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~~~~~~
Pop, Fizzle. . .Oh a rabid were what?!
Josh looked at the contents of the small bowl closest to him. Two large packages sat across from them. Tory’s carefully-printed labels showed who each bowl was intended for. The packages contained sweets for the town’s children who came by trick-or-treating. Popular candy, confections, and small items filled Halloween decorated goodie bags to bulging. Sally and her husband were busy decorating the back room for the town’s progressive party. Families and youth would crowd Main Street working their way from one business to the next, spending several moments eating, drinking, playing games, and gathering goodie bags to take along with them.
Josh spun the small bowl to get a better view of Tory’s label. The label read in bold capital letters: FOR ADULTS ONLY. Josh lifted the bowl, smelled, and sniffed again. Strawberries and sugar teased his nose and set his mouth to watering. He loved the red berry. Memories of the triad’s last jaunt south to their California holdings flashed over him. In particular their stop at two roadside stands selling fresh fruit and vegetables. They gorged themselves on local produce for the next two weeks. On their way back, Josh bought two pounds of strawberries and an industrial-sized bottle of chocolate syrup. Three days later, hives and a half-morphed wolf became fierce enemies. Ten days of allergy shots and oatmeal baths didn’t add to one’s dignity.
Josh held the bowl away from him as far as his arms would allow. He set the bowl back on the bar and shoved it further away. A soft feminine laugh sounded behind him. Josh turned, catching Tory smiling and laughing.
“I thought you knew better than to get near strawberries,” she teased, slipping her arms around his waist.
Josh snuggled Tory to him. He kissed the top of her head before answering. “Yes,” he offered. “I don’t know who laughed harder: Anthony, every time I came home shaved more, or Doc Wilson, hosing me down to get the oatmeal out of my pelt to treat the hives.”
Tory’s giggles reached him as she reached up to pat his cheek. “Anthony got his turn when he tangled with the blackberry bushes and the beehive.”
Josh tossed back his head laughing. “God, I didn’t know he could cuss in four languages besides wolf.”
Tory’s hand clapped over her mouth as she started laughing harder. She fanned herself with her other hand. As she caught her breath she spoke. “I’m glad I didn’t ask him to translate.”
Josh held Tory while they both laughed.
Meanwhile in the back room, Sally and her husband paused in their decorating, listening to the group of teens helping them.
“Come on, Matt. What’s so bad about going as our Myers-Briggs animal persona?” Nathan stood six-foot and towered over the two male teens helping him. Nathan’s kangaroo persona matched him. His native panther shape shifter form prevailed during most full moons.
Deke, the basketball team’s star center, faced Matt. “Look, if I can go dressed as a rooster for the night, why can’t you be a. . .”
Matt dropped the orange and black crepe paper streamer he held, tossing both hands in the air. “It’s bad enough we’ve got to dress up, but come on, as. . .” Matt looked down, glanced over his shoulder, and back around the room. “A bloody damn octopus! “
Sally nudged her husband hard at his first snicker. She shushed at him and shook her head. She whispered as she leaned closer, “Remember what your male pride was like then.” Her husband nodded and winked.
The teens continued their discussion on what costumes Matt might choose. As they exited, one thing became clear: Matt refused to name his choice.
Three nights later, groups of people filled the street, human and shape shifter alike. Couples walked arm in arm. Children held out their bags calling out, “Trick-or-Treat!” A quarter moon filled the sky, peeking out from behind clouds that swept through the night sky. Tory, dressed as Little Bo-Peep complete with shepherd’s staff and a stuffed lamb under her arm, greeted patrons as they passed the bar’s open door. Inside, Anthony wore a black Fedora hat, black pinstripe pants and shirt with a red vest. His partially transformed face displayed his wolf side. His name tag read ‘Wolf in Charge.’ He guided visitors through the bar and into the dining area. Josh wore a bartender’s outfit from the Twenties complete with a side holster holding a water pistol revolver. His semi-morphed Husky dog state complemented Anthony and Tory’s costumes.
In the back room, Sally in her witch’s outfit, accompanied by her husband, dressed as a broom, chaperoned the partying teens. Several asked about Matt. Even Deke and Nathan couldn’t tell if he was present. Bette, Matt’s girlfriend, strolled around the room with her dog. The golden retriever followed her patiently, taking her commands, and doing tricks for treats here and there.
“Food and game time,” Sally called out. “Everyone take a seat.”
