In the Beginning... White Fang Khent

Blue Moon howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

Harken ye back to the beginning of our fair shapeshifter town, Talbot's Peak. Originally taken over by a werewolf pack, the Peak has come a long way, baby cub. Heck, we now have a squirrel shifter as the Mayor.

White Fang, Ace Wolf Reporter, was my first... dare I call him a mere character? No, let's say my super wolf starred in the first Talbot's Peak flash scene I wrote. Recently, I changed the spelling of his last name to Khent instead of Kent, given any trademark issue that might arise.

So, I have to get up earlier than usual, and I'm already darn worn out. Awhile back I began writing White Fang and Pasha's erotic love story. It's about a third done. Anyway, here's the first chapter, a revised version of my original flash scene.

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Chapter One ~ White Fang Khent  

Talbot’s Peak, Montana

White Fang Khent seated himself before the used desktop computer he’d picked up in town, not four hours ago. As an instant upgrade, he slid a formless silicon device into the USB port. Brought from his home planet, some four light years away, the adaptive technology did his bidding.

With urgency eating at his gut, he positioned his chair, then removed the specialized pair of eyeglasses he often wore while in public. They helped disguise the odd intensity of his eyes and changed the blue coloring to a shade Earth humans didn’t question him about.

In no time, White Fang scanned the online version of the town’s newspaper that had recently been taken over by a werewolf pack. Great Caesar’s Ghostwolf! It was true.

Leaning forward, he re-read to make certain. Lykouz, he had no choice. The brazen pack’s ill-considered actions were a danger to all wolfkind. Especially his wolfkind.

There would have been no problem if the pack had written their features and articles as ‘tongue in slavering cheek’. As werewolf fantasy.

Truth, White Fang found it damn hell refreshing. But, with the full humans in possession of devastating fire power and still in fear of anything paranormal--well snapping fangs, he wondered if this younger generation had ever seen the horrific Old West photos of slaughtered wolves. Not to howl about the current-day helicopter hunting atrocities.

They probably hadn’t witnessed what he had, the scarecrow remains of several scorched-to-the-ground shapeshifter towns. Not all the residents had been lucky enough to escape with only singed smoking tails. No, it appeared as though, this werewolf pack most likely thought the government’s ghost-kill squads were only nasty rumors.

Nov 12, 2010 Guts and Butts, 2nd edition...

    Roadkill
    Here's wishing Kitty ~Cat~ Collins her very own fond farewell. Story and photo's on page one.

White Fang figured his brow looked like an aerial view of the Grand Canyon as he focused on the obituary, and frowned. Absently lifting his mug of steaming joe, he almost snarled into it. Instead he took a sniff, then swallowed down a healthy swig, or unhealthy, depending on which science study you chose to believe. With his physiology it didn’t matter.

“Not subtle enough,” he growl-muttered. Not at all.

White Fang set his mug down with a decided clank, but not hard enough to splash his window-on-the-world equipment. Lykouz, he remembered the good old days when coffee stains were a journalist’s badge of honor.

What he wouldn’t give for just a pen and pad at times. Even now, his fingers itched to bang out a story on his old typewriter. He threw a fond glance at the working relic before blinking and staring at the screen again.

He’d have to investigate this Kitty Collins, and obviously double quick. That is, before he sought employment as a Guts and Butts Gazette crime reporter.

It was one matter if this Collins, woman or catwoman, deserved to be entrail-splattered roadkill. It was a whole other matter if she was a victim of prejudice or, worse, targeted as an unwanted rival by one of the werewolf bitches in heat for a mate.

White Fang arched his brows, then they took a leap for the ceiling as he read Maggie Novak’s celebrity gossip column. Howling about bitches ready to kill...

Good news, girls – Damien, Alpha of the Hancock pack, informs me his son Devon is on the prowl for a mate. Devon’s just out of grad school and likes fresh-killed elk and long hunts in the moonlight. He’s not a cat fancier, however, so no felines need apply. Wag those tails, ladies – the line forms now!

So, was this steak-of-his-daddy’s eye, this Devon really what he appeared to be? Or, was he a closet cat fancier? Perhaps, even a past fancier of Kitty ~Cat~ Collins? Lykouz knows, as a reporter searching out leads, he’d prowled many a freaky-sex lair party filled with wolf grad students.

Taking another long swallow of his joe, White Fang ignored the yip-yip tones of his apartment’s doorbell. When he’d rented the place three days ago, his landlady’s yellow-gleaming gaze had alerted on his lap package. He’d felt like prime eats. To his private amusement, Tina Havulik had licked her lips as if they were wolfen chops.

Already, Toothsome Tina, as he thought of her, had invited herself in for coffee and bone meal biscuits on two occasions. White Fang figured he gained a couple ace hands, though. His landlady was a raging gossip queen, which gave him a hiked leg up on the inner workings of the town.

It was also an opportunity to practice the role he played in public. He’d pretended to be the shifter geek klutz of the century, thus fending off her amorous advances without offending her bitch sensibilities.

At least, so far, she hadn’t gone rabid werewolf and lunged for his defenseless dick while snapping her formidable jaws. Unlike her wolf breed, he had no desire to harm her or make her into instant roadkill.

White Fang owned no real worry for his physical well being. With one aimed fist between her eyes, he could knock Toothsome Tina out cold and leave her with a nasty headache for about a week’s time.

Glad his landlady had decided to quit leaning on the doorbell, White Fang drained his mug, and set it aside. A low growl vibrated his throat. His gaze narrowed on Mooney McMahon’s sports column.

The city council did not approve the request to allow roller derby tournaments at the city’s recreational facilities, so next week’s bone crusher will be held at the Roller Rama again, assuming we can get old Mrs. Fuddy-Duddy to drop the cease and desist charges.

Was this the same Mooney ‘wanna rip your throat out’ werewolf he’d tangled with in an LA sports bar? Mooney--not a lookalike for George Clooney--had gone neon-green eyed with jealousy over the attention his date lavished on White Fang.

While the woman had been a sweet piece of blonde tail, the only interest he’d had in her was if she could tell him the whereabout of her ex-boyfriend. The Dire wolf biker had gruesomely gnawed through two patrol cars, officers included.

Rumor had it the cops were on the take and shot at bikers for sport. Rumor had proven to be true. White Fang’s news story in the internationally distributed, Shapeshifter Globe Trotter, had saved the Dire wolf’s enormous furry hide from extinction.

Leaning back, White Fang stretched out the kinks from last night’s shift. He’d roamed the back streets, getting a feel for the Talbot’s Peak. Staying out of nose range, he’d watched werewolves hightail it for the surrounding forest. Most of them had been mated pairs.

Bringing the town’s directory up on screen, he typed in a search for Katrina Collins. There it was, address and phone number. Grabbing his cell, he thumbed in the number. No answer, just a cheery voice mail greeting.

With action now required, White Fang rose and strode toward his second floor deck. Once outside, he glanced around, then jumped over the rail. An instant later he blurred to super speed.  

