Alliance, Shere Khan's Offerings

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

It's the middle of May... can you believe it?

So, this flash scene stars that omnipresent villain, Shere Khan, leader of the Tiger Yakuza in Talbot's Peak.

Dugger, the dingo man, also stars in the lead role as the hero. With a common, take-no-prisoners enemy threatening The Peak, will a temporary alliance be formed?

~~~~~~

Alliance, Shere Khan's Offerings

As tiger, Shere Khan muscled his way through the night forest. Uncaring about who or what heard his approach, he thundered a roar without a pause in his stride. Shere Khan listened with satisfaction as the sound echoed around him.

Because of their agreed-upon mind connection, for now, he knew Dugger, the dingo shapeshifter, had been alerted. The negotiation for their tête-à-têt had been quite the mental challenge, and by the end, Shere Khan had gained a new respect for the crafty down-under canine.

Several of Shere Khan's top ninjas followed in his wake, soaring above the treetops. The inept fools who had allowed Ravi's future bride to escape had been placed in disgrace -- shipped back to Shere Khan's cousin, a minor player in the Yakuza empire.

Shere Khan curled his lips and loosed a snarl that struck terror in the hearts of his many enemies. While the use of magick assisted him in the subtle dance of gaining and keeping power, his raw strength suited his purpose and his mood now.

Ignoring the scurrying panic of rodent species and ground-nesting poultry, Shere Khan smashed through a thick web of entangled limbs. He had yet to choose a particularly severe punishment for the girl's father. His false tongue about his daughter's willingness to be a debt payment, was not to be tolerated.

Yet, on the grand chessboard of life, Nilambari's escape offered Shere Khan a bargaining chip. Of late, he had spent many a restless night pondering on the current times -- this ferocious and pivotal Dragon Year of 2012.

Changes in the balance of power were on the near horizon, a balance that no longer favored the Tiger Yakuza. Further, one vital truth had emerged during his deep investigation of the Global League.

Their plan for world dominion would mean the extermination of not only the Yakuza as a fearsome competitor, but of his tiger shapeshifter kind.

Shere Khan uttered a long rumbling growl against such an unacceptable fate.

****

Already shifted to his man form, Dugger lounged against the barrel-sized tree trunk. He listened to the smash-crash arrival of Shere Khan as he cleaned beneath his nails with his large throwing blade. Mother Moon shone like a spotlight overhead.

'Yeah, see 'em before my mind's eye. Several black pajamas,' he telepathed back to Symone, his beautiful, dimension-hopping sheila.

So far, it'd been painful as a roo's kick to the gut gaining her trust. But he was finally winning her over.

Earlier, he'd nearly jumped for bloody joy when she agreed to be his lookout, watching out for his ass during his summit meeting with the Yakuza leader. Given the Global League's invasion of their territory, he, Dante, and White Fang had agreed it was the best course of action for the sake of Talbot's Peak.

Even now, Dante, as werewolf, was positioned to his right, hidden by the deep shadow of a rock outcropping, a good two stories in height. On his left, White Fang observed from atop a high waterfall, ready to swoop down -- be the superhero to the rescue.

Dugger had discovered right quick that Symone's sharpshooter skills were as bang-on deadly at night as in the daylight. As she'd explained, some of what was labeled junk DNA by the looney scientists on this side of the dimensional curtain had been activated in her. Both by her desperate need to survive impossible circumstances, and later by specialized lab technicians.

Lifting his gaze, Dugger watched Shere Khan halt at the edge of the large clearing. Without a glance his way, and within moments -- hell, like a damn magical spell out of a storybook -- the Yakuza morphed from white tiger to his human form.

Yeah, just as he'd figured, the old gods ran in the tiger shifter's veins from the looks of him. Confirmed, when one of his ninjas floated a silk-thread, ornate robe around his shoulders, as if from on high.

Dugger sheathed his blade with a flip of his wrist, then straightened away from the tree trunk. "Spit and polish duds for out here in the woods, don't you think? But, I guess you are king of the crime mountain."

Shere Khan offered him a wan smile once they faced each other in the center of the clearing. His eyes, however, sparked with fire-devouring intelligence, the type Dugger respected as downright, run-for-a-cave dangerous. If he was in a runnin' mood. He wasn't.

"King of the crime mountain," Shere Khan formally intoned. "A title I find quite acceptable. My apologies, dingo, my wit does not extend to such cleverness with titles. May I address you as Dugger as you originally introduced yourself? Or perhaps, you wish to be addressed by what would be called your last name, here in the states."

"Dugger'll do. What's on your mind precisely? Thought we'd agreed on a meeting of the minds during the dark of the moon."

"So it was planned, yes. However, I suddenly find within my grasp an offering of good faith. Two offerings, perhaps."

"Is this about the brave young woman who escaped your clutches -- as they used to say in the dime pulp novels I read?"

"I know you will dismiss my words, dingo. I will state them for the record, as the politicians say in that useless body known as the congress."

"Yeah?" Dugger raised a brow. Since his hackles weren't giving him fits yet, Dugger didn't snake a hand toward his blade. "What is it?"

Shere Khan drew in a yoga-like breath, and his features became serene, reminding Dugger of a decorative pond on a fancy estate. "I was under the impression the young woman wished to come to me as a bride for my son. Her father deceived me. Or should I say his words deceived the one I sent as representative to settle a rather large debt."

For the bloody life of him, Dugger couldn't smell, hear or see a lie. Maybe, he hadn't daggered beneath the tiger's enigmatic gaze, though. "Listening," he growled.

"I will cease any effort to recover Nilambari to demonstrate my interest in our mutual alliance against the Global League."

"You said 'two offerings." Dugger's inner dingo ears pricked at the near-silent movements of Shere Khan's ninjas. At the same time, he heard Symone power up her science-fiction rifle, preparing to shoot. "You better warn your black pajama boys to stay still as a tick havin' a right good blood feast."

"Ah, yes, your sharpshooter partner. I am in awe of her efficient ability to eliminate our common enemy." Shere Khan unfolded his arms, and slightly waved his right hand. "For the sake of time and trust, and before one of my ninjas becomes too zealous in their duty to protect me, my second offering--"

Shere Khan's next words were lost amid the sudden bedlam of an attack. Super soldiers by Dugger's nose. Dante's blood-chilling growl shook the air, and Dugger heard his short running charge, his leap, then the crunch of his fangs. The ripping began.

In a tornadic spin, White Fang arrived. He fought side-by-side with the ninjas, battling twenty -- by Dugger's count -- of the bio-machine enhanced Global League squad.

He and Shere Khan had spun and stood back to back, their weapons raised. Like stuffed dummies, soldiers began falling around them, all courtesy of Symone, his sheila sharpshooter.

"That's my girl," Dugger whispered. "Won't even let me use my big bad blade."

'Not yet anyway,' he added to himself, thinking of his 'big bad blade' down under.

"You were saying?" Dugger spoke over his shoulder, once the few remaining soldiers were being mopped up.

"If your sharpshooter wishes to return to her time, to her earthly dimension, I am in possession of a proto vortex unit."

Dugger didn't question, for now, how Shere Khan knew. Bloody hell, his every particle screamed against telling Symone. But tell her he would.

He would also use every dingo trick in the book, and on Earth, to make her stay with him.
~~~~~~

