Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Tigress Shapeshifter ~ a cold feline fury ...


Tigers hug trees, too... 

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

Here's the next action episode of my ongoing flash. Kytaira, my tigress shapeshifter, and Zurroc, her black tiger man, are battling an on the bad-side SWAT-type team.

~~~~~~


Tigress Shapeshifter ~ a cold feline fury...

I have to wonder how many of the SWAT team charging toward me from every direction, know they defend a corrupt operation. One that is run by the most vile thieves who steal food from those in need.

Not an ounce of compassion stirs inside these monsters, encased in human bodies. The thought of their fellow humans starving is so much debris floating inside their heads.

I know. I scanned their minds. Gazed at their lost dark souls.

Yeah. Always know your enemy.

What I do detect from the vibes of those wearing black suits of armor, and aiming their big bad rifles at me, is their willingness to mindlessly serve a master. To be like the stormtroopers in the "Star Wars" movies.

On orders, they will capture or kill without remorse. An innocent means nothing to them.

A cold feline fury grips me as I hurl SpaghettiOs like a windmill. Zurroc throws the cans with unerring skill, keeping me supplied.

I target their big black weapons mostly. The bam-bam-bam strikes sound like strange, rapid-fire bullets. Tin clanging hard against forged-steel metal.

With their rifles jarred, or knocked out of their hands, their shots at me go wide. Soon, most of the SWAT team is slip-sliding on pools of SpaghettiOs, their arms flying about wildly as they try to keep their balance.

Twisting back and forth, I keep the enemy sighted, pelting those who are still able to attack. Grunts of shock follow as my weaponized cans boing-boing smash against their aimed rifles, or bong-bounce off their helmets.

The earthy-iron smell of spinach slams against my nostrils. Uh-Oh, no more SpaghettiOs!

To my advantage, the slimy spinach bursts out of the cans doing the job. Sliding, pumping their legs comically, my foes smash against each other.

At the same time, they try to raise their weapons, or take me out with other kill-stun types of devices.
With my warrioress blood roaring through me, I take aim.

Unconscious from my hurled cans of spinach, they make friends with the asphalt parking lot real fast. Their equipment clatters loudly, even so I hear, smell the final two attempt to sneak up on my blind side.

I whip around, and crouch, confronting them. Game over.

The tigress screams inside at the menacing point of their rifles. My savage nature blinds me as I morph rapidly.

Yet, I hear the low throb-throb growl of three helicopters. Before I spring, bullets graze my sides.

The force of my pounce topples the last two like bowling pins. Behind me, Zurroc sends them into the black void with the slamming force of his mind.

'Jet!' I mentally shout to Zurroc, as I sprint toward the landing helicopters. 'Make the truck invisible again. Lift off.'

I hear Zurroc's racing steps, his quick leap onto the dock. No use letting the moving truck become an easy target.

'What a mistake, landing the copters,' I think, as I streak toward the nearest one. Three sets of blades whirl, creating a strong whipping wind.

I scent the adrenaline-laced blood of the sniper as he sights me. Dropping lower, I charge. The bullet he fires creases the fur on top of my head.

But his legs are all mine. I ram my chest into his shins like a linebacker, buckling his knees. The sniper's second shot pings off the blades.

"Shapeshifter," a commanding voice bellows over some sort of bullhorn, "surrender or your mate dies. We are prepared to sacrifice the warehouse. One more move, and the missile will be launched."


~~~~~~

TUNE IN FOR NEXT WEEK'S FLASH-SCENE EPISODE...

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BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506268940242484050 
Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Monday, July 29, 2013

Those Dang Pesky Varmints


Fade in on a rugged landscape of harsh rocks and scrub in a desert setting. The camera zooms in on a tall, equally rugged man with a tanned face and wiry limbs. His Stetson sports an eagle feather, and a necklace made from bear teeth hangs around his neck. Cue the steel guitars.

“My name’s Billy Bob Beebe,” the voice-over announces over a montage of the man pursuing and grabbing various raccoons, foxes, skunks and opossums bare-handed, as well as one extended shot of him wrestling a buck deer. “I been hunting critters since I was knee-high to a bronc. Size don’t matter. They set up shop where they ain’t wanted, that’s when I step in.”

Tight close-up on Billy Bob’s face and his best Clint Eastwood squint. The title appears on screen, with a slash like claw marks through it. “I’m the Critter Catcher.”

# # #

“Son of a bitch,” Clu said. “I think we’re lost.”

Billy Bob and his sidekick, Skunkmeat, traded a look in the back of the van. Neither had been in favor of this Wild West Critter Roundup shit the producers had dreamed up, but with ratings dipping of late they had to do something. Arizona had been fun, and those girls in Colorado—hoo-whee! But that was two weeks and three episodes behind them. Tonight they were stuck somewhere out in Buttcrack, Montana, thanks to Clu’s overreliance on maps instead of GPS. As a cameraman, he was second to none. As a driver, he sucked ass.

“Hold it,” Skunkmeat said. “That a house up there?”

So it was, and with lights on. It looked just shoddy enough to invite critters in. “Attic or basement?” Billy Bob asked Skunkmeat.

“Basement. Whatever it is, they can’t drive it out. Gal sounded desperate.”

Desperate women. His favorite. Billy Bob puffed out his chest. “Hope she’s a looker. If she is, get lots of close-ups.”

They pulled up into the yard. Nobody came out of the house. Skunkmeat knocked on the door, then tried the knob. “Door’s open,” he announced. “Go in, or what?”

“Might as well start filming. The varmint could be in there now. We can get shots of the owners after and edit ‘em in later. You check around the outside and stand by with the cage. Clu, you’re with me.”

Inside they found a sink full of dishes and a sticky kitchen floor, but no homeowners. “They might’ve run off,” Clu suggested. “Especially if it’s a skunk.”

“Somebody should’ve told ‘em we were coming. That asshole Bennington probably dropped the ball again. Hey. Hush up a sec.”

Billy Bob tiptoed to a doorway standing open a crack. Clu caught his stealthy approach on camera. “Cellar,” Billy Bob whispered after a quick check. “I hear scratching. What the hell, let’s go earn our paychecks.”

The two men crept downstairs. A single forty-watt bulb on a string cast wan yellow light over an earthen-floor basement that was one step up from a crawl space. Shelves crammed with canned goods lined the walls, and an ancient freezer hummed in a corner.

In another corner, a big furry lump dug industriously at the dirt. Billy Bob aimed his flashlight at it.

