Take me to your loins...

Art by Susan Sedon Boulet 
 
Late afternoon howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

A couple of weeks ago my hero, White Fang, a super wolf, and his heroine, Pasha, an Egyptian cat goddess, provided a nice surprise, the beginnings of a love scene. Link: "Mating dance or battle of the sexes?"
This week, Pasha gifted me with her side of their impassioned encounter.
Their story is yet to be fully written, and is titled, WHITE FANG, ACE WOLF REPORTER.
The following is unedited... but I hope you enjoy.

~~~~~~

Take me to your loins...

The inferno force of the universe spun through Pasha as she feverishly kissed White Fang, and gently caressed his back with her human claws. She'd known once their hungry passion for each other was loosed, it would burn her. No, firestorm through her soul as if she rose in the ashes of the phoenix -- a ritual she performed every seven years.
Her cat yowled savoring the extreme pleasure as White Fang straightened and drank in the sight of her. The vibrations of his gaze pummeled the swells of her breasts, delicious raw sensations that swirled over clit and wickedly teased her toes.
When White Fang stroked down her arms, then manacled her wrists, Pasha shivered inside. Predictably, her cat purred with fierce delight at his masculine power.
Let him be the victor in this first round of passion between them.
His wolfish kisses fell like a rainstorm on the parched need of her skin, swelling her breasts. Her nipples pushed against the confines of her gown, an ache of bliss all its own.
White Fang's savage need dizzied Pasha, and his canine growl at being denied the taste of her breasts by the gown between them, sent a wild rush of heat that only a woman could feel. For, the man-wolf desired her beyond else.
"Beast," she softly taunted. "What are you going to do to me now?"
His grip tightened on her wrists, a claiming Pasha felt like sparks of flame in her  belly, deep inside her pussy mound. "Your wolf beast," he growled, his lips on her skin, his hot pants tingling the sensitive flesh between her breasts.
"My wolf beast," she sultry-mewed, aware her cat heat saturated the air.
White Fang groaned a sharp growl, then nipped along the upper swell of her breast with his lips. He used his teeth to passionately pull her gown from one shoulder. Then, with the beastly finesse, he jerked the gown off her other shoulder, uncovering her trembling breasts.
His mouth caught hers hard, his kiss utter demand, his wolf lust ravishing her in a manner that shook Pasha to her cat woman core, and even made the goddess wanton.
Desperate for more, Pasha strained against White Fang's hold on her wrists. Raising to her tiptoes, she sensually thrust her sex against the carved bold tower that was his cock.
At the thought of White Fang lunging inside her pussy, taking her, Pasha shuddered, her softer flesh shivering against his super-powered physique. Goddess yes! Every round curve of her adored the pyramid-hard planes and angles of him.
In sacred truth, White Fang was not superior in male form than some of her past lovers. Yet, his complete handsomeness of face and body -- the driving, relentless strength of his muscles now pressed against her -- excited Pasha beyond measure of the starry cosmos.
That alone surprised her, a rarity at this time in her centuries long life. Pasha reveled in the emotion. She basked in the way his mouth covered hers, obviously wanting more of her nipping sultry kisses.
With one hand, White Fang gently yet firmly trapped her wrists behind her back. Bold as a pharaoh, he shoved her closer, forcing her breasts against the muscular shield that was his chest. 
Pasha yielded, mindlessly desiring White Fang's commanding way with her. His deep thorough kiss devoured her lips, even as his other hand squeezed, then caressed her ass.
Bast alive! Pasha would never admit it now, but she already felt like his lust slave.
A warning she ignored light-burst inside her mind. He was to be her love captive, help her defeat the black-hearted ninjas who had murdered her friend. Yet, it was she who succumbed.
"Pasha," he stud-panted against her mouth. His tongue traced her lips, and Pasha flamed with how much he carnally enjoyed the taste and shape of her.
Parting her lips, she sucked his tongue into the hollow of her mouth. After holding his large tongue hostage for moments, and savoring his man wolf taste, Pasha languidly sucked. Once she gained the upper paw, she rhythmically undulated his tongue.
White Fang clenched her ass possessively, yet didn't resist the erotic rule of her mouth. Instead, he groaned and fused their lips more tightly.
As his cock jutted with more strength against her belly, Pasha sprang upward. Despite the restriction of her gown, she wrapped her legs around his super-strong thighs. Immediately, he roughly stroked her ass, his hand swiftly sliding over the satin fabric.
Their lips tangled and battled for supremacy then. Pasha pyre-blazed inside, her desire fully unleashed as the carnal plundering of her mouth nearly overwhelmed her senses.
"No," she tore her lips from his, an unusual fear slicing up her middle like an enemy's claw.
"Yes," White Fang pursued. His hand stilled and cupped her ass, and he planted a tender kiss on her forehead.
"The depth of my desire--" Pasha panted losing her words, even as her breasts heaved ridiculously fast. "I wasn't prepared. I--"
White Fang touched kisses on her face as if he owned the infiniteness of time. With her sweltering pussy tight against the base of his thick cock, Pasha surrendered. She slightly rocked against him. "Super Wolf," she praised.
His lips trailed along her jaw, a lovely sensual torment. "My beautiful cat woman." White Fang velvety poured his words inside her ear. "You are the temptress I've dreamed about...dreamed about but could never envision as being this desirable, this irresistible..."
His soft desperate groan burned Pasha alive, as if he held her essence within the sacred flame of a temple ceremony. "Words fail," he whispered against her throbbing pulse. 
He pressed his mouth against her pulse point. The long kiss on her neck sang beautifully through Pasha. Ferocious with need, she whispered, "Yes...yes, own me. Take me to your loins."
White Fang's hand deserted her ass, slid over her bared back, then seized the length of her hair. He tugged with lust's frenzy, his lips seeking the taste of her breasts.
Pasha moaned and arched her back, offering him her aching, begging nipples.

