Saucy Green in The Peak!

St. Paddy they say

Liked to roll in the hay

In the town of T Peak

His ardor was tweaked

By a lass known only as May

~~~

 Have a fun, flirty St. Patrick's Day!!

Serena

Wearin' of the Green Scales ~ Dragon Warrior

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

May you have a memorable and magickal St.Patty's Day.

Here's a fantasy flash scene I had no idea was there until I began writing it. But it is the Year of the Dragon.
~~~~~~

Wearin' of the Green Scales ~ Dragon Warrior

Dragon Warrior that he was, Dhaegan lowered his blade slowly. Bright as moonlight, the immense blade had served him well ever since he'd pulled it from the bottom of Avalon's deepest lake, and out of the grip of a red-haired giant who, though he lay in a state of suspension, nevertheless kept a savage hold.

Yet, wrest it away he had for the sake of the many princesses and fair maidens -- also for the foolish knaves or unlucky knights -- he'd rescued during the past few centuries, his training having begun once Merlin passed into another realm taking the age of Magick with him.

Now, a sort of retirement lay before him. Dhaegan could not have said he was sorry to see this day. He'd lived the ages-long adventure with gusto, slashing and slaying those of evilest heart and mind.

His soul had been tried, tested, and purified by the fires of both supernatural temptations and the fiercest of tribulations. However, in the end his triumphs had won out -- his reward earned.

Now his scales were the brilliant aurora green of an elder statesman, a counselor to the youth of his dragon shapeshifter kind. Now he'd earned family and castle and the proper leisures of life.

Yet, his true reward, therein lay his problem. Few dragon maidens without mates were about in these times, this year of 2012. And since the world tilted wildly and madly, thundering toward ever more tumult during this end of, and beginning of, a new age, even fewer maidens wished to be his mate.

None, in point of fact.

So he'd been told by the Dragoness Matchmaker. His warrior strength and ability counted against him. For, he would not forsake a fight, or a battle that needed winning, even though his days of seeking out such rabid-dog villainy had ended. And he was glad of it.

Refusing the sigh that would pass between his lips, Dhaegan placed the point of his broadsword on the thick strong brick before the crackling fireplace. Leaning on it for a bit of balance, he propped his booted foot on the bonnie hearth, feeling the hefty brush of his kilt against his thigh.

Pondering his dilemma, he let the cooking odors of the fine establishment bring him some measure of enjoyment. While he'd found a grand view and a lush mountainous terrain for his castle and grounds -- the purchase having been completed only a few days ago -- the true benefit would be settling himself within an established community of shapeshifters, and other diverse paranormal folk.

Of course, Dante's wondrous underground dungeon known as The Interspecies Pleasure Club held all manner of fascinations to be explored. While Dhaegan was a man-dragon of lusty and unlimited appetite for pleasures with the fair sex, both artful and primal, his nature was not inclined toward such erotic fetishes as had been described to him.

That is, other than what his dragon physiology offered. The tip of his tail tickling the pearl between a woman's thighs had gained him many lovers in the past. As had many other of his passionate and unique skills.

Dhaegan was also not inclined toward more than one woman at this stage of his life. He desired a richer relationship, one that included an intimacy of the heart and mind, not only the sweetfire ecstasy of joining loins with a woman.

He wanted a mate to share his life with. He favored the type of rollicking and loving life his sire and damn still enjoyed.

Dhaegan gave the bar maid an appreciative nod as she placed a pewter tankard brimming with a dark frothy brew beside him. She gifted him with a sassy smile before spinning on her heel and swaying away, her movements like an impatient sylph.

Lifting the ale to his lips, Dhaegan quaffed with satisfaction, his gaze on the leaping flames, yet not. Truly he'd not owned an abundance of time to plan out his new life. Now seemingly time had become his ally in the matter.

As a Celtic songstress began warbling over the pub's sound system, Dhaegan coiled his inner dragon around the heartfelt singing. He counted it good luck that his end of days as a wandering and dutiful warrior coincided with the modern version of St. Patrick's day, and the wearin' of the green... or the wearin' of his newly acquired green scales.

