A New Breed Of Cop Comes to Town

Gill rushed to his office window. The loud roar increased as he pulled back the curtain. Outside the sun blazed down on the parking lot closest to his office. He looked left and right unable to ascertain where the noise came from. He turned ready to yell for Rachel when the loud squeal of sirens started.

He rushed back to the window. He looked down to the corner of the asphalt he could clearly see. He squinted as sun glare flashed off the chrome of not one, not two.  He blinked and counted again. Four motorcycles all bearing police decals and the city’s emblem. What the hell had happened while he and Chloe were on vacation? Had Vernon gone off the deep end during his time as deputy mayor?

A loud knock sounded.  Gill inhaled, exhaled, and started for the door. Another knock sounded. “Ok, I’m coming,” he called out.  Picking up his pace, he quickly crossed the room lest the knock start again. He reached for the door as another knock rattled the heavy oak door. Gods and Goddesses above! What was on the other side of the door?

He took a hold of the knob and turned it.  He uttered a quick prayer and flung the door open.

Rachel stood between two of the burliest biker dudes he’d encountered.  He looked at Rachel. She shrugged and stepped toward him. “Boss man, looks like we got a couple new citizens that want to speak with you.”

Rachel moved into the office and away from him and the bikers. She turned and pointed to the one wearing a red emblem on his helmet.  “Zeke from Red Bluff, Arizona.”

Zeke nodded and removed his helmet.  His army crew cut hinted at who might have sent him.

Rachel pointed to the other biker wearing a blue wave emblem on his helmet.  “Deke from Pacifica, Oregon.”

Deke removed his helmet, nodded and stepped up beside Zeke. 

Gill kept glancing back and forth between the two trying to figure out who they reminded him of.  He jumped as Rachel touched his shoulder. He glared at her.  Rachel snickered.  “Boss man, hear them out. Tyburn said phoenix connections are important.”  With that, Rachel walked out of the office closing the door behind her.

Gill held out his hand, hoping Zeke or Deke took it. They understood shaking hands, didn’t they?  Who’d sent them? 

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

Happy Weekend Gang!

Tyburn can be obnoxious and heavy handed.  Has he over done it with sending new troops in to guard the Peak?  His baby daughter is turning 16 within a few weeks.  Rachel doesn't seem phased by it.  Or is she?  Has the angsty teen years hit the Peak? Gill and Chloe's triplets along with Rachel and Tyburn's twins.  Look out here comes trouble?

I think this serial is going to be fun writing as the birthdays approach.

Until Next Time,

Solara

Reading is Sexy!

“Fair One, I must fly…,” Erol said, standing behind the lounger his mate rested upon, his hand outstretched.

“Okay, have fun.” She replied, slapping her free hand into his much like the youth of the past with the “give me five” business he’d never understood.  In her other hand she held her book with no pages, what did she call it—a book reader or some such thing.

“No, you must fly with me, mate.”   A dragon’s mate always flew alongside her man, even if she was wingless.

“Can’t right now, hon.  I’m reading.”

Engrossed as she was in her book thing she wouldn’t even look up at him and that alone stoked the fire burning within.  He wanted to be the center of her attention, not some silly love book.  “You will come with me now!”

“Shh, Erol, I‘m right in the middle of a sex scene…”

Once again she drifted off into her book, but he would not have that.  Erol grabbed the reader and tossed it onto the table.  “Let us go, Fair One,” he said, picking her up even as she stretched for the book.

“Erol,” She screamed, juggling the offending item she'd grabbed, between her hands. “Can I at least bring it along?”

“If you must,” he grumped, taking them both to the sky.

“Say, hon,” she yelled from the safe place in his hands.  “How would you feel about sharing me with another man…you know just once or twice to try it out?”

Fire flew from his nostrils before he looked down at his mate.  “The next time you ask me that, Fair One, I will spank you!”

“Ooh, the hero does that on page fifty-nine, want me to read it to you?”