Bette slipped tidbits under the table as she ate. Deke and Nathan offered items too. The dog lapped them up and came back for more as he made his rounds. In the middle of the table sat a bowl filled with candy. Several packages of Pop Rocks Candy filled the bowl. Deke nudged Nathan. Nathan nodded. As the retriever made another pass under the table, each held down their hand. Moments passed as the dog licked their hands filled with more treats again. When Bette pulled her hand back up full of meat, she leaned down looking under the table.
She stood up and pushed away from the table, crying out. “Matt, you didn’t tell me you were rabid!”
A yellow streak burst out from under the table, rising up on two legs running as fast as he could. Fur flew as he morphed. Foam and froth hung on both lips. Matt grabbed the first glass he came to as he bolted into the bar. Beer foam mixed with the candy foam added to his bubbling. Naked, foam pouring out of his mouth, and cussing, Matt raced out the door into the street. Bette, Deke, and Nathan followed fast on his heels.
The next morning, Tory set her coffee cup down on the bar as she paged through the paper. She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her mirth. The society page headline read, “Rabid Were-Retriever Sighted.” Pictures of Matt, Bette, Nathan, and Deke streaking down Main Street followed.
Posted by Solara Gordon
~~~~~~
CROSS-DRESSING
Vernon McMahon stuck his head out the bedroom door. “You about ready, son? We’re running late as it—oh, my blessed Lupa.”
All innocence, Nick rolled puppy eyes and said blandly, “What?”
“Like being turned into a horse wasn’t enough for you. First thing you do back in human form is … this.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with my costume. The theme for the Halloween party is Opposite Day, right?”
Nick stood defiantly before his father, a wolf in sheep’s clothing … or, in this case, the rattiest, tattiest, sheepskin he’d been able to find. He’d topped it off with a mask with a goofy, dumb-as-a-sheep expression, and a pair of curving ram’s horns that were clearly plastic. He’d hung a clunky bell around his neck for good measure. Like the costume by itself wasn’t going to annoy every herbivore in Talbot’s Peak.
“I’d get out of that right now, if I were you,” Vern warned.
“Or what? Your wife’ll butt me, like her hair-trigger daughter? I thought she was grown up enough to take a joke.”
“It’s not my wife I’m worried about. We’ve reached the age where we can take just about any stupid thing you kids dream up. It’s him you have to watch out for.” He nodded toward the kitchen.
Standing in the doorway was the biggest, bulkiest, scariest wolf Nick had ever seen. He blinked, and the “wolf” came into focus. It wasn’t a wolf; it was Elly’s son Hannibal in a wolfskin. He had on an ill-fitting jacket and tie over the tattered gray pelt. A sticker reading “Press” rode the lapel of the jacket. He carried a ruler in his front pocket, just to make sure everybody got the point.
Hannibal flashed a vicious grin that would have done any wolf proud. “A sheep. How fitting."
Nick snarled right back. “You really think you can pass as a wolf?”
“I’m not trying to be a wolf. I’m trying to be you.” He pulled out the ruler and waved it around. “Tell me, Nicky, did I get it right?”
“You’re going to get it, all right.”
Nick charged. Hannibal ran to meet him. The two reluctant stepbrothers crashed together like furious Olympian gods. The universe shook—the universe, in this case, being Vern and Elly’s living room. Months of pent-up hostility vented itself in thrown punches, harsh cursing, lots of snapping on Nick’s part and a lot of kicking on Han’s. Vernon threw up his hands and retreated into the bedroom.
The plastic horns, Nick quickly learned, weren’t good for butting. They weren’t good for much of anything other than slipping off the back of his skull. His fists weren’t doing much good either. Hannibal was built like a tank. What the hell did he eat for breakfast, concrete?
Just the same, Nick managed to get in a few good licks before the inevitable outcome, which was Nick pinned to the floor with what felt like a ton of bighorn sheep on top of him. Both their costumes had been reduced to tatters. Han had blood on his chin and a cut on one arm and several bruises where Nick had battered him with the ruler. Both were panting heavily. “How about it, wolf?” Han said. “Give up?”
“Bite me.”
“This doesn’t change a thing. My ma’s still married to your dad. Just because I can’t stand the situation doesn’t mean—”
“What? My dad’s not good enough for your mom, is that what you’re trying to say?”
“If the fleece fits, wolfie.”
“Listen here, you racist grazer—”
Vernon peered around the bedroom door. “You boys got it all worked out yet?”
Both of them smiled up at him. “Sure, dad,” Nick said. “Han here was just apologizing for being such a jerk.”
Vern noted their relative positions and grunted. “I’m sure he was. Listen, Elly and I are off to the party. I guess you two won’t be going, seeing as how you’ve wrecked your costumes.”
