Saturday, January 30, 2016


Dead Eye -- Alyssa Day
For Jack Shepherd, tiger shape-shifter and former soldier, life is heading for a dead end. Dead End, Florida, to be exact. When he learns that he inherited a combination pawn shop/private investigation agency from his favorite uncle, Jack’s first job is to solve his uncle’s murder. Because sometimes it takes a tiger’s eye to see the truth.
Over the holidays as I recuperated from surgery, I got the chance to read the first in a new series by Alyssa Day.  I've read other books by her over the years.  I enjoy her voice and story telling abilities.   Dead Eye is awesome.  Yes, I said awesome!  There I said it again.

Alyssa takes romance tropes, story telling tropes, cliches, and everyday humor of life's foibles and adds a spark of snark and mystery to them.  The story told in first person from Tess Callahan's view is full of twist and turns.  I read to get lost and involved in the story.  This one I did time and time again.  A story that takes my mind off things is worth hooting and hollering about.  And more than once.

I recommended the book to my bestie who doesn't like sparkly were creature stories.  He even enjoyed the book.  While he might not read others in the series, he laughed and hooted with me over the pages that we read to each other or discussed as the writers/authors we are.
Book two won't be out until around April from what Alyssa says.  Keep your eye out for an enjoyable series and laugh out loud read.  I strongly recommend this series.
Private Eye -- Alyssa Day
When Tess Callahan, new owner of Dead End Pawn, meets her grandmother the banshee, life is about to get complicated. When Tess’s partner Jack Shepherd, tiger shapeshifter and P.I., gets involved to help them investigate a banshee-kidnapping spree, life is about to get deadly. Because nothing is ever simple in Dead End, Florida, and sometimes it takes a tiger’s eye to see the truth.


Happy Weekend Gang!

Between returning to work and digging out from the blizzard, I've been real busy.  Pris, my muse and I are busy working on an erotic retelling of Red Ridinghood in an Urban Fantasy format.  I've got a submission out making its rounds with agents and publishers.  When I know more I'll share.  I'm also posting over on my personal blog from time to time too.
Stop by and see what is on the coming soon page.  You might find somthing you like.

Until next week, keep sharing a good book or two with your loves and spice.


Friday, January 29, 2016



“Excuse me.”

“Shh… mmm…” Penny held up one finger to silence the infidel who dared interrupt her on the last few pages of the most awesome of books.

“…and they fucked happily until dawn when the terrorists charged the ramshackle shack and the boys were forced to run…”

“Ohmygawd, Lamar you slippery snake!”  She slammed the book closed and down onto her desk and looked up at the Thin White Duke before her. “Hello there.”

Penny momentarily forgot her frustration with Lamar and his love of cliffhangers when she got a look at the boy before her.  Okay, man rather.  Though man he might be, he gave off a flavor of submissive boy in need of a good Domme, or Dom, depending on his bent.

“Yes, hello, could you point me in the direction of one Mistress Penelope, please?”

“You’re in luck, Stardust, I’m her.”

“Ah, another fan.  There may be hope for this town after all.  The name's Whit.”

So proper, the Mistress in her thought. Something she’d enjoy working out of him at the end of her whip.

“Hello Whit.”  She reached for his extended hand.  His shake was firm, but the skin quite soft.  The rest of his skin would likely be just as soft, a perfect canvas for the varying shades of red she’d like to give him.  “What can I do for you?”

“A common acquaintance, Lola, suggested I talk to you about an idea I have been contemplating should I decide to stay in this lovely town.”

“Hmm, if Lola suggested it, I can’t wait to hear your idea,” Penny purred, hoping this would lead to a bit of playtime for she, Burgess, Danny, and this new call cup of water. “He always seems to think he knows just what I’m considering, before I even consider it.”

“Well, good then.”  Penny watched as Whit slid back into the chair and laying his overcoat across his crossed legs.  “You see, this town appears to be lacking a place for the homosexual population to get our bent on, though Lola implied there were not a large number of gays who actually lived here.”

“That’s true.”

“Lola also implied that there was quite a bdsm following in town and that you, Mistress P, were the one to talk to about the possibility of combined the two and possibly creating a bit of a haven for both bents?”

Lamar, you sneaky snake…
, she thought before smiling at the proper boy before her.  “Stardust, it appears Lola, or Lamar as I’m sure he introduced himself…”

“He did.”

“…was reading my mind, because I have been working on an idea for a bdsm club of sorts and you just gave it the perfect name.  Haven.”


Whit smiled at the gorgeous and colorful shifter before him, while approving of the name she’d put out there.  It was perfect.

“So it seems, Whit, that you should be a part of this adventure with me, but tell me, are you into bdsm?”

“Oh, I enjoy more than just a bit of slap and tickle with my tête-à-têtes, but my interest in Haven will be to create a place where gay men and women can go to meet and mingle.  Is there a problem with that?”