Erol raised his head and tipped his wings for another lap around the mountain and the little town of Talbot’s Peak.  He needed to make this quick.  The words spilling from Greely’s mouth were going to send them home PDQ.  Who knew, maybe there was something to this reading thing…
~~~

So today's post is short...more of a wink than a flash, but much like Greely, I've been reading...a lot!  I've been discovering all kinds of new authors and books to adore now that school is out for the summer.  Swing on over to my Goodreads page to check out what I've been reading and I would love to hear from y'all what books you would suggest!

Serena's Goodreads
~~~

Have a wonderful, book-filled, weekend!

Serena

The Prodigal Returns

Zhere Ghan was at work in the dining hall, plotting strategy. He had not returned to his office for any length of time since the night of the attack. To his nose, it still stank of sheep urine. Just his imagination, he knew. Nevertheless, he’d taken to switching work stations, choosing rooms at random and moving about the manor frequently, with no set pattern. The House of Ghan was preparing for war. It never hurt to take precautions.

A harried servant opened the far door and glanced inside. His breath left him in a relieved hiss when he spotted Ghan. He bowed low. “Your son has arrived, my Lord. Shall I present him to you here, or would you prefer a different venue?”

Ghan frowned. “My son?” He shook his head and set aside his tablet. “Bring him here.” The servant bobbed even lower and withdrew.

Now what in Vishnu’s name was Tasman doing here? He was under strict orders to maintain a presence at the tigers’ club, Nirvana. Carry on as if nothing was amiss. Ghan wanted a second set of trusted eyes in Talbot’s Peak, trained on Hancock’s agents. It also reduced the risk of both himself and his heir falling victim to another assassination attempt. Ghan had his household guard; Tasman had his assistant, the lethal snow leopardess Leila. If one of them fell to Hancock’s machinations, the other would see about revenge.

It wasn’t like Tasman to disobey orders. Not without at least a phone call first. He’d better have a damned good reason for an unnecessary personal visit.

The servant returned. He bowed low, ushered the young tiger shifter into the dining hall, and backed away without ever raising his eyes to Ghan’s. The tiger adjusted his lapels and nodded respectfully. “Father.”

Ghan leaped to his feet, dumbstruck. “Ravi? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I heard about the attempt on your life. Of course I came at once.”

“Why?”

“Why?” For a second his professional mask slipped, and a snarl tried to curl his lips back. Ravi mastered it quickly, and returned his face to neutrality. In spite of himself, Ghan approved. A year of running the Indian branch of the business had done Ravi good. It looked like he might have learned how to curb his impulsiveness, and his often hair-trigger emotionalism. He still wasn’t Tasman, but he’d improved tremendously. “Because if we’re engaged in open warfare, then my place is here.”

“Who says we’re at war?”

Now Ravi’s lips did curve, in a bit of a knowing smirk. “Tasman. We report to each other on a regular basis, you know. He’s very thorough.”

Ghan grunted. He was indeed. “Surely he didn’t order you here. Best that one of you stays out of the line of fire.”

“Seriously? I’m supposed to sit on my tail safe in India while some mongrel dog takes a run at you? And nearly succeeded, from what I understand.” Ravi stepped further into the room. “Safety be damned. If your life is threatened, my place is at your side, as befits a dutiful son.”

“Tasman—”

“Maintains the Ghan presence in Talbot’s Peak, as I’m sure you would have ordered him. Am I correct?” He must have read the answer on Ghan’s face, because his smirk widened a little. “Leaving you with no trusted kin to guard your back. It’s Hancock behind it, am I right? There you go, then. All a wolf understands is rank. He thinks you’re an alpha with no pack to back you. If we present him with a united front, you and Tasman and I, he’s liable to roll over and show throat.”

“Not that one,” Ghan growled. “I think his brains have finally curdled. He called out the Seven on me.”

“The assassins? And you were going to leave me sitting in India while you took him on alone?” Ravi shook his head. “Sometimes you worry me, Father.”