Have a shapeshifter kind of day!

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Walk Like a Man

Nilambari said nothing during the entire ride in Rick’s pickup down the mountain into Talbot’s Peak. Once they reached the town, however, she clung to his arm and stuck close to his side while her wide eyes suspiciously scanned every person on the street. So many were shifters. So many could be agents of Shere Khan.

“Why are we here?” she whispered. “Shere Khan’s men are everywhere. I need to hide.

“You need to eat,” Rick said, “and we need info on what’s up with Ol’ Stripes. This diner and the coffee shop are the best places to catch up on the gossip.” He grinned and gently disengaged his arm from her nervous clutch. “Easy there, sugar smacks. This is mainly a herbie place. Next time I’ll take you to a restaurant that serves meat.”

Rick guided them to an out-of-the-way table near the back. Nilambari seated herself with her back to the wall and a full view of the other customers. Her eyes and nose were well attuned to the nuances of herbivores and carnivores. Most of the patrons did indeed belong to the Grass Castes. That didn’t exclude them from service to Lord Khan.

Perhaps she should run from this American lion who’d promised to protect her. His plan was insane. But where would she go? Where could she go?

A middle-aged woman with white, tightly-curled hair and the smells of flour and a mountain meadow on her stopped by their table. “Rick,” she said. “Haven’t seen you in town in a dog’s age.” Her bright eyes raked Nilambari like searchlights. Nilambari stared at her menu. “And who’s this you brought along?”

“This is my cousin Barry,” Rick said. Lies dripped so easily from his tongue. “He stopped in to check out the Peak.”

The voice came nearer as the woman leaned over the table. “Nice tan, kid.”

“He’s from Utah. Desert cats, y’know. Lot’a mountain lions down there have darker skin and fur.”

“So I’ve heard. What can I get you boys?”

“Two specials. Strawberry for me, blueberry for the kid, scrambled eggs on both.”

“You got it.” Thank Vishnu, the woman walked away.

“This isn’t going to work,” Nilambari muttered. “I can’t pass for a man.”