“Absolutely not, we can make this work for both our ideas.”

Whit stood as the Mistress before him did and wondered where to go next with this idea.

“How about we get some lunch and discuss the particulars.” His new partner asked.

“That sounds delightful.” 

It seemed he would be staying in Talbot’s Peak, hopefully for a good, long time.

“One question though, Stardust…”


“Male or female top?”

Have a wonderfully bent weekend!


Thursday, January 28, 2016

Retro post: The Magnificent Seven

Time got away from me this week. Between shoveling massive amounts of snow and dealing with a huge freelance assignment on a tight deadline, I had no time to come up with a new blog. So you're getting a rerun this week.

However -- I'm working on another continued storyline, a la Love to the Rescue. I want to start with some prologue posts to introduce the players, since some of them haven't been seen for a while. This bunch, who debuted over a year ago, play prominent roles in the story. Buckle in, spanky, the road's liable to get bumpy ahead.

# # #

The old school bus rolled up the interstate and crossed into Montana at speeds at odds with its shabby appearance. Inside it had been refurbished into a mobile transport with generous living accommodations, and more defenses than one would expect from its faded yellow exterior.

Like the bus, its passengers were more than their outward appearance suggested. There were seven of them.

The casual observer’s attention is almost always drawn first to the leopard. Though only of average height, he’s generously muscled and uncommonly handsome. He has a habit of staring down others, as if constantly assessing how their flesh might taste.

Surely one so powerful in body and personality must be the one in charge. You might think that. You’d be wrong. Watch closely, and you’ll see him defer to the diminutive woman with the striking black-and-white hair. Cool, quick-witted, quicker still in flight, the gyrfalcon leads this team. Her keen eyes miss nothing. She has commanded these commandos for five years now. Under her watch, they’ve never failed.

The two wolves are the trackers of the group. They’re so similar in appearance and personality, as alike as twins, that it’s hard to credit they’re from separate packs. The male counts coyote blood among his ancestry; the female boasts of fox. These genetic combinations make them more imaginative than the average wolf. It also makes them reckless, and dangerous. Only their respect for the gyrfalcon keeps their wilder impulses in check.

The owl is their tech man. There isn’t a system on the planet he can’t crack, no computer program he can’t hack. He likes to fiddle with random electronic devices just to see what new inventions he can come up with. He once fashioned a Taser from a garage-door opener and a TV remote. As a boy he’d had two posters on his bedroom wall: Nikola Tesla and MacGyver.

Out of the seven, most people instinctively recoil from the crocodile. He honestly can’t understand this. He’s an Australian freshwater croc, mild-mannered and a trained botanist. What the owl is to gadgets, the freshie is to plants. He can whip up a poultice or a poison with equal ease, as the situation demands. He’s also a talented cook. The team might eye their dishes sidelong, but the falcon trusts him. That’s all the others need.

Except, of course, for the assassin.

The team’s hired killer trusts no one, not even the falcon. He’s an English Dorset sheep, and quite psychotic. The others don’t particularly care for him. The sheep is fine with that. Raised as prey in a world run by predators, he developed a philosophy of “get them before they get you.” When it comes to getting people, the sheep can be quite inventive. He doesn’t partake of the freshie’s meals, preferring to prepare his own food. He doesn’t sleep much, or soundly, and often bleats wild unexpected laughter.

Given a choice, the gyrfalcon would not have had him or any assassin on her team. But she hadn’t been given a choice. Their orders had been depressingly specific. “Infiltrate Talbot’s Peak,” their master said. “Become friendly with its people. Learn its secrets. Here is the list of people I wish you to pay particular attention to. When the time is right, I shall contact you with further instructions.”

That time is nearly here. Lives will change. And end.

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Samatha the Pizza Lady

I am a bad girl who forgot to post last week. I did set a calendar event to remind me this week, though. Here you go!


* * * * * * * * * * * *

Samantha looked at the receipts tucked into the pizza boxes Jarod turned around for her. Receipts, plural, meaning this was a double. Both addresses were more or less inside city limits, which explained why he’d promised to let her go afterward. A, it would probably take a full hour to make the round trip, and B, no one else on shift tonight was willing to make late night deliveries to town since that trouble a few weeks back. She sighed and loaded the orders into separate heated pizza bags. Oh, well. The townies did have a tendency to tip well which might be enough to pull tonight’s average out of the “just barely covered my expenses” range and into “have money left over to add to the stash”. In this profession, tips were king.

Like most pizza joints in the US, Jarod’s drivers were paid minimum wage while in the store, but only while in the store. Once she was routed, and she already was since she already had the receipts, she was officially off the clock and no longer making an hourly wage. Instead, she would get five percent of the base order price in commission. Not the full sticker price, only the price before taxes and the delivery fee was added. To make a buck a run, the customer had to order twenty bucks in just food, which meant twenty-five in total price. Hence the reason tips were king to pizza delivery drivers.