~~~~~~


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side ...

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

To the Rescue!

Ewan had never considered himself a praying man. Right now, cooped up in a tiny flying saucer zipping toward Colorado miles above the ground, he was seriously rethinking that decision. He muttered a few syllables to Chaos on the off chance it would help. After an ill-considered glance out the hatch at the blur of earth far below, he added a second prayer consisting of much stronger words.

“Yer lookin’ a little green there, mate,” Dugger said from behind the controls. “These skimmers take getting used to. Y’might want to steer clear of the windows.”

Too little too late there, Ewan thought, while just managing to keep last night’s dinner in his gut where it belonged. “Where the hell’d Dante get this E.T. mobile anyway?”

“Dante knows people.”

“He never told me he knew Luke Skywalker.” Dugger was right; the flight went far better if he didn’t try to look at the scenery. “I don’t suppose he’s got a couple lightsabers stashed in the glove compartment?”

“It’s not that kind of a run, mate. We’re just supposed to buzz the place, find out if your sheila’s there, then give Dante the lowdown and let him make the tough decisions. That’s why he gets the big bucks ‘stead of us.”

Ewan growled to himself. He found he could keep his meal down better if he thought about Maureen instead of how far below the nearest terra firma lay. Trouble was, he could only think about Maureen in the hands of Damien Hancock’s twisted Doctor. His hackles had been stiff for a good hour now and showed no sign of settling. He wanted her in his arms again, with his mouth firmly latched onto her tits and her wolf-human scent in his nostrils. If he didn’t get her back he was going to rip somebody’s throat out.

Chaos bite it! Was this how wolves lived all the time, with their stupid macho alpha genes sending them charging blindly after their mates? No wonder they had no sense of humor.

“Scat on that,” he said. “We find the place, park this thing, slip inside and get her out, and then we call in Dante. If we can blow something up along the way, so much the better.”

Dugger bared his teeth in a grin as wide as the Outback. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

# # #

Dante’s intel was spot on the money. Once on the ground they found the hidden access door with very little trouble. Dugger went to work on the seals while Ewan kept watch.