“You’re doing fine so far. The after-shave’s messing up your scent real nice. Anyone whiffs cat on you will just assume you’re a mountain lion like me.”

“A female, not a male. What happens when I go into heat?”

Rick displayed sudden interest in his coffee. “We’ll ford that stream when we get there.”

This is a stupid plan, she thought, adjusting her cowboy hat. All that hair of hers crammed under it made her head hot as a Bengali jungle. Rick had assured her she needn’t cut it if she didn’t want to. Many native shifters wore their hair long, and everybody knew cats from Utah were a bit tetched. All that desert sun.

The rest of the clothes he’d insisted she wear she could tolerate, thought the jeans felt strange on her legs. For once her lack of curves played to her advantage. “You look male,” he’d told her. She’d managed not to shudder.

She’d noticed Rick spent a lot of time gazing at her butt. His attention eased her concern.

The food arrived. She found the “flapjacks” unique and even tasty, despite the lack of meat. She pretended total interest in her food while in reality eavesdropping on the conversations around her. None held much interest for her, until she caught the name “Shere Khan.”

Her bits of flapjack fell off her fork. She didn’t notice.

The speakers were a handsome old wolf and an equally-grizzled ape. They laughed as if Shere Khan were nothing, a joke. “Shipped in some little tigress as a bride for one of his sons,” the ape was saying. “Then the girl up and runs off. I never knew tigers had that much sense. The old rug’s plenty ticked.”

“She must’ve heard I was in town. How do I look?” The old wolf slicked back his hair.

“It tastes better if you put it in your mouth,” Rick suggested.

Nilambari got up. “Excuse me. I need to use the facilities.”

Outside the doors marked “Rams” and “Ewes” she hit another obstacle. Her needs said one, her garb the other. As she agonized before them, the curly-haired woman came over. “Trouble, hon?”

“No, of course not. I was simply, um … ”

The woman pondered her, then the two doors. “Men’s room’s having issues,” she said. “Go ahead and use the ladies’. I’ll stand guard.” Nilambari darted gratefully inside.

Once she’d tended to business and gotten her heartbeat back under control, Nilambari fixed the set of her hat once again and exited the stall. The herbivore woman was standing by the sinks. Nilambari froze, staring at her. A place for gossip, Rick had said. Eyes and ears of Shere Khan?

The woman shook her head. “Men. Think slapping men’s clothes on a woman will hide her. From another man, maybe. You the girl Khan’s looking for?”

“You know I am,” she accused.

“Easy, girl. Nobody in town gives rat scat for the bastard. That doesn’t mean someone won’t try to turn you in. I know coyotes who’d do it for laughs. If you’re going to be Rick’s cousin Barry, you’d better do it right.”

“The jeans are not enough?”

“The jeans are a start. Wear a looser shirt. It’ll hide what’s up top. And fix that walk. Rick couldn’t take his eyes off your butt, and he wasn’t the only one. I assume it’s straight man you’re going for. How do the men you know walk?”

“Like rajahs. Like all places are theirs. Like tigers.”

“That’s how you walk from now on. Watch Rick. He moves slow and easy, but others get out of his way. That’s a king cat, and now that’s you. Do you know how to use make-up?”

“Of course.”

“From now on, you use it different. Forget about the eyes and the lips. Square that chin up a little. Thicken the eyebrows. You can draw in some lip hair and stubble with pencil. It won’t fool anybody up close, but at a distance it’ll feed the illusion. Have Rick buy you decent hiking boots. You may have to run in them.”

She nodded agreement over every suggestion. “You’re a grass-eater. Why are you helping me?”

The woman flashed a sunny smile that somehow had fangs in it, in spite of her diet. “Because nothing makes a herbie happier than sticking it to a carnie, and sticking it to Shere Khan makes me happy as hell. Besides, I like Rick. He never tried to chase my boys. He’s got smarts, for a cat. Now show me that walk.”

Nilambari re-entered the dining area with a tiger’s stride, mindful of her hips. Rick automatically stiffened. He’d noted the difference. No one else paid her any attention.

“You stuck your tail in the bear trap this time,” the woman murmured to Rick as she cleared the plates off their table. “Word is that runaway girl was meant as a wife for Ravi. He’s a bastard and a half. You and your cousin better keep your eyes peeled and your ears perked.”

“I’m picking up extra ammo,” Rick said. “Thanks, Elly.”

“Always happy to help out a friend. Something for the road?”

“Not today. We better skedaddle.” A trio of coyotes had entered the diner. Of course they zeroed in on the one new face. Their manner reminded Nilambari of jackals. More than tails would wag after breakfast, and word had a way of spreading.

Rick paid the tab and got up. Nilambari and her new walk followed him out of the diner, head high and confident, just like a male. Rick’s wild plan might succeed after all. As long as she didn’t have to cut her hair.