The first house was nothing too unusual for Talbot’s Peak. Granted, it did have a gargoyle/demon thing sitting on the wall right outside the driveway, and that thing had a motion sensor that made its eyes light up when a vehicle approached. It had scared the shit out of her the first time she’d delivered here. It also turned on the porch and driveway lights. She could deal with creepy red LED eyes if it meant not having to stumble around in the dark to find the front door. That customer was always happy to chat for a few minutes, and she was always happy to listen to him rattle on about his newest oddball creation in exchange for the ten dollar tip he tended to give drivers he liked.

The next address was a new one to her. She consulted the Google app on her phone while she was in an area she knew had good service, memorized the route, and then shut the app down so it wouldn’t siphon her battery down to nothing if she went into a roaming area. Most of Montana was a roaming area for Sprint, she’d discovered. She turned the radio up a bit when the theme song for “The Peak After Dark” drifted from the speakers. According to Google Maps, it would take her a good fifteen minutes to get to the semi rural bar with her load of ten extra-large Mega Meaty pizzas. Might as well listen to what movie Ralph Bruin was going to make fun of tonight. Odds were about fifty-fifty that they wouldn’t rerun New Year’s Eve’s review of Star Wars yet again. For some reason, fans of the show kept requesting it instead of requesting songs, but it seemed to be tapering down somewhat.

Saturday, January 23, 2016

Hibernation Happens

Hi Gang,

A blizzard is happening at the Spice Homestead.  All the snow and cold, makes me sleepy.  My muse Pris is yawning and tapping my shoulder saying the warmth of the covers looks great.   Sorry this week I'm leaving ya with some pictures of what the Peak must look like this time of year.  Keep warm and keep sharing a few good books with your loves and spice.

Until next week,


Thursday, January 21, 2016

Round Robin

“Ziva!” Nick bellowed. He reflected briefly on how often he seemed to do that at the paper, half the time with his mate’s name attached. She was supposed to tell him before she did shit like this. Wasn’t communication part of marriage?

Ziva entered his office. “Yes, honey?”

He gestured at his computer screen. “What the hell?”

She rounded the desk for a look. “Oh, scat. I didn’t mean to CC you on those. Those are from Twitter, for the web page.”

“Not another contest.”

“No, not another contest. This is just for fun. We asked the readers to send us photos of their first robin sightings of the year. Actual robins, not shifters. Something to get their minds off January and onto spring.”

“Spring will get here when it gets here. Why am I—the Editor in Chief, may I remind you—always the last to know when you run these stupid things?”

“Because you don’t give a hump for the web pages, and because you think these are stupid things. The readers love it when we run these features. They feel like they’re part of the paper.”

“Wish I felt that way,” Nick complained.

“Oh, shush. Here, take a look. These are the cream of the crop. One of them is sure to make you laugh.”

“Unlikely.” But he looked, mainly because Ziva was his mate and failing to humor her could get him sent to the doghouse. Literally.

The file started out with blurry shots of birds shivering on bare tree branches or poking through the snow. Maybe they were robins. Who the hell could tell? “You sure these aren’t Photoshopped? Or taken in some other year?”

“We insisted on timestamps. And we’re allowing Photoshop in certain instances. Like this one.” She clicked ahead to a pic of a ten-story robin looming over a group of fleeing, panicked humans. The bird blasted Godzilla-style fire out of its open beak. In case anyone missed the reference, the wags had added a caption: Spring in Tokyo. “We need to remind the readers, photos should be limited to Talbot’s Peak and the surrounding areas,” Ziva said.

“But you’re going to run this one.”

She shrugged. “It’s too funny not to.”

Nick had his doubts on the humor quotient, but held his tongue and bravely kept clicking. He had to admit, some of the shots showed a modicum of creativity. Birds in little red parkas. A shot of a robin on a tropical beach dipping its beak into an umbrella’d coconut, with Screw winter typed underneath. And Nick’s personal favorite, the guy in the Batman costume grinning at the camera and holding a three-year-old boy in tights. “You should have been more specific about the Robin,” he said.

“I think it’s cute, too. That’s Orson, from down at the grocery. They’re not robin shifters, so technically he’s still within the rules.”

The next one up was—Nick leaned in closer to the screen. “Holy shit. Now those are two red breasts.”

“Penelope sent that one in. I’d better have a talk with her.” She cuffed him on the shoulder. Nick hastily clicked past. “No employee pictures. Readers only.”

“Thank Lupa. I never want to see a selfie of Lamar in a feather boa again. Oh, for the love of—!”

It wasn’t a bird, although it had wings. It wasn’t red-breasted, either. The naked, lavender man posed for his photo with a sign held in front of his privates: What about us purple martins?

“Oops,” Ziva said. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Dammit, I thought he left town. I’ll purple his martin if he sends in any more pics. You are not running this.”

