Trouble Brewing

“Good morning, Miss Marissa.”


Marissa looked up from her register, where she was trying to change the receipt paper roll, and smiled distractedly.

“Good morning to you, too, Sheriff Coletrain. What can I get for you today?”

“Oh, just a cup of whatever you’ve got brewed,” the grandfatherly peace office said. The tone of his voice sounded a bit too casual to her, so Marissa took a second, closer look. The sheriff smiled but she noticed the smile didn’t reach his eyes. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“Which one is it this time?” she asked, resigned to an afternoon spent chewing out one of ‘her boys.’ She handed the sheriff his cup of regular black coffee and leaned on the counter, trying to look calm even if she didn’t feel that way. She loved her life in Talbot’s Peak. She loved her werewolf husband madly and even those little hellions, Loki and Thor, whom she’d inherited when she married their dad. If given a choice, she wouldn’t change anything. But wolves were trouble. They went looking for trouble when they got bored, started trouble when they couldn’t find any, and got involved in other peoples’ trouble whenever they could. The sheriff chuckled, knowing full well what was going through her mind.

“I saw your boys hanging fliers down town. They were advertising something called ‘Egyptian Elixir of Health and Vitality.’ I figured it might be a good idea to let you know what was goin’ on before we have a repeat of Valentine’s Day two years ago.”

Right. Not one of her wolves, or at least not exclusively one of her wolves. This would be Lex, the ancient Egyptian demi god who’d raised her. If wolves were trouble, Lex was a walking, imperial catastrophe. His grandfather, a true god by the name of Nefertem, had made huge strides in the arts of healing and perfume thousands of years ago. His father, Shezmu, also had a thing for perfuming but also for wine. Lex had decided that he would make his mark on the world by brewing beer. Lex brewed some mighty fine beer, too. If that was all he did, Marissa would not have been so worried.

Valentine’s Day two years ago was just one example of Lex trying to “make his mark on the world.” He’d brewed up a special love potion. It exploded. Nine months later there had been an explosion of babies born. There was a flu epidemic running through town. Marissa didn’t know what that crazy cat god was up to but she knew she needed to nip it in the bud.

“I’m on it,” she sighed. The sheriff smiled, this time a real one, though it looked like there was a glint of pity in his eyes.

The Immortal Shapeshifter Among Us

Tuesday yowls and howls, shapeshifter lovers.

Here we are already at mid-month. Time certainly isn't slowing any in my universe, despite leaving that superspeed year, 2012.