The Mountain Lion King

Nilambari ran as if her life depended on it, because it definitely did. Her escorts had released her arms to get the bags out of the car. She’d seen her chance and sprinted for the forest, shedding her jewelry as she ran. The second she hit the trees she’d shifted. Her expensive sari unfurled and fluttered to the ground behind her like a discarded bridal train, like the life she’d rejected with her dash to freedom. This bright new country had better fulfill its promise of plenty, because now she had nothing.

Other than the two tiger shifters currently on her trail.

One she might have fought or eluded. Not two. So she ran, weaving between trees and employing every scrap of woodcraft she knew to throw them off the scent. The crashing through the brush behind her foretold futility. These were Yakuza. They answered to Shere Khan. He would have their heads if they didn’t bring him hers.

To her advantage, she was young and quick. Tigers weren’t built for speed or stamina. Perhaps she could outrun them.

She vaulted a jumble of rocks and landed on top of something furred, firm and squiggly. Her own momentum rolled her off it before it could buck her away. She landed in a crouch, to the sight of a paw and a set of wicked claws aimed at her face.

The claws slammed to a stop a hair from her eyes. The cat had scented her sheness. He lowered his paw and stared at her with his head cocked to one side.

Nilambari had known only a few Indian lions. They were weak creatures, unlike the full-fed kings who ruled the African plains, and no match for the tigers who held sway in India. This tawny male was smaller even than they. And maneless. If not for his decidedly masculine scent, she would have taken him for a lioness.

No lions had been among her escorts. This cat must be a native.

The crash of heavy bodies announced the arrival of the Yakuza. Nilambari slunk into the bushes.

The two Yakuza tigers appeared at the top of the rocks. They lashed their tails and snarled and bristled themselves even larger to intimidate the native cat.

He regarded them with more calm than he had Nilambari’s sudden arrival. He rose up abruptly and shifted. In human form he was tall but less bulky than a tiger, with the same tawny hair now falling over bright golden eyes. Those eyes narrowed to suspicious bars. He flexed his fingers as one would claws.

Nilambari hissed. That fine human body was about to get itself clawed to pieces. Why had he not stayed a cat?

“You’re trespassing,” he informed the tigers. “Get off my mountain and I’ll let you keep your stripes.”

For a moment the tigers gaped at him. No one defied the will of Shere Khan, certainly not this scrawny mangy native lion. Then one of the Yakuza shifted. “Out of our way, house cat,” he spat.

The lion-shifter shrugged. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” He backed a stride to the small campfire behind him and picked up a rifle. He shot at the tiger’s feet. The man fell over backwards with a yell of surprise. The other, still in tiger form, continued to crouch atop the rock until a bullet pinged beside his paw and convinced him to crouch elsewhere. The lion fired again, creasing the tiger’s spine fur. Both plunged down the mountainside back the way they had come.

“Stinking Yakuza,” he muttered. He relaxed, but kept hold of the rifle. “You going to come out,” he said toward Nalimbari’s hiding place, “or do I have to come in after you?”

# # #

Rick Donnelly watched the slender tigress creep out of the brush. His look of frank appraisal turned to one of shock when she shifted. Human, she was slim as a cat-tail, with dusky skin and raven-wing hair tumbling down to her waist. She had practically no hips or boobs. Or, he judged, many years to her credit.

He inclined his head toward the sound of the fleeing tigers. “Do I even want to know?”

“It’s best if you do,” she said, in a low, husky voice. “They’ll hunt you now, for shielding me. Shere Khan won’t rest until he has me back, and takes your head.”

Rick looked her up and down. “And what did a little thing like you do to piss off Shere Khan?”

She looked at the ground. “My father owes him a debt. He demanded me as payment. I was to become his concubine. I did not wish to be the concubine of Shere Khan, so when I saw my chance, I ran.”

Rick hissed in a breath. “Are you even legal?”

“In my country, girls younger than I are already married and mothers.” She continued to look at the ground. “I’d hoped my advanced age would spare me, but Lord Khan seems not to mind.”

That filthy old perv, Rick thought. He had, what, a dozen wives already? And still thought nothing of tossing yet another one into the cage. “Just how ‘advanced’ are you?”

Her voice dropped to a shamed whisper. “Nearly twenty.”

He just barely stifled his chuckle. “Yep. Over the hill for sure. Well, you’re on my mountain now, and I don’t put up with tigers. Male tigers,” he amended at her stricken look. “I’m sure I can keep an old lady like you safe. What’s your name?”

“Nilambari.” Finally, she lifted her head. Her green eyes seemed to take up half her thin face. “Are you a lion?”