This, even though, St. Patrick, the man, had been of simple mind and a one-trick saint. The poor fool had been saved far more times by others of Dhaegan's ilk than the bumbling holy man had ever saved another human being.

Earlier in the day, as Dhaegan stared at his reflection in the hidden pristine lake, he'd been quite proud of the emerald sheen of scales. He'd also watched Sivakka, the Nessie, swim and frolic with her dolphin friends. In fact, the placement of his castle would not be far away, an hour's flight on a day of serene weather.

Dhaegan allowed himself a grin at his dragon's vanity before he threw back another large swallow of his ale. Moments later, the lilac, white-heat smell of the human woman he'd attempted to rescue mere days ago caused him to shake back his mane of hair, then alter his position to seek her out.

Letting the mostly finished tankard of ale rest atop his knee, Dhaegan searched the pub's ever-burgeoning crowd. He'd been hiking along the riding trails of Merry and Dash's dude ranch to familiarize himself with the terrain, and to stretch his human legs.

He'd observed the woman's horse slip on a patch of recently loosened pebbles. She'd taken a tumble, her behind thumping on the ground after a valiant effort to hang on. In seconds, Dhaegan had caught hold of the frightened horse's reins because the wild-eyed animal trotted straight at him.

Once he determined it was mostly the woman's pride that had been hurt, and since her mount was uninjured, with just a bit of fetlock bruising, Dhaegan had offered to give her a leg up, then escort her back to the ranch.

Her response had been a stiff but polite thank you for catching her horse. After tossing her long glossy braid over one shoulder -- her tresses were the color of dark chestnut -- she'd deigned to gaze upon him. Instantly, layers of frost formed over her peacock-blue eyes -- the piercing and mystical eyes of a Seeress, he swiftly noticed.

Dhaegan realized with little effort that the woman absolutely despised the male sex -- confirmed when she'd gone on to inform him she was just fine, that she would lead the horse back, and didn't need his help.

He didn't question why. There was no need, given how often he witnessed the fair sex being poorly treated, and often with utter disrespect. He'd chastised or severely punished any man who had done such in his presence, depending on the degree of the oaf's fault and failing.

Despite the woman's curt insistence that he could be on his way, Dhaegan had discreetly followed her to the ranch's barn until he'd known she was being attended to properly. And not that he hadn't lustily enjoyed every moment of viewing the pear-shaped swell of hips and the precocious outline of her buttocks as she walked down the trail.

The woman had been careful to keep her mount managed and calm. And Dhaegan wondered what it would be like if she managed him with such attention and care. He also didn't deny that her eyes still intrigued him, still haunted him to this very moment.

He didn't deny that he wanted her to pierce him down to his soul -- his soul as man and dragon.

Once he gained sight of the fey-delicate woman, Dhaegan set his tankard down, sheathed his broadsword, and strode toward her. She spoke with Gypsy Red Wolf, exotic dancer and Talbot's Peak psychic.

Gypsy had been kind, engaging him in an extended conversation when he'd complimented her dancing. Of course, he had remained platonic in his manner, well-knowing about Sergei, her Siberian Tiger lover.

Now, simply from overhearing snatches of conversation, and from what Dante had mentioned in their brief words together, he knew Gypsy was seeking a Power Circle to protect the paranormal community from psi attacks, and to advise those who were desirous of more assistance in these times of turmoil.

If his Seeress intended to be part of the Power Circle, there was no way he would allow her to remain unprotected, unescorted. He would simply prove his worthiness to her. He would be her Dragon Warrior no matter her distaste for him, and his presence.

"Ah, Dhaegan," Gypsy greeted, a knowing smile on her lips and in her eyes. "Have you met my dearest friend, Sychelle? She is from the Dawn Galactic Order."

Dhaegan halted in his tracks a few steps before he'd meant to stop. Astonishment coursed through him. His dragon blood burned in his veins like bolts of lightning.