“Coon! We got us a coon!” All the noise was for the camera. So was his headlong plunge off the steps. The viewers liked a lot of noise and action. He’d chase the critter around the basement, provoke it into a fight. Once Clu had enough useable shots he’d grab the beast and yell for Skunkmeat and the cage. A simple formula, but one that had won him and his buds thousands of fans and a rich payoff. People were entertained by just about anything these days.

The raccoon froze in the light, stunned to immobility. Billy Bob swung a kick at it to get it moving. The stupid thing just stood there. Swearing, he lunged and caught it by the tail. “C’mon, you damn fleatrap. Show a little fight. I got sponsors to keep happy.”

It didn’t fight. It blurred. Suddenly Billy Bob found himself face to face with a scruffy guy with a beer gut and eyes that glowed red in the flashlight. A naked scruffy guy.

“Wallet’s upstairs on the bureau. We don’t have any silverware,” the guy said. “Just don’t hurt us.”

Clu dropped the camera.

Billy Bob’s voice dried up. He found enough spit to wet his throat and croak out, “Whu?”

The scruffy man leaned forward and squinted. “Hey, I know you. You’re that jerk from the Animal Channel. You catch poor scared little animals and stuff ‘em in cages. What are you doing in my house?” He cast a suspicious look at Clu. “Are you scrapbooking this?”

Billy Bob made sputtering noises.

“We got a call,” Clu quavered. “Some varmint in a basement—”

“Oh.” The erstwhile raccoon nodded. “You want the Zinns. They live about a half mile up the road. They got a possum in their rec room. I think it’s Albie’s brother-in-law. His wife’s been trying to get that moocher out of the house for weeks.” He transferred his glare back to Billy Bob. “You want to get your hand off my ass?”

A sudden shriek caused all three men to whirl toward the basement stairs. A woman in a housecoat stood there, clutching the wooden rail. “What the hell are you doing to my husband?”

The raccoon had married a wolverine. (“I like feisty women,” he said later.) What followed wasn’t pretty. Watching the carnage from the basement window, Skunkmeat lurched away and blew chunks into the pansies.

# # #

While Billy Bob was recuperating in the hospital, somebody uploaded a video to YouTube showing the Critter Catcher with his hands on another man’s naked ass. His show was cancelled the following day. The home invasion charges were eventually dropped.

“Let this be a warning to everybody,” wildlife control officer Hannibal Ewing addressed the populace over Talbot’s Peak’s cable access station. “If you find a human in your home, contact your local authorities. Let us handle it. Don’t try to catch it yourself, especially not by hand. You don’t know where they’ve been.”

Sunday, July 28, 2013

SNEAK PEEK SUNDAY: Her Midnight Stardust Cowboys ~ Chapter Eight


Her Midnight Stardust Cowboys


Chapter Eight:
Dontoya watched their chosen mate's face...

Dontoya watched their chosen mate's face pale before she gazed at him with wide eyes. He plumbed their depths while wondering if he'd ever become accustomed to the exquisite beauty of her eyes.

"You two aren't gay...maybe that's bisexual, and looking for a third...are you?"

She'd blurted the words out. With Z-dog's magic juice running through her veins, he knew Sherilyn had temporarily lost some of her inhibition, as if she'd imbibed too much.

"No, not gay. And not bisexual, Sherilyn darlin'," he answered.

"But..." she began, about to ask him about being their third.

"We've been partners for a long time now. Before we moved here, and took up serious ranchin'," Zance filled the silence. "That makes some folks think we're lovers. Both of us like the ladies way too much. Always have."

~~~~~~


For more Sunday Sneak Peaks 
~sneak-peek-sunday.blogspot.com~
~~~~~~
 

***Blurb & Excerpts for HER MIDNIGHT STARDUST COWBOYS are on my page above.*** 
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BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506268940242484050 
Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Saturday, July 27, 2013

Full Moon Fair Effect






Gill look up from the table covered with blue prints and maps of town.  At the opposite end of the table, Bettina and Louie examined the list of vendors and attractions vying for a prime spot along Main Street, otherwise known a Fair Central.  Orange colored flags littered the maps while white chalk marks outlined the areas already assigned to businesses along that particular street or section of town.

“You know, Gill,” Louie began, standing up straight, his hands going to the middle of his back.  “This is going to be bigger than we first intended or expected.  Mystic Falls decided to join in and with Sandy Valley now adding in their stuff---” Louie shrugged.  “Are we going to get anyone who isn’t busy manning something to attend the Fair?”

Bettina snorted.  “How many of those flyers did you give Erol and Greely with the instructions to paper every town and shopping mall with in a thousand miles?”

Louie ducked his head and sighed.  “Okay, so I went a bit overboard.  Can’t help it.  I’m from the Jersey Shore and we do things big there.”

Gill tapped on the table.  “What I want to know is how do we keep the humans who don’t know about us and our animalistic nature from freaking out?”

Louie coughed, rolled his eyes, and leaned forward on both hands on the table.  “You think we can close down the city on a full moon?  You remember opening night and for the next two nights the full moon is beaming down without cloud cover?”

“Shit do I!” Gill dropped into a nearby chair.  “We’re sunk.  Completely and utterly outed. Knowing the citizens of this town, hiring New York City’s riot cops wouldn’t help.  Even military special forces won’t break up a mess like that if we don’t get some kind of policing going on.”

Bettina walked around the table.  “I can call in a few favors and get some of my cousins from my old neighborhood to help out.  They might drain the blood bank’s reserves to keep them from puncturing a neck or two while they are keeping order.”

Louie nodded as he sat in the chair next to Gill.  “How about we double the price after a certain hour so that most of the humans will come earlier to avoid the extra cost?”

Gill glanced at his watch.  Three hours and still they didn’t have a good idea how to keep a town of horny rutting not-so-civilized moon crazed denizen happy without incurring wrath and discord.  Then the idea flashed in front of him.  Effective shifter control for the evening.  It might just work.

“Louie, you know that concoction you and Lex were messing with talking about keeping the town’s population explosion under control?”  Gill smiled as the idea took a more concrete form.

“Yes,” Louie answered leaning forward.  “What you got in mind?”

Bettina pulled her chair closer as she sat down.  She didn’t like the look on Louie and Gill’s faces.  “You honestly think you can make enough of that stuff to keep the whole town sated and unshifted?”

Gill’s smiled widened.  “It’s worth a try.  Extra concentrated and in the water system as well as whatever food and drink we serve may pollute their systems enough that we end up with a town of non-shifters for seventy-hours.”

Bettina sighed.  “You weren’t planning on running for re-election were you, Gill?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Weekend Gang!