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Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

White Fang ~ A Shapeshifter Memorial

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

I wondered how one of our own in Talbot's Peak would view Memorial Day. White Fang, my super wolf hero, spoke to me for this flash scene.
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White Fang ~ A Shapeshifter Memorial

The wildness of the tall-tree forest raced through him as White Fang loped along the trail -- still damp and slick from the lightning storm that had blown through during the night hours.

White Fang kept his pace steady, sure-footed. He breathed in the new-growth pine, springtime's chlorophyl-rich leaves, and the blood-tangy scent of foraging creatures.

The afternoon winds kissed his muzzle, stroked his fur, then slipped over his tail. Feeling the not-to-be-ignored tug of his soul, he'd decided on this small pilgrimage to the isolated mountain lookout he favored most, on what American humans called Memorial Day.

Even though, Earth was not his native planet, White Fang had gradually developed a fondness for Mother Earth. Between his investigations as a crime reporter, he'd explored her splendid untamed terrains. Now, as his paws struck her fecund surface, Gaia's varied harmonies, her forest song flowed through him, fierce as a jolt of electricity.

Seeing the familiar tower of rock, the gateway to his lookout cathedral, White Fang slowed his gait. Sunlight and shadow played over the shades of gray, and he took moments to appreciate nature's beauty.

Once he stood on the rock shelf overlooking the monumental grandeur of the valley, White Fang slowly shifted to his human form. The need to honor the fallen warriors and warrioresses of his homeworld burned like a blazing torch inside him.

The wolven shapeshifters who had bravely battled, and given their lives to protect their families, their kind, their world... his world, lived again for long moments before his mind's eye. He'd witnessed every battle as part of his education, his warrior training.

Some of the fallen had been his ancestors, and White Fang accessed his genetic memories. Opening his arms wide, he offered his sacred heart, his eternal gratitude.

Once the conflicts, the warfare had ended on his home planet, the gift of physical immortality had been bestowed by the creator gods and goddesses. Currently, most of the fallen had incarnated, becoming guardians of the wolven people.

White Fang swept his gaze over the magnificent rock face of the mountainside. After listening to the deep trombone tones of the ancient stone, he recalled each and every shapeshifter he'd known, or knew of, who had sacrificed their lives in battle. Had died for the sake of their kind, to protect their family, their pack, their mate -- to save all those they loved.

As their images appeared, he honored each one of them. Finally lowering his arms, White Fang stood in the stillness, the silence -- that which was truth and goodness and universal justice.

The sun's rays embraced him, streamed inside him, a sacred and powerful guiding light. With his eyes still closed, White Fang morphed to his wolven self.

He sat on his haunches, quietly taking in the spectacular wonders around him. Once the shadows lengthened, and the mountain peak claimed the sun, he trotted toward the trail that would take him home to Pasha, the cat goddess he loved.
 
Home, to Talbot's Peak.
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Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Underdog To Save the Day, Starring White Fang

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

Thank You! To everyone who stopped by during the Sexy Summer Blog Hop. And congratulations to all the winners.

So, yesterday I unexpectedly heard the lyrics of the theme song for Underdog, a Saturday morning cartoon that was one of my favorites as a youngster. Thus, this flash scene was born in my fertile imagination. Hope you enjoy and it is X-Rated.
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Underdog To Save the Day, Starring White Fang

Pasha leaned back against the large alabaster column, the coolness pleasing to the bare flesh of her back in this summer heat. She gazed skyward then giggled, a rare occurrence for her.

To contain her laughter, Pasha covered her mouth. She had no intention of missing one moment of White Fang, her super wolf lover, wearing the Underdog costume he'd purchased just to entertain her.

One morning he'd caught her enjoying the silly cartoon character on that internet phenomenon called YouTube. Pasha had been researching superheroes in the mortal world to gain more insight. After all, being a goddess had its limitations when it came to such things.

Somehow she'd cyber-stumbled upon the noble canine with his cape, ferocious snarl and steely gaze. Fascinated, and tickled by some of the similarities to her White Fang, she'd begun studying what was called a Saturday morning cartoon.

As she watched White Fang dramatically straighten his arms high above her, Pasha smothered her giggles. He leaped into flight from the rock ledge of the enormous, natural grotto. His Underdog cape, woefully undersized, billowed behind him as he flew toward her through the glimmering dusk sky.

White Fang, muffled by the mask's muzzle, announced in his baritone voice, "There's no need to fear, Underdog is here."

"Underdog...Underdog," Pasha cried out, imitating a needy heroine. She hadn't been able to quite convince herself to play the part of Sweet Polly Purebred, TV reporter, and the female who put the besotted glint in the caped canine's eye.

When the cartoon's theme music unexpectedly began, Pasha almost jumped like a scaredy-cat, nearly embarrassing herself. Above her, White Fang exaggerated his circling flight in a comical way.

Gradually, he descended singing, "When criminals in this world appear, and break the laws that they should fear, and frighten all who see or hear, the cry goes up both far and near for..."

Understanding her cue, Pasha smiled, then shouted in a singing voice, "Underdog. Underdog. Underdog. Underdog."

Adding to his role, White Fang punched the air with his fist. Soaring, he sang, "Speed of lightning, roar of thunder, fighting all who rob or plunder..."

"Underdog. Underdog. Oh save me, Underdog. Only you can save me."

Pasha panted at the sight of her canine superhero. Only White Fang could save her with the ferocity and finesse of his carnal passions. To keep herself steady, Pasha reached behind her clinging to the column.

After a midair spin that caused a lovely whirlwind around her, White Fang landed and stood about twenty feet before her. He ripped off the mask, tossing it aside.

"When in this world the headlines read," he intoned in his deep alpha voice. "Of those who's hearts are filled with greed." He moved toward her, his gaze piercing her like an obsidian blade. "And rob and steal from those in need." For moments, their gazes clashed, lightning desire battling lightning need -- then their gazes melted into each other. "To right this wrong with blinding speed goes..."

"Underdog. Underdog. Underdog. Underdog, oh please, save me," she whispered, no air left her in her lungs.

White Fang halted, his mouth mere inches from her own. His virile scent wrapped around her as tangible as a cloak, and intoxicated her like the most potent wine.

"Speed of lightning, roar of thunder...fighting all who rob or plunder," he rasped in a growl, his lips hovering above hers. "What brainless, bumbling fool dares threaten you?"

"An enemy only you can save me from...with a kiss."

"Only a kiss?"

White Fang pressed her against the column, his body deliciously scorching hers. He captured her wrists inside his super strong hands yet his touch remained deceptively gentle.

"Please." Her lips brushed against his. "Do whatever you need to do...to save me, superhero."

Pasha cat-moaned with her desire as White Fang pressed closer, flattening her breasts against his granite-hard chest. He rumbled a wolfish groan, and their lips seized each other.

Sensually they explored the shape and texture of each other's mouths. Then he kissed her hard.

The unrelenting crush of his lips shivered fire through Pasha, and caused her nipples to beg for his touch. Commanding her surrender, White Fang tightened his grip on her wrists.