The Order was as ancient as his kind. Only descendants of the High Priestesses who had first settled in Spain as the Basque people were allowed, and their blood had been kept as pure as possible.

Dhaegan could only stare as Sychelle turned her head, glancing at him over her shoulder, and only from the corner of her eye. For once, gallant words failed him. His tongue, the bastard, refused to move from its fastened position against the roof of his mouth.

"You are dragon, are you not?" Her formal voice did not surprise him, even though it was completely different than how she'd first spoken to him.

"I am a Dragon Warrior," he boomed. Yet his answer had been spoken in a low tone meant only for her ears, and also for Gypsy's hearing.

"Yes, then I was not mistaken as I thought about our encounter later. Why do you approach now?"

"Now," Dhaegan moved beside her. "I will be your Dragon Warrior, Seeress of the Dawn Galactic Order."
~~~~~~

~ Happy Year of the Dragon St. Patrick's Day ~

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Luck of the Irish Blog Hop... Shapeshifter Style

“Why is it green?”

“Oh hell,” Nick moaned; franticly searching his lust filled mind for a reason to give the young intern, as to why he was nearly defiling the young sapling he’d found on his morning run. “Well, see, because…er it’s young.”

“Um, okay, but…”

“No, really, look here at the wood,” Nick waved the small sprig in the air, trying to get the intern’s attention. “It’s young and therefore still green in appearance.”

Laticious lupas, the kid was blushing.

And why wouldn’t he be considering what he just found you doing. At least your pants weren’t down. Yet.

“Shut up,” Nick snarled

“I’m sorry, m-maybe I should come back later.”

Shite, now the kid was red to the tips of his ears and probably thought Nick was a crazy, uber-perv.

Well aren’t you?

Woman, stop pushing me.

Giant white teeth and a warning growl filled his head. Great, now he’d pissed her off. He’d never had a death wish until…well hell, until Zeva with the kissable lips and the perpetually perky nipples had entered his life.

“What did you want, mmm…” Nick snapped the fingers not gripping the piece of tree he’d just been fondling, trying to come up with the kid’s name.

“Robby.”

“Right,” Nick went back to eyeing the wood in his hand, covertly, of course. “And what did you want?”

Birch, the wood was white with black markings, not to be confused with Poplar and would look fantastic falling across Zeva’s round ass. Would she let him pinken her cheeks with this beauty? She seemed to enjoy the ruler, but…

“...is it green?”

Damn, he’d zoned out again. Nick looked up at the kid now waving the shamrock colored edition of the Guts and Butts, known this week as the Greenie Meanie edition. The reason for his distraction stood behind the young bear, trussed up in whiskey colored leather boots and a minty green dress that had to have started its life as nothing more than a silk scarf.

“St. Patrick’s Day, Robby.” Zeva eased up close and spoke with a tease in her voice that Nick knew would drive him up the wall sooner or later. “You know, green beer, green rivers, Leprechauns and pinches for those not wearing a stitch of green.”

“Iiiieeeieieee…” Robby screeched.

Nick knew from the young man’s startled look that his undisciplined mate had pinched his ass. Even though Zeva was clearly at fault, Nick snarled and sniped at the recipient of his woman’s touch.

“Hmm, boss man’s upset, Robby, you better take off.”

Though Zeva stood between them, Nick was grateful that Robby knew better than to run. If he had any lick of common sense he’d also take his break.

“Damn woman,” Nick grumbled as Zeva drew near. “Why do you start shite like…Yiipp.”

“You’re not wearing green either, Nicky. By the way, you almost had the pot of gold. I was going to let you use that sweet little twig on my round ass as you called it, but then you thought me undisciplined.”

Nick felt faint; do mostly from the mass exodus of blood from the big brain down to the little one. He was so hard at the thought of her bent over his big wood desk, taking and enjoying each swing of the sapling he still held, that he nearly missed her parting shot.

“Now, you can kiss my Blarney Stone!”
~~~

Serena Shay

~ Website ~ Blog ~
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"Why is it green?" Josh startled and looked around. Standing close to the end of the bar, Sally pointed to the pitcher setting in front of him.