Looks like trouble is brewing in Talbot's Peak.  With Lex in on this, I don't even want to venture the outcome.  Much less the results when the town's people reaction when they learn what Mayor Gill has done to them.  Or is it for them?  What side effects might this brew have on say a few humans who partake of a sample or two?

Until next week, remember to share a good book or two with your spice and loves.  I know I will be!


Smiles,

Solara

Friday, July 26, 2013

A Legends League in the Peak?

Dear Editor,
 

I’ve decided to make my appeal to you considering how much pull the paper seems to have in this town.   I hope you will get this request into the hands of the appropriate committee to review our request. 

It’s been noticed that our town doesn’t have a semi-professional sports team and frankly, our high school team can’t stop turning into animals on the field which keeps them from playing with surrounding towns.  How we’ve kept the “humans” in the dark up until now is a miracle. 
 

Anyway, I digress.  I’d like to make a suggestion for a new team.  Women’s football – specifically a Legends Football League.  My buddy and I took in a game the other night and it was enlightening.  When you consider the “talent” we have in Talbot’s Peak, it makes sense to develop a team.  We could build a stadium, charge an entrance fee and set up concession stands.  The influx of cash into our town would be incredible (again do to the “talent”).
 

I know it may be a little early, but I’d like to nominate Ziva Wilk to the team.  Her “assets” would greatly add to the talent of the team.
 

Thank you for your consideration,
 

A Concerned Sports Enthusiast

~~~

“Well, Z, looks like you have a fan letter here.”

“Gimme!”  Ziva pushed back in her desk chair and ripped the letter from Penelope’s hand.  She acknowledged her craziness over fan mail, but she couldn’t help it…she loved that people were reading her work.

“Ah, it might not be what you’re looking for, Z….”

“Shush, wait…”  She held a hand up to her friend and continued reading.  “What the hell?  I’m missing something here.  I get the suggestiveness of the letter, but women’s football?”

“Yeah, check out the website at the bottom of the page.”

Ziva scanned down and found the addy.  She typed it into the computer and in seconds was greeted to a page that explained it all. 

Unfortunately. 

“They’re playing football in their bra and panties?”

“Yep.”

“Wearing shoulder pads that don’t do anything but push their boobs out and a garter?”

“Yep and yep.”

“Oh Lupa…do they even get running shoes or do they have to do this in heels as well?”  Ziva sighed, frustrated with those in her town that had some growing up to do.

“Can’t tell, but my guess is fido here would like to see you in stilettos.”

Ziva sniffed the paper and caught the rascals scent. “Not fido, more like dinner.  I’ve smelled that before….it’s…”

“ZIVA!  PENNY!” 

Nick bellowed, damn near shaking the walls, startling her from her thoughts.  “Oh Penny, did you really give him a copy?”  Ziva looked out the door and saw him huffing his way towards them.

“At least I didn’t give him the copy with the scent on it.  I couldn’t resist seeing that look on his face and the bulging vein is just too good!”

Yeah, he was seething and what she was going to do next would not help, but she couldn’t let the author of the ill-advised letter face this wrath. 

“Give me the letter!”

“Sorry, Sweetie, no can do.”  Lupa, he was fine in his anger.  Ziva longed to pet him, kiss every part of him then suck his dick until the fury changed to pleasure.  She was alpha and rather than fight her man, she wanted to fuck him.

“Don’t sweetie me!  GIVE…ME...THAT…”

Ziva moved sideways, closer to Penelope as Nick made his move.  She reached for the Peaparrots colorful pants, pulled them out and stuffed the letter in front—deep enough to feel warmth. 

Nick stopped short and glared.  “Get it back.”

“You mean stick my hand back down Penny’s tight pants, rooting around near her bare flesh until I find the letter?”  Nick’s deep red flush was an awesome sight.  Ziva adored flustering her mate.  “Oh Sweetie, l don’t think you’re ready for that yet.”

“I want that letter, Ziva.  No one makes lewd comments about my She and lives.”

“Nick,” she purred, stepping into his arms and reaching for his face. “I do love you and your alpha attitude, but please let me take care of this.”

“Mine.” Nick grunted.

“Absolutely and for always, but let me straighten this person out.”  Ziva soothed his jaw with her hands and lips waiting for him to relax enough to be sent away.

“First shot,” Nick grumbled, releasing the tension filling his body in slow increments.  “You get first shot, Z, and then I’m stepping in if I hear anymore about you in a Legends League.”

“Agreed,” she said, kissing him with enough passion to get his mind off the letter, but not enough that would make him throw her over his shoulder.  “Now go rest your junk, I’m gonna want some later so put some ice on it…”

Nick growled at her even as he limped out the door.

“He’s still feeling that fall, huh?”

“Oh Penny, he was so funny that day—storming into the house, holding his nuts and growling about never having pups of our own all the while lowering death threats on his brothers head.”

“He got over it though, yes?” 

“Yeah, he did.  A little TLC to the affected area and he was right as rain until he felt he needed more TLC.”  Ziva shook her head and smiled at the memory.  “Now, do you feel up to running down one immature oxen?”

“Oh hell, Arnold again?”

“Yep, and I feel a little cow-tipping coming on,” she said, extricating the letter from her friends pants. “We can call it practice for the football season.”

“Bra and panties?”  Penelope inquired, a suggestive gleam in her eyes.

“Ha!  Sure, just no stilettos. I’m too old for that shite.”

~~~
Another peek into Nick and Ziva's life.  I do love writing about their exploits, each so crazy in love with the other, yet they deeply groove on toying with the other the way best friends do!

Have a great weekend!
Serena

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Something's Got To Give

Mooney stooped behind the shrub under Nick’s office window, grinning like a loon. It had taken some planning, but he had finally found just the right payback for Nick running him up a flag pole a couple weeks ago. The delay was for the best, anyway, since Nick had probably forgotten all about it or thought that he wasn’t going to get his big brother back for it.


Besides, it wasn’t his fault his pups had decided to try and reproduce the sound of sexy bleating. It also was not his fault that the boys decided to demonstrate their attempts to him and Nick; that was all Marissa’s fault. Not that he thought she was at fault, of course. Truthfully, that had been an awesome stroke of genius on her part. But he was the one who’d been chased up a flag pole right in the middle of town just as all the office people were heading out for lunch. Therefore retribution was in order.

He had waited for Nick to go to lunch before sneaking into his office to hang the poster he had ordered from that on-line gag poster site. Now he was waiting for Nick to get back from lunch so he could reap the benefits of listening to Nick go ballistic when he saw it.