Pasha's legs weakened, a response only he could draw from her. With a rough growl, White Fang broke his mouth from hers. He nipped kisses on her swollen lips, teasing.

Yet, his lips didn't persuade. He tasted her mouth with the savageness of his passion. Pasha arched against him, thrusting her mound against the super strength of his rigid cock.

The thin fabric of her shift and White Fang's costume tights did little to lessen the extreme heat of his shaft. Wanton from his punishing kisses, and the feel of him, Pasha braced herself against the column, wrapping her legs around his hips.

As she embraced the pillar that was his manhood with her sex lips, and rubbed, White Fang groaned vibrating her mouth. "Pasha," he poured in her ear.

He released her wrists, his hands caressing up her arms. "I want you beneath me in our bed."

Pasha didn't argue despite her wildness to mate with him here and now. White Fang's tone had been demanding, dominating.

"Yes, super dog."
~~~~~~

Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side...

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
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Six Sentence Sunday: Chapter Ten ~ Such Primal Hunger

From the Kougar’s Writing Den ~ White Fang, Ace Reporter

*Unedited Six Sentence* progress on the latest WIP novella...

Chapter Ten ~ Such Primal Hunger

Z’Pasha watched as speculation shadowed White Fang’s eyes. An intense shade of blue, they reminded her of sapphires thrown on top of a summer mountain lake.

Given the super wolf’s keen intelligence, and his devotion to fair play, she’d gambled on being forthright. He would accept no less. Not, and remain her friend. Or, her lover.
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Have a Magickal Six Sentence Day!

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
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~~~ Find out more about Six Sentence Sunday at ~ sixsunday.com ~~~
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Nude Super Dude to the Rescue

Tuesday, lunar eclipse howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers. I’m worn to a frazzle, so without further adieu...
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Nude Super Dude to the Rescue

White Fang loped up the steep rocky ground, feeling the power of his wolfen body. The lunar eclipse energies fired his blood, and as he ran, he let his thoughts wander.

These days his thoughts rarely strayed far from Pasha. Yet, discipline took over, and White Fang tuned into the source energies around him. Nature always spoke. Scents on the wind. The rustling of the other creatures. Trees singing to one another. The vibrations of the Mother herself.

White Fang gathered it all in.

He’d been careful to remain out of Shere Khan’s territory so he could race wild and free. Still, the night wind faintly carried the potent tang of the Tiger Yakuza.

Once White Fang reached the top of the ridge, he slowed, weaving through a long patch of large sharp rocks. The sweet hot scent of a rabbit blasted inside his nostrils. With his hunting instinct aroused, and his curiosity as well, White Fang trotted in that direction.

Indolently stretched out on a boulder, Bad Biker Bunny, or Bart as he was known around Talbot’s Peak, regarded him. Unconcerned that he stuck out like a sore thumb to any predator in the area, he soaked in the moon’s rays, his white coat gleaming brightly.

We got trouble, he telepathed without preamble.

Yeah? White Fang sniffed as he padded toward the white rabbit, satisfying his wolfen hunger for the moment.

Spitting-into-the-wind bastard is about to be werewolf cuisine. With a confident twitch of his ears, Bart morphed to his human form. He grinned carelessly. “Delectable, ain’t I?"

White Fang gave a vigorous shake, then shifted to human. “Not now,” he answered. “What’s the scoop?”

“The MF pissed off Veronica and her gal pals at the movie theater a couple of hours ago. Heard he guffawed all the way through “Twilight.” They’re stalking him now. The puffed-up shithead is enjoin’ the lunar eclipse at the clearing closest to town. Oh yeah, he invited any real werewolves to join him.”

Despite the obvious save-the-day emergency, White Fang shook his head in disgust. As a plan formed, he asked, “How about playing the hero?”

“Bad Bunny to the rescue. Sure. What do you have in mind, Alien Wolfman?”

White Fang mind-sent his plan, and when Bart gave a curt nod, he took several steps back. “Nude Super Dude to the rescue,” he quipped. “Yeah, no cape to step on this time.”

With a quick grin, White Fang increased his frequency. His feet lifted from the forest floor. “You will keep my secret?” he dead-panned his expression for his own amusement, and to watch the rabbit shifter’s reaction.

For a split second Bart’s eyes bulged in surprise. But only for a split second. “No problem, nude super dude. Got a few secrets of my own.”

Spinning upward, above the treetops, White Fang flashed toward the clearing. Before his mind’s eye, he watched Veronica and her three gal pals surround the now terrified human.

The brainless wonder brandished his night-vision glasses and his camcorder at the snarling circle of werewolves. With snapping fangs, they took turns darting at him, then retreating.

His screams for help might as well have been spitting into the wind for all the good it did him. With hideous growls, the bitch werewolves tightened their circle. Relishing the fear of their prey, they menaced him, their eyes glowing blood-red.

Intent on tormenting her kill, Veronica snaked her neck. As her fangs sliced through his jeans, and scraped his flesh, Mr. Pain-in-the-ass threw his camcorder at her head. It bounced off like a rubber ball.

One of the other werewolves snatched it out of the air, crunched it once, then tossed it aside. Screaming his lungs out, the human pounded his night-vision glasses on Veronica’s head as she mouthed his calf.

Having waited for this very moment, White Fang dived downward. Wrapping his arm around the paralyzed, about-to-pass-out human, he streaked upward. Seconds later, White Fang landed on the backwoods trail Bart had ridden down on his way to the boulder.

Sure enough, the Biker waited. Partly concealed by a large tree trunk, he sat astride his Harley.

Swinging him around, White Fang gripped the yuppie dude’s shoulders and gave a good shake. “You all right, mister? That was a close call.”

His glassy eyes circled as he attempted to focus. “Wha... what? Who are you?”

While he waited for recognition to dawn, White Fang steadied the pee-and-feces stinky human. “We met at O’Malley’s bar. Remember?”

“O’Malley? Who the hell is that?” Slumping forward, the shocked-out-of-his-mind yuppie grabbed hold of White Fang’s forearms.

“The werewolf bar. You came in for a beer. Riled some folks.”

“Yeah, I remember now. Get your shit hands off me.”

White Fang let go, and had the satisfaction of watching the idiot human stumble backward. He managed to stay standing, his sudden fury the reason.

“What was that shit? Payback by you and some of your friends dressed up like werewolves? I’m calling the cops.”

“Hey, you don’t look so good, mister.” White Fang stepped forward, offering his hand. Now covered in fur, his hand changed into a paw. “Need some help getting back to town?”

Absolutely frozen, his jaw hanging, yuppie dude stared. “It’s a trick, right,” he garbled out.

“A friendly piece of advice, mister.” White Fang let his wolf coat emerge. “You better have that leg looked at. If the skin is broken you could be infected. You know, on the next full moon, a good quality steel cage --“

With a hoarse shriek, Mr. Yuppie whirled around. Not surprisingly, his feet tangled, and he nearly fell to his knees. Catching himself, he scrambled forward pumping his legs like uneven pistons. As he tried to get traction on the dirt trail, White Fang shifted to full wolf.

Lunging, White Fang sank his fangs into butt meat, and left large bruises before he let go. At the same moment, Bart roared into view.

“Jump on back!’ Bart hollered, and slid to a stop.

Smiling wickedly to himself, White Fang gave chase.
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Happy Lunar Eclipse Shapeshifting

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
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Feathered Wings of Fire

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers. Omy! Am I worn out. I spent most of yesterday writing my three blurbs and filling out the cover art questionnaire for KANDY APPLE AND HER HELLHOUNDS. I don’t know about other authors, but it takes a lot of concentration and focus for me. Sometime, it feels as if I weigh each word, and by the time I make it through, my eyes end up spinning like pinwheels. Although, perusing pics of cover model, Jimmy Thomas, definitely has its sexy rewards.

So, the upshot is, my brain is mush, and I don’t have a blog for today. I’ve been banging the ole memory banks for something that would hopefully be entertaining, or just interesting.... hmmm...

Okay... checked out hellhound pics. Nothing. Checked out a couple of other ideas. Nope.

Ah, after perusing my WIPs and Flash Fiction file, here’s an oldie Flash. It’s always interesting how time and distance gives a better perspective. However, I haven’t altered it. Here it is, warts and all.
~~~

