Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Long Lost Son of a Wolf-Cat

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

May your Thanksgiving be a time of joy... and wow, Christmas day is now a mere month away. This year has been a speeding bullet. So, before you know it, 2014 will be on the doorstep, demanding to be let in.

This flash scene was a brilliant flash before my mind's eyes, as I realized Damien Hancock, the crime-boss alpha wolf who originally took over Talbot's Peak with his pack – had a deep dark secret that was now showing up on his territorial doorstep.


Long Lost Son of a Wolf-Cat

As he surveyed one entrance of the Interspecies Pleasure Club from afar, Dajhir lowered his thickly furred hindend, sitting on the frozen blanket of snow. Ever since he'd discovered the identity of his real bio sire... or, his sire had discovered his existence, he'd been on the run.

A very fast long run as both human and while in his animal form.

Airplane hopping, especially given the TSA constraints, and hiking across long stretches of sparsely populated land on his four, now-sore paws was not his particular cup of Earl Grey tea. 

For the last seven years he'd been hiding out as a professor at a small private college in the northeast. Not only could he write his scholarly articles about the relationship of humans and animals from the dawn of history... but he'd gained access to ancient tablets the mainstream public had been denied -- and would be in a state of shock if they only knew the revelations within.

On the one paw, it had been fortuitous that he'd discovered his late dam's diary in a lockbox she'd left to him upon her passing. On the other paw, somehow his notoriously cat-hating sire had received word of his mother's death... then the nightmare had begun.

Damien Hancock was one ruthless son of a bitch -- as Dajhir learned from a shapeshifter private investigator he'd hired, once his life had been endangered several times. Only turning to his feral fangs and claws had saved his hide. That, and he'd carried a switchblade.

An expert in the use of knives for defense, his mother, a lynx shapeshifter, had taught him well. Now he could only be eternally grateful to her.

It seemed his sire also possessed endless wealth, and minions out the proverbial ass to do his sinister bidding. Having survived ten attacks on his life... well by damn, then the lucrative enticements from Damien Hancock had covertly come his way. Well timed, given his professorial career was now in the crapper litter box.

Rumors that he was a drug dealer had swept over the college campus like wildfire. Nothing could be further from the truth. Dajhir despised any addictive substance, and helped whoever he could to get off the soul-stealing chemicals.

Worn thin in body and spirit, and with no place to call home anymore, Dajhir decided to face his sire beast in his own lair. That, and while hiding out in a shapeshifter dive in New Orleans, he'd been told about Dante, his half brother in Talbot's Peak.

At the time, it had sounded too good to be true. But here he sat blasted by an arctic wind during the wee hours of the morning... wondering if he'd be welcomed at the Pleasure Club, or thrown to the pack of wolves that had chased him to an invisible boundary. Obviously, they didn't dare cross into the territory his half brother had carved out.

Dajhir sighed from the depths of his hungry, growling belly. His wolf-cat coat was so dense, the cold rarely penetrated. But, he was a raggedy, matted mess from his tail tip to his puffball-like furred mug. He probably smelled like a mile-high pile of elephant dung as well.

Forcing himself to move down the long snowy slope, he let a small seed of hope guide his slow tired steps. Dajhir thought Thanksgiving was close, and maybe charity would be extended to him, if what he'd heard about Dante was true... even so, he'd lost track of the days.

Shoving away thoughts of a turkey dinner with all the trimmings, Dajhir tried to hurry his pace. The smell of blood from his cracked paw pads entered his nostrils... then he saw her... what appeared to be an angel... no wings, but she was dressed all in white, a white snowsuit if his eyesight could be trusted... if he wasn't hallucinating... if...

Was she the angel of death... and he was in fact dying? Dajhir still felt alive, if bone weary.

Deciding there was nothing left to do but meet his fate, Dajhir hobbled toward her, his limbs now refusing to fully cooperate.


Sedina tromped over the crusty snow, determined to find out if the female spirit who had interrupted her daily meditation -- and refused to leave no matter how she'd spiritually commanded the presence -- had been telling the truth. If so, her son was on the edge of collapse, and needed immediate help.

Fortunately, the snow covering wasn't all that deep, and the snowsuit Sedina had recently purchased lived up to its billing. Being a jungle-bred cat shifter, she was so not a fan of cold and snow. And being a bit of a pussy-wuss, she was not all that fond of outdoor adventuring, either.

"Oh.my.gawd." The words left her lips as a frosty mist.

Sedina stopped in her tracks. A monstrously huge and strange creature that appeared to be made out of snow moved painfully toward her. It struck Sedina that the obvious shapeshifter would be magnificent in appearance if it weren't for his awful condition.

She tried jogging toward him, but her slight frame proved to be a hindrance. Sedina settled for walking fast and leaping over the small snowdrifts. All the while she summoned her healing energies.

Okay, she wasn't all that powerful in her ability compared to some, her instructor for one example... not yet anyway, but she was damn well learning. Knowing about the gathering of good witches in the Peak, she'd made the decision to move to the Pleasure Club, and work at the Midnight Stardust Supperclub.

For as long as Sedina could remember, she'd fiercely yearned to walk a spiritual path and develop her psi abilities. Now, she began to sizzle with her healing force the closer she came to the wounded... ? Her feline nose told her the odd-looking, enormous shifter was at least part cat.

Intuitively, Sedina knew the frozen patch of blood she suddenly saw on his upper flank was from a gunshot. "I'm here to help," she shouted, her fast breaths getting in the way of her words.

Fiery amber eyes met her gaze. Only the flames in their depths had gone dim.

Running the last few steps, Sedina sank to her knees and wrapped her arms around the cat beast's massive neck. He collapsed to the ground, taking her with him.

"I'm here to heal you," she soothed. "Your mother sent me."

Tidal waves of healing surged through Sedina entering the shifter's snow-encrusted, overly thin body. More important, she felt his spirit respond as if he wanted to stay in the land of the living.

"You've come home," she whispered several times... yet didn't know why the words poured from her. Only that they were somehow true.


Have a Magickal Season of Thanksgiving... 


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance


Rebecca Gillan said...

Nice.... I always wondered if Damien had a reason for being such a first rate biggot. And I'll be Dante will be just fine with gaining a half-brother!

On a side note, I am so going to have to figure out how to word "pussy-wuss" into a conversation!

Savanna Kougar said...

Yeah, Dante will be just fine to have a half brother on his side... Dajhir just doesn't know it yet.

Hey, let me know how you use "pussy-wuss". ~smiles~

Pat C. said...

Well well well ... so Damien likes himself a little cat-tail, eh? And Dante has his Kitty. The apple sure didn't fall far from that tree.

I'm sure Dante won't mind having a half-brother around, especially one in opposition to dear old Dad.

Wonder whatever happened to Devon Hancock? He seems to have dropped off the map.

Savanna Kougar said...

Yeah, I've been wondering about Devon, and his Asian Tigress kewtie. ~good gosh, I hope this isn't seen as racist... who knows what's politically correct anymore? said with all seriousness ~