Today's flash scene got going, and the heroine arrived on the hero's doorstep, but...hey, time ran out, so their story will have to be continued.  
~~~~~~

The Immortal Shapeshifter Among Us

"That werewolf ain't the only one in this territory buildin' underground. Preparin' for the worst."

Zephanaiah wrapped his hand around one of his favorite modern rifles, swung it upward, and sighted a target in his personal shooting gallery. In seconds, he'd shot the center hole--about the size of a dime--clean out.

With satisfaction he lowered the weapon onto the gun rack after reloading, and gazed around at his extensive collection of weaponry. Mostly guns, though--from powder shot muskets to specialized guns that used ice bullets.

Truth was, he possessed about every make and model there'd ever been. Another large room held the machinery and materials to manufacture ammunition, a trade he still learned.

Manly pride dictated Zephan take several minutes to scan the walls of his enormous bunker, where he'd mounted the pistols, handguns, derringers, glocks, hunting rifles of every variety, sawed off shotguns, tommy guns--plus the in-the-news, falsely labeled automatic weapons.

Not only that, he owned about a hundred custom-designed sidearms, including his most favorite, a pair of fast-draw, pearl-handled, single-action Colts. One thing Zephan knew for damn certain, he'd never be enslaved again.

Not without one hellacious fight to save himself, and anyone else. After fighting side-by-side with the Thracian gladiator, Spartacus, during the slave uprising, he'd ironically won his freedom by dying first.

He'd been reborn with the stench of death in his nostrils, covered by the slaughtered bodies of his comrades. With madness assailing him, Zephan had believed he'd been taken by the gods to an underworld hell, meant for the souls of rebellious slaves.

He'd wandered about, his throat parched from lack of water. Once he'd slaked his thirst at a village well familiar to him, Zephan had realized he remained among the land of the living.

Thus, his world travels began, mostly battling tyrants, and escaping the pursuit of slavers who knew what he was, one of the immortals. If captured, he'd be forced to breed like an animal, and be repeatedly killed for sport in the gladiatorial arena.

Reminiscent of Zephan's past, battleaxes, spears, and other primitive weapons, along with knives and blades of every type, decorated his bunker walls, as well. A long sturdy table held several enormous, leather-bound tomes.

Inside, he'd recorded the detailed history of each ancient and modern weapon, beyond his personal experiences, that is. Given his constant search for more knowledge, Zephan was always adding to the pages.

He also listed ale recipes, having developed a yen for a goodly brew. When the finest ingredients were used, the naturally transformed grains and herbs were medicinal, and kept muscles on a man.

Zephan slipped his finger along the thin blade of a rapier he'd used during his days in Renaissance Spain. The life of a gentleman had suited him then.

These days his desire for freedom fired through every last particle of him, unrelenting, unceasing. He'd tasted liberty for far too long.

As an American colonist, he'd joined up with the revolutionary army, once the battles had begun in earnest. Later, during the Indian wars, he'd lived with the Apache, and known the freedom of roaming the great open lands as a warrior.

Since then, living on the fringes of society, as what some called a mountain man, suited his solitary nature. And, also suited the creature he shapeshifted into on rare occasions--what some now termed a Manticore.

The lion-dragon-man beast was a cousin to the phoenix, and had originally been genetically designed by the Atlanteans to defeat a race of giants. Somehow, Zephan had inherited genes that not only turned him immortal, but into this odd killer creature.

"I'm one of those damn complicated men they talk about in them romance novels," he groused to himself, since no one was around. And, hellfire, dark humor had gotten him by for centuries now.

With his mountain man buddy, Dead Aim Dane, a puma shifter, sweet on the ranch lady, Stormy, they'd spent less time together, hunting in the backwoods around Talbot's Peak.

He didn't begrudge Dead Aim. But a man got mighty lonely. And with Brandon Wayne always tied down to his ranching business interests, and pleasuring his woman, that gal reporter, Leona Lane... well, he needed to find some new companionship. One of these days.

Zephan strode through a narrow archway, and into the armory he'd setup for the population of the Peak...just in case. He'd gotten the idea from the fact that the government of Switzerland armed their people to the teeth, had redoubts throughout the countryside, and expected the men to be highly trained with weapons. So far, no one had dared invade that tiny country.

Truth was too, Zephan was trying to talk himself into making an appointment with Dante, so they could discuss the protection of their territory. He well knew, the werewolf alpha, his pack, and his crew already patrolled regularly, and had stopped many a takeover attempt by various nefarious forces.

He'd stopped a few himself. On a couple of those occasions, Zephan had been on the same page as Dugger, the dingo shifter, and his warrior woman, Symone. They'd fought in concert with each other, ridding the Peak of invading enemies.

'Course, many of the shapeshifters and supernaturals likely figured with their superior abilities a weapons cache wasn't all that necessary for survival. But, Zephan begged to differ.

Besides, a free man, a free woman for that matter, was always armed. Or, guaranteed, at some point down the road of history, they wouldn't remain free from the slavers who still operated in secret, and ruled by corrupting officials.

With that in mind, Zephan surveyed his stockpile of simple, easy-to-use guns and rifles, all of them in pristine condition. He'd even considered opening a shooting range with training classes. Although, he doubted that idea's time had come.

With a harumph and a growl of frustration, he pivoted on his booted heel, heading toward the ramp that led to his humble abode above ground. He knew why the moment he stepped a foot inside.

Someone timidly rapped on his front door. While he hadn't heard the sound, his gut knew. A man, even as an immortal, didn't live free this long without relying on his gut instincts.

Who would be roaming 'round the back country as darkness settled over the snow-covered land, and the temperature fell like a rock--or fell like a boulder tossed by Odin himself...well, Zephan had to wonder.

As he strode over his stone floor, he sensed the woman begin to turn away. Not wanting man nor beast, and especially not a woman, left out in the brutal cold, he hurriedly jerked open his roughhewn door.

"Ma'am, can I help you?"

At least, she was dressed for the weather, with her face mostly covered. Her gaze met his, and Zephan fell into the dark intriguing pools that were her eyes.

"I...I think I'm lost. I...do you have a phone? The signal isn't..."

TO BE CONTINUED...
~~~~~~