Hannibal shrugged. “It was worth it.”
“I’m sure.” Vern stepped into the living room and held out his hand. “Are you ready, m’dear?”
“Good to go.” Elly trotted into the room and twirled, showing off her high school letter sweater and poodle skirt to full effect. Only then did Nick realize his dad had on a leather jacket and chinos, and had styled his silver hair into a classic DA. “What the hell are you two supposed to be?” he demanded.
“Us?” Vernon said. “It’s an opposite party, right? So we’re going as teenagers. These duds were really hep back in the day. Just the thing for cruising.”
“And wrestling in the back seats of Chevys.” Elly giggled. “Wanna take a ride up to Makeout Point after the dance, big boy?”
“Drive the Chevy to the levy till my levy runs dry,” Vern misquoted, and nuzzled her neck. Elly’s giggle ran up the scale.
The mental image alone was enough to make Nick taste bile in his mouth. “Dad!” While Han bleated, “Maaaaaaa!”
“Oh, stop it, boys. It’s just a bit of fun. We’ll be back whenever. Don’t wait up.” Vern escorted his date/wife out the door.
Hannibal made a choking sound. “It must be Halloween,” he said, “because I’m scared scatless. You?”
“Yeah.” Wolf and bighorn looked at each other. “There’s nothing we can do to break them up, is there?”
“Nope. My ma’s been hard-headed from day one. Your dad must be tough enough to take it, so … ” He held out his hand. “Truce?”
“I guess.” Nick took the offered hand and let Hannibal pull him to his feet. He pretended not to notice how easily the big sheep handled his weight. “Wanna go to Rattigan’s, have a couple beers?”
“Yeah, sure.” Han looked down ruefully at his tattered wolfskin. “Maybe we should change.”
“Why bother? We can go as predator and prey. Outcome undetermined.”
Han grinned. “Y’know, you’re okay, for a meat eater.”
“Don’t push your luck. The night’s still young.”
Posted by Pat C.
~~~~~~
OPEN MOUTH, INSERT HOOF...
“You promised me a date tonight, Erol.” Greely called from his bedroom.
He’d promised her this current day date weeks ago as a way to escape her feminine fury. He still did not understand her upset at his suggestion. Was it not reasonable that she go to the communal tent or cave for the remaining days of her courses as the human women did in the past? Perhaps his mistake was that she was shifter rather than human. Did shifters go elsewhere during their…
“EROL! You promised…” she stepped into the living room looking like a large purple dinosaur with tiny, ineffective wings. “…remember.”
“That was before my magnificence was changed to this beast form. EeAhh. Damn it!”
“Erol, stop with the self-obsession! You make it worse by constantly touting your awesomeness.”
“It is not a self-obsession, woman, I am awesome. EeA.” Erol slammed his mouth closed, swallowing the end of the obnoxious donkey call. “Why are you dressed like a deranged dinosaur?”
Apprehension skittered up his spine when his mates jaw dropped, followed quickly by the thinning of her eyes. What had he said now? Keeping on this woman’s good side was harder than dodging a magic user’s spoken curse, as was witnessed by his current monstrous state.
“How-how dare you! I’m a Lady Dragon. YOUR Lady Dragon, though why I bother I will never know.”
“But you’re dressed as a dino…”
“DON’T SAY IT!” She stomped her overlarge foot, shaking her clearly T-Rex tail.
“…saur.”
“UGHHHHH. It’s a costume you, mule-brain!”
“Also, my Lady Dragon would have large glorious wings in which to fly through the sky with and wrap around me, EeAhh, as we loved one another, EeAhh, in a sexual plummet from the heavens.”
Erol flapped his wings once and moved them inward to display the appropriate curve. Only then did he note her turned back and the jingle of keys as she headed toward the door. “Fair one, where do you go?”
“Screw you, you ASS! I’m going to Dante’s costume party where I just might find a real dragon, or better yet, a donkey to be a Lady Dragon for.”
Erol saw red as she opened the door, preparing to leave. Fire rushed from his puny donkey nostrils burning like a lava bath taken above the water. “YOU WILL NOT LEAVE, WOMAN! EeeAhh. I FORBID IT! EeeeeAhhh.”
His lungs constricted as his once streamlined horse body was transformed into the pudgy girth of a donkey. “Bugger! What has been done to me now? EeeeeAhhhhhh.”
“Self-obsession and general all around buggery. I tried to warn you, Erol, but you don’t listen.”
“EeeeAhh!”
“Ha! A month free from listening to you go on about your dragon-y awesomeness. A blessing, for sure.”