This time he did chuckle. “Mountain lion. I used to prefer cougar, until the humans got hold of it and changed the meaning. I’m Rick. Welcome to Montana.”

He held out his hand. She stared at it for a long time before she finally took it. His big paw swallowed hers. Funny, he thought. In her tiger form she was probably bigger than he was. Tigers. What the hell had brought a pack of tigers all the way to Montana, and why couldn’t they learn to stay the hell off his mountain?

Though he didn’t mind this one’s presence so much.

She had transferred her stare from his hand to his rifle. “You carry a gun?”

“Not to hunt. This is my range. Some folks, like grizzlies and the Yakuza, haven’t caught on yet.” He grinned down at her. “I know my limits, and I’m not stupid.”

Nilambari withdrew her hand. “I should go. So should you. They’ll be back, in greater numbers.” She looked from him to the gun again. “They will also come armed.”

“Whoa!” He caught her arm when she tried to slip away, and growled mentally when she openly flinched. A cougar she would have clawed his face off. What did those stinking stripies do to their cubs? “You can’t go into town the way you are, not even in Talbot’s Peak. C’mere, have a seat.”

He guided her over to the fire, where a groundhog roasted on a spit. He didn’t miss the covetous way she eyed it. Did tigers drink coffee? Did he have any tea? Whenever Rick went on patrol he tried to prepare for anything his mountains might throw at him, but they’d never thrown a frightened tigress at him before. Rummaging through his pile of clothing, he found a sheepskin jacket and offered it to her. She slid it gratefully over her shoulders.

“Help yourself to dinner,” he offered. She seated herself crosslegged before his fire. Rick sat opposite. “Slow down,” he advised when she ripped, tiger-like, into the meat. “Sounds like we’ve got a ton to talk about. This could take a while.”

The Enemy Almost Within

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

A HUGE HOWL OF THANKS! To everyone who stopped by during the Earth Day Blog Hop.
~~~

Warning: This flash scene contains a dose of gratuitous violence. My dark side took over. But don't worry, the hero from down under still wins. And, oh yes, apologies to any Aussies for the admittedly clumsy use of your slang words.
~~~~~~

The Enemy Almost Within

Covered by the darkness of night, Shere Khan twitched his tiger nose, and stared through the thick tangle of forest brush. The noxious odors of the Global League's soldiers filled him with a mighty rage.

However, the wisdom of his long life kept him still, and observing. His ninja scouts had not been mistaken.

Shere Khan had not wanted to accept their dutiful report. He'd traveled a great distance through the deepest forest and partway up the mountainside to discover the truth for himself.

A silent growl vibrated his throat and his tail tip slashed the air. For a century now, the Tiger Yakuza held in their possession, a negotiated contract with the European cabal. Now the vile Machiavelian pirates violated his territory.

Shere Khan burned hot as white fire, his muscles tensing, ready to crash through the stand of brush. Only knowing now was not the time to make his move stopped him. Even so, his claws flexed as he envisioned shredding all twenty of the foul, soul-perverted humans who dared soil his territory.

'Summit,' he growled inside his mind.

Shere Khan despised the idea, yet he well knew a summit meeting with the werewolf, Dante, would be necessary to protect Talbot's Peak and the surrounding territory. A unified and superior force would be required. Ah, yes, a temporary alliance, assuming the powerful alpha could persuaded.

Dante's strong alliance with the superwolf, White Fang, and his lover, the cat goddess, Z'Pasha, would prove to be a major obstacle. Continuing to stalk the elite soldiers' movements with his gaze, his further thoughts were rudely interrupted by the pungent scent of canine.

***

'Terrible threat, eh mate?'

Dugger slid his words inside Shere Khan's mind like the deft slice of a knife. He knew knives in his human form. Especially the Crocodile Dundee model.

"Dingo," Shere Khan snarled once he spun around, facing Dugger.

With his usual icy cool, but with his hackles raised, Dugger stood his ground about thirty feet away from the Tiger Yakuza leader. Dante had given him a crash course in the major players before agreeing to his troubleshooting scout-about.

Ever since losing several of his human friends to the cruel killer mercenaries, Dugger had made it his personal mission to track wherever the Global League placed its demonic army. The instant he'd known there was a planned takeover of the wild lands surrounding Talbot's Peak, he'd contacted his motorcycle-riding mate, Dante.

Hours later, unseen by security and the crew, Dugger hopped a transport plane as his dingo self, and left his native Australia. He'd been panting like a right stud anyway to visit the Interspecies Pleasure Club. Yeah, two birds were almost within the snap of his jaws.

Now he and Shere Khan stared at each other like TV Western gunfighters. Neither he or the white tiger blinked. Yet, both of them kept one ear cocked toward the Global League squad. All the while their animal eyes blazed at each other instead of pistols.