Ewan felt uneasy, and not because of the heavily-armed troops who might or might not be waiting for them on the other side of the door. He’d managed to wrestle his stomach into compliance so he could scan the roads from above during their flight to Colorado. He hadn’t spotted anything that looked like a delivery truck. Maureen and her fellow captives should be well on their way to this installation by now. Damien Hancock didn’t hire henchwolves who stopped for beer and a burger. And shouldn’t a place so painstakingly hidden have surveillance out the wazoo? Shouldn’t alarms be going off?

“Call me a scat-faced optimist,” Ewan said, “but does all this strike you as just a hair too easy?”

“Never look a gift roo up the bunghole, I always say,” Dugger replied. “There! That’s got it.”

The hatch swung open easily, with no betraying creaks. Dugger led the way inside. Ewan followed him into a narrow corridor lined by raw rock walls. He smelled metal and machine oil up ahead, and heard a few drips and clinks, but no noises from living beings.

“Easy peasy,” Dugger whispered. “Wonder where they are?”

“On break, maybe?” Ewan said. His mind kept conjuring images of foxes, henhouses, and farmers with shotguns.

“According to the blueprints,” Dugger said, “prisoners are usually kept—”

“Dante had blueprints?”

“More like a map. Dante—”

“Knows people. Gotcha.”

That was it for talk. Dugger conveyed through body language that they were coming up on a possible inhabited area. He pulled a handgun out of his waistband. Ewan would play it by ear.

They crept up to the corner and peered around it. And saw—

TO BE CONTINUED (ain’t I a stinker?)

Week of Miscellaneous and More of the Same

Sorry Gang!  This week hit mid-month and work screamed answer phones.  So I did and the rest of my work called at same time.  I am not half way through my to do list for day job.  I've worked some on writing and getting partials ready to go out.  As the rest of this clip art attests, I am ready for a long good night sleep.  

Until next week,

Solara

Dear TP Lupa...

Wow, I'm slow as molassas today.  I suspect it's that stress let down.  My whole week has been really relaxing...to the point where I'm behind on everything I have to do.  LOL  I must have needed the break more than I thought.