Erol wondered if he’d once and for all ruined things with his mate or if he could somehow turn this around in the next few minutes.
“Happy Halloween, Jackass!”
Or perhaps days….
Posted by Serena Shay
~~~~~~
Park Monitor from Hell! ~ By Rebecca L. Gillan
Tom blinked as yet another pair of kids ran screaming
from the park. He’d just passed a pair of them a moment ago and a had seen a
few other couples who’d thought the city park would be a great place to do a
little post party trick-or-treating. He supposed it was normal teen behavior but
this was a town of mixed shifters and humans. They couldn’t have kids going
furry next to the teeter-totter. In fact, the city council employed an
old-fashioned park monitor to run the kids off. Manscape Mike didn’t usually
make them literally run away, though. He’d better check it out.
Poor Manscape, getting stuck with a moniker like that,
Tom thought as he nosed his cruiser into a parking space. He’d been playing in
boxes behind the furniture store in his cougar form a while back and had needed
to go human to get himself out of one he’d been shut in by a nervous dock
worker. Unfortunately, there’d been witnesses to the fact. Those witnesses and
shared, in detail, the whole thing including the fact that Mike kept himself
groomed bare down there. It hadn’t taken long for the ladies to dub him “Manscape
Mike,” and the guy still hadn’t managed to ditch the nickname.
Tom shut his cruiser off and pocketed the keys before
stepping out with his giant Maglite—didn’t want anyone to get the idea that
swiping an unattended cop car would e fun—and headed into the park. He hadn’t
gone far when yet another screaming pair barreled past him.
“Oh god, Office Tom! Run! Run for your life!”
He loosened his service weapon and flicked the giant flashlight
on and watched over his shoulder to make sure the kids made it to the sidewalk
before heading in the direction they’d come running from. He didn’t have far to
go, though, to see what had them running like hell.
“Mike?” he asked incredulously. The question was not
needed. Before him set none other than Manscape Mike wearing a Viking costume
and riding a huge draft horse with some unusual armor. As he watched, the stern-faced
Viking lost his hard look and grinned.
“Hey Tom! Like my Halloween costume?”
~~~~~~
The Betrayed Witch and the Lone Ranger
by Savanna Kougar
Shazelle bent at the waist carefully rolling on the black silk stocking -- actually the sheer black pantyhose she'd purchased when shopping at a specialty costume shop in Talbot's Peak. As she adjusted them for comfort, more unbidden tears slid down her cheeks. She reached for yet another tissue, dabbing away the wetness.
Shazelle pressed a cold cloth to her face. Gypsy Red Wolf, her good friend and belly dance instructor, had brought the bowl of water infused with lavender and rose essential oils, after she'd walked Shazelle to her room at the Pleasure Club -- the seduction-splendid room that was supposed to be her All Hallow's Eve honeymoon suite.
With the scents soothing her, Shazelle sighed, then finished dressing in her 'opposites attract' costume. She was determined to cast off her depression -- throw caution to the Autumn winds -- and enjoy herself at the club's Grand Halloween Affair.
Instead of an 'opposites' costume, though, she'd decided on the brief, naughty horse costume. It had been an act of defiance.
Oh, crap-hit-the-fan yeah, she'd been completely fooled by her fiance's loving manner toward her. That is, until they stood before the altar on the day of their almost-marriage and he'd suddenly shapeshifted into a horse.
Blinking rapidly to prevent more stinging tears, Shazelle gazed at her reflection in the superb, three-way mirror. Not bad, she admitted, heartened by how the costume enhanced her appearance. If she did say so herself, her curvaceous yet warrioress-strong figure looked damn good in the tight skimpy costume -- especially her plumped-up cleavage.
Shazelle also admired how the velvet corset's rich chestnut color complimented her tanned golden skin. Reaching back, she shook out the costume's long, lush horse tail, crumpled from being packed.
On impulse, Shazelle gave her butt a good sassy shake so her filly tail flowed nice and straight. "Ready for my stallion." she whispered, drily teasing herself.
Except for the shimmery strands, the tail's cinnamon-red color was a close match to her hair. Earlier, the clever stylist at the Pleasure Club's beauty salon had designed her long tresses so they resembled a horse's rippling mane.
Shazelle stroked her palm over one of her attached equine ears. They were darn real looking.
"No," she moaned, shuddering visibly. Once again, the devastating scene blazed before her mind's eye.
She'd been about to say her marriage vows when Tony, the Bengal Tiger shapeshifter she'd fallen in love with -- yeah, his nickname -- had uttered a strangled snarl.