Ghan chuckled, and relaxed. How many times had he said that to Ravi, and in the same indulgent tone of voice? His second-born might have finally achieved maturity. Leaving the table, he walked to his son and laid his hand on Ravi’s shoulder. “Perhaps you’re right. Dogs fight in packs. We should meet them in the same manner. Lull them in, then face them as tigers. They’ll never know what hit them.” He patted Ravi’s arm. “It’s good to see you, son.”

“Thank you, Father.” He glanced around. “Where’s Sergei? I would have thought he’d be hovering over you, given the circumstances.”

“Sergei … ” Ghan growled under his breath. He let go of Ravi’s arm. “Sergei has … terminated his employment.”

“He’s left you? At a time like this?”

“It’s of no import.” So he’d been telling himself. “He was on assignment for me when the attack happened. He returned in time to save me. Then he declared his debt repaid and left. We needn’t worry about him.”

“Are you sure?” Ravi said. “He’s always been a strange one. Didn’t he have ties to the Seven?”

Ghan had been pondering that as well. The timing of the sheep’s attack had been awfully coincidental. Or well-planned. “Tasman has him and his lover under surveillance. If I decide action against him is warranted, Tasman will see to it.” He smiled suddenly. “But that can wait. My son is with me again. Come to the kitchen, have tea with me. Tell me how things are at home.”

“Boring,” Ravi said. “I wanted to be where I’m needed.” They left the dining hall, Ghan with his arm around Ravi’s shoulders.

Conference Call

Brandon Fledermaus stared at his waiting computer screen and sucked in a long, labored breath. He wasn’t looking forward to this, but it needed to be done. “You want a drink first?” Jerboa offered drily.

“Not yet. I need all my wits about me. Afterwards, leave the bottle.” He glanced at the clock in the screen’s corner. This call had been arranged earlier. The one he could count on to respond. The other? Still up in the air. He prayed both would listen. Lives, perhaps more than their own, might be at stake.

At precisely 7 pm he activated Skype. The screen split as he connected with the two incoming calls. One hurdle cleared: both horses had been successfully led to the water. Now to get them to drink. “Gentlemen,” he said. “Thank you for hearing me out.”

“You haven’t said anything yet,” Damien Hancock growled. The image from his end was slightly out of focus. Brand studied it as best he could. The Alpha wolf didn’t look good. He appeared somehow bloated, and hairier than usual, as if he hadn’t shaved or even combed his hair in days. By contrast, Zhere Ghan’s image practically crackled with clarity. He looked the same as always: handsome, dignified, polished, urbane. Dangerous. That burned in his narrowed eyes and was picked up by the camera. Hancock’s eyes were harder to read from his blurry image. They looked bloodshot.

“I’ll get right to the point,” Brand said. “By now you both probably know I was attacked in my home the other night. I know the two of you were also attacked the same night. Supposedly each of us ordered the attacks on the others. For example, the pair that came after me made a point of telling me they were Hancock agents, under orders from—”

“Like I’d bother,” Hancock snarled. “Stinking little flying rat. Scrape you off the bottom of my shoe.”

“While my attacker,” Ghan said smoothly, “dropped your name rather casually into the conversation, Mr. Fledermaus. Care to explain?”

“That’s why I arranged this meeting,” Brand said. “After asking around and weighing the evidence, I’ve concluded—”

“What evidence?” Hancock broke in. “Who’ve you been talking to? My wolves wouldn’t talk to you. They’d chew you up and spit out the wings. You’re just trying to—”

“Damien,” Ghan said, “be still. I wish to hear what our neighbor has to say.”

“Stuff it up your tail, you striped bastard. He’s not your neighbor. You don’t have a damned rat gnawing at your borders. You just hide in your den and send others out to skulk around. What’sa matter? Too good to get your paws dirty? You want a piece of me, you come at me yourself! See what it gets you!”

“Damien—”

“Cram it, stripey. I will not ‘be still.’ You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Still as in dead, right?”