**********



Nick stood staring at the poster. It was huge, three feet, at least five foot long, and it was thumb-tacked to the ceiling right above his desk. This was Mooney’s doing. He knew it was. He didn’t smell any fresh scents in his office and his obnoxious little brother was the only wolf he knew that could completely mask his own scent this well.

“Where the hell did he find a poster of a sheep in thigh-highs and stilettos?” he murmured to himself. He made sure to keep his voice down. There was no way Mooney wasn’t lurking somewhere close by, waiting to witness Nick’s reaction. No way was he going to give the butt-sniffer the satisfaction of knowing just how very creaped out he was right now. “And why the hell did he hang it on the ceiling?”

He couldn’t let this insult slide, of course. It didn’t matter that he had it coming. He was an alpha and no one got away with punking and alpha. For instance when he had accidentally walked in on his dad boffing Ellie, he’d called Hannibal and—wait. Yeah, he though. He’d made sure Hannibal got an earful of the sexy bleating, too. He stood up on his chair and began pulling thumb tacks out. His dad was always telling him he should be nicer to his step brother. Sharing was part of being nice, right?



**********



Marissa looked up when she heard her boys cheering wildly, automatically nervous. With most human kids, quiet was very suspicious. With wolf pups, she had learned, it was random noises. Cheering on a quiet afternoon in the middle of the week definitely qualified was random noises with Loki and Thor.

“Mom, Mom, come quick!” Thor shouted excitedly. Marissa dropped her wiping rag onto the counter and rushed over to the window the boys were staring out of. The few customers in the coffee shop during the early afternoon lull joined her.

“What the?” muttered one old man.

“Is that a bighorn sheep chasing a wolf down the street?” one woman asked incredulously.

“Look, Mom! Uncle Hannibal and Uncle Nick are playing tag! Can we go play, too?” Loki shouted, bouncing up and down.

“No, I think that would be a bad idea—” But before she could finish, the boys were gone. The door to Java Joe’s slammed and two small wolf pups were running down the street. As she watched with a mix of horror and growing amusement, one pup launched himself onto the back of the huge bighorn and the other scuttled under the wolf’s feet tripping him up. Hannibal, with a wolf pup now on his head and covering his eyes, didn’t see Nick wipe out, so he tripped over his adversary and went sprawling himself. As she watch, both Nick and Hannibal lay there on the grass of the city park, trying to figure out what had happened while two very excited wolf pups tried to get them to play.

“Hm. Maybe that was the best solution,” Marissa thought.



Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Tigress Shapeshifter ~ my iconic commercial weapons


Super Moon in Aquarius yowls and howls, shapeshifter lovers. Time to tune into your dreams, then invent yourself anew with another shining aspect of who you truly are.

THANKS! To everyone who participated in the *A Midsummer Night's Dream-Man* blog hop.  And congrats to the SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS' winner, Colleen.

A short flash episode today, since I'm still under the weather some. And, yes, canned violence ahead.


~~~~~~


Tigress Shapeshifter ~ my iconic commercial weapons

I glance around for my weapon of choice against the ten special-ops guards, who have surrounded the warehouse. Spying a stack of clearly labeled cases, I sing out, "Uh-Oh SpaghettiOs!"

Spinning toward the large supply, I use my claw-like nails to rip open a box, and strip away the plastic. Zurroc is beside me, tearing open more of the boxes.

"I'll keep you supplied and guard the jet," he growls.

I grab the twelve-pack of SpagettiOs, racing to intercept the team of four guards who are advancing on us. I smell their sweat-stench, and see them before my mind's eye as they take up positions around our moving truck

Using his supernatural strength and speed, Zurroc tosses opened cases onto the dock. I hear the tinny thumps as I charge toward my locked and loaded prey.

Aimed, high-tech rifles greet me. The red laser pinpoints search for the kill spot as I drop the case on the dock, then bend over scooping up four cans.

"Come and get it, boys," I murmur. Moving into a fast spin, feeling the dots of heat, I use their rifle lasers as my guide.

I hurl one can of SpaghettiOs after another. Did I mention they're wearing night vision goggles?

Clunk. Smash. The cans strike their mark. I hear the steps of my prey falter, and the pricks of heat disappear.

Rapidly retrieving four more of my iconic commercial weapons, I whip around and finish the job. I target their goggles, throwing the cans so forcefully -- bang, bang, bang, bang -- the metal splits. Tomatoey gunk and the white Os ooze out as they stagger backward, then crumple to the ground out cold.

Emboldened by the arrival of the Canadian SWAT-like team -- I hear the machine-racing growl of their military grade vehicles -- the remaining six special-ops guards close in on my position.

I clutch the last four cans against my chest, and spring upward. Rotating through the air several times, I land on the front edge of the dock.

The tigress takes over, and I crouch, sighting the positions of my opponents. "Dinner is served," I mutter, as I take aim.

Splat! A hard cracking splat against his temple. I watch SpaghettiOs splatter on the side of his face. He wheels around like a drunkard, the Os dripping like pieces of his brain. 

Dodging bullets, I whip around to the closest assailant. With an underhanded throw, I smash the can into his unprotected Adam's apple.

He made the mistake of lowering his rifle to sneak up behind me. Now he staggers, his hand wrapped around his throat.

Bounce! Bong! I watch the can Zurroc's hurled hit him square in the forehead. Straightening, he falls over backward, stiff as a corpse.

Leaping upward, I throw my can of SpaghettiOs like a speeding bullet. The third guard is targeting me up close and personal with his rifle.

Roars, oh yeah! The can strikes his third eye. I almost growl a laugh watching the can crunch like an Accordion.

SpaghettiOs spill out from the burst seams.  "Like zombie brains," Zurroc rumbles behind me.

I whirl around, catching the can he tosses. Armed with SpaghettiOs, I launch into an aerial cartwheel. Landing in front of the dock, I aim fast, then sling both cans.

Yowls, ouch! Mr. Special Ops guys should have been wearing a helmet. The cans crash into his temples, just above the sides of his goggles.

I hear his head ringing from here, his brain sloshing. More importantly, he's definitely down and out for the count.

Shouted commands penetrate. The sorta SWAT team rushes toward us, their armor clanking noisily. As they deploy around us, their odor overwhelms me like a backed up sewer on a sweltering summer day.

"More SpaghettiOs," I shout.


~~~~~~

TUNE IN FOR NEXT WEEK'S FLASH-SCENE EPISODE...

~~~~~~

BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506268940242484050 
Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance


~~~~~~

Monday, July 22, 2013

The Name's Wolf. James Wolf.