Disbelieving, astonished, Shazelle had watched Tony stiffen like a corpse before busting out of his wedding suit. Her memory of the ripping fabric still exploded inside her ears, and she wondered how long she'd be haunted by it.
Then, stunned to her core, Shazelle had seen Tony rapidly morph into a striped horse...well, mostly horse but with the characteristics of a tiger -- as she vividly recalled.
Wheeling around, her fiance, now Tony the Tiger Horse, had galloped down the aisle. Actually since their ceremony had been an outdoor affair, he'd raced between their seated guests disappearing into the Autumn-gorgeous forest.
Only later, after hours of inconsolable weeping, had Shazelle learned about Marissa's witchly spell. At that instant, her psychic powers switched on, and she'd heard the very words Marissa voiced: "Fine. Here's a spell for you. Let all horse's asses look like horses!"
Her intuition ignited like a roaring bonfire then. And with her anger about to go super explosive, Shazelle spoke her own power words. Immediately images of Tony seducing several women played in her mind like a bad movie.
So! That's why the effing *turned into a horse's ass* bastard had encouraged her to keep her witch-force locked away. Not because he cared about the toll it took on her health at times, but...
Shazelle caught sight of her reflection, the formidable scowl contorting her face. No, she hadn't cursed Tony the Turd Tiger Horse. She'd concluded he wasn't worth her time or effort.
Besides, no one in the Peak had seen hide nor equine-tiger hair of him since. Not to her knowledge, anyway.
Spinning around on her black satin high heels -- quite the balancing act -- Shazelle moved toward the lovely vanity to apply her makeup. "Giddyup," she whispered, her wrath on the rise.
Truth before the Goddess, though, Marissa's angry spell had saved her from a terrible mistake. For that she felt great gratitude.
Still, love couldn't be switched on and off like a water faucet. Her starry-eyed hopes and dreams as Tony's wife had to die a natural death. Shazelle well knew the healing of her heart would take time.
In the meantime, she planned on sipping the old-fashioned honey mead Dante promised to serve the witches he and Gypsy Red Wolf had summoned to the Peak -- given the hidden persecution of witches had begun again.
Shazelle also planned on slowly, very slowly becoming inebriated. She desperately wanted to banish the tormenting mental images of her disastrous wedding day. Most of all, she wanted to temporarily forget the betrayal of her horse's ass, about-to-be-husband.
****
"Crazy as a herd of rutting studs," Drifter commented beneath his breath, then savored the fiery smooth taste of his apple-flavored whiskey. Recently arrived on Earth from his equine-shifter dominated world, he stood apart from the weirdly costumed crowd. For now.
His distant relative, Trail -- a longtime operative now living permanently on Earth with his human mate, Seneca -- had clued him in about what to expect at the Pleasure Club's Halloween celebration.
Drifter, aka Drifxonn on his homeworld, gave the Earthers credit for their unique, imaginative displays. Not easily amused, he found himself appreciating the amusement offered by many of the guests, who apparently dressed as each other.
With his inner flanks tickled, he scanned for the feline shapeshifters wearing wolf regalia while their mates pretended to be cat breeds of every type -- if his thorough research of the planet's predator species was correct.
After tossing back a swallow of his whiskey, Drifter mentally hoof-stomped down the lust relentlessly coursing through him. The scantily decorated women were a temptation he needed to resist. For now.
Continuing to observe from the eye slits of his Lone Ranger mask, Drifter focused on the energy patterns of the partying shifters and supernaturals -- plus the relatively few humans. The knowledge would serve him well in the future. His people wished to explore an alliance with Dante, the alpha werewolf, who owned the Pleasure Club, and the massive underground complex.
What captured his attention most forcefully was the deep purple energy-light tinting the atmosphere of the club -- a large-roaming area. Drifter not only witnessed the evidence that told him a significant number of witches were present, as they were known on Earth -- but he also scented their earth-fire-wind-water essences.
His whiskey glass empty, and feeling at ease, Drifter sauntered toward the grazing area -- several long tables laden with fanciful Halloween dishes and treats. In mid stride he halted as desire kicked him hard in the head.
The witch costumed as a cute little filly might as well have sidled up to him, twitched her tail invitingly, then galloped away so he could give proper chase. His inner stallion bugled wildly. Then his cock jumped its holster.
Drifter gripped the butt of his replica Colt pistol, while forcing his feet to stay rooted to the highly polished floor. Figuring he looked like the Lone Ranger caught in mid-action, he stared as she chatted with two couples.