Feather Flash Day ~ July 20, 2008

Feathered Wings of Fire

ONE

Scrambling quickly up the small pile of red desert boulders, she shielded her eyes from the midday sun with one hand. Fascinated, she peered at the immense dark shape in the sky, unable to tell if it was a small plane or a humongous bird. Staring for all she was worth at the odd-looking shape, whatever it was, maybe even some kind of UFO, her breath hitched when it banked suddenly, then powerfully glided over the parched landscape. Wings, definitely giant feathered wings. Her breath jerked again and her heart drummed with wild elation. Probably just an enormous buzzard, though.

TWO

Still, a tiny, tiny thump of hope tingled in her breast as the magnificent bird grew larger, and seemed to head in her direction. Crouching, she fumbled for her camcorder inside her stuffed backpack, but no go, unless she was willing to take her gaze off the...mygawd! She straightened, sucked in a big fat breath, then forgot to breathe. Thunderbird, echoed in her mind. Thunderbird, it banged around like a large bouncing rock falling into a canyon. Thunderbirds, like the ones talked about on late night radio, the crypto sightings, the American Indian myths, the 1800's picture she’d Googled.

THREE

Like the one sighted in Alaska flying beside a Cessna. Of course, the pilot and passengers had freaked out huge time. “God, I hope so. I hope it’s a Thunderbird,” she whispered, thinking if she spoke too loudly, it would frighten the legendary creature away. As the ginorous eagle-looking bird sailed closer and closer, her blood sang with excitement while trepidation curled her toes. “It could want dinner,” she murmured, remembering the tales of monstrous nests containing human bones. Still, she stood her ground on top of the sun-baked boulder, and waited, greedily searching for every detail she could observe.

FOUR

Brown mahogany, the giant wing feathers gleamed beneath the sun. Looking translucent, the tip edges shimmered with gold. As he flew closer his flight feathers streamed a golden flame of light. He. The ginormous eagle had to be a ‘he’. Sailing beneath the sun, he obstructed her view of the sky, and darkened the land around her with his shadow. Mesmerized, she watched his entire body glisten gold as if an ancient sky goddess poured gold dust over his dark feathers. Stunned by his sheer size, his incomparable glorious beauty, still, she couldn’t make herself believe he was a hallucination.

FIVE

Aware her own body entered a state of paralysis, she did not care. Shifting his flight pattern, the Thunderbird creature rose, flying higher. Her heart nearly stopped, stabbed by raw disappointment. Come back, she desperately whispered inside her mind. Majestically he circled directly above her, catching inside his shadow as he languidly spiraled higher. She concentrated, memorizing his every winging movement. “Omygawd.” Her throat closed in awe at what she witnessed. He sparkled with a fiery aurora of colors as he flew in slow motion. His entire body. Unable to take it all in, she dropped her hand, and blinked.

SIX

Then she shut her eyes. Forcing them wide again, she gasped, her breath ripping from her lungs. His tail feathers blazed, rainbows of fire flowing, jets of amazing color that put the brightness of the sky to shame. Thinking, Firebird....she felt her body fall backwards. Her mind blanked. When she emerged back into awareness, she felt strong arms around her. Incredibly strong arms. She blinked, daring her own eyes to open. Starting violently, she wondered how the strange gorgeous man held onto her. “You are here. As we previously arranged.” His unique bold voice fire-stormed over her senses. “What?”
~~~~~~

Wouldn’t a thunderbird-firebird creature be a great addition to Talbot’s Peak?
~~~~~~

From the Kougar’s Writing Den ~ White Fang, Ace Reporter

*Unedited Six Sentence* progress on the latest WIP novella...

Chapter Seven ~ Interview with the Biker Alpha

White Fang followed Dante through the bar’s rudimentary kitchen. The Biker Alpha halted, opening a door storage room door.

Instead, they stepped onto a carpeted platform, and White Fang held his tongue as they moved down a wide, newly installed stairway at a brisk pace. Once they walked along a spacious corridor, atmospherically lit with gaslights, he estimated they were a good twenty-five feet below ground.

Dante stopped before a door at odds with the nineteenth century setting. It could have come from a medieval castle, and White Fang’s brows raised as he read the ornate sign: There Be Shapeshifters of Every Kind. Beware of Fangs, Claws and Tails.
~~~

Note: For a look at the first six chapters ‘six sentence’ openings, check my page.
~~~

Happy Month of May Shapeshifting

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
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Winter Solstice Howls and Investigating the Tiger Yakuza

Winter Solstice howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers... oh, yes! It’s been overcast all day. However, the clouds just thinned enough to see an early stage of the lunar eclipse. Almost straight overhead Luna is about a third of the way in shadow. She is looking lovely and mystical.

Here we are at a cosmic turning point. This marriage between the Winter Solstice and a Lunar Eclipse will bring forth, and unite, the feminine and masculine energies in a whole new way. These new dynamics will, in time, change the entire landscape of how women and men relate to each other. For the better.