“Of course not. It’s for robins only.” Ziva reached for the Delete button.

“Hold on a second. We should share this.” Nick called up the email for City Hall, chose the purple picture and hit Send. “It’s about time Gil got a decent screen saver.”

Saturday, January 16, 2016

Change is Happening

Gill took a deep breath.  City hall remained quiet with half of the prior citizens moved on.  Many of the sections of the Peak that demanded representation and his elimination decided that leaving was the better part of valor.  He wished no one harm.  A few broken hearts still pinged some of the council.  He looked around his office.  Mayor for life didn’t set well with him.  He’d continued in office until spring when clearer heads prevailed.  

“Gill,” Vernon called out, moving into the office.  “I know its hard.”

“Hard is part of life,” Gill murmured.  “Just wish I hadn’t created it.”

Vernon nodded as he walked closer to where Gill sat next to what remained of his desk.  Spray painted graffiti and broken furniture littered the office.  Vernon glanced over his shoulder and sighed.  “Some people think this is fun.  I’m sure those that left didn’t do this.”

“Me too,” Gill said, shaking his head.  “We’re going to come back strong and hardier.  I know it.”

Vernon sat down next to Gill, his hand folded in his lap.  “More humans are moving into town.  Some are saying they want the protection associating with our kind offers them.”

Gill snickered.  “There is some of that.”

“Don’t let the last few months get you down.  The council and I talked.  We need humans here and shifters at the state government level.  Keeping all of us safe and informed.”  Vernon looked at Gill.

“We sure do.  How much change is next?”  Gill stood, moving toward the door.  “For now, cleaning up this office takes priority.  You in?”

Vernon rose, following Gill.  “Sure Elly didn’t teach me how to mop floors for no reason.  Of course, mopping floor races makes cleaning interesting when there’s two in the shower afterwards.”



Keep warm as the month starts its second half.  I'm back to posting once a week here.  Change takes over the Peak with the New Year.  Let's see what comes as our town puts itself back together after the massive move out.   I bet there are new folks and businesses cropping up all over.  Stay turned as the Peak reinvents itself.

Until next week, remember to share a good book or two with your loves and spice.  



Friday, January 15, 2016

The Bar Without A Name...Yet!

Reetha wiped her forehead against her lower arm and went back to scrubbing the layers of grease from the unmaintained grill while raucous music pumped out front.  “Begone, foul grease!” she commanded, adding a touch of royal to her voice.  Yep, she could be queen of her own secret land, she’d call it Reethlandia.

Something called to her about this place.  She’d like to think it was the sturdy, albeit in need of some love, wood bar and custom carved stools—hey, her brother wasn’t the only one with a thing for wood.  However, she was willing to bet it was actually the memories of a misspent youth, drinking and partying with the bikers passing through town that spurred her decision to reopen the bar.

She’d started by getting the front room up and running—the booze in place and Porkers band available to rock & roll, but she needed additional acts and to get the kitchen in working order.  Beer drinkers loved their meat, especially the carnies around here.  Thus, her night being spent dragging the charcoal cleaning brick over this bad boy instead of partying with the leather clads that were stopping in.

“This reminds me of New Year’s…only then you were working hard and begging me to go deeper.  That is until I hit the right spot and your demands turned to cries of yes…”

“Fucking Lupa!” Reetha figured she’d jumped at least a foot in the air before turning to the tool, a damn sexy and beyond awesome in the sack tool, but a tool nonetheless. “How does a freaking ambulance chaser walk so quietly?  Was it your mama or daddy who had the touch of pussy in them?”

“Probably both, but then we can’t all have the Mississippi Leg Hound that runs in your genes, now can we.”

Reetha turned back to the grill and continued to scrub, waiting for the hate she’d built up for the damn wolf at her back to flair inside her.  Only, there was no hate to be found, just a longing, which pissed her off more than a little bit.

“What do you want, Rafe?”

“I’d heard you’d fixed up this old backwoods bar and I had to see it for myself.”

“Why?  We fucked at New Year’s, but that was weeks ago…shouldn’t you be gone by now?  I don’t know, maybe killing someone else’s love?”

“Low blow, Reetha.  You know I loved her too, in my own way.”

She did know that, but it didn’t change the fact that the dirt bags he worked and continues to work for, provided the death needle for her sweet deer. “Whatever.”

“We need to talk, mate.”

Reetha ripped off the yellow gloves keeping her hands from being abused and threw them on the counter before turning to face the rat bastard fate had thrown her together with.  “No, we really don’t.  Thanks for the fuck, go have a beer or get the hell out,” she said, moving around him and heading for her office.  He didn’t say another word, but watched her every step of the way.

When she shut the door the music became muted along with the thoughts of her mate on the other side.  It was a tough task, dismissing the pain and frustration she felt each time she saw her mate, but this time she engrossed herself in a task she’d been working diligently on over the last few weeks.