“The beer. Why is it…” Sally gestured and rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding that you expect me to serve that.” She resumed drying the clean damp pitchers, fresh from the dishwasher, before lining them up against the back wall below the ornate mirror.

Josh smirked. “Even out in the frontier, folks still celebrate most any reason to get drunk.” He reached below the bar and picked up the flyer the local college had put out. The bold print across the top read St. Paddy’s Streaking Contest. He shoved the flyer toward Sally.

She picked it up and read, laughing so hard she wiped her eyes as she laid the flyer down. “Fools. They think running naked wearing leather boots and silk neck scarves are going to keep them from freezing their arses off?”

Josh joined her laughter. “A few will need liquid encouragement—aka a green beer or two. The fool hardy ones will need more than a few to warm up their hands, nipples, and nether regions.”

Sally smiled, as Barry the newest bar keep entered muttering. “Barry what’s up love? You look like someone stole your pot of gold and drank the last of your hundred year old whiskey.”

Barry blew Sally a kiss and slumped on the closest bar stool. “What in all of species heaven are you setting up for in the lower level of the dungeon area?”

Sally glanced to Josh. Since he’d added the BDSM play area complete with dungeon and orgy facilities, business had boomed. Barry’s position as watchdog, in the most literal sense, and bartender kept things under control most nights. A little interspecies play never hurt anyone.

Josh moved closer. “You know the Irish oil well workers from Dublin came in last week and met with me privately.”

Sally nodded looking to both. Barry shook his head. “Please tell me it ain’t so.”

Sally bit her tongue knowing what had to be coming next. She waited for Josh to continue.

Josh turned and picked up the medium size box near the cash register. Prying it open, he spoke. “There are male and females amongst them. And they’re shape shifter vampires.”

Barry groaned. “Drunken Celts are bad enough. Drunk and batty Celts are another problem. Male and female sloshed at the gills---oh Gods and Goddesses save me.”

Josh snorted and pulled two packets of shamrocks. “And horny too I am sure. The game is they down a beer in human form, shift, fly backwards around the room, and see if they can hang upside down to kiss the hearth Blarney Stone I recently installed.”