He'd met White Fang, given the super wolf knew about the portal between his world and Earth, confronting him several days after his arrival. Now White Fang sported an Egyptian cat goddess costume while his lover wore a comic book version of a superhero wolf. No woman-loving man could miss how much the blue tights revealed her shapely legs.
If Drifter hadn't been thunderstruck by his witch filly, and hankerin' to meet her face-to-face, he might have busted out with laughter. Dante, the alpha wolf king, had costumed himself from head to toe as a fluffy white cat -- complete with an outrageously long bushy tail. Kitty, his mate, had turned herself into a sexy biker wolf girl.
Sensing his unrelenting stare, the little witch spun slowly placing her attention on him. Drifter didn't hesitate. He leapt into action, tossing his empty glass to the nearest waiter, then striding toward her. Used to herds, he shouldered his way through the thickest group without a problem.
"Well, howdy," she drawled, imitating an Old West accent. "I've always wanted to meet the Lone Ranger...up close and personal."
Drifter saw past her smile. Sadness, grief surrounded his filly witch like a swarm of pesky flies. "At your service ma'am," he drawled in return, then tipped his white hat briefly. "How about I escort you this evening?" Drifter offered his arm, and hoped like hell she would take it.
"Why I just can't resist such a gentlemanly offer." She spoke in a teasing voice, then wrapped her small arm around his.
Drifter lit up like a full Earth moon inside. "What's your pleasure, ma'am? Should we hit the feeding trough? Do some kickin' up of our heels on the dance floor? Or would you like another drink?" he asked, since she held a nearly empty glass.
"My pleasure right now, Mr. Lone Ranger, is hearing you say my name. I'm Shazelle."
She lightly squeezed his arm, and Drifter gazed down into sapphire-colored eyes that shimmered like pools of starlight.
"Shazelle," he obliged. Damn certain he wanted to be saying her sweet-sounding name often. "Should I reveal my name? Or do you want to live the masked fantasy?"
She grinned, a real smile shining in her eyes. "Hi-Yo, Silver, away...tell me your name Mr. Horse Shapeshifter. You are real, right? And not under Marissa's spell..." His little witch hesitated an instant, pain clouding her gaze. "Right?"
"Real," he assured, turning to face her while keeping her arm tucked against him. "The only spell I'm under is yours, beautiful witch."
"Then you know I'm not a horse shapeshifter... that this is just a --"
"A costume," he finished for her. "You make one fine filly, I don't mind sayin'."
Shazelle did a little shimmy for him, pleased with his words. "You're a white stallion, aren't you? ... That's why you came as the Lone Ranger."
Her soft voice sang through Drifter, a pleasure he hadn't known for a long while now.
"I am a white stallion shifter, Shazelle. My handle is Drifter." At the look of knowing on her lovely face, he continued. "It's short for my real name."
"Don't say it." She spoke in a hushed voice. "I know you don't want your otherworld identity known."
"I don't." He tugged her closer so their thighs touched.
"Tell you what, Drifter. I'm starving. Why don't we eat first? Then I'd love to dance in those big brawny arms of yours... then," she gave him a slow sassy grin, "I might just want a long, long ride... before you gallop off into the sunset."
"Chow first." Drifter gently brought her against his side moving them toward the food tables. He'd already decided he wasn't galloping off into any sunset without her, his little filly witch.
~~~~~~
The Betrayed Witch and the Lone Ranger
by Savanna Kougar
Shazelle bent at the waist carefully rolling on the black silk stocking -- actually the sheer black pantyhose she'd purchased when shopping at a specialty costume shop in Talbot's Peak. As she adjusted them for comfort, more unbidden tears slid down her cheeks. She reached for yet another tissue, dabbing away the wetness.
Shazelle pressed a cold cloth to her face. Gypsy Red Wolf, her good friend and belly dance instructor, had brought the bowl of water infused with lavender and rose essential oils, after she'd walked Shazelle to her room at the Pleasure Club -- the seduction-splendid room that was supposed to be her All Hallow's Eve honeymoon suite.
With the scents soothing her, Shazelle sighed, then finished dressing in her 'opposites attract' costume. She was determined to cast off her depression -- throw caution to the Autumn winds -- and enjoy herself at the club's Grand Halloween Affair.
Instead of an 'opposites' costume, though, she'd decided on the brief, naughty horse costume. It had been an act of defiance.
Oh, crap-hit-the-fan yeah, she'd been completely fooled by her fiance's loving manner toward her. That is, until they stood before the altar on the day of their almost-marriage and he'd suddenly shapeshifted into a horse.