“I will admit,” Ghan said, “your demise would give me a measure of satisfaction. One less annoyance to concern myself with. But I didn’t order an attack on you or on anyone else. Not this time.”

“The hell you didn’t. Hump you. Hump the both of you.” Hancock’s blurry image vanished from the screen.

After a moment Ghan said, “Well. That could have gone better.”

Brandon didn’t answer right away. Hancock had a reputation for aggression—he was an alpha wolf, after all—but that outburst had been over the top even for him. “Something’s off,” he murmured.

“With Hancock?” Ghan sniffed. “You needn’t have disturbed me to tell me something both of us already know.”

“And I didn’t. I called to tell you both my findings. I’m convinced none of us ordered any attacks on the others. But somebody wants us to think that. Someone’s trying to pit us against each other. Someone from outside.”

“A common enemy?” For the first time, Ghan showed a modicum of interest. “Who would benefit from our mutual demise?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to ferret out. Either somebody wants the three of us to destroy each other so they can move into the power vacuum, or one of us was the real target and the other two are a smokescreen.” He half-smiled grimly. “I’m sure you have a number of enemies with a personal axe to grind.”

“Too many to count,” Ghan confirmed. “Including Hancock. You?”

“Hancock wants my land. He’s never made any secret of it. But that attack on me seemed awfully impersonal. They weren’t assassins, or fighters, for that matter. They weren’t even there to kill me. They said as much. I don’t know the details of Hancock’s encounter, only that someone got in, and also left him alive. What about your attack? Anything hit close to home?”

On the screen, Ghan stiffened. Ah, Brand thought. Struck a nerve, did I?

“My attacker did try to kill me. And mentioned your name,” the tiger reminded him.

“Then your life could be in serious danger. Hancock’s too, from his reactions. I suspect I was thrown in to muddy the waters.”

“And now you’ve called to inspect your handiwork?”

“I called to report my findings to you both,” Brand said patiently, “and to propose an alliance. I was hoping the three of us together—”

“Ah. The plot reveals itself.” Ghan turned brisk. “Remove us both and secure your own position, all the while playing the innocent. A tiger does not have allies, Fledermaus. A tiger has servants and enemies. I will deal with Hancock, as I should have long ago. And then I will deal with you.” He cut the connection.

Brand was still staring at the empty screen when Jerboa approached with the brandy. He set the bottle on the desk. “Well,” he said, “you tried.”

“I had to. Even though I think we both knew it wouldn’t work.”

“Yep. That’s a predator for you. So what happens now?”

Brand sat back and reached for the bottle. “We keep digging,” he said, “and try to contain the collateral damage before all Talbot’s Peak gets caught in the blast.”

Checking in

My yard is over-run with pissed off wasps at the moment. I’ve been fighting a battle for my custody of my yard for the last two weeks. It’s a battle of attrition that started with one of the buggers biting me on the small of my back while mowing the lawn. It has progressed to them spreading and trying to take over the shed I’m rebuilding.

Have you ever tried to kill a wasp colony? Those that don’t die when you spray their nest just move. They don’t move on, just elsewhere. The original nest was in a tree at the back of my yard. There’s now a small nest next to that tree, another in my lilac bush, and yesterday, one in the shed.

Today, there were two wasp nests in my shed. I feel like I’m losing this war even though they’re the ones taking heavy casualties.

Anyway, the story. I haven’t been posting any of Jarod Black’s story lately because I didn’t like how it was progressing. Yesterday, I figured out how to get out of that hole I was digging, so Jarod Black will be back next week. In the meantime, I offer you “Frank the Bat.” Enjoy!

~Rebecca


 * * * * * * * * * * *

How Talbot's Peak Plays Pokemon Go?! Punk A Skunk Style!

Shifter Art...

Sage flicked the last bit of paint onto the canvass and pronounced the painting complete.  Bright red dripped down the picture, setting the perfect scene. “A masterpiece!”

“You’ve said the same thing about every piece since college, isn’t there one shite piece in all that time?”