Alerted by suspicious sounds, then running steps in their direction, he and Shere Khan whirled around by tacit agreement. The fight was on. Already weapons fire flashed toward them.

Mad as cut snake, and with his blood on boil, Dugger burst into a run slipping through the wall of brush. Fleeter of foot than Shere Khan, and more agile, he positioned himself opposite the obviously enraged tiger.

Not expecting to be attacked by a dingo and a white tiger, the squad halted and with their backs to each other, fired at random. At first, he and Shere Khan circled at full speed, avoiding the spray of bullets.

Even with their special ops training, the soldiers were unprepared for a wild-animal tag team. Dugger dashed in and out, leaping, crushing the wrist of his hated enemies with one bite.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Shere Khan charge. His massive jaws broke arms like twigs.

Once the squad had been disarmed and their blood saturated the forest floor, Dugger searched for any vulnerability. On instinct, he ripped through their uniforms with savage fangs. No mercy lived inside him as he ended their earthly lives.

Dugger knew rogue soulless killers when he tasted them. And he'd tasted a lot of them recently. The Global League had declared war on the human population of Earth -- a ruthless war most of humanity knew nothing about.

As his sides heaved with exertion and triumph, Dugger watched Shere Khan fling the leg he'd just torn off with a primitive vengeance. After a roar that reverberated throughout the forest, the tiger turned glowing eyes on Dugger.

'You, dingo, and I have a common enemy,' Shere Khan mind-communicated. 'They will send more of their warrior hirelings to conquer us. Soon.'

'Yeah, spent a deal of time tracking their bloody arses, and watching 'em. Warned Dante about the roach-like infestation coming his way.' Dugger kept his gaze keen on the Tiger Yakuza leader, but relaxed his posture as if they were speaking over a couple of coldies.

Shere Khan regarded him with a shrewd and fierce eye. 'What is your personal interest in Talbot's Peak, dingo?'

'Just arrived from down under to give a bikie pal a helping paw. And you know the Pleasure Club by reputation.' Dugger gave him a wink, then a brief grin of his canine lips.

After giving Dugger a short stare, Shere Khan shook his huge head, an indication he felt no immediate threat. 'Perhaps you will deliver a message to your pal, Dante.'

'Yeah, yeah, what is it, oh great tiger one?'

The massive white tiger's eyes flamed for an instant to be replaced with a glint of amusement. 'I wish a summit meeting. Does not a formidable enemy make strange bedfellows, even when considering the numerous and varied carnal opportunities at the Interspecies Pleasure Club?'

'Can't argue with you on that point. Yeah, I'll pass your message along.' With that Dugger spun on his hind legs, and began an easy, ground-eating trot.

Life had taken a damn ace of a turn, and he was already feeling at home in Talbot's Peak. After a bit of conversation with the biker werewolf, and a long curled-up snooze, Dugger planned on doing some serious exploration of the Pleasure Club.