Blinking rapidly to prevent more stinging tears, Shazelle gazed at her reflection in the superb, three-way mirror. Not bad, she admitted, heartened by how the costume enhanced her appearance. If she did say so herself, her curvaceous yet warrioress-strong figure looked damn good in the tight skimpy costume -- especially her plumped-up cleavage.
Shazelle also admired how the velvet corset's rich chestnut color complimented her tanned golden skin. Reaching back, she shook out the costume's long, lush horse tail, crumpled from being packed.
On impulse, Shazelle gave her butt a good sassy shake so her filly tail flowed nice and straight. "Ready for my stallion." she whispered, drily teasing herself.
Except for the shimmery strands, the tail's cinnamon-red color was a close match to her hair. Earlier, the clever stylist at the Pleasure Club's beauty salon had designed her long tresses so they resembled a horse's rippling mane.
Shazelle stroked her palm over one of her attached equine ears. They were darn real looking.
"No," she moaned, shuddering visibly. Once again, the devastating scene blazed before her mind's eye.
She'd been about to say her marriage vows when Tony, the Bengal Tiger shapeshifter she'd fallen in love with -- yeah, his nickname -- had uttered a strangled snarl.
Disbelieving, astonished, Shazelle had watched Tony stiffen like a corpse before busting out of his wedding suit. Her memory of the ripping fabric still exploded inside her ears, and she wondered how long she'd be haunted by it.
Then, stunned to her core, Shazelle had seen Tony rapidly morph into a striped horse...well, mostly horse but with the characteristics of a tiger -- as she vividly recalled.
Wheeling around, her fiance, now Tony the Tiger Horse, had galloped down the aisle. Actually since their ceremony had been an outdoor affair, he'd raced between their seated guests disappearing into the Autumn-gorgeous forest.
Only later, after hours of inconsolable weeping, had Shazelle learned about Marissa's witchly spell. At that instant, her psychic powers switched on, and she'd heard the very words Marissa voiced: "Fine. Here's a spell for you. Let all horse's asses look like horses!"
Her intuition ignited like a roaring bonfire then. And with her anger about to go super explosive, Shazelle spoke her own power words. Immediately images of Tony seducing several women played in her mind like a bad movie.
So! That's why the effing *turned into a horse's ass* bastard had encouraged her to keep her witch-force locked away. Not because he cared about the toll it took on her health at times, but...
Shazelle caught sight of her reflection, the formidable scowl contorting her face. No, she hadn't cursed Tony the Turd Tiger Horse. She'd concluded he wasn't worth her time or effort.
Besides, no one in the Peak had seen hide nor equine-tiger hair of him since. Not to her knowledge, anyway.
Spinning around on her black satin high heels -- quite the balancing act -- Shazelle moved toward the lovely vanity to apply her makeup. "Giddyup," she whispered, her wrath on the rise.
Truth before the Goddess, though, Marissa's angry spell had saved her from a terrible mistake. For that she felt great gratitude.
Still, love couldn't be switched on and off like a water faucet. Her starry-eyed hopes and dreams as Tony's wife had to die a natural death. Shazelle well knew the healing of her heart would take time.
In the meantime, she planned on sipping the old-fashioned honey mead Dante promised to serve the witches he and Gypsy Red Wolf had summoned to the Peak -- given the hidden persecution of witches had begun again.
Shazelle also planned on slowly, very slowly becoming inebriated. She desperately wanted to banish the tormenting mental images of her disastrous wedding day. Most of all, she wanted to temporarily forget the betrayal of her horse's ass, about-to-be-husband.
****
"Crazy as a herd of rutting studs," Drifter commented beneath his breath, then savored the fiery smooth taste of his apple-flavored whiskey. Recently arrived on Earth from his equine-shifter dominated world, he stood apart from the weirdly costumed crowd. For now.
His distant relative, Trail -- a longtime operative now living permanently on Earth with his human mate, Seneca -- had clued him in about what to expect at the Pleasure Club's Halloween celebration.
Drifter, aka Drifxonn on his homeworld, gave the Earthers credit for their unique, imaginative displays. Not easily amused, he found himself appreciating the amusement offered by many of the guests, who apparently dressed as each other.
With his inner flanks tickled, he scanned for the feline shapeshifters wearing wolf regalia while their mates pretended to be cat breeds of every type -- if his thorough research of the planet's predator species was correct.
After tossing back a swallow of his whiskey, Drifter mentally hoof-stomped down the lust relentlessly coursing through him. The scantily decorated women were a temptation he needed to resist. For now.