“Lupa fuck me,” Dale Hancock groaned. “This thing is obscene.”

“So stop reading,” his buddy Ewan Carter advised. Ewan was currently up to his dirty eyeballs in one of those filthy boy books, where two men—or more, Lupa help them all—wasted their skills on each other. Not that this perverted tale the human she had concocted was any less disgusting.

Vampires. Vampires, for prey’s sake. Performing acts a dead body shouldn’t be able to handle. And women lapped this stuff up like cream off the top of the milk pail. If he lived to be as old as the bats in this story, he knew he’d never figure it out.

It was only two pages covered in a cursive scrawl, torn out of the human female’s notebook. Well, he’d wanted to know. Practically demanded to know. She’d been sitting in the coffee shop, studying each and every patron and furiously scribbling away. And she was human. She could have been anything—a hunter, a reporter, a spy. Dante had tasked Dale and Ewan with keeping a surreptitious eye on all humans new to Talbot’s Peak. When he saw one taking notes, he had to know what those notes were saying.

So far, they said the human was one randy, twisted she-bitch.

Worse yet, she’d put him in there. Only on the page his name was Pietro and he was a vampire with ocean-dark eyes and, apparently, a never-ending hard-on. Barely two sentences after meeting the girl—Aramilla, for crying out loud, who the fuck names their kid Aramilla?—and “Pietro” had her bent over backward with his teeth on her neck and his hands grasping “the glorious globes of her ass straining against the thinnest of silken panties.” The panties were gone by the next sentence. Ripped off, wadded up, and tossed aside by the undead horndog with Dale’s hair and features.

Ewan was in there too, but he didn’t seem to be taking part in the fun. She must not have had the chance to observe him for long.

The rest of the pages went into lush, lurid descriptions of all the things “Pietro” did to “Aramilla,” and everything she did in return. And then, right before the main event, it all stopped in the middle of a sentence. Ewan had only managed to snag the two pages. No matter how many times Dale poured over them, he would never know what happened next. Although he could hazard a guess.

He made himself focus on her handwriting. Theory was, you could tell a ton about a person by how they formed their letters. Hers were loopy and cramped. She’d been writing in a hurry, trying to squeeze as much on a line as she could, as quick as she could. Just what a spy would do. Whether a spy would have a man perform randy acrobatic sex acts with a she he’d known for less than five minutes, Dale didn’t know. Maybe this was written in some kind of human code. Lupa knew sex was all the monkeys ever had on their minds.

Why she was still on his mind he couldn’t figure out, and it pissed him off no end.

“Wooo-whee!” Ewan burst out. “Three straight pages of holding it in and then he comes like a rhino. I’d try that myself if I wasn’t so impatient.”

Dale made a face. “Put that away.”

He thrust it at Dale instead. “Take it. Maybe you can pick up some pointers. Chaos knows you need ‘em.”

Dale shrank back like the book had fangs. “I ain’t interested in two he-dogs humping each other’s legs.”

“They ride a lot more than legs in here. Where’s that one chapter?”

Thankfully, before Ewan could blast his sensibilities with the offending scene, the office door opened and Dante stepped into the vestibule. Both wolves sprang to their feet. Ewan shoved the paperback into his pocket. They stood straight but with eyes lowered in respect.

“At ease, boys,” Dante said with a chuckle. For an alpha from a tightassed pack, Dante was an easy-going wolf and a joy to take orders from. Dale didn’t mind at all being cousin to him, or doing surveillance work on behalf of him and the Peak. His hand crushed the pages and their sick insinuations. Up to this point, anyway.

“Now then,” his cuz said, abruptly all business. “What’s this about you two assaulting a human she in the coffee shop?”

Instantly Ewan slid a half-step back and became unnoticed. He had this coyote trick of fading into the background whenever the scat hit the fan. As usual, Dale stepped up. “It wasn’t assault. We were scouting a new human female in town, like you told us to. She was watching everybody and making notes. Ewan tried to chat her up, get a look at what she was writing. Things got out of hand.”

“Ah,” Dante said. Ewan just shrugged and grinned. “And that’s what got Sergei involved?”

“Sort’a.” Dale swallowed hard. Getting Sergei involved in anything was one of Dante’s no-nos. “He came to her rescue. You know him.”

“But we got what we needed,” Ewan piped up. He elbowed Dale. “Show him.”

At Dante’s expectant look Dale handed over the now sweat-smeared and crumpled pages. “Here’s what she wrote. But I gotta warn you, she put this, uh, unique spin on ‘em. I don’t know what it means.”

Dante scanned the pages. His eyebrows climbed higher and higher. Towards the end he made a little snort, either disgust or amusement. Dale never made snap guesses where Dante was concerned. “Well. That’s an interesting take. Not your usual sort of intel gathering.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling him,” Ewan said. He fished out the dirty boy-book and handed it over to Dante. “She had this on her, too. I think she’s just a harmless writer.”

Dante took a quick peek at the cover and returned the paperback to Ewan. “A writer, huh? She’s got an imagination, that’s for certain. Unfortunately, there’s no such thing as a harmless writer. They see plots everywhere, and they never stop watching. That’s why you two are going to keep an eye on her. Make sure fiction is all she writes, and all she knows about us.”

“But how are we supposed to—” Dale started.

“You can start by giving these back to her.” Dante stuffed the pages back into Dale’s hand. “Otherwise she’ll go poking around looking for them. We don’t want her poking the wrong bear. Or tiger. Then get to know her, see what she’s up to.” His lip curled wickedly. “Offer to read her book.”

“I’ll do that part,” Ewan said at Dale’s sick expression. “Some of us appreciate lit’rature.”

Dale wobbled out of Dante’s office in a daze, with Ewan ambling beside him. “Stalk a human she without her catching wise? How are we supposed to do that?”

“Stealthily.” Lupa bite his dangly bits, Ewan actually looked eager. “We go undercover. Two randy cowboys looking to show the new gal in town a good time. All the while we pump her for information. Like a spy movie. Maybe we can talk her into a romp. We already know she likes sex.”

“Sex between hes.” Dale gestured at the paperback, once more riding snugly in Ewan’s pocket. “That’s a lot more above and beyond than I’m willing to go.”

“Then I’ll handle that. You man the camera. C’mon, bud. It’s just a human she. She didn’t even get our species right. This’ll be a roll in the grass. What could go wrong?”