Anyway, it looks like Nick and Ziva had more to share with us today.  Enjoy!

~~~


“How are you doing? Full?” Nick whispered into her ear.

Ziva leaned against Nick’s wide chest and enjoyed each soft, circular rub of his hand over her small baby bump.  The meal he’d made and served to her, finger style, sat happily in her tummy and gave her a case of the sleepy’s.  “Mmmm…”

“I’ll take that as a good sign.”

“You should, Mate,” she murmured from the hazy, warm cocoon his body created around her.

“Is there anything I can get you?” His massage moved slowly from her front, down her sides and around to her already sore back.  If he moved around to her – ding, ding, ding – hips…

“Ah Lupa, that feels sublime.  Who knew pregnancy affected your hips so soon.”

“Elly said her hips hurt right off,” Nick said. “Maybe it’s more common than you think.”

“Your mother-in-law birthed bighorn sheep, I’m thinking that’s probably bigger than a wolf pup…do you think they’re born with their horns?” Ziva shuddered at that thought of that, thankful once again she was wolf. “Ugh.”

“Knowing that brood, they probably were.”

She could feel his grimace without even seeing it, she knew her mate better than he even realized.  Which was why she knew he was angling for something.  Looking at his bare feet she couldn’t wait to test her theory. “Nicky, I want to paint your toenails – cotton candy pink, I think. Whad’ya say?”
He tensed, but didn’t say anything…how far would he go to get what he wanted?

“Sure, where’s the stuf…”

Ziva elbowed him in the gut and pushed up so she could turn and look him in the face.  “You mutt…I don’t want to paint any of your nails, especially pink.  What do you want?”

“Nothing, why would you think I wanted something?”

“Stow the innocent look, Nick.  Steak bites, nice and red, spicy steak fries and not a veggie in sight when you’ve been forcing me to eat them everyday up until now?  Add to that bacon cupcakes for dessert?  You want something…what is it.”

“Hey, I love you, Mate and you’re carrying my young in there.  I want to take care of you.”

Ziva stared him down, not moving her gaze even one iota.

“Geez, Z, I admit nothing, but if you perhaps wanted to help me with some of my work tonight I wouldn’t say no.”

“Ah huh.” Ziva cuddled back into his body and put his hands back to her achy hips. “What’s the work?”

“Letters…”

“Special letters?”

“TP Lupa letters.”

She smiled at his hushed response.  He knew how she felt about the TP Lupa column. It was busy work that always ended up with a woman writing it, as if all women gave great advice.  Ziva was determined that in Talbot’s Peak, the advice column would remain the advice of a man, but sometimes he deserved a break.  “I’ll tell you what…”

“You know what, never mind, just rest, Ziva.  I’ll work on them later.”

“I’ll help, lover.” She picked up his hand and kissed the palm. “But with one only.”

“Thank Lupa…” Nick reached under the pillow and produced a letter and handed it to her. “This one…please.”

Dear TP Lupa,
So I surprised the miss’ with a night at the pleasure club, in the jungle room, and she didn’t seem to enjoy it as much as I did.  Now she wants to go back and visit something called the round-up room.  Should I be worried?
 

Signed
Wolfman Hero

“Damn, a surprise stalking through the jungle and now she wants to brand his ass…”

“Right? How the hell do I answer him…I mean, he does something nice for his woman and that’s how she repays him?”

“Why does this sound so familiar?” Ziva bounced the letter against her lip as Nick’s hands once again moved, this time upward towards her enlarged bust.

“Do you remember the last time we were in the jungle room?”

Damn straight she did.  That was a magical night, private in a way the woods around Talbot’s Peak were not. “Oh, oh my Lupa!”

“Already? Ziva you are getting so sensitive…now all it takes is a little attention to the girls.”

“What? No, sorry no, you’ve gotta work harder than that, Nicky.” But not by much, not that she’d admit as much to him. “I remembered why this seems so familiar.  Last week, Penny was at the club and Dante had to get involved in a quarrel.  Apparently, a bunny was screeching at her hubs about being an idiot wolf and scaring the life out of her.  Know where they came out of?”

“Shite…”

“Yep.  A good stalking is not such a great fantasy when you’re already prey in your real-life.”

“So how would you answer the idiot?”

Ziva grabbed a pen and that lap board to write out her reply…

Hey Wolfman Zero,
First, don’t moniker yourself with such a self-important title…there’s nothing heroic about stalking prey who is also your wife without permission.  Second, get a good salve, I suggest an aloe gel, ‘cause your ass is hers.  On the upside, the club has some really nice brand tats to choose from.

TP Lupa OUT!

Nick laughed and kissed her neck, going to the exact spot that got her the hottest.  “Are you sure you don’t want this column permanently?  You’re so good at it!”

“Lupa No!”  She snuggled into his kisses and thought about the costume she still had in her closet at the Wilk compound. “Nick, call Dante tomorrow and sign us up for a night in the Jungle room.”

“You can’t shift right now, Baby.”

“No, but would that stop the big bad wolf from going for my basket of goodies?”

“Zeeeee, I’ve got something that’s all the better to eat you with…want a preview?”

Papers flew, plates crashed to the floor and squeals filled the air…
~~~

May your basket of goodies be full of good eats!

Have a great weekend!

Serena

Witch's Moon Chapter 4 Part 1

Sorry about the late post. I have been dealing with sever book hangover and totally forgot that it was Wednesday, and that I had some posts I needed to do, and that I really needed to stop moping. So seriously, yeah. That new Green Rider book by Kristen Britain is awesome in a slightly tragic way. Anyway, the story.




In the interest of not copying the links to the previous instalments every week, I put them on my page. Just click on the "Rebecca" page at the top. It's got the links for "Witch's Moon" and also my other blog serial, "The Adventures of Lisa and Watt." This week's Mooney and Marissa is only the first half of chapter 4, because it was too long to fit all in one post. I hope you like it!


The pic, BTW, is the image I purchased to be the cover for Witch's Moon. Don't steal it; I bought it with real money. But you can look at it yourself right here, of you want. ;)



**********

Chapter 4

I was nervous walking into Dante Hancock's bar by myself. It was a shifter joint and I am not a shifter. I can take care of myself, but I prefer not be in situations where I have to keep from being chewed on. Yeah, humans were welcome at the Interspecies Pleasure Club, which the bar was the public front for, but none of them could turn a wolf into a fluffy bunny by accident like I could. Because of this, I was not sure what to expect when I walked through the door.