~ Have a Magickal and Miraculous New Year ~ 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Cougar's Revenge

Bradley clambered nimbly up the side of the cliff to the top where his brother Stan perched. Lately Stan had taken to standing sentinel on this and other lofty crags. Alert, Bradley guessed, for signs of his unwanted paramour.

Sure enough, Stan jumped when Brad appeared too suddenly from around a jut of rock, and made no attempt to hide his guilty look. Brad settled himself on a thin strip of ledge. Too winded to shift, and with Stan too nervous, they spoke in mountain goat.

(“So how’s your love life, bro?”)

(“Get bent. She’s out there. I can feel her.”)

(“You already did. Isn’t that how all this started?”)

(“I will butt you right off the top of this cliff, I swear.”)

(“Dude, relax. Mrs. Wembly’s not even in the area. I saw her drive into town.”) Stan’s breath left him in a bleat. (“Man, you have got to resolve this, pronto. You’re shedding. Look.”)

(“I know.”) Stan sat and let his horned head droop. (“I never thought I’d say this, but … I feel guilty about the whole thing. It was supposed to be the end of the world. I thought I’d do her a favor. Go out with a bang, so to speak. How was I supposed to know she’d take it so personally?”)

(“Or that the world wouldn’t end.”)

(“That too.”) Stan looked thoughtful. (“I should do something for her. Like get her a jaguar or something. Jaguars appreciate experience. They’re not that good with cubs, either, so her being past breeding age is an extra plus. Where can we find a big male jaguar who isn’t too picky?”)

(“Dude. She doesn’t want a jaguar. She wants you. She wants a piece of that billy goat action.”)

(“Don’t rub it in. What do I do, Brad? Widows eat their mates. That’s why they’re widows.”)

(“That’s insects, dude.”)

(“And cougars, I mean pumas. Especially if their last mate was a herbie. What am I going to do?”)

(“Hey! I think I’ve got it. We can get you off the hook and do nice things for Widow Wembly’s rep to boot. You with me?”)

(“Hell yeah. I can’t hang out on top of cliffs for the rest of my life.”)

(“Good. Now: we need a car. You did finally pay off your insurance, right?”)

# # #

Eula Wembly wasn’t hard to find. Her Army-green pickup truck was parked in front of the shopette at the edge of town. Brad and Stan peered in through the store’s display windows to verify her presence, then went into their act.

“You had your chance,” Brad loudly announced as he stormed through the sliding doors. “A lady of her quality deserves a real man.”

“Like you, I take it?”

“Yes. Like me.” Brad marched right up to where Mrs. Wembly stood by the paper towels with a plastic shopping basket on her arm. He took the hand not holding the basket and bowed over it. “Mrs. Wembly. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to dinner?”

She narrowed puma-golden eyes at him. “Excuse me, young man. Do I know you? Oh.”

She’d spotted Stan. He smiled weakly and waved. “Hi, Mrs. Wembly. How’s it going?”

“Back off,” Brad warned. He added a maahhh that sounded threatening. In reality it was Stan’s cue.

(“Oh yeah”), Stan maahhed back. He straightened his back and puffed out his chest and shook his head as if it bore horns. “Forget it, bro. I’ve got a prior claim. Isn’t that right, Mrs.—er, Eula?”

“Boys, please,” Mrs. Wembly fluted. “There’s no need to fight over me.”