With a human involved? Dale considered listing the many possibilities, but decided against it. If the chance for a romp presented itself, Ewan would be there with both heads held high. All he could do was stick close and keep them both out of trouble. The pages seemed to burn in Dale’s vest pocket. Yeah, fat chance of that.

Friday, July 19, 2013

ShapeShifter Seductions ~ A Midsummer Night's Dream-Man




'I will come to you in your dreams.'
By Savanna Kougar

Sivesi strolled onto the small lake dock, mesmerized by the sun as it began slipping behind the distant mountains. The sun's blasting radiance vanished the peaks, a sight she'd never seen until this year, even growing up as a wilderness girl.

She'd repaired the old battered dock shortly after arriving at the remote forest spot. Sivesi had wanted to spend the summer connecting with Mother Earth, walking peacefully among the wild animals, as her priestess ancestresses had practiced in the Celtic lands.

Yielding to the ancient, hidden Scottish clan she belonged to, Sivesi had promised to choose a man for husband at the Autumnal Equinox, and take her place as a healer practitioner.

Also, as of late, she'd become the clan's liaison to Dante, the powerful alpha werewolf, who kept the forests and lands around Talbot's Peak patrolled and protected with his impressive team of friends and family -- just as she and her clan watched over, protected the lands they'd settled since 1205 A.D.

She sighed, the sound whispering inside the late afternoon breezes.  Her heart turned heavy at the thought of choosing a man to wed. None pleased her.

All of them were good men, fearsome warriors of high intellect with poetic souls. Yet, an undefinable ache owned her heart. She wanted, needed something more.

Casting her glance downward at a disturbance in the lapping water, Sivesi stopped dead. Shock coiled like a cold snake in the pit of her stomach.

Could it be?

She blinked several times, hoping what she saw would disappear, or be explained in some mundane way -- even though Sivesi knew of their existence. After all, her ancestors had formed alliances with them during the Middle Ages.

But, no, her eyes didn't lie.  The youngish mermaid appeared to be trapped in a discarded fishing net from a bygone era. Sivesi stared as the mermaid with the face of an angel gazed back.

A desperate appeal for help shone in her huge, aquamarine eyes, the color not so different from Sivesi's. Entranced, her feet glued to the slightly swaying dock, Sivesi wondered what the hell to do. Exactly.

Still owning some presence of mind, Sivesi studied how the mermaid was entangled in the net. Her blonde tresses were a twisted mass. However, the frayed ropes were twined tight around one of side of her tail fin, and her delicate shoulders were crisscrossed.

Without thought now, Sivesi pivoted hurrying to where she could jump off the dock. Landing on the pebble-littered ground, she waded into the lake's crystalline waters.

As she tried to decide what ropes to tackle first, she whipped her knife from its leather sheath.  Since a wee one, her father had rightly trained her to carry one when in nature.

Fear contorted the mermaids face as Sivesi neared, and she tried to thrash free.

"No, no. It's to cut through the ropes. Not to harm you."

Who knew what the beautiful creature understood? There must have been some kind of understanding. She calmed immediately, her expression becoming serene, hopeful.

Careful to keep her footing, Sivesi eased toward the mermaid's silvery turquoise-colored tail. After a few moments of puzzling out the ropes, Sivesi cut through the one in the least dangerous position.

After that, she worked swiftly, well used to handling her knife. Once the mermaid wiggled her beautiful tail free, Sivesi waded close to her shoulders. Already, the little angel mermaid had partly maneuvered herself out of the crisscross of slimy ropes.

It was only a matter of a few quick cuts, and she undulated on her side, nearly free. Strands of her gorgeous thick hair had been enmeshed so deeply, Sivesi knew she would be dragging the net behind her.

"Wait! Let me..." Sivesi grabbed hold of her knotted tresses, and as the mermaid halted her movements, she sliced through the mat of rope and hair.

As fast as she could, Sivesi backed up to give her swimming room.  But what met her gaze as she glanced up again startled her.  No, stunned her to the core.

Sivesi stumbled almost falling on her butt. Her heart beat with a furious rhythm.

She stared at a merman. A beyond handsome man with blue-tinted, golden skin held the young mermaid in his embrace, against a chest so fine her hands ached to touch him.

"Uncle," the little mermaid cried out in an ancient language Sivesi knew.

Eyes the color of a stormy sea focused on her, and Sivesi sizzled as if an electrical current ran through her.  'What's your name?' formed on her lips, yet her tongue betrayed her.

'I will come to you in your dreams.' His voice filled her mind.

His presence, powerful as a god, breached her automatic mental defense. 'I will come. I promise, my red-haired warrioress.'

Sivesi felt her soul wrap around his words as he turned, and dived beneath the blue darkening water of early evening.


~~~~~~

My latest release is HER MIDNIGHT STARDUST COWBOYS. For the blurb and excerpts click on my page above.
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Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance



~~~~~~


Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Wacky News and Free Stuff

We are now half way through July and you know what that means. Yep, Convention Season is in full swing. This weekend, Comic-con in San Diego opens up and with it come lots of free stuff. The best I’ve seen so far is a free PDF sampler mix from Harper Voyager.

It’s been a while since I found any blog-worthy news stories, but the following two stories were practically begging to be shared. Mermaids are not allowed to swim in Florida pools due to no-fin policies. The mermaid in question insists that there should be an exception for her since her fins are soft, unlike scuba fins, which are hard, rigid and dangerous. I think this smells a little fishy, personally.


And in other WTF news, a woman is suing a Japanese mob boss for a refund on the protection money she had paid out over the last twelve years. Seems that back in 2008, she attempted to not pay her protection money and the mob underling threatened to burn her restaurant down. I’m guessing she thinks the threat was a violation of protection that she, albeit reluctantly, purchased. I wonder what Talbot’s Peak’s very own yakooza would have to say on this subject?

All righty then! Here’s wishing you stay cool this summer!

~Rebecca

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Obviously a Montana Girl, Born and Bred


Mid-July howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

Hope summertime is treating you well. Given I'm still recovering from some health issues, I wasn't up to writing an action scene with my tigress shapeshifter, Kytaira, and her black tiger man, Zurroc.