So far, time hadn't been on his side when it came to the amenities Dante had offered. Now that he'd decided to stay on, that was about to change. Dugger grinned and broke into a lope.
~~~~~~

Happy Sun in Taurus!

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Fear Itself

Several hours of determined decorating had transformed Dante’s Pleasure Club from a gloomy den of iniquity that reeked of spilled booze to a Halloween-themed den of iniquity that reeked of spilled booze. Fake cobwebs and rubber bats and spiders dangled from the ceiling, authentic corn shocks stood in the corners, and each table sported a leering jack-o-lantern. These last were plastic; word of the late-night pumpkin free-for-all had reached Dante’s ears just in time for him to make a hasty substitution. Spilled liquor came with the territory, but pumpkin mash ground into his dance floor? Not in Dante’s club.

“Place is looking downright scary,” Lamar observed with a satisfied nod. “Perfecto.”

Jamie snorted. “It always looks scary, you ask me.”

“Yeah, but now it’s got flair. Speaking of which, looking good, rojo. We’re gonna knock ’em dead.”

“If we don’t get smote,” Jamie grumbled, tugging at his priest’s collar. Lamar had done himself up as a pregnant nun. “Is that the right word, smote? You’re the writer. Smited? Smitten?”

“You’re asking me? I write soft-core porn for housewives. I only know the dirty words. Now that is how you do it right.” He waved his arm in a grandiose gesture to indicate the approaching Gypsy. The dancer wore a scarlet hooded cloak over a shiny black minidress and thigh-high boots that could double as a bondage outfit. Sergei loomed behind her in his usual black hat and voluminous coat. “Let me guess,” Lamar said. “Red Wolfie Hood and the Big Bad Tiger."

Gypsy chuckled. “That’s not what I was aiming for, but I like it. You two are … ” She looked them up and down.

“Blasphemous?” Jamie said. “First word came to my mind.”

“I was going to say ‘cute,’ but I suppose yours works. I love what you’ve done here. It’s perfect.”

“We aim to scare.” Lamar leaned in, but not too closely, to scrutinize Sergei’s outfit. “I don’t get your costume. What are you, the village undertaker? Or the Old World Terminator?”

“Costume?” Sergei rumbled.

“It’s Halloween, dude. People dress to frighten.”

“Sometimes it goes past frighten, right to disturbing,” Jamie said, with a nod at Lamar’s nun getup.

“Ah. The children’s holiday.” Sergei’s mouth did something that might have been a smile. “You hope to scare cubs with this?”

“I hope to scare self-righteous tightasses. Not that we get many of those in here.” He brushed a bit of lint off his habit. “It all depends on what prods your fear gland. Me, I’m terrified of not looking fabulous. How about it, rojo? What’s the scariest thing you can think of?”

“Gay bashers.”

“Ho-kay, let’s just suck all the fun out of the room right now. Gypsy, I know you’re not afraid of anything. After all, you’re dating Godzilla.”

“Quite a few things scare me.” Gypsy’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t expect me to tell you what they are. I know all about you and your practical jokes.”

“I’d never joke with you, querida. You get even. Bet I know what scares you,” he added, looking up at Sergei's imposing height. “Ceiling fans.”

Sergei looked puzzled, then his face cleared. “Ah. Is joke.”

“Yeahhhh. C’mon, rojo, let’s get that mannequin out of the closet. We’ve got plans for the men’s room,” he confided to Gypsy.

“Don’t tell me. What I don’t know, I can’t warn Dante about.” She shook her head, watching the two trot off. “He’s wrong. They scare me. A lot.”

“No, snake is correct. Nothing frightens you.” When she didn’t respond, he encircled her slender waist with his treetrunk arm. “Worry is different story. Something worries you.”

“It’s nothing.” Gypsy leaned back and let herself melt against the strength of his powerful body. How was she supposed to tell him about the darkness she sensed in his near future? Sergei approached a turning point, a fork in the deadly path he walked. If he chose wrong it would destroy him, possibly both of them. Not the sort of things a woman murmurs while in the arms of her lover.

“You worry me,” she admitted. “What you do and who you do it for.” She turned in his arms to gaze up into his frank blue eyes. “There are shadows in your path. They swirl around you. They threaten to engulf you. That’s what frightens me.”

Any other alpha male would have crushed a punishing kiss to her mouth. Sergei merely brushed his lips across her forehead in a feather’s caress. “I have lived a long time. I intend to go on living. I have you to live for now.”

“Others may not let you.”

He didn’t reply. Though they never spoke of it, he knew his sensitive she-wolf knew all about his past and his current profession, if not the precise details. He had been careful to keep these details from her up till now. Recently circumstances had changed. When word got out, he would not be able to keep his life from her any more.

There was no circumventing the order. The word had come from Shere Khan himself.

“It must be brutal, and public,” his crime lord employer said. “Damien Hancock is still of value to us. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the favor.”

“She is only a girl. With cub.”

“She’s mate to an alpha wolf and carries a new heir to the Hancock pack. I don’t think Damien would care to be deposed this late in the game. He, and Talbot’s Peak, need to be sent a message. Be sure to add those little touches you’re so good at. Make it memorable.” Shere Khan smiled at Sergei. “After all, I’ll be watching.”

Sergei tightened his arms around Gypsy until she whimpered for breath. He eased up at once. What frightens me? he thought. I will tell you what frightens me, my firewolf. If I follow my heart, I will die. If I follow my orders, you will despise me. It’s the loathing in those glorious golden eyes that I fear to see. More than your death, and far more than my own.

“I don’t want to think sad thoughts,” she said. “It’s Halloween. In this town that’s as big a deal as the summer solstice. We can be happy at least until then, I believe.” She nuzzled against his neck. “It’s a little short notice, but do you want me to find you a costume?”

The disguise he wore had already brought terror and despair to far too many. “I will be what I am,” he told her. “That will have to be enough.”

Tiger, Wild as a March Hare ~ Shere Khan

Springtime howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers, may there always be a spring in your step, and a sparkle in your eye.

Ever wonder about the villain in a story? What makes him or her tick on the dastardly side of life? For my flash scene, I thought I’d delve into Shere Khan’s mind and being. As ‘emperor’ of the Yakuza in Talbot’s Peak, he plays a starring role.
~~~~~~

Tiger, Wild as a March Hare

‘Wild as a March hare,’ Shere Khan growled under his breath, once he shifted to full tiger and padded over the forest floor. ‘I will show those long-eared rodents what it is to be born wild.’