What the hell would she name her bar?

Have a wonderful weekend!


Thursday, January 14, 2016

Bar Rescue

Whit Navarro, glass in hand, pursed his lips and just barely refrained from spitting, though the glare he directed at the stage remained sullen. When he’d learned Talbot’s Peak had a shapeshifter nightclub, he’d wasted no time in checking it out. His hopes for an excellent evening had fallen faster than an Alpine avalanche. The musical acts were all right, though he’d heard better at that biker bar out in the woods. But the dancers here, the staging, the costumes—tacky, tacky, tacky. This was what passed for entertainment in this town?

He sipped his drink. Pity. He’d hoped to make a home and a life here in Talbot’s Peak. He liked the American Rockies. They reminded him of his beloved Andes, although they lacked the grandeur. But if this was the best they could offer in the way of nightlife, he might as well go back to Peru.

Let’s be more specific here. Gay nightlife.

Aye, he thought, there’s the rub. He’d visited dozens of shapeshifter enclaves in his trek around the States. Most of them were straight. The gay ones tended to be pack breeds or predators, or both. Though that flock of gulls in New Jersey certainly knew how to party. If nothing better turned up on his travels, he might have to sacrifice mountains and settle for sea level.

This time he did spit, discreetly into his napkin because this sorry nightclub’s owners weren’t within range. Whit wasn’t ready to settle.

And it was all so unnecessary. The club had everything else right. The drinks were excellent, the food superb, the décor subtle, the acoustics top of the line. It was the ambiance that had his saliva aching for a target. This place reeked of testosterone. Everything about it screamed hetero sex. Though some of the performers were obviously gay—that snake, for instance; if he wasn’t flaming, Whit would spit in his own face—the tone of this club was straight as an arrow, any deviations frowned upon.

He knew he should have expected that, once he learned the owners were tigers. He’d spotted the manager earlier, a regal Bengal in a business suit, and had his worst fears confirmed. His walk said I’m the ruler here. “Ruler” as in “straight as.” Even jaguars had more give in their attitude, and they were macho down to the core.

That was the problem. Straight people just didn’t know how to do a nightclub right.

One of the wait staff—his third of the evening, Whit noted with glum amusement—undulated up to his table. She was dressed better than most of the performers; her gown only hinted at the riches available, not blatantly shouted them out. This one knew how to do subtle sexuality right, unlike most of the dancers. But then, this place was tiger-run. What else could one expect?

“Freshen your drink?” the pink-haired beauty offered. “Want some company?”

“Not from this place,” Whit muttered. “It’s not quite to my taste.”

“We’ve noticed,” the woman said drily. “It’s why you keep getting different waitresses. I told them to send you a waiter, but who listens to me?” She slid easily into a chair at his table and arranged her elbows on the surface. “You’re a llama, aren’t you?”

“How can you tell?”

“Because you look like you want to spit on everybody. I don’t blame you. This place blows, and not in a happy way. Some people like the taste of forbidden fruit, if you’ll pardon the pun. Tigers own this place. They’re not that big on fruit.”

“So I’ve gathered,” Whit said. “Well, you’ve sussed me out. Nothing wrong with your gaydar. And you’re…” He peered more closely at his new acquaintance. “You’re that snake who was dancing earlier. Weren’t you a man before?”

“More or less.” She/he made a careless shrug. “By the way, I love your look. Thin White Duke?”

Whit brightened, with his first smile of the night. “Yes, thank you. That’s exactly what I was going for. I’ve been a fan forever. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I know. Legends aren’t supposed to die. I’d rather believe he’s returned to his homeworld. I was always more into Ziggy Stardust.” He indicated his sparkly gown. “As if you couldn’t tell.”

“It fits you well. Excellent work with the falsies.” He extended his hand. “I’m Whit.”

“Lamar. Or Lola, when I’m dressed like this.”

They shook. Lamar gave his hand a squeeze, but he was a snake so Whit didn’t read anything else into it. He’d finally found a kindred spirit. That was all that mattered.

“Now that we know where we stand,” Whit said, “be honest with me. Is there any place around here where those of our bent can relax? Other than this?”

“’Fraid not. The Ghans work hard to keep this club the only game in town. Down at the exit’s family-friendly, so pickings are even slimmer. Unless you enjoy getting beat up. In that case, there’s a biker bar just over the town line.”

“Been there already. Good music, good beer, not much else. What about here, downstairs? I heard—”

“You’ve probably heard right.” Lamar slumped in his chair. When snakes slumped, they did it whole body. “You can get whatever you want downstairs, all above-board and legal and discretion guaranteed. But it’s pricey. The Ghans don’t have any sympathy for the common kinky working man.”

“Tigers,” they said, in stereo. They stared at each other. Both broke into smiles.

“So,” Whit continued, “if someone were to open a club that catered to, say, other interests, you think there’d be a market for it?”

