safe.”
Melissa didn’t hesitate. If safe included the thoughts she was picking up off these two, the night was young and ripe for sexual play of a ménage kind.
Posted by Solara Gordon
Pumpkin Combat Zone ~ Kimylla and Night Runner
"It's a pumpkin combat zone," Kimylla muttered to herself, as she watched four launched pumpkins crisscross above her.
The giant beauties exploded on several buildings nearby, their chunky remains splatting on the streets of Talbot's Peak. Delighted screeches from kids and carefree adults knifed through her ears. Kimylla flinched, mentally lessening her extra sensitive hearing.
Obviously, they took their punkin' chunkin' really serious here. On her way into and through town, Kimylla had observed several catapults, the designs ranging from crude to complex.
Minutes later, she dashed for the recessed entrance of a shop. Globs of pumpkin guts rained down mere inches away from her knee-high suede boots.
Resuming her steps, Kimylla avoided the haphazard pieces and piles. She'd been warned about the 'wild, wild west' shapeshifter enclave, but business was business And she had lives to save.
She'd tracked him here. Night Runner.
The black super wolf likely visited another one of his off-world kind. White Fang Kent masqueraded as an investigative reporter for the G&B Gazette. So she'd discovered after an exhaustive search of the para-net.
In a desperate effort to find Night Runner fast, Kimylla had spoken with her numerous shadow-world contacts. Afterward she'd felt like a vampire sucking on the bloodless, the intel had been so spare.
Pay dirt, finally. Eureka!
She smelled Night Runner, even though the fragrance of ripe pumpkin saturated the cool crisp air. Having a particular fondness for pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread...any pumpkin goodness...Kimylla found it to be somewhat of a distraction. Especially, since hunger gnawed at her.
She'd neglected to eat much of anything for the past couple of days. Time ticked away like a time bomb. The eight human children, recently kidnapped at Yellowstone Park, were about to become an All Hallow Eve's feast.
Given the beast monsters she faced, Kimylla needed super-powered backup to rescue them. "Give me ten more seconds," she prayed in a whisper.
Dodging hunks of pumpkin, and their slimy innards, Kimylla raced across the street. Seconds later, she burst through the vintage-twenties door into O’Malley’s Gin Joint.
"I've got company coming." Night Runner quaffed the barley malt ale that went down real smooth and easy.
"Expected or unexpected?" White Fang raised his brow above his Clark Kent glasses, then tipped up his tankard.
"Unexpected but more than welcome." Night Runner didn't hide his lust-inspired grin.
White Fang's blue eyes, so similar to his own, pierced him with man-to-man knowing. "By her scent and frequency I would say your welcome guest is a granddaughter of Aoife, shadow warrior goddess of the Celts."
"Part of her heritage, you're right on target, old man." Night Runner carelessly saluted the elder wolf-man with his tankard. "Kimylla is a red-haired Sunfire goddess."
"No wonder your inner tail is wagging like a cub about to taste raw meat for the first time." White Fang's drily spoken words hit their mark.
Night Runner downed a large swallow of his ale as he mentally commanded his tail and his iron-hard cock to cease and desist...for now. "Time to strike while the iron his hot," he mocked himself.
With a telltale raise of his brows, White Fang stood. "Pasha, my cat goddess awaits." His farewell grin was mostly an amused smirk.
"Right, old man, I'll pay the tab," Night Runner called after him.
Arms with a god's strength wrapped around Kimylla the instant she burst inside. Instinctively she resisted, but halted, realizing it was Night Runner. With not an ounce of give in his arms, he embraced her tight against his tall, fiercely hard frame.
Oh holy sun, when had any man felt this sinfully divine?
"May I assume you're glad to see me?" Her breathy words poured from between her lips, despite her somewhat compressed chest.
"May I assume you need my help?" he growled with way too much intimacy.
Kimylla ignored the way his hot breath caressed her ear, the way it made her entire body all juicy-sexy.
"Is there somewhere private where we can talk?"
Oh holy crap, why had she said 'private'? And, why hadn't she known Night Runner found her desirable?
Although, the super wolf could shield his thoughts and feelings, even from her. Seeking his help, had she walked into his seduction trap? Well, actually, run into his trapping arms.