Sage smiled.  She knew that voice, remembered the last time she’d heard it whining and growling at the same time about his lady loves irreverent need to make him crazy. “Nick,” she said, turning to see the one she’d never had the chance to let get away.

“Dear—what is that deity you worship—” With a wave of her paint coated hand, she bit her bottom lip and looked skyward.

“Lupa?”

“Yes, yes.  Dear Lupa, no!  My work will be talk about ‘til the end of time.  It will be raised to the heavens and I will be immortalized before I ever die!”

“And what style do you follow?  Who are your influences?  Pollock, Van Gogh, Vermeer?  No wait, is it Munch or the older greats?”

Nick’s smirk reminded her of their late night painting sessions.  He would paint—dreadfully—to keep his mind off his love and what she might be doing without him, but also to keep the hordes of girls wanting some alpha loving, at bay.  She would paint because she could do nothing else.  They had teased each other unmercifully, they had also become the dearest of friends.

“Poosh, I am influenced by them all, and by none of them.  I’m in a league all my own, babe.”

“And modest…”

“Of course,” she agreed, nudging him to take in her latest.  “What do you think?”

##

Nick looked at the painting, raised a hand to him mouth and forced himself to swallow the gurgling laughter fighting its way to the surface.  “Is that a chipmunk, with wolf’s teeth, taking down a-a-moose?”

“Yes, isn’t it wonderful?”

“Um, I especially like the blood spraying from the moose’s neck,” Nick laughed, short and loud, before once again shutting down his laughter. “What do you call it?”

“Self-portrait in red.”