Sally slowly crept away from Josh and Barry trying hard not to bust out laugh. St. Patrick’s day was gonna be one hell of a boom or bust between streaking humans, horny drunk vampires, and whatever other species decided to grace the bar with their presence.
~~~

Solara Gordon

solaragordon.wordpress.com
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Red Wolf Goes Green

Wheel keeps spinning, ‘round and ‘round … Jamie thought that had to be a song lyric or something, but he couldn’t remember from where. Or maybe it was a line from one of Lamar’s dirty books. He couldn’t seem to get his head to stay on straight long enough to figure out which.

That wheel surely couldn’t be spinning any faster than the world right now, that’s for dang sure.

A voice that sounded like a crypt forming words went off in a basso boom behind him. “Is the cub all right?”

“He’ll be fine.” That was Lamar. “A little too much of the green beer, I think. Geez, chico. Never try to go Irish all in one night.”

“I’ll make a note.” Jamie’s stomach lurched. He bent over the toilet again. Almighty Loup-Garou, was there anything left in his innards?

The bathroom door creaked open. “How’s he doing?” a woman’s voice said.

“He recovers quickly. Your brother is tougher than he looks.”

“He isn’t my brother.” She sounded amused. Her slippered feet whispered over the linoleum. When Jamie blinked the stall into a semblance of focus, he spotted Gypsy kneeling beside him. She held a stein to his mouth. “Here. Try some of this.”

“No way.” He recoiled the few inches into Lamar’s steadying arms. “I done enough trying tonight.”

He shouldn’t have moved. Movement sent off a seismic tremor in his guts. Lamar bent him over the bowl. “Better back up,” he advised Gypsy. “Looks like we’ve got aftershocks.”

“Hump you,” Jamie croaked. It echoed off the porcelain.

His audience waited patiently for Jamie’s hacking to stop. “Not brother?” the sepulchral voice at the stall door said. “He is red wolf, yes?”

“Yes, but we aren’t related. Would you wet a paper towel for me, please?”

The voice’s owner moved away. The bathroom shuddered. Or maybe that was just Jamie’s head. “What the hell’d I do?” he groaned.

“Well … ” Lamar ticked the points off on his fingers. “You drank a pitcher and a half of green beer, for starters. That’s on top of the cocktails we had before we got here. Then you told me you loved me and you wanted to celebrate. Then you got up on stage and tried to Riverdance.”

“You dance well,” the voice boomed from the sink.

“I did what I could to cover for you,” Gypsy added. “The crowd thinks it was part of the show. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you from falling off the stage. Thank you for catching him, Sergei.”

“I assumed he was kin.”

The bathroom door opened and a new voice squealed, “Hey, what’s that she doing in here?”

“Men’s room is closed for cleaning,” Sergei thundered. “Get out.”

“But I gotta take a – ”

“Use tree.” The door was slammed shut with finality.

Gypsy patted Jamie’s sweaty face with the damp paper towel. She offered the stein again. “Try some of this. It will settle your stomach and perhaps clear your head.”

With Lamar’s aid he held the stein steady and downed a healthy gulp. Then the taste kicked in. Gypsy snatched the stein to safety before he could fling it away. “Dayum! That’s vile.”

“He’ll be fine,” Gypsy assured Lamar. “I need to get back to the stage. He can lie down in my dressing room.”

“Thanks, Gypsy. We owe you big time.”

“I will see to the cub,” Sergei added. Jamie clutched at the toilet bowl. No way he liked the sound of that.

Between the two of them, they got Jamie upright. Jamie got his first look at the owner of the voice and felt the world go sideways again. Lordy, the boy was big. Make that BIG. And white as a trout’s belly. He smelled like a tiger, with a hint of vodka. Sergei carried him out of the bathroom. Lamar led the way to the back.

“Why is it green?” Sergei rumbled.

“Why’s what which now?”

“Your hair. Why is it green?”

“Oh, that … we dyed it. Lamar and me. 'Cause of the holiday. Thought it’d be funny. His is green too.”

“He is snake. I assumed it was natural.”

“Ain’t nothing natural about that boy. Soon’s I know where my feet are I’m gonna kick his tail.”

Lamar held the dressing room door for them. Sergei laid Jamie out on the tiny leather sofa in the corner. Lamar coiled up beside him. “Gracias, hombre. I got it covered. Go watch Gypsy dance.” The monstrous tiger nodded and went out.

Jamie pressed one hand to his head and the other to his stomach. “I feel like a 100-pound bag of scat,” he announced.

“You’re more fun at a party than I pegged you for. We gotta get copious quantities of beer into you more often. What’ve we got coming up? Easter? April Fool’s?”

Please, Jamie prayed to the Loup-Garou, let me pass out. And he did.
~~~

Posted by Pat Cunningham
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White Fang and Pasha Celebrate St. Paddies Day

“Talk about wearin’ of the green,” White Fang muttered as Pasha entered the Pleasure Club’s Irish Pub.

The emerald green evening dress clung like a faithful dog. Bad as the spectral, but real Dublin Black Dog, he wanted to lick every nook and cranny -- take his time savoring her juiciness.

Holy hell, no surprise his cock gave a jerky salute beneath the polished wood plank table. To distract himself for a moment, White Fang tipped up his mug of Guinness, and took a deep swallow.

Feck and kiss the blarney stone, he could have poured straight whiskey down his throat, and not burned as much as he did now.

White Fang figured the woman cat goddess owned every carnal hormone rampaging through his body. Lykouz! Worse, he had to resist shifting into a wild wolf beast, and jumping on her statuesque bones. Right here. Right now.

Grrrrr-pant-pant...AHROOOOOOO...