It will also change how we view ourselves. Given we are composed of both feminine and masculine energy...we are yin and yang...those opposites inside us will become understood at a higher level. And we will use this higher understanding to express ourselves in powerful ways.
~~~~~~

White Fang Kent, Investigating the Tiger Yakuza

White Fang balanced himself on the narrow ledge outside of Damien Hancock’s mountainside mansion. Watching the eye glints of Hancock’s pack sentinels, he avoided detection as he inched toward the large office window, designed to look down upon the town of Talbot’s Peak.

Despite their hot and panting passion for each other -- despite the fact he’d been about to crush Pasha’s lush mouth beneath his for the first time -- her magick eye had suddenly manifested between them.

Both of them stilled, mesmerized by the golden brilliance rotating before their gazes. Even as the eye pulsed, its radiance almost blinding, Pasha continued sensually stroking his back. White Fang kept her tight against him, his palms filled with her firm blatant ass.

“Watch,” she murmured. Lifting her hand, she brushed it with her fingertips.

Compelled by the scene captured within the magically formed eye, White Fang focused. Several of the Yakuza ran the forest as tigers.

He felt Pasha go rigid for several seconds. Spinning out of his arms, she swiftly changed into outdoor gear.

Silently taking hold of his hand, his goddess seductress swept her hand in a circle. She led him through a phase portal, then unerringly wove them through the dense forest.

Once they arrived at the exact spot he’d seen, she followed a glistening ribbon of light to its endpoint. Halting them inside a stand of saplings, she faced him and whispered, “This is where I first caught sight of Khan’s seven sons. Their lair must be close.”

Despite his fierce-humping need for her, White Fang managed to single out each Tiger’s faint scent. It didn’t take him long to memorize the seven unique, but similar smells of Khan’s cubs.

Somehow, he’d convinced Pasha to return with him to Dante’s pleasure club instead of hunting them down. Before he departed, intent on investigating the Tiger Yakuza’s every move, Pasha had grabbed hold of him molding her sex-kitten curves to his body.

Seductively sinking her fingers into his hair, she fisted. As she passionately brought his mouth to hers, her hunger sizzled every nerve he owned. The kiss she laid on him still singed his lips and banged his balls.

White Fang scanned for Hancock’s prowling sentinels as he braced himself against the window’s prominent frame. Still unseen, he turned up his super hearing.

Seconds later, White Fang nearly choked. Tears sprang to his eyes. Lykouz! Sure hell enough, the tangy, incense-saturated odor of Shere Khan’s third son might as well have fang-clamped around his throat.

He’d caught Tasman’s scent from his den lookout, close to the Tiger Yakuza’s base of operation. After rapidly shifting to his human form, White Fang had jerked on his chameleon suit. Like a second skin, the suit altered to match his surroundings, and also obscured his scent.

Charging to superspeed, White Fang followed a shortcut up the peak. Now his hunch, backed by investigation, proved out.

Obviously, at some time in the past, Damien Hancock had joined his unsavory paw with the Tiger Yakuza. Otherwise, the so-called Lord Khan would never have sent his son to arrange another ‘understanding’.

White Fang tamped down his sense of smell, and pressed his ear against the rock wall. What he heard confirmed every suspicion and more, so much leaping-over-tall-buildings more.

The Tiger Yakuza also wanted his hide nailed to the wall. No Great Caesar’s Ghost surprise to him. For an instant White Fang grinned at himself. He had to like the Superman character, given their similarities.

Preparing to slip away, White Fang debated with himself. Should he track Devon down first? Protect him from the slice and dice claws of the Yakuza? Or, should he contact Brand first, let his long-time friend know...

“What the dog-damn fuck!” Damien bellowed.

Before White Fang whipped forward and dived, he caught sight of the dirty-paw tyrant’s enraged face. His muzzle had popped out, his whiskers flattening as he bared his teeth.

Righting himself, White Fang spun in the air like an ice skater. With ease, he lessened his falling speed, then landed on top of Damien’s spit-shiny limousine. Above the resounding thud, he heard Hancock barking orders.

“Rip that son of a gamma bitch apart. I want his scat balls hanging on my trophy wall.”

With a pack of slavering werewolves racing toward him, White Fang grabbed the keys from the chauffeur’s furry clawed hand. Leaping inside the limo, he slammed the door, started the engine, and stomped on the accelerator.
~~~~~~

~ HAPPY WINTER SOLSTICE ~

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

White Fang Kent and Pasha ~ Dangerously Feral

Howls and Yowls of Holiday greetings, shapeshifter lovers, today I have two bio blurbs for you. And! The first meeting of White Fang and Pasha.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

White Fang Kent, Ace Crime Reporter

The Super Wolf, who keeps his identity a well-guarded secret, has arrived in Talbot’s Peak, Montana on a mission. The hideaway town has been taken over by a werewolf pack. Their out-of-the-den bravado endangers not only their lives, but the entire shapeshifter world on Earth. Determined to keep his own wolfkind safe and undiscovered, White Fang realizes he must stay to protect the town’s residents from the ruthless enemies they are clueless about. However, he soon discovers he’s stepped into a real life version of As the Werewolf World Turns.