This time Nick couldn’t contain himself.  He bent at the waist and laughed until he hurt as Sage watched him with her crazy chipmunk eyes.  It was so good to have his friend close once again.  He hoped she and Ziva could connect.  Also, he figured the town of Talbot’s Peak would be good for Sage. They were going to just love her shifter art. 
~~~

Have a wonderful weekend!

Serena

This Week's Excuse

No chapter this week. I got caught up in writing projects that I’m hoping will result in paydays somewhere down the line. I enjoy writing the blog entries, but at the moment they don’t pay the rent, and I’ve gotten accustomed to eating on a regular basis. Here’s what’s in the pipeline: a proposal to Carina Press for a M/M shifter story; an entry for an upcoming Carina SF anthology; and the story that took over my head earlier this week, a contemporary M/M for Evernight’s Romance on the Go line. I might have that one done in draft by next week, once I get the paid freelance work out of the way. I’ll see if I can squeeze in a chapter of the serial story next week.

This week we're going to do a version of “Caption This.” I found a couple animal-related headscratchers on Google Images. What do they suggest to you? Let us know in the comments. No prizes, just the satisfaction of knowing you're more clever than I am.

I suspect someone may have an allergy ...

Being cheap isn't Mr. Krabbs' only nasty habit ...

C'mon, dude, it wasn't that funny ...

This is either the opening of Dr. Who done with cat memes or ... nah, I got nothin'.

And, of course, this. I could write a whole erotic M/M novella based on this one pic. I'm sure you folks out there have much cleaner minds. Have fun, and see you next week!

The Ripple Effect

Actions have consequences. Throw a stone into the center of a pond and the ripples spread out to the shoreline. The nameless person behind the scenes has just thrown huge stones into a number of lives. Now the ripples are starting to spread …

# # #

Brandon Fledermaus is looking for answers. The attack on him made little sense, and his instincts tell him Damien Hancock wasn’t really behind it. That opinion strengthens when he learns Hancock and Zhere Ghan both experienced similar attacks on the same night. Oh, the two kingpins themselves aren’t talking, but they have staff, and their staff tends to gossip, and speculate.

Hancock and Ghan are predators, and so are their employees. Most of the population of Talbot’s Peak is prey—herbivores, rodents. When predators talk, prey is always listening, in the form of a diner waitress, a clerk in a grocery store, a bartender in a local pub, a janitor mopping the floor in the offices of Hancock Real Estate or the tigers’ nightclub, Nirvana. Listening for the movements of predators is how the prey survives.

Brandon Fledermaus is a bat, and bats have excellent hearing. He flits through the night from one contact to another, and listens as the stories grow.

# # #

The doctor holds up a hypodermic. “This is what we have. It still hasn’t been fully tested—”

Damien Hancock thrusts out his arm. “Start testing.”

The scientist grimaces, but Hancock’s money keeps his pups in private school, away from human and herbivorous taints, so he swabs the prominent vein in the crook of the old wolf’s arm, slides the needle in, and prays he hasn’t just poisoned his financial well.

Nothing happens, at first. Hancock growls, down low in his throat. The sound has an edge of panic to it. The Asian cat who ambushed him hit too close to home. An Alpha who can’t shift might as well be dead. If his pack learns the truth, his life won’t be worth scat.

And then …

It starts in his gut, a twist like his innards are reshaping themselves. He doubles over, dry-retching. His heart slams against his ribs like a caged wolf against iron bars.

Then the power hits. Raw, crackling energy blasts through his veins, building and building with no end in sight. All of a sudden he’s twenty again, fierce and hungry and ready to hunt the world and crack its spine in his powerful jaws. His muscles thicken, his neck bulges. A howl starts up in the pit of his lungs and bursts free in a lusty bellow that almost seems to rattle the windows.

Still got it! he thinks exultantly. He’s still the king of Talbot’s Peak. Still the Alpha wolf.

When his body’s shudders stop he rises up. He’s suddenly a foot taller than he was before. He jabs a taloned finger at the empty hypodermic. “Make more.”

The doctor nods bleakly. Secretly, he wonders if it might be best to yank his pups out of school, pack up the wife and the SUV and move to that nice town in Oregon.

# # #

Zhere Ghan stands silently by while housekeeping removes the remains of his wrecked office jungle. One hand grips the edge of his desk. The other clenches and relaxes, clenches and relaxes. Each clench drives his nails more deeply into his palm. His men have searched the manor grounds, and beyond. They have yet to catch the assassin.

A sheep. Someone sent a sheep to kill him. A bloody herbivore. The blatant insult curdles in his gut.

Allegedly it was Fledermaus, but Zhere Ghan has his doubts. He’s studied the bat. Fledermaus certainly has funds enough to afford the Seven’s services, but would he be so crass? This attack reeks of contempt. It’s something Hancock would think of, had he the wit or the subtlety.

Worse still, it nearly succeeded. That rankles even more.

And now he’s lost his favorite and most powerful chess piece. Sergei’s in the wind, no longer at Ghan’s beck and call. Sergei, who knows every inch of this compound, who can ghost past its alarms, defenses and warriors any time he wants to. Who trained Stefanya, leader of the Seven.