Continuing to observe from the eye slits of his Lone Ranger mask, Drifter focused on the energy patterns of the partying shifters and supernaturals -- plus the relatively few humans. The knowledge would serve him well in the future. His people wished to explore an alliance with Dante, the alpha werewolf, who owned the Pleasure Club, and the massive underground complex.
What captured his attention most forcefully was the deep purple energy-light tinting the atmosphere of the club -- a large-roaming area. Drifter not only witnessed the evidence that told him a significant number of witches were present, as they were known on Earth -- but he also scented their earth-fire-wind-water essences.
His whiskey glass empty, and feeling at ease, Drifter sauntered toward the grazing area -- several long tables laden with fanciful Halloween dishes and treats. In mid stride he halted as desire kicked him hard in the head.
The witch costumed as a cute little filly might as well have sidled up to him, twitched her tail invitingly, then galloped away so he could give proper chase. His inner stallion bugled wildly. Then his cock jumped its holster.
Drifter gripped the butt of his replica Colt pistol, while forcing his feet to stay rooted to the highly polished floor. Figuring he looked like the Lone Ranger caught in mid-action, he stared as she chatted with two couples.
He'd met White Fang, given the super wolf knew about the portal between his world and Earth, confronting him several days after his arrival. Now White Fang sported an Egyptian cat goddess costume while his lover wore a comic book version of a superhero wolf. No woman-loving man could miss how much the blue tights revealed her shapely legs.
If Drifter hadn't been thunderstruck by his witch filly, and hankerin' to meet her face-to-face, he might have busted out with laughter. Dante, the alpha wolf king, had costumed himself from head to toe as a fluffy white cat -- complete with an outrageously long bushy tail. Kitty, his mate, had turned herself into a sexy biker wolf girl.
Sensing his unrelenting stare, the little witch spun slowly placing her attention on him. Drifter didn't hesitate. He leapt into action, tossing his empty glass to the nearest waiter, then striding toward her. Used to herds, he shouldered his way through the thickest group without a problem.
"Well, howdy," she drawled, imitating an Old West accent. "I've always wanted to meet the Lone Ranger...up close and personal."
Drifter saw past her smile. Sadness, grief surrounded his filly witch like a swarm of pesky flies. "At your service ma'am," he drawled in return, then tipped his white hat briefly. "How about I escort you this evening?" Drifter offered his arm, and hoped like hell she would take it.
"Why I just can't resist such a gentlemanly offer." She spoke in a teasing voice, then wrapped her small arm around his.
Drifter lit up like a full Earth moon inside. "What's your pleasure, ma'am? Should we hit the feeding trough? Do some kickin' up of our heels on the dance floor? Or would you like another drink?" he asked, since she held a nearly empty glass.
"My pleasure right now, Mr. Lone Ranger, is hearing you say my name. I'm Shazelle."
She lightly squeezed his arm, and Drifter gazed down into sapphire-colored eyes that shimmered like pools of starlight.
"Shazelle," he obliged. Damn certain he wanted to be saying her sweet-sounding name often. "Should I reveal my name? Or do you want to live the masked fantasy?"
She grinned, a real smile shining in her eyes. "Hi-Yo, Silver, away...tell me your name Mr. Horse Shapeshifter. You are real, right? And not under Marissa's spell..." His little witch hesitated an instant, pain clouding her gaze. "Right?"
"Real," he assured, turning to face her while keeping her arm tucked against him. "The only spell I'm under is yours, beautiful witch."
"Then you know I'm not a horse shapeshifter... that this is just a --"
"A costume," he finished for her. "You make one fine filly, I don't mind sayin'."
Shazelle did a little shimmy for him, pleased with his words. "You're a white stallion, aren't you? ... That's why you came as the Lone Ranger."
Her soft voice sang through Drifter, a pleasure he hadn't known for a long while now.
"I am a white stallion shifter, Shazelle. My handle is Drifter." At the look of knowing on her lovely face, he continued. "It's short for my real name."
"Don't say it." She spoke in a hushed voice. "I know you don't want your otherworld identity known."
"I don't." He tugged her closer so their thighs touched.
"Tell you what, Drifter. I'm starving. Why don't we eat first? Then I'd love to dance in those big brawny arms of yours... then," she gave him a slow sassy grin, "I might just want a long, long ride... before you gallop off into the sunset."
"Chow first." Drifter gently brought her against his side moving them toward the food tables. He'd already decided he wasn't galloping off into any sunset without her, his little filly witch.
~~~~~~
Have a Magickal Season of the Witch...
Savanna
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