Pasha ~ Catwoman Shifter

Z’Pasha, granddaughter of the Egyptian goddess, Bastet, lives for the day when she can sink her poisonous claws and fangs into the Tiger Yakuza. Two of their Ninja assassins shredded her human friend’s body so brutally, the murder wasn’t reported in the news. Having tracked the elusive assassins across the globe, Pasha believes she is about to corner and castrate the fiendish tigers in the backwoods of Montana. She just needs a bit of super dog assistance. And she knows how to get it. After all, seduction is second nature, and her feline kind knows every shapeshifter male’s weakness.
~~~~~~

White Fang Kent and Pasha ~ Dangerously Feral

White Fang had to wonder if the catwoman sultrily stalking him -- a woman who made his dream woman look like the gossip columnist, Maggie -- had been sent by unknown enemies.

Mind probing Pasha would likely be a mistake, even if he could manage to concentrate. He scented goddess blood.

Hidden beneath the natural, femme fatale perfume she exuded -- a fragrance that caused his cock to drip with the need to mate -- was the smell of a lightning storm. A certain sign the catwoman’s lineage went back to the antediluvian gods and goddesses.

White Fang ignored his gentleman’s instinct to rise, and seat her. Why give her a full-on visual of his cock’s fight to overcome the waistband of his pants?

She already knew her affect on him. Seduction was her weapon and he was the target.

“I am Pasha.” With feline grace she offered her hand -- long, slim and tawny gold, yet not fragile in appearance.

“White Fang.” He wrapped his hand entirely around hers simply to feel her, and to let her know he wasn’t without some manner of defense against her carnal claws -- against the slanted glimmer of her spectacular eyes. Jewel green, they were faceted by bronze and cerulean blue.

“May I?” She withdrew her hand, a caress that lingered as sharply as if she’d bitten him during their foreplay.

After a wave of his hand, she languidly arranged herself opposite him. She’d subtly exaggerated the ripe curve of her hips. Now she leaned forward slightly, her arms pressing against the sides of her breasts.

White Fang gave them both what they wanted. He ogled the beautiful generous bounty that was barely contained by her made-for-sex red dress. Somehow he managed to keep his tongue from lolling out in sheer appreciation.

Lykouz hell! He kept himself from leaping over the table and acting like a stud dog desperate for a hump against her haunches. Her lips turned upward, a slow smile of feline enticement. And, of course, cat satisfaction. With a courtesan’s finesse, she quivered her breasts.

“Flaunt and taunt. What do you want...Pasha? Is that your demigoddess name, or are you a full blood?”

She flinched, only seen by his super-powered eyesight. Still, he had to hand it her, and Lykouz knew, he wanted to handle her. Every lush and long curve of her. Every soft silken dip and valley of her.
.
Recovering her poise, she swept her dark gold lashes downward for a moment. “Z’Pasha,” she throatily purred. “For your ears only.”

“Only,” he repeated, and knew he sounded like a mesmerized fool. “What’s the story?”

A hint of confusion shone in her gaze. Like an even bigger fool, he felt a primal sense of victory over her. Really, though, he told himself, he was the stupid male who didn’t know he’d been caught in her clever trap. Yeah, so his cock jerked, wanting to be caught in her sweet hot trap.

For nearly a minute, they eyed each other, angling for blows in this unspoken battle for dominance.

“The story you want me to tell as a crime reporter. About the Tiger Yakuza.” White Fang forced himself to straighten before he made a move and licked a trail up her sex-kitten cleavage. “Pardon my lack of manners, Pasha. May I order you a drink? Perhaps you haven’t dined yet.”

“You are good.” The tip of her tongue traced her lips. “Very good, White Fang Kent.” With a sensual roll of her shoulders, she leaned back, lounging more comfortably. “I believe Dante’s wine cellar has a pomegranate wine made in the image of the wine crafted by my sacred ancestors.”

“Of course.” White Fang lifted a finger for service.

Their gazes never strayed from each other, and White Fang allowed himself the luxury of staring at her rosy, gold-dusted lips, enhanced only by a shiny gloss. More than kissable her mouth was made for every act of passion imaginable. He swallowed hard while his steely rod banged at his zipper.

Saved, temporarily, by the arrival of a waiter, the same beta werewolf who had served Dante, White Fang swivelled his gaze to him. “Marc,” he noticed the discreet name tag, “would you bring the lady a bottle of Pomegranate Nile? And another brew for me.”

With an elegant nod of his head, Marc pivoted from them.

“Raw delicious torment,” White Fang growled.

He didn’t bother sparing Pasha his thorough, hungry-as-a-wolf perusal of her. When his gaze settled on her voluptuously pointed nipples, she drew in loud rushing breaths. Her mating heat filled his nostrils, and neither one of them moved for a time that seemed to stretch into infinity.

“Before you make me more insane with desire, super wolf, I’ll give you what you came for.”

“And that is?”

“I’ll take you to my last sighting of the Tiger Yakuza assassins. You’ll get your story, ace crime reporter, just follow the trail.”

Her half-lidded gaze languorously studied his face, then moved over his chest. It felt as if she physically stroked him, and White Fang nearly groaned out loud.

“And, what do you get, Pasha?” he asked a long moment later. His tone was so hoarse, he wondered that the words could be understood.

With a deliberate toss of her hair, she shifted positions, and the curvaceous swells of her breasts beckoned him even more. “Revenge, of course.”

White Fang had never felt so dangerously feral when it came to the fair sex.
~~~~~~

~ HAPPY SHAPESHIFTING HOLIDAYS ~

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
~~~~~~

White Fang Kent ~ Interview with the Biker Alpha

White Fang followed Dante, Biker Alpha, down the stairway and toward a medieval dungeon-like door with an ornate sign: There Be Shapeshifters of Every Kind. Beware of Fangs, Claws and Tails.

The hot tang of cat tail claimed White Fang’s nostrils as Dante shoved open the clanking door. They entered an old-fashioned tavern with sconce candlelight. At first glance, that is. In reality, the underground area was immense, and the overall elegant design surprising.

“Welcome to my interspecies pleasure club.” Dante waved his arm in low-key fashion. “Two pints,” he spoke to a beta werewolf server, dressed in Regency period attire.

“You have been keeping secrets.” White Fang spoke as he seated himself in the private monk’s booth Dante indicated.

After surveying his private kingdom, Dante sat opposite White Fang. With a small grin, he lounged against the wall, his arm resting atop the bench seat. Using his mild-mannered voice, White Fang continued, “I’m going to guess this is a story you don’t want in the Guts and Butts Gazette.”

“On the contrary, ace crime reporter, I want my enterprise exposed -- let’s say to the public at large.”

White Fang raised his brows, his instincts telling him the obvious wasn’t true. “Catch 22?”

“You got me.” Dante paused as the server delivered two foamy pints on a silver platter, a dark brew known for it’s rich malt flavor.

“Serving werewolves on silver. A clever fang sense of humor.” White Fang raised his glass tankard high matching Dante, then they both took a draw. “Superb, as usual.” Keeping his gaze steady and steely, White Fang asked, “What do you want from me?”

“Two things, Kent.” Dante eased forward, his own gaze fierce and uncompromising. “Make that three.” He leaned an elbow on the plank wood table, sadness returning to the depths of his eyes. “I want you to protect my Kitty, my Katrina. Story for a later time,” he added, averting his face.

After a deep quaff of his brew, Dante eyed him again, his resolve pure savagery. “You got your super-dog secrets, Kent, or you wouldn’t have been able to track me here. This place is my secret haven and I intend to keep it that way.”

White Fang waited. Always let them do their own talking, that was his reporter’s experience. It resulted in the best story.

“Got a gang wants to move in on my territory. The Tiger Yakuza. I’ll give you their current hangout.”

“Dominos.” White Fang tipped up a healthy draw, and waited again.

“Fuck, yeah, like dominos. Once they move into a territory, they sink their claws into every business. One by one, they all fall.” Dante pounded his fist on the table once, his eyes flashing with ferociousness and frustration. “The town is in danger.” Settling back again, he wrapped his now clawed hand around the tankard. “Sent anonymous warnings to my sire, then contacted Devon. No action. Scat, like taking over a town from the apes makes the pack invincible. They both got their snouts up their wormy asses. And, Devon is acting like a freaking girly debutante with his big frigging deal party.”

“Had my share of run-ins with the Tiger Yakuza.” White Fang didn’t say 'who' had the fearsome tiger shifters by the furred balls, and 'who' could crush at will. “Sure, I’ll do an investigative report. Add the facts I can prove. That should act as a warning with bonus points.” He curled one corner of his mouth, amused at his next thought. “Nick will get his editor-rocks off.”

Dante gave a satisfied nod. “You’ll be in like Flint, as the apes say.”

Silence followed, and they both lifted their tankards, draining them. From the corner of his eye, White Fang watched the long-legged, elegant catwoman sway toward the bar at the far end of the room. Her figure-hugging red dress was at odds with the Victorian-style pub bar. That was just fine with him. Her curves rivaled those of the actress, Ann-Margret.

Dante eyed him again, his posture relaxed. Yet, the alpha werewolf clearly remained ready to spring into action. “From what I hear, that hot little bitch, Ziva, has Nick licking his blue balls these days.”

White Fang grinned. “Caught Nick humping his desk after one of their snarl-snap matches.” Leaning forward, he confronted Dante with his gaze. “Two out of three. What else do you want?”

“Publicity, Kent.” Dante offered a cocky grin. “No one in town needs to know I own this upscale pleasure club. Just that it’s here.”

“Sure, why not? I’ll work it into the story. A wolf’s den of iniquity. All shapeshifters welcome.”

White Fang knew the instant the curvy catwoman slinked in his direction without seeing her. His cock gave a mighty hitch and his spine iced with warning.

“When Maggie shows I’ll make certain that wily queen of gossip gets the ‘special’ tour. Hear she wrangled herself an invite to Devon’s debutante ball.”

“The guilt monster grabbed Nick by the scruff. So he made certain Mooney got she company.”

“Yeah, brotherly love. Know all about it,” Dante sneered. He tossed down the remaining swallow of brew. When the tankard hit the table, his expression utterly changed. A glint of amusement possessed his eyes, more wolfen now than human.

“Pasha.” Dante subtly nodded, indicating the catwoman in the fire-red dress approaching them. “Like what you see, Kent?”

White Fang hadn’t missed the smallest movement of Pasha’s curvaceous body from the very second she’d seductively strolled in their direction. “Enough to turn alpha.” Switching his gaze to her, he openly stared. “She could raise the mating fur on a snake.”

Dante howled a laugh. “Scat piles, Kent. I’ll keep your alpha identity secret. We both got good reasons to stay hidden.”

“Agreed. Yours is your sire.”

Moments ticked by. “Yeah, super dog. He hates feline shifters. Enough to kill them.”

“Tough break. You have my word I won’t let the cat out of the bag.”

White Fang heard Dante unfold himself, then lightly land on the floor, the sound of his boots minimal. “Pasha is your source. She’s been trying to grab the Tiger Yakuza by the tail for several years now. They murdered an ape friend of hers.”
~~~~~~