By now they’d drawn a crowd. Even the bunnies industriously shoplifting in produce paused to watch. Ignoring her protests, Brad eased Mrs. Wembly aside and squared off against his brother. They wouldn’t actually fight, of course. He fully expected the store manager to escort them outside before words gave way to head-butts. By then the whole store would have seen two studly young goats competing for the amorous attentions of the older cat. She’d have more dates than she’d know what to do with. Enough to keep her from hunting down Stan.

“Seriously,” Mrs. Wembly said. Her voice was now a cougar’s clawed snarl. “There’s no need.”

The goat boys turned to her as one. “There’s not?” Brad said. Oh cripes, what if she wants a threesome?

“No, there’s not.” Mrs. Wembly stepped around Brad and patted Stan on the cheek. “You’re a sweet boy, dear, but not my type. Neither is your—brother? Yes, brother. You’ve got the same slack-jawed stare. It was a one-time thing. I’m sorry if you read more into it.”

“Uh?” Stan said.

“But the hunting,” Brad said. “The screams in the woods and stuff.”

“You thought that was for you? Oh dear.” She showed them the large bottle of prune juice in her basket. “As one gets older, digestion gets trickier. Blockage, you know. No, you wouldn’t know. Most of your diet is roughage. Mine is red meat. Occasionally it leads to problems.”

“You didn’t say no,” Stan blurted defiantly.

“Well, of course not, honey. I’m a predator. No cat turns up her nose at an easy kill. As for any future … ” She leaned in close and said to Stan in a whisper loud enough for the whole store to hear, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you just weren’t that good.”

# # #

“Get away from me,” Stan blasted. “Don’t you say one word to me. Not one friggin’ word.”

“But—”

“Not. One. Word.” Stan threw himself into his car and roared off, leaving Brad stranded in the shopette’s parking lot. Brad turned toward the store. Every face pressed up against the display windows quickly drew back. All but Mrs. Wembly’s. She exited the store and, without a glance his way, climbed serenely into her truck and drove away at just under the speed limit.

Brad bleated an obscene word in goat. “I wish the world would end,” he muttered, “because right now it sucks.”

Our Saga Continues

Gill pulled two tissues from the box sitting between him and Melody.  Rascal lay on the dirty clothes pile scattered across the master bedroom floor. Two lousy weeks of chills, fever, and hacking coughs were fraying what bits of nerve Gill had left.  

Melody grabbed the tissue, barely covering her mouth as two loud sneezes followed.  Gill tried to speak.  A high pitched "Bless you" squeaked out.  Rascal snorted and snored more.  Down the hall, Bruno sang off key in the shower.  Gill rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed.  How much longer did he have until. . .

The muffled rings of the phone sent Gill scurrying out of bed and into the kitchen.  He didn't want Bruno threaten anyone even with teasing.  The bear had no common sense he swore when tact was needed with press rather than demanding they show up and explain themselves.  At  least Nick hadn't sent someone over to interview the Peak's newest mayor yet. 

As Gill reached the phone, he cleared his throat and picked up the receiver.  "Gill speaking," he puffed before a fit of coughing over took him.  A laugh followed by similar sounding coughs echoed over the phone line.  Gill smiled as best he could and squeaked more.  "Louie, this crud got you too?"

Louie tossed his fist in the air, shaking it for several moments.  He looked down at the suitcase and tote bag next to him.  Good thing Gill's house had three stories and 8 bedrooms.  "Yes, this animal whatever has me in its grips.  And I'm headed to your place.  Be there in fifteen minutes."

Gill held the phone away from his ear, sucked in air and managed to blurt out, "What do you mean headed here?"  

As Louie began to speak a loud banging sounded near the front door.  Gill whispered as loud as he could for Louie to wait a moment.  "I'll be right back," he gasped.

Gill trotted across the living room cussing softly as his voice was rapidly diminishing.  As he opened the front door, a truck bearing County Health Department signage pulled away.  The wind whistled through the trees lining the street side walk way and rattled the metal sign stuck to one of the pillars making up the front wraparound porch.  Gill's mouth dropped open as he made out the sign: Quarantine-Sick House 

Gill noticed the envelope with his name on it stuck to the sign as he stepped closer.  He tore off the envelope, opening it as he closed the door.  If he could have, he would have cussed in squirrel, human, and a few other languages he'd picked up smatterings of since the influx of new residents to the Peak had begun.  