“Limited market. We’re not exactly a hotbed of gay activity here. My lobo rojo and I would’ve moved to San Francisco ages ago if it wasn’t so expensive. Although … ” He leaned across the table. “You know shifters. Kinky lot. Multiples, polys, BDSM. If someone ran a club like that, at blue-collar prices, bet they’d see a lot of action. Some twink on the menu wouldn’t hurt either.”

“BDSM, eh?” Whit’s smile widened. “I wouldn’t be averse to that.”

“Then you shouldn’t be talking to me. You need to talk to Mistress Penelope. She can tell you if that flock’s looking for a place to roost. She works at the local newspaper. Tell her Lola recommended you two talk. She’ll understand.” The music changed, signaling the start of another act. Lamar got up. “Mierda. Back to the bump and grind. Nice meeting you.” He winked. “Enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks.” A future here looked suddenly brighter. “I will.”

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

New Storyline: Let's Try this Again

Back in July, I posted what I'd hoped would become a new storyline. I promptly forgot all about it. Well, sort of. I have thought about picking it back up a few times, but life has been... a hectic mess for me fore the last year. "Witch's Moon" was done, and then it wasn't. Then it needed revising to remove some major parts, and then it was done... and then my beta reader found some small but important plot holes. I'll be honest, I do not know when it'll be fixed at this point. I have stepped away from it for a bit because I was starting to get into a bad mind set.

Back to the new story line. Today's post will be a re-post of that post from July, and I'll be picking it up from here.

~ Rebecca

* * * * * * * * * *

Samantha parked her 1989 Toyota whoopty car in the last open spot at the strip mall just off the highway and sighed. She had a degree in business, more than a decade worth of experience in corporate accounting. And she was delivering pizza in the middle of Nowhere, Montana because this was where her car, dubbed the Crappy Corolla by her boss, had broke down six months ago. It wasn't even a real town. There was a real town down the road a few miles, called Talbot's Peak, but this was where the only motel was, so here is where she'd stayed.

That fateful day, back in February, she'd had high hopes for a job interview in Kennewick, Washington, which she hadn't made it to. She'd had two-hundred dollars in her pocket, which hadn't been enough to fix the clutch on the Crappy Corolla. She had had plenty of clothes, though, since everything she'd owned had been jam-packed into the trunk and back seat. She might have cried about her lot in life that day, but hadn't bothered wasting her energy. As a product of the South Dakota foster care system, she'd been through worse and had learned how to land on he feet.

The first thing she'd done was get a room at the motel, and then she walked up and down the strip mall looking for a job. She'd found one slinging pies at the pizzeria. Six months later, she was still working there, only delivering pies now that the Crappy Corolla was operational again. She kept telling herself that it was only until she had enough money saved up to make another push for civilization. It wasn't exactly a lie. She had had car repairs to pay for, and room and board to pay for, but she'd managed to save up almost five-hundred dollars, more than twice what she'd had when she first arrived, but experience had taught her that the more money you had, the easier it would be to relocate. High hopes were not enough.

A knock on her window startled her, and she quickly rolled it down. Her boss, Jerad, was leaning over, peering in at her with a frown on his withered, craggy face.

"You ok, girl?" he asked, his gravely voice pinch with concern. "You been sitting out here a while."

"I'm fine," Samantha sighed. "Just have a bit of a headache tonight." She squinted, trying to read the cheap clock on the wall of the pizzeria, a task that would have been easier if the window hadn't been fogged over with years of grease, grime, and fingerprints. Jerad kept a clean store for the most part, but like most guys who had no women in their lives, he never seemed to notice things like dirty windows. If she wasn't mistaken, it was a quarter to ten. Only an hour and fifteen minutes to closing time.

"Well, how about you take one more run for me and then call it a night," Jerad said gruffly. "I've got enough people to cover the closing shift."

Samantha smiled wanly up at the old coot who'd given her a chance six months ago and nodded her thanks. Because here was the real reason she was still in Nowhere, Montana: people who actually gave a damn if she was feeling ok.

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

Release Day!

It's not shapeshifters, but it's fun. Friend and fellow M/M writer J. J. Collins has a new release out from Evernight Publishing today. Priceless is a science fiction tale of an art dealer who finds himself in possession of a sexy alien male. There's a long excerpt on the Evernight site. Here's part of it.

# # #

Most of the items he’d seen before. Jovin averted his eyes from the more pornographic and focused on seeking the new. The skin of an ebony cat, still with its black-diamond sheen. A golden statue of a naked, impossibly handsome man, seated on a crate. A picture of—Jovin hastily looked away. Zhee artwork, normally so sublime, sometimes veered off into darker directions. Even worse, he knew someone who’d pay hugely for this particular piece. That churned his stomach all the more.