Shapeshifter Lovers, News You Can Use

***Headline for Thursday, December 2, 2010***

GUEST AUTHOR ~ STACEY ESPINO
~~~~~~

~ HAPPY SHAPESHIFTING HOLIDAYS ~

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
~~~~~~

White Fang Kent ~ A Story With Bite

White Fang Kent ~ A Story With Bite

Werewolf musk hung in the night air as heavy as his own balls. White Fang Kent stealthily moved behind a row of untrimmed bushes. Hidden by a corner shadow, he halted next to the rough-hewn lodge located inside an isolated forest clearing. The place, he’d discovered by simple observation, was a local alpha hangout for bikers and any shifter who was wolf enough to bloody his fangs, and ride with the top dogs.

Suppressing his groan, the one that throbbed like an MF from the crown of his cock, White Fang shot his night-vision gaze over the surrounding area. Nothing. No one. So far. He turned on the laser as he thought of it, peering through the thick log wall. He’d already scented those he knew from town. Now, he wanted a look-see before deciding on his next ‘investigative’ move.

After catching a whiff of Dante’s potent ~I could hump a rodeo bull and not get thrown~ odor near Kitty Kewtie’s backdoor, White Fang had cut short his visit with her. He’d excused himself with the truthful claim that Nick, the G&B editor, had texted, demanding a more sensational story than the one he’d turned in earlier.

White Fang didn’t give one snarling damn about Nick’s deadline, but Dante... howls of Lykouz fate! That was the lead he’d been patiently pursuing. White Fang tracked Dante with his nose, keeping his distance. Using his superspeed, he’d arrived at the edge of the clearing just as Dante grabbed his guitar case from the back of his tricked-out Harley.

Damien Hancock’s youngest cub strode inside the music-routy lodge like the on-the-prowl-for-a-bitch werewolf he was... only who was Dante really stud-panting for? Was it little Kitty Kewtie? Maybe he wanted a sweet piece of wolfen tail for the night to distract himself. Because what White Fang did know, now that he was this close. The odor of heartbreak clung to Dante like skunk roadkill.

White Fang continued his x-ray scan of the lodge’s bar area, seeing only a motley crew of ham-fisted, brew-tipping shifters -- none of them a problem to him -- that is, if they decided he wasn’t welcome.

Wait! Woof-woof. Hold onto his hitching cock.

White Fang scented cat tail inside. Femme fatale felines lookin’ for some scratching-wild sex to be journalistically precise. Ever since his carnal marathon with Bastet’s granddaughter at an Egyptian festival, White Fang favored discreet affairs with the fair feline sex.

As he slipped from behind the bushes, he told his steely shaft to lose the metal. No time like the present for the truth, he silently growled to himself. He needed answers, and fast. That is, if he was going to save Kitty, and the town’s shifter population.

So... Lykouz hell.. the urge to mate caused his balls to bang and rub as he sauntered toward the entrance. So, he was attired like a yuppie geek, the only leather being his Italian loafers. To complete the picture, White Fang stuffed his hands in the pockets of his khaki dockers.

He may have been another breed of wolf, but the pack frenzy had him gripped harder than his landlady’s hand this morning. Toothsome Tina as he thought of her, had made a grab for his lap package after spilling her cooled coffee on him. He’d twisted just enough so she’d seized his thigh.

White Fang strolled inside the dimly lit interior of the rustic lodge. The smells of humping musk, cigar and cigarette smoke, along with various alcoholic beverages, caused him to ratchet down the super-sense.

Easily, he located Dante’s position. He sat at a corner table with three pack buddies. Perched on a stool, he strummed chords on his guitar, not a tune White Fang recognized.

The werewolf band stood at the bar, obviously on a break. With bared teeth and jealous snarls, their mates warned off the few bitches present. White Fang sniffed for a story that would wag Nick’s tail while he edged toward Dante through the almost shoulder-to-shoulder crowd.

Freeze frame, White Fang mentally amused himself. Everyone stilled, swinging their gazes to him. Their eyes looked like miniature headlights that had been switched to brights. Prey or foe, they asked themselves.

Awareness pricked through White Fang as their hackles raised. Their low growls menaced. Jauntily, he lifted his hand in greeting. “Hey, fellas.”

Momentarily caught off guard, the crowd followed his progress as White Fang ambled toward Dante. Warily, the alpha-to-his-core werewolf eyed him. Alpha, yes, yet White Fang also witnessed the soul of a poet in the depths of Dante’s gold-flecked amber eyes.

“White Fang Kent, reporter for the Guts and Butts Gazette,” he introduced himself while offering his hand. “I’d like to interview you as part of an investigation I’m conducting.”

Setting his guitar aside, Dante rose upward, all bad-boy power. His gaze never wavered, even as he signaled for his pack to back off. With deceptive ease he raised his hand and gripped White Fang’s hand, shaking it.

Glad Dante didn’t engage in a contest of strength, so he wasn’t forced to reveal his true strength, White Fang asked, “Is there a place where we can speak privately, Mr. Hancock?”

“The name is Dante.” Rebellion sparked the young werewolf’s eyes. Not the normal rebellion of a son who is ready to paw his own way through the world. Cold brutal resolve lay beneath the sparks.