"Trust me, beautiful Kimylla?" he velvety rumbled.
"Should I?" At least, her defiant nature finally asserted itself.
Night Runner laughed, low rolling thunder that vibrated every inch of her. Kimylla clenched her eyelids tight while the rest of her became his molten captive.
"Trustworthy is my middle name, as they say here, my sunfire goddess."
Kimylla sensed his intention as Night Runner's words stroked her ear. He gently removed his arm from her, then opened the door. In seconds, they moved into hyperspeed.
Finally, the woman who fired his blood to raging lust was at his mercy whether she knew it or not.
"Where are we?" she asked, her voice soft as the wildflower blossoms he loped through as wolf. "I don't recognize this place."
"You're in the Scots Best of Breed Tavern, lassie," a man with a Scottish brogue answered. "What cin I get for ya?"
"Bring us dinner with all the trimmings, would you, Duff ole friend? I know my stomach's almost stuck to my backbone." Night Runner eased his hold on Kimylla, circling his palms over her delicately rounded belly. "I'm betting you're hungry, right, sweet darling?"
"I'm starving," his warrior goddess announced. "And the food smells heavenly. Oh, if you have anything pumpkin, please..." she paused, casting her gaze toward Duff, who stood before his great stone hearth in his clan kilt. "Zeiran 'Duff' McDuff of Vretland?"
"The one and only, lassie. Sorry to say, I haven't made your acquaintance." Duff straightened to his full overwhelming height, his stance like a stud dog showing off.
"I know you by reputation. The Scottie dog shapeshifter who can hurl like a giant at the Highland games."
Night Runner wondered if Kimylla realized she stroked his hand. He also wondered if she knew how much his ramrod straight cock enjoyed the blatant curves of her ass. If she didn't, he would absolutely demonstrate later, once he slowly peeled off her skintight suede breeches.
"Ah, lovely lady, I'm retired now." Duff's grand smile took over his features. "I've got me fine tavern and me lovely place at Dante's. An' I'm settlin' into Talbot's Peak."
"How about the table closest to the hearth?" Night Runner smoothed his palm down Kimylla's shapely arm as he moved beside her.
Duff gestured toward the table in his dramatic style. "The fire is crackling like a happy soul, and I'll be off gettin' your supper." He smiled at Kimylla, his eyes twinkling. "Lassie, I've brewed a special pumpkin spice ale, just for this seasonly occasion."
"Perfect. May I address you as Duff?"
"Surely, lassie. You two make yourselves at home. I'll be right out with pumpkin scones. Made by fairy hands," Duff added, and gave them both a wink.
Kimylla allowed herself to be escorted toward the small, dark-wood table that beckoned her anyway. She was tired, even for a goddess. Her stomach was on the verge of rebellion, demanding a good dinner. And, the only way she would gain Night Runner's help would be to hear him out.
He seated her like a gentlemanly rogue. Without taking his glittering, blue-eyed gaze off her, he lowered himself, so they sat close. Their knees touched, and he gazed into her eyes with a passion that sent licks of flame through her, deliciously sizzling her nether parts.
"It's like this, my sunfire goddess, I'll go to the ends of the Earth." He paused, his gaze devouring her face. "Hell, love, I'll go to the ends of the galaxy."
"To the ends of the universe," she teased, interrupting him.
"Yes." He captured her hand, then enfolded it within his tenderly.
"What do you want?" she taunted in a murmur, as quivers of excitement ran through her mid-section.
"I want you, Kimylla. I want you in my bed. I want wild primitive coupling. I want hours, days of lovemaking."
Kimylla let the shock subside, just a bit, before she asked, "Is that all?"
"For now." A slow wicked smile spread across his ruggedly handsome face.
"On one condition," Kimylla seductively teased.
His gaze darkened like storm clouds gathering, and his grip on her hand possessively tightened. Kimylla shuddered inside, wanton in a way she'd never imagined, never come close to feeling.
"Your condition?" he finally growled.
With her heart thumping fast, like a rabbit's heart, Kimylla leaned forward. Their gazes locked and melted into each other for several moments. "You wear a bonnie kilt for me. Fine as Duff is wearing."
Have a magickal and wicked Halloween!
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
Have a magickal and wicked Halloween!
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~