He caught himself rubbing his nose. Something stank in here. Spicy-sweet, like cinnamon. Like…


The statue raised its head.

Jovin went absolutely still. His eyes and his nostrils widened. Holy Ghod, that wasn’t a statue. That was a living being.

But… Jovin cleared his throat and swallowed hard. He couldn’t be alive. Nothing so beautiful existed in nature. He had to have been sculpted, inch by loving inch, by the hands of a master artist. Standing, he’d top six feet, perfectly proportioned and every muscle exquisitely defined. Bronze hair, cropped short, capped a face designed to lure the unwary toward lips designed to seduce. His skin was the color of molten gold. In the gloom of the dingy room, it almost seemed to glow.

Eyes like emeralds met Jovin’s, naked and direct. Jovin reeled from an almost physical jolt. Those eyes promised sex that could burn a man to the ground and pulverize the ashes. Jovin automatically grabbed at his raincoat and tugged a fold over his crotch.

The golden man’s perfect mouth formed a slight smile. The tip of his tongue appeared and wet his lower lip.

Sweat started on Jovin’s forehead. He couldn’t even move his hand enough to wipe it off. Insistent demands hammered at his awareness from underneath his raincoat. Damn, it had suddenly gotten stuffy as hell in here.

Wait a minute. That wasn’t some trick of the gloom. The golden man really was glowing.

Cray’s nauseating chuckle at his back made him jump. “Finally noticed him, did you? I had a bet with myself. Took you less than five minutes. You win.”

Jovin gratefully seized the excuse and wrenched his stare off the golden man, whirling on Cray instead. “That’s—” His voice came out gravelly, ragged with want. He tried again. “That’s a—”

“A Telzhan.” Cray’s smile spread across his ugly pumpkin face. “A male, thank Azira. All the better for us. Nothing human can keep up with the women. And,” he finished triumphantly, “he’s right on the verge of rut.”

Thursday, January 7, 2016

Play Ball

“C’mon, already.” Kieran banged his fist on the bathroom door. “Other people have needs too, you know. Are you drinking out of the toilet again? Did you fall in or what?”

The door swung open. “Bite me,” his roomie Dino said. Even though he was in human form, he shook himself all over out of habit. Kieran bared his sizeable teeth. Dino snarled at him and grabbed a towel.

“That’s three baths in the same week,” Kieran observed. “You must be really serious about this one.”

“Dude, you have no idea.” Dino stepped out of the bathroom, toweling his hair. Kieran slid past him and took possession, just to be on the safe side. “Chill. I’m done in there. I’m meeting Sharona in half an hour so I have to shake my tail.”

“Sharona,” Kieran echoed, and grinned at Dino’s growl. “Where’d you meet this one? In Tenny’s bar or behind it?”

“I’m gonna bite you in a minute. This one’s not a bar bitch. She’s human. She works at a restaurant down at the exit. The one that sells game burgers. Half the time she smells like elk grease.” He sighed happily.

“A human? From down at the exit?” Kieran stepped halfway back out into the hall, his bladder issues temporarily on hold. “How’d you meet this one?”

“Well, I was scouting around that nightclub down there—you know, the Caverns? The one that vampire runs? Which is why I went in my wolf form, and why I went during the day. She swears up and down she’s got nothing against shifters, but you know you can’t trust a bat.”

“I’ve got a boatload of relatives who are bats. Distant relations, but still.”

“That’s your own fault for being born a prairie dog. Anyway, as long as I had four legs on, I stopped by that little park there, you know, where they used to have the minigolf? Sniff around, mark a couple trees—”

“Bro. TMI.”

“Right. So I’m checking over the landscape and there’s this human kid playing with a rubber ball. He sees me, thinks I’m a dog, and throws me the ball. Dick that I am, I caught it. I should have just bitten the kid.”

“Things like that can get you shot in the human world.”

“Yeah, I know. Good thing I held off, because right then is when Sharona came over. Turns out she’s his mom.”

“She’s got a kid?”

“Yeah, I know. Sweet, right? Instant pack. How’s that for a time saver? I took one whiff of that meat aroma on her and that was it. Love at first sniff.”

“And she fell in love right back at you, wolf and all.”

“Wellllll, not so much. I had to follow her home—”

“Ah, stalking. The wolf equivalent of courtship.”

“Bite me, rodent boy. That kid of hers kept me playing catch for almost two hours. I swear, the little spore must have OCD or something. But it got me in good with her, so she didn’t mind me following her home. Then it was back to the car, get dressed, then show up at her door looking for my ‘lost dog.’ We got to talking, discovered we had a lot of common interests.”

“Like a love of meat?”

Dino grinned. “And the kid. Turns out he’s okay, when he isn’t chucking a ball at me. We play video games together. All three of us. Dude, she could be the one.”

“Have you told her the truth about your ‘dog’ yet?”

“I’m working my way up to it. I told her I found him, so she wouldn’t be looking around. I may have been in the park this morning. Playing catch. That’s why the extra shower.”