“Of course --"

“Kent!” The outraged screech squeezed the back of his neck like his mother’s chastising fangs. “You cur dog.”

Reluctantly, White Fang pivoted around. Leona Lane stalked toward him, her gaze slashing at him like the fangs she was starting to sport. “Nice seeing you, too, Leona.”

“Can the insipid politeness, Kent. What the hell are you doing in my territory?” She stopped in front of him. The high tilt of her chin might as well have been a dagger she aimed at his throat.

“Your territory, Lane?” White Fang allowed his eyes to flare. Acting like a geek was one thing, but he never backed down from an outright challenge.

“Nick assigned me the story on this backwoods bar. As if you didn’t know, super duper dog. Yeah, I know all about your --"

“Escort Ms. Lane to the lounge, will you, Brad?” Dante’s commanding, but calm voice interrupted. “If you want your story, Ms. Lane, you’ll mind your professional manners here.”

After a spitting hiss at White Fang, Leona whirled and with a huff of satisfaction, she accepted Brad’s offered arm.

Several thoughts hit White Fang all at once. One, he was Lykouz grateful he hadn’t had to kiss Lane to shut her mouth. Two, there was obviously more real red meat to Dante than he’d suspected. Three, had Dante intentionally left his scent so White Fang would follow? And, what did the mysterious werewolf want from him?

As he turned, facing Dante, the bad-boy werewolf gave him a grin.

“Since you’re not shagging my Kitty, super duper dog,” Dante flicked a knowing glance at his crotch, “how about I give you a story with bite and introduce you to Pasha?”
~~~~~~

~ HAPPY TURKEY DAY ~

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
~~~~~~

White Fang Kent ~ Truth, Justice, and the Shapeshifter Way

White Fang Kent ~ Truth, Justice, and the Shapeshifter Way

White Fang Kent would have recognized that pungent feline scent beneath a pile of nuclear waste. When had Leona Lane come to town? And, why hadn’t he known it before now? Had the ‘queen of expose’ been hiding out until she could pounce on her latest victim and bag her next sensational headline like a hapless cat.

Lykouz knew, Leona Lane had exposed those who deserved to hang on the end of her very sharp pen. White Fang made no bones about the fact that she possessed the instincts of a bloodthirsty huntress when it came to tracking down a certain class of slimy criminal.

Her hard-nosed reporting was one matter. White Fang felt great respect for an intrepid reporter who got his or her story to ink or bytes, and damn the consequences. However, tossing the truth around like a bullwhip’s lash, and not caring who was struck, like Leona did too often -- that was a whole other matter to his way of thinking.

He’d kept his distance from Leona for that reason. That, and she walked over other reporters, unconcerned that she kept her metaphorical stilettos on.

Yeah, sure, White Fang had rescued her from several sticky situations. But, he’d made certain she never found out. He’d do it again, if necessary. As a man-wolf, he stayed true to himself.

Truth, Justice and the Shapeshifter Way. And, the protection of the innocent. That was White Fang’s creed.

Not that life always cooperated. No, life on Earth was often guts and butts’ messy. And, the blurring of the lines between good and evil never sat well with him. White Fang walked that line constantly in dealing with his sources.

From his peripheral vision, White Fang observed the hyper ambitious, razor-clawed brunette. The Leona Lane he knew, tangled verbally with Maggie. No one in the courtroom needed super hearing to get an earful as those two alpha females sparred for bitch supremacy.

Still, White Fang honed in as they lowered the volume. With the knife-flashing expertise of a Ginsu chef, Leona and Maggie continued fang-trashing each other. To his mind, tickets should have been sold, with the proceeds given to improve the cub play area in the park.

Not surprisingly, Maggie’s boa snitch had his scales scraped the wrong way. Rising to the occasion Lamar hissed a warning. Also, not surprisingly, Leona hissed her own brand of venom.

White Fang nearly let a chuckle escape at the comic-book scene. Instead, the corner of his mouth twitched. So, Leona had done a stint in the local pound. No doubt she’d uncovered enough scat on some of the town’s movers and tail-shakers to ‘convince’ their cooperation whenever she needed it.

He hadn’t been aware of her presence because the shifter hoosegow wasn’t his beat. Nick, the Guts and Butts editor, had been adamant about that. He wanted breaking crime stories straight from the streets and the forest byways.

Once Leona strode like the panther she was, and shoved out the courtroom doors, White Fang grinned down at little Kitty Kewtie, as he thought of her. Her smile might as well have bathed him in bright white light. She owned a gentle and tame spirit, even though the blood of snow leopard shifters ran in her veins.

He’d discovered Kitty, or Katrina Collins, inside a nearby cave by tracking her scent from her home. When he arrived, she’d been pacing and hugging herself, a common enough blanket draped around her. And, that’s where the mystery began for him.

When he’d arrived at the entrance, nothing clued him in on who or how she’d been placed inside the cave. Although he’d scoured the immediate area before they left, he’d found no sign of tracks, even with his x-ray vision.

The trouble, Kitty had been just as confounded by her situation. She hadn’t known who had rescued her. She’d simply awakened inside a sleeping bag, in the buff and sans her buff-colored fur, with no idea of her location except that she recognized the forest smells.

White Fang had detected no tell-tail odors, or physical evidence, that identified her savior. There’d been no knockout drug residue clinging to her, not by his nose. ‘Whoever’ had left a small supply of food and water, and a short scribbled note: Stay. Or become prey. I will return within a day.

White Fang had sniffed that note until every odor molecule had been drawn inside his nostrils. Nothing. His investigative hackles had raised, but he’d quelled his reporter’s frustration, more concerned with Kitty.

She hadn't been able to identify the scratchy nail-writing, either. She’d also looked mystified when he’d asked her if she knew someone special who wrote or read rhyming poetry.

White Fang suspected, however, that Kitty Kewtie did have a suspicion of who saved her from becoming roadkill. Even so, she’d clung to his arm with not one desire to remain inside the cave until her savior appeared.

When he’d questioned her about escorting her to safety, White Fang discovered Kitty possessed an admirable stubborn streak. With her claws popping out, she’d declared no one chased her away from town.

Once they’d returned to her home and shifted back to human form, he’d promised to keep a protective eye on her. Altruism had been his motivation. However, the reporter in him instinctively knew Katrina Collins was the key that would lead him to the answers he wanted. To the real story behind the story of this werewolf pack town.

White Fang also sensed, as her blue eyes beseeched him, that Kitty pined for a man she’d fallen in love with, but couldn’t have.

He had his own suspicion -- laser-eye squared right on Devon Hancock. Call it a gut-roiling hunch. But, his hunches usually proved out. And now that he knew Devon had the carnal hots for humping cat tail... plus, he’d swear it was Devon who showed at the cave, even though ‘whoever’ had been quick enough to elude his direct observation.

Either that, or it was Devon’s younger sibling, Dante. The bad boy biker had recently returned, and remained on the outs with his father.
~~~~~~

~ HAPPY SUN IN SCORPIO SHAPESHIFTING ~

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~