Scenting the warren of rabbits, he had found when first arriving in Talbot’s Peak, Shere Khan lengthened his stride. He leaped onto the deer trail, taking an inordinate pride in the powerful ripple of his muscles -- in the grace of his silent landing. In the splendid bold length of his tail, always a sign of prowess.

‘I will demonstrate the Tiger still reigns in this Year of the Rabbit.” Shere Khan sneered with a great snort. The disturbed night air stirred up a feast of scents, reminiscent of his youth spent in the wildlands of Japan and China.

Mentally, he praised himself. How wise had his decision been to establish his family, and his organization, in this remote wilderness in North America? Human stupidity, most obviously, was as limitless as the grand celestial kingdom.

With the night’s smells swamping him, Shere Khan experienced moments of real peace. If there was one thing, he would commend the werewolf infestation on, they controlled the riffraff. Either, the wolves ripped out their entrails and dined, or chased them out for sport. Increasingly, the dense forest returned to Life. The life of the Earth Mother.

It was good to be alone. To walk through the shadows and odors of the deep forest at midnight. At times, his iron-clawed rule became an unwelcome burden. His son, Guri, and his cookie addiction, had become a particularly distracting annoyance.

Shere Khan owned his part in coddling the cub. His own heart had betrayed him. He had been unable to separate his son from the mother, who had been determined to keep Guri out of the Yakuza. She had fed him sweet treats as she fed him a useless pablum of ideas about his ‘choices’ in life.

Ah, well, perhaps, he could find the boy a suitable mate, and settle him into some useful position that would provide necessary intel. Perhaps, he would even sponsor a bakery and rival coffee shop in Talbot’s Peak. Shifters and humans gravitated to such weak silliness. They talked like a river overflowing its banks, with little thought about what they revealed. They used those digital devices as though they were an umbilical cord to salvation. More importantly to his criminal enterprise, they conveniently spilled their guts online. Always an advantage to those in his take-over-the-world business.

Shere Khan yawned a superior smile, then stretched into an easy lope. His tiger nature celebrated the closer he ran toward the rabbits, and their spring mating frenzy. At least, the wild hare’s knew the importance of creating progeny. He had to wonder if his progeny understood their duty to the future. To him.

Loosing his own spring fever, Shere Khan madly dashed among the bunny breeding insanity. Turning and twisting, he swiped his giant paws at the ‘wild as a march hare’ bucks who rapidly bounded after mates. Zigzagging crazily, the overly lean bucks avoided everything but the brush of his claws.

Quick as his chasing spins, the screaming rabbits could be heard beneath every available thicket, where they had been enjoying each other. Hump, humpity-hump-hump, fast as fireworks rockets.

Shere Khan rousted the couples without remorse. With the scent of rabbit blood heating his blood to unquenchable fire, he crashed through and against the brambles. More interested in causing havoc and terror, than in dining, Shere Khan made no serious attempt at a kill.

Like a magnificent opera, his power sang through him, a loud splendor that told him who he was. Tiger. Killer. Ruler over life and death.

He’d always been compelled to rule. His very bowels roiled with the need. It was as if a serpent spiraled and rolled inside him constantly. In the past he had calmed this inner serpent with his devoted training in the high Ninja arts. The disciplined joining of spirit and matter gave him mastery over the material world. To a degree. However, it was not the complete perfection he sought.

Agree to leave, tiger-human, and I will give you knowledge to save your empire. The rabbit’s voice cut like a well-used dagger through the red mist of Shere Khan’s beasting frenzy.

He whirled toward the daring buck, wisely hidden in the crevice between two boulders. One of the rabbit’s eyes watched his prowling advance. Save my empire? How would you possess such knowledge, fur coat?

From the one known as Blade Runner. I heard him speak with your enemies.

Shere Khan rumbled a fierce growl, but only for moments. Blade Runner, the extraterrestrial rodent interloper had shamed two of his Ninjas. However, that hardly mattered in comparison to his Yakuza empire.

Agreed. Only if--

There is a meeting tonight, the buck interrupted. The scent of his confidence filled Shere Khan’s nostrils. You will find the Batman, a chef rat, and a super wolf.

Shere Khan’s instincts raged now. His enemies made plans against him. The certainty spun through him with the force of a blade. Where?

Where Louie cooks.

Shere Khan wasted not a further second. Charging toward Talbot’s Peak, he ran until his speed lightened his body weight, until he phased to Flying Tiger. Wisdom dictated, he discover a way to listen while remaining hidden. Greater wisdom suggested he listen well enough to spring his own trap.
~~~~~~

HAPPY SPRINGTIME SHAPESHIFTING

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~