Gill dropped into the closest chair, shaking his head as he read further,   His home, his kingdom and sanctuary was the town's newest temporary medical facility until all who were admitted to it were out of quarantine.   So much for mayoral dignity and authority.

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

Happy Weekend Readers!

Poor Gill keeps on wondering if being Mayor is all its cracked up to be.  Who knows who else is going to show up before this nasty crud plaguing the Peak starts to clear up?

Hope you and yours are keeping warm and in good health.  The Spice Homestead is doing well.  Remember to share a good book or two with your loves and spice.  Download a free read or two from my publisher Siren Publishing along with a copy of Hot for Torrey.  

Smiles,

Solara

What's That on the Taltube?

Bull breathed out a sigh of relief before choking in a sob of despair.  While grateful the cow in the Taltube video wasn’t his lady love, he was sickened with the knowledge that any moose were being hunted and filmed by someone in this town.

“Psst…Bullwinkie.”

“Bull’s fine, Milly.”  Great, the mouse was about to proposition him, again.  He’d to have to let her down gently so as not to make her cry like the last time.

“Right-right, sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”  For the millionth time… 

“O-okay, sor…ah.”

“Never mind, just… what can I do for you?”  Bull grumbled, angry when he watched her eyes fill and her nose quiver.  Why did they have to go through this all the time.  He wasn’t interested in anyone but his lovely Ronnie. 

Veronica J. Elg was his friend, hopefully the carrier of his seed and all around love of his life.  Yes, it was true that moose were polygamous animals, which was great for his brothers and sisters, but deep down he was as monogamous as they came.  He only wanted Ronnie and to be a father to their young.  She, unfortunately, was a little freaked by the notion of him sticking close.  Hours after their wicked forest romp, she’d split.  He’d searched for her, to no avail, it was like she’d never been there to begin with and it was killing him.

“Ah…so, Bully?”

“What?  Sorry, what was that again?”  Damn, loss of concentration…just an additional problem Ronnie’s disappearance caused him.  Last night, a friend had showed him these disturbing videos now showing up on the Taltube of animal hunts here in Talbot’s Peak.  Snuff videos to be sure, but how had it escaped the notice of the town’s protectors?   He’d scoured the entire site hoping to not find his love, stopping every so often to empty his stomach and jot down names of friends he needed to check up on.

“Do you want to see what I found the other night, south of town?”

“No, Milly, sorry, but I’m just not interested.”  Bull rose from his desk, web address and list of names in his hand intending to bring it to Nick’s attention.  As a protector, maybe he could get it to stop and perhaps help him find, Ronnie.  “Excuse me.”

###

“…But, Viktor, he’s not taking the bait.”

“Get him here, Millicent, or you can suffer the consequences.”

“No, please…”

“The last of the Pashka smells so good and my mouth is watering.”

“You don’t even like cheese you rotten warthog.”

“But you do.”

“Bastard.”

“Bitch.  Come home soon, love…with my rack!”

~~~

May you be your own protector or find a wickedly sexy one of your own!


Serena

Happy Wednesday!

Wow, what a week so far. Monday morning, neither my car nor my truck would start. Yesterday was spend trying to get one or the other running. (Didn’t happen) Today… I sent a bunch of time fuming about passive aggressive people who should not be allowed to write Amazon.com reviews. It would seem that Tor decided to wait a few months to release the e-book version of a book they just released in hardback. And the butt-monkeys over at Amazon.com protested by giving a slew of 1-star reviews to a book they had never even read. Wow.


So anyway. I’m going to post funny stuff today to try to get myself off that rant cycle before I go too far…

Here is a nice "silly animals dooing funny things" video:





If that wasn't enough giggles for you, I also have this lovely news story about some people who confused a dog with a lion. (was going to post a picture, but blogger won't upload it; sorry)

With that, I am going to bid you all adu. Have a great rest-of-the-week!

~Rebecca