So... here's a little flash scene I came up that was inspired by the picture above.

~~~~~~

Obviously a Montana Girl, Born and Bred

Kerrigan sighed down to her cramping toes. For the last five years, she'd had a real good time partying, and experiencing the high life.

She played hard, a sweet-fierce whirl of laughter and witty conversations with friends, with the most fascinating people -- all while dining on superb exotic cuisines and drinking splendid wines.

Kerrigan also worked hard, and hadn't lost her head or her soul. She'd watched many of the other models lose themselves in the dark world of drugs, endless dieting, destructive controlling men, then bottomless despair.

She'd always offered a helping hand where she could. Being a shapeshifter, she did own an advantage most of them didn't. There were other shifters in the biz, and some had lost their way. In most situation, though, Kerrigan had known how to contact their kin or kind.

Her life as a below-the-radar fashion model -- as in 'no' she wasn't a super model -- not only paid the bills, but she'd socked a good portion of her earnings away for that rainy day when she decided to move on to the next phase of her life.

The time had come, and Kerrigan well knew it. She'd become restless of late, needing to shift more often, and run free over whatever expanse of land she could find. Not always the smartest move.

She'd escaped by a tail hair once from a pack of wild dogs. She grimaced, remembering, since her face couldn't be observed. Kick hell in the butt, trapped by animal control or shot by the urban park police wasn't her idea of a good time, either.

This gig at the car expo was her last. Everything had been finalized with her manager, and she was due to disappear on an eco getaway.

Only an hour to go, Kerrigan encouraged herself, while wishing she could do more than wiggle her achy toes.  She'd always honored her contracts, but now a ferocious itch to launch off the side of the car, to make a run for it, gripped her...

Oh, to throw caution to the wind... just leave... she felt the man's appreciative gaze more keenly than usual. Like a damn laser pointing her out. Or on her, as if she'd been sighted by a hunting rifle.

Kerrigan also glimpsed his high-end cowboy boots that were on the edge of ostentatious, but would serve him well in the harshest ranch conditions. 'My what big feet you have,' she mentally sang, amusing herself.

Men were not on her life's menu yet. She had plans to explore the ancient sites of the world, the ones humans still knew nothing about.

Kerrigan waited for him to either move on, or saunter over and give the car, and her, the once over. Instead, he remained rooted to the spot.

He stood in a group of other polished expensive cowboy boots. Very well used to this kind sexual scrutiny, Kerrigan figured she'd just let it slide off her human hide. But, race for the hills, his scent was certainly potent and manly enough.

It could be he'd mistaken her for a high-priced hooker, and was pondering on how to make her an offer she wouldn't refuse. That had happened more than once. Though, the sudden appearance of her fangs, her curled lip... well, that warning had been enough to chase off the most determined guy.

Some of the models did sell themselves in that market. Not at this gig -- one reason Kerrigan had decided to make it her swan song. 

"Obviously a Montana girl, born and bred."

The man's 'wide open as the sky' timbre commanded the immediate area, and rolled over her skin like a possessive caress.

Damn his big ole hide! Was she going to have to fight herself, and show him fang? Kerrigan had hoped to make a quick, like the fox she was, exit.

His boots finally moved, toward her, of course. Kerrigan swallowed girding herself for first contact.

He could do all the talking while she would have to stay still and mute, the perfect decoration for the posh black shiny auto.

Watching his boots, Kerrigan swallowed the acre of drought inside her throat. She'd have to endure, waiting for Nalinda, the model agency coordinator, to rescue her.

He didn't bother eyeing the ultra expensive machine. Not a pretense. The man halted his footsteps directly before her, his presence imposing as the Montana mountains Kerrigan was familiar with, and loved exploring whenever she visited Talbot's Peak.

But, sheesh! When had luck deserted her? At least, he didn't appear to be in any hurry to inflict a one-liner on her like 'do you come with the car?'

"Kerrigan, I thought that was you."

What the...? She didn't recognize his voice, or his smell... or his big feet. Kerrigan's gaze nearly flew to him, but years of discipline kept her statue-still. The strain of that damn well hurt her face.

Kerrigan clenched her jaw, staring at his oak-tree thighs encased in the fine wool of his suit -- the color of rich coffee. How many minutes did she have left?

Where was Nalinda? And, how did he know her when she didn't know him?

For moments, her mind raced with the same primitive panic that she'd felt escaping the wild dog pack. Although... reason came her aid... he could know her from model agency photos.

"Tell you what, beautiful darlin', I'll just mosey on along for now. Once you've clocked out, we'll get to know each other."

Kerrigan's stomach did flip-flops, then tightened into a knot. What?! Like freakin', effing hell she'd get to know him.

As if he'd sensed her thoughts, and the steam beginning to build inside her, the man hesitated. "Your father sent me to find you, Kerrigan. Little situation back home. Now, nothin' to get in a serious twist over."

If her dad had sent him, then it had to be critically important. He didn't approve of her chosen lifestyle, and they'd lost contact over the years.

The man's scent told her his words were the truth. Oh, tail flips! Now, she'd have to meet with him. Find out what... worry seized her like the jaws of a hungry werewolf.

"Twenty-five minutes. I'll be waitin', foxfire darlin'," he gravelly spoke for her ears only.


~~~~~~


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Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance


Monday, July 15, 2013

Adventures in Babysitting


“Go ahead,” Loki whispered, and gave Thor a quick push. “I dare you.”

Thor used his greater height and strength to swing his smaller twin to the forefront. “You first.”

You first. You’re the oldest.”

“By five minutes. Doesn’t count.”

“Does too. Dare you. Double dog dare you.”

Thor hesitated. Double dog dares were neither lightly given nor lightly refused. “Together,” he compromised, and nearly moaned with relief when Loki nodded. They crept toward their quarry.

Keeping themselves occupied in the coffee shop while Marissa-Mom waited on customers too often proved a challenge to the pair of restless, inquisitive wolf pups. When all else failed, they fell back on instinct, and hunted. Today their quarry was the gigantic white-haired, white-skinned man in the long black coat. More specifically, his black slouch hat, which sat tantalizingly close to the edge of the table. Loki was convinced he would look supremely cool in it. Thor doubted that, but a hunt was a hunt.

They dropped to the floor and inched ever closer, using customers’ legs for cover. Their prey, sipping a tea they could smell from here (and really wished they couldn’t), remained oblivious.

Loki saw an opening and dove for it. His hand closed on the floppy brim of his coveted prize. At the same moment a hand three times the size of his own closed over his wrist.

Oh, droppings.

“Thank you,” the white giant said. Their mom used that same dry tone of voice a lot. However, her voice didn’t sound like somebody had dropped it into the Grand Canyon. The giant coolly moved his hat closer to the huge rest of him. He didn’t let go of Loki. “It would have fallen on floor. Is safe now.”

Thor popped up. “Please don’t eat my brother.”

The big guy eyed Loki as if the idea had only now occurred to him, and that he liked the scent of it. Then he let Loki go. “Too small. Not even snack. You, though—”

“I taste awful,” Thor said at once. “Anyway, tigers don’t eat wolves.”