The phone atop his desk goes off. The housekeepers jump. Ghan does not. He answers calmly. “Yes?”

“Father?” Tasman, from the club. “Are you well? I’ve been getting jumbled reports—”

“It’s nothing. A glitch in the security system. Stay where you are. No need for you to come home.”

Tasman pauses, reading between the lines. “I could send Leila.”

“No. Keep her with you. Better than a battalion, that one.” He might not have been the only target tonight. At least now he knows his son and heir is safe and, with his lethal assistant to guard him, likely to stay so.

Enough standing about. Time to take action.

“Father?”

“I have matters covered on my end, but there’s something you can do. That dancer, the red wolf, Genevieve Bordeaux. Is she still there at the club?”

“Not any more. She quit the other night. Went over to that new place, with the freaks and the perverts.”

“Did she now?” First her, then Sergei. Interesting timing. “Can you spare an agent? I want her watched. I want to know who comes and goes at her house, and where she goes, and why.”

Tasman makes a small noise, like he’s about to ask a question, but instead responds, “Yes, Father.”

“Good lad. We’ll discuss matters when you get home.” He’ll need to find out if Sergei at least killed Warner Hancock’s bitch and spawn. The House of Ghan is under attack. He can’t afford to take anything for granted any more.

After ending the call with his firstborn, he summons the head of his personal security team. “I want all your current intelligence on Fledermaus, the Hancock pack, Sergei, and that new upstart nightclub in town.” He sighs. It’s a happy sound, full of anticipation. “Looks like we’re going to war.”

# # #

Genevieve awakens from a restless sleep to the sound of a light tapping at her bedroom window. She squints through the gloom and spots a hulking silhouette that can only be Sergei. She springs from her bed and hurries to the kitchen door to let him in.

He does not waste words. “I have left Zhere Ghan,” he tells her somberly. “My life may be worth nothing now. Yours also, I’m afraid.” He bends to kiss her forehead. “I am so sorry, my firewolf. I should have killed him.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” She isn’t upset. She’s been getting hints of this through her dreams for a while now. She’s known something along these lines was coming. “We’ll need a place to hide, at least for a bit.” A smile curves her lips. “And I know where.”

# # #

Working the late shift on the desk at the Rocky Top Motel, Hoover suddenly straightens when a poignant, musky scent assails his sensitive nose. His phenomenal sense of smell is how he got this job. Hancock’s corporation owns this motel, and Damien Hancock owns Hoover. His job is to assess the travelers who pass through the strip by the interstate exit. Most are humans, nonthreatening and oblivious, on their hurried way from here to there. Some are shifters. Some could pose a threat to the Hancocks and their hold on Talbot’s Peak. Any time Hoover sniffs someone iffy, he’s to contact the Alpha immediately.

One whiff of the man approaching the desk and Hoover figures he’s earned his pay for the week, and then some.

The man walks with a slow, effortless stride, like he’s stalking prey. Hoover doesn’t even need the walk. He knows a tiger when he smells one. He’s got smooth skin, paler than most Indian tigers, and straight black hair that falls to his shoulders. He smiles at Hoover. His eyes chill the wolf to his bones. The tiger’s eyes are blue. Hoover knows only one other blue-eyed tiger: Sergei, Zhere Ghan’s freak albino pet.

He swallows hard and offers up a wide, friendly smile. “Welcome to Talbot’s Peak, sir. Would you like a room?”

“That’s usually why one comes to a motel,” the tiger says dryly. His voice holds the hint of an accent, and it isn’t Indian. “I’ll need lodging for a week at least, possibly longer. Have you any available?”

“This time of year? Not a problem. You’ve got your pick of the second floor. How about one near the ice machine?”

“That will do nicely,” the tiger agrees. He nods toward the motel entrance, and the garishly-lit street beyond. “That road out there. Where does it lead?”

“Up into the mountains.” No point in holding back. He has a sinking feeling the tiger already knows and is toying with him. “There’s a town up there about the size of a pinhead. Nothing of interest, really.”

“Talbot’s Peak, yes?”

Scat. “Yeah, that’s it. They’re kind of insular up there, though. Survivalists. Home-grown Montana militia. You don’t want to go up there.”

“Perhaps not.” The man signs in and produces a credit card. Hoover makes close note of his name. Mikhail Dvorak. That answers some questions and raises a ton of others. Mr. Dvorak gives him a cold, thin smile and climbs the stairs. He’s brought no luggage with him.

The second he hears the upstairs door clap shut, Hoover dives for the phone and speed-dials the Hancock stronghold.

Wait...What...It's Friday?

Are you kidding me, it's Friday again?

So seriously, these two pics accurately describe my life of late.  No time...no time!!!  I told myself I was going to take the summer off from classes, but then the school offered Creative Writing online!  I need that for my degree, soooooo....

Here I am, once more, without a blog post.  On the upside I'm working on a story again,(Mz Muse is very happy!) it's my take on Greek Mythology.  More so about Furies!  They're kind of shapeshifters so perhaps I can post a bit here soon.

For now, my apologies for not having a Talbot's Peak post this week but here's another funny.  This one, just 'cause I love it!  :D

That's Me!!!!!
~~

Have a wonderful weekend!

Serena