So far, their matings had only occurred in human form, but...and, Pasha’s butt was so round and sumptuous, White Fang dreamed about handling her ass when they weren’t together.

She swayed toward him from across the large room, all sexual grace, and he sure as all hell was going to enjoy the show she put on for him. After all, Z’Pasha, granddaughter of Bastet, was the queen of seduction. In and out of the bedroom.

Slowly, White Fang traveled his gaze from Pasha’s exotic feline face down the column of her lovely neck. Her peridot shamrock earrings dangled, caressing the top of her mostly bared shoulders.

Her voluptuous breasts were confined by the heavy silk of her dress. Still, her aroused nipples pushed at the fabric, begging for the tug of his teeth.

White Fang gripped the handle of his mug hard. Not wanting to shatter it, he set it aside. To torment himself further, he sniffed in her perfumed scent -- woman feline heat mingled with jasmine blossoms.

“Do I have your attention, super dog?”

Like an itch that had to be scratched, her low purring voice scratched his study-ready balls. “Pasha, gorgeous pussy, your jaws are clamped on my attention.”

Knowing she wasn’t finished with him, White Fang waited, his gaze lapping at the revealed swells of her breasts.

She leaned slightly, her breasts subtly jiggling. “Pant, pant, super dog,” she sultrily crooned.

At the same time, she trailed the chiffon silk scarf she carried on his shoulder. Then, like a breathy whisper the scarf brushed his earlobe.

Bending over, his seductress traced the rim of his ear with the point of her tongue. “Leather boots and the scarlet book I magickally sent you?” she asked, her whisper a soft purr.

“In front of the fireplace,” he growled, low and needy.

“Later, if you want my pot of gold and a marathon ride between my thighs... remember, my love wolf.” She paused.

Her fingernail lightly clawed his other earlobe, and White Fang nearly gnashed his teeth. His cock gave a mighty jump, threatening to bust through his old-fashioned leather breeches.

Her lips seized his. All too briefly. With a rub and cuddle of their noses, she straightened.

Waving off his gentlemanly attempt to rise, she moved opposite him, and seated herself. White Fang devoted his gaze to the hump-inspiring slink of her hips.

“Remember?” He raised a brow.

“Do not ask ‘why is it green?’”

Pasha’s wide smile reminded him of the infamous cat who had eaten the cream.
~~~~~~

HAVE A SHAPESHIFTING ST. PAT’S DAY...

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

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Celtic Good Luck... or just nookie?

“Why is it green?” Mooney moaned softly as Marissa’s fingernail flicked over his painfully cold nipple.

“Why is what green?” she asked distractedly.

“Your hair,” Mooney moaned. “I liked it better when you had it dyed blue.” That much was certainly true. He’d grown up expecting to be a typical wolf, find a typical job and a typical mate and be all things typical of a beta wolf. Not in a million years had he expected to fall for a prickly tempered goth-girl witch. Her naturally black hair had at least a few hanks bleached blond then tinted various shades of blue. It should have offended his lupine sensibilities.

“Sh, love,” Marissa said with a smile. “It’ll be blue again as soon as this temporary dye washes out. “Now hold still. We had a bet, remember? I agreed to be your designated driver so you could go bar hopping and try everyone’s green beer and get smashed on Dublin’s best whiskey…”

“And then I let you use me in a Celtic ceremony of luck,” Mooney finished, shivering as the silk scarf she’d used to pull her hair back brushed his ear.

She had him kneeling in front of the stone fireplace thingy that she’d made out her in the woods. They were both butt-naked, not a pleasant thing at midnight in March in Montana. Of course, he had enough whiskey in his system to make sure he didn’t freeze too bad but still. He wished she'd finish painting that while stuff on him already so they could get down to the cuddling before the fire part of this Celtic Ceremony.

“Patience, lovely wolf,” Marissa whispered in his ear. “You know I’ll reward you well for letting me have my way with you.”

Yeah, he thought, then smiled. His itchy-witch did a great job or rewarding him…

**********

~ Rebecca L Gillan

RebeccaLGillan.com