“Not so close to breakfast, no.” He sounded sorry. Not half as sorry as Thor, though. Mom had warned them over and over not to mess with Sergei. And now look.

Yeah. Look at Loki, who had scrambled up onto a chair, prudently opposite Sergei’s hat. “How’d you get so big?”

“I drink milk,” the tiger said solemnly. He tugged back his sleeve to better display the pallid snowyness of his skin. “Too much, I think.”

Loki inspected his own hand. “I like strawberry milk,” he admitted uneasily.

Sergei studied Loki’s visible skin. “No signs yet. I think you will be safe for several years. If berries sprout in hair, you must cut back.”

By now Thor had joined them, and taken a seat beside his brother. “Uncle Nick says you kill people.”

The big tiger showed his teeth. “Not cubs,” he assured them, “and not in public.”

“Can you kill Billy Long?” Loki begged. “He’s a jerk. His whole family’s jerks.”

Wouldn’t you know it, Marissa-Mom picked that remark to show up on. “That’s it, boys. Fun time's over. Sorry they bothered you, Sergei.”

“They are no bother. Perhaps they could help me.” He eased his empty teacup to one side. “I wish a glass of milk and a plate of cookies. You can help me eat the cookies, yes?”

They could help eat cookies, yes. They helped with a vengeance, and downed big glasses of milk. While they crammed cookies into their mouths, Sergei told them stories about the frigid, foreign land of Siberia, where in winter the air grew so cold words froze solid in the air. People must melt them over a fire to hear what the other had said, or else wait in silence till spring. Wives carried matches so that their husbands would always hear them. Husbands were forever hiding the matches.

“Mom wouldn’t like that,” Loki said through a mouth full of cookie. “Not talking all winter. Neither would Dad.”

“Or Uncle Nick,” Thor added. “Especially Uncle Nick.”

By now the morning rush had cleared enough to free up Marissa again. “Cleanup,” she said. The twins slid off their chairs with matching “awwws” and set about clearing plates and mugs off tables. Marissa murmured to Sergei, “Better make your escape now, or they’ll trail after you all day.”She watched her industrious step-cubs fondly. “That’s the longest I’ve ever seen them sit still. You must have made quite an impression. Thanks for watching them.”

“Is no trouble.” He handed her a bill for his tab, plus two more bills. “For tip jar.”

“Which one?”

“You choose.” Sergei rose to his impressive height. He tipped his rescued hat to Thor and Loki, who imperiled their armfuls of crockery with waves. They didn’t follow him outside, though they looked as if they wanted to.

And why not? It was a lovely day, all brisk air and sunshine. A day to live for. Until nightfall.

Shere Khan was on his tail again over the Warner Hancock assignment. He had no feelings toward the elder Hancock one way or the other. Had Hancock been the target, the job would be long done. But straightforward wasn’t Lord Khan’s way. He preferred setting examples. Subtlety. That was how a twisted tiger hunted.

“Kill the bitch,” he’d ordered. Kill Hancock’s current mate, the she-wolf who was little more than a cub herself. Who carried a cub in her belly. Hancock’s cub, a possible heir to leadership of the Hancock pack. That cub would never drink strawberry milk or try to steal a man’s hat. By Lord Khan’s word, but by Sergei’s hand.

Sergei had never refused an assignment. Or failed in one.

He strode into the sunlight, his hat pulled low to hide his icy eyes. In his mouth swirled the taste of bitterness, and cookies.

Friday, July 12, 2013

Run, Just Run...

Ziva peeked out her office door and noted the placement of each person left in the bullpen.  It was close to quitting time and this being Talbot’s Peak office hours were very informal.  There was always someone taking off out the side doors and shifting for a much needed run.  Today it appeared that most of the employees had left early and wouldn’t see her traipsing down the hall with her gifts for Nick.

“Everything okay, Ms. Wilk?”

“Oi, ah, I mean oh Bull you startled me.”

“Sorry about that I didn’t mea…”

“No-no, not your fault.  Yes, I’m fine.  Are you taking off then?”

“I am.”  The big moose looked longingly at the door.  “It’s too nice to be inside today.”

“It sure is.  Good day for a run…or a, well, lumber.”

Why was she so nervous?  She wasn’t doing anything wrong, well, not yet anyway.

“Yep, it sure is.  ‘Night Ms. Wilk.”

Bull walked away and Ziva grabbed the zipped up garment bag and shoebox.  She squeezed through the door and made a quick dash down the hall to Nick’s office.  Seconds later she was inside with the door kicked shut and a sexy alpha wolf in human skin looking back at her.

“Need me that bad, sweetheart?”

“Yes, no, yes, but not like that…well, exactly like that.  First though, I have a gift for you.”  Ziva draped the bag over the desk in front of him and set the box on top. “Here.”

“Clothes?”

“Yes, kind of.  Trust me, I’ll like it ah, I mean you’ll like it.”  With a kick to the desk leg she growled at him, “Just open the damn thing, please.”

Nick unzipped the garment bag and pulled out the suit, giving it a look and her, a raised eyebrow.  Holy Lupa he already sported her favorite Dr.’s awesome expression and the extra-low cut sideburns, she wondered if he’d cut his long locks short, just for a while.

“A brown suit with blue pin-stripes?  Dark shirt, a tie with squares…is there going to be a bowtie as well?”

“Yeah, great isn’t it…the bowtie comes later.”

“And a trench coat?  What’s going on, Ziva?”

“Check out the shoes…”

She was giddy with her find and couldn’t wait for him to try everything on then take it off to fuck her.  Shoot, why kid herself, she needed him to bring her off while still wearing the clothes and more than once.

“Ankle high Converse tennis shoes?”

Ziva shivered at the thought of it all coming together on her man’s bod, but couldn’t miss his snarly face.  “Would you consider cutting your hair?”

“No.  Not just no, no way!  And no more Who marathons.  We are getting rid of that damn movie service.”

“Oh sweetie, that’s so not happening.”  Ziva ran, laughing.  Nick gave good chase, but she was quick on her feet.  Their play was fun and exciting, the adrenalin pumped through her veins and made her even more determined to get him into the clothes.
~~~
 So Darling Diva and I have finished all of the new(2005 and later) episodes of Dr. Who and we loved it!  All the Dr.'s were awesome, but DD and I personally adore David Tennant.  Sexy, Scottish and clothed in a suit and tennies - Yum!
May your weekend be filled with a marathon of your favorite Dr.!

Serena