Kieran snickered. “You softy.”

“You rodent. If this does work out, I’m gonna have to buy that kid a puppy. Let him take his pitching impulses out on a real dog. One of those Jack Russells. The little hyper things. They can wear each other out. Leave me more time with Sharona. Scat! What time is it? I gotta get moving.” He darted up the hall toward his room.

At the same time, Kieran’s bladder stabbed him with an insistent reminder. The prairie dog shut the bathroom door. “Yeah. Me too.”

Monday, January 4, 2016


I'm back. Happy to be in the swing again. I took a much needed break for health matters. On the road to successful recovery and a healthy life again.  Resolutions happen for many at the start of the new year. I prefer life resolutions or changes my choices affect me rather than others. One of my biggest every year is to to chose to act rather than react. Easier said than done. For this year, I've looking at more writing and learning from feedback, rejections, suggestions, and critiques. Opinions matter
and that is what feedback contains. Weeding through and finding what works can take time and energy. It is a learning process. One we can all benefit from if we're willing to take time to process the task.
All this comes with submissions made before Christmas. Looking at the rejections and the letter sent along with synopsis a few weeks out says there are changes I can make a different approach to saying the same things using different words. My first step in using feedback in the new year.

Stay turned as I post more this year. Back to working on new stories for your reading enjoyment and pleasure.


Friday, January 1, 2016

The Company New Years Party...

Ziva woke, stretched and felt every tender ache in her happy parts.  “What the hell?”

“I don’t know, but once you figure it out give me an update, huh.” Mistress P climbed out of the sexy sandwich she made with Burgess, Danny and what looked to be the tight, young intern they’d just hired in the fall snuggled in behind.  Thank Lupa she was several years past legal.

“Me too,” Marissa chimed in moving from her place atop her man Mooney.

“Me three.” Reetha was currently pushing Rafe to the side and sitting up.

With a scan of the room, Ziva could see all of the women coming too, while the men were still nearly comatose.  Clothing was askew, but no one was flat out naked which was interesting.  Shifters didn’t give two shakes about nudity, hell, most everyone in town had seen everyone else naked one time or another. 

“Well, clearly, we rang in the new year in some sort of group romp,” Penny said.  “I just can’t remember what happened or how it started.”

“Marissa, could this be magical?”  Ziva asked the resident witch.

“Nope, there’s no magic residue in the air and I don’t have a post magic use sheen on me.  I do, however, have one hell of a hangover and that is very uncommon.  The supernatural part usually burns that off first.”

“Yeah, my head is throbbing a bit as well.”  Reetha said, still sitting.

Ziva moved toward the food table. “So someone spiked the punch?”

“Possibly, but with what?” Penny asked.  “Like Marissa said, liquor is not a problem for shifters.”

“Well, it’s not liquor,” Ziva said, finishing her sniff test of the punch.

“Holy crossed snake eyes,” Lamar groaned, sitting up and holding his hand to his head.  “Who got a hold of the premium weed and why didn’t anyone warn us?”

What?  Weed?”   Marissa exclaimed.  “No one was toking that I remember.  Plus, marijuana makes me really paranoid and I remember every stinking bit of it, so it couldn’t have been that.”

“Not Maryjane, this is Horny Goat Weed.  I got into a batch of it last year on a slither about and poor Jamie wouldn't come near me for a full month after the effects wore off.”  Lamar shifted around a bit and reached out to stroke his partner’s hair.  “Now I understand why.”

“Horny Goat Weed?  Who would have brought that to the New Year’s work party?”  Ziva started sniffing the rest of the food, looking for something that was off.

“There was something off about last night though,” Lamar murmured. 

“Ya think.”  Reetha barked.

“What I mean is that Horny Goat Weed only affects men, and last night you ladies were the aggressors.  Not that the men said no, but you all came on veeerrry strong.”

“All of the food smells of certain things,” Ziva said.

“Like what,” Marissa asked.

“Well, Nutmeg, clove, and saffron for starters.  And the punch smells slightly of passion flower rather than fruit.”

“There’s Muira Puama in the dip.”  Penny offered up the information slightly abashed. “Burgess brought some back from Brazil.  It’s a delicacy and an aphrodisiac, but it was never that over-powering.”

“No, but all those other things Ziva listed are also aphrodisiacs and include the Horny Goat Weed and we OD’d on sex aiding herbs.”  Marissa smirked.

“So either everyone had the same sexy idea for New Year’s,” Reetha said. “Or everyone’s favorite recipe includes a different sex herb.” 

“I think we’re looking at option number two,” Ziva laughed.  “Next year, we cater.”

Penny stood, “Well let me be the first to say…Happy Fucking New Year!”

“Literally!”  The rest of the guests who were awake and starting to wake responded.


May all of your banquets be catered!

Happy New Year