My first impression was that it was pretty much just like any other blue collar bar. There were a couple bouncers by the door who gave me the stink eye, probably because of the slightly emo look I was sporting tonight. One was decked out in biker leathers and the other looked like a roadie for a rock band. Both had the aural signature of wolves. Most wolves couldn’t tell I was more than a vanilla human unless I was actively using magic, so their dislike had to be a personal style issue. I hadn’t said anything sarcastic to them, so I was pretty sure it wasn’t my smart mouth causing a problem. Not yet anyway. I had just gotten there, after all.

The inside looked as normal as the outside at first glance, but I was sure I'd find something unique if I looked closer. There was a huge bar that spanned the main room with a scattering of tables between it and the door. To the right was a secondary room full of pool tables, dart boards, and hexagon shaped poker tables. To the left was another secondary room, this one with a stage, good sized dance floor walled with booths and a scattering of counter high tables and stools. Towards the back of each side room, there were several closed doors and more bouncers keeping an eye on everything. That made sense, since there had to be a way to get from this public place to the lower levels of the Pleasure Club proper.

The people looked fairly normal, as well. There were plenty of cowboys and girls in various stages of cleanliness. Some were wearing crisp western shirts and starched blue jeans with big belt buckles, Stetsons, and polished boots. Some looked like they were wearing the same clothes they wore to muck out the barn and hadn’t taken the time to clean up before hitting the bar for a well-earned brew. There were more rock band roadies, lots of bikers and biker mamas, a sprinkling of overly dressy folks who were looking for the thrill of slumming, and the obligatory urban pirates with their bandanas, one hoop earring, skin tight t-shirts and heavily distressed jeans they probably paid way too much for.

I saw everything from Carhartts to 7 For All Mankind to Rawcraft jeans on the guys. And here I thought women tended to go overboard with the fashion statements. Just then, I saw a giggling quintet of girls wearing Apple Bottoms and Uggs. Scratch that, some of the females in this crowd were as fussy as the guys about brand checking. I looked around a little, not sure where the sudden influx of bar chicks was coming from.

Along with the Apple Dumplingettes, there were several faux pirate wenches filtering in from one of the guarded back doors. The pirate wench look primarily consisted of peasant tops that only sort of covered boob and butt cleavage, gaudy head scarves, lots of bangles, and a wide array of footwear that was highly impractical for late December in Montana. I resisted the urge to point out to them that peasant tops were not designed to be worn without something underneath.

My black on black Walmart skinny jeans and tunic sweater, combined with my short, funky blue hair, made me stick out very dramatically in this crowd of exotic birds of paradise and everyone had noticed me. I shook my head but resisted the urge to roll my eyes as the faux pirates sneered in passing, glad that Mooney was a Levis and thermal Henley kind of guy. Not that we were together or anything, but his “regular guy” style was much more comfortable to be around.

Mooney hadn't said where in the bar to wait for him, and I wasn't sure yet what part I should settle in to wait. I joined the queue of people ordering their own drinks at the bar to give myself a little more time to look things over. The line seemed to not be moving, but that could just have been because I was standing behind a shaggy giant wearing a fringe leather vest and canvas painters paints. It’s hard to judge line movement when you’re standing behind a mac truck. Finally, it was my turn to order. I eyed the drink cooler and ordered a hard cider for myself and an MGD for Mooney. Normal guys liked MGD, right? Mooney preferred regular black coffee, so I was betting he’d like regular domestic beer, too.

I ignored the belittling look the bar tender shot me, paid for the drinks and headed to the stage area. I had noticed a sign as I was waiting in line that said Desert Gypsy Rose “and partner” were scheduled to do a show in five minutes. I knew her slightly, partially because she was a fellow practitioner of the art and partially because she was a fan of my custom blended herbal teas. I vaguely remembered her mentioning that she performed at the Pleasure Club several nights a week.

Gypsy was a bit of an anomaly to me. She was a tall, curvy, sensuous redhead with some serious psy powers and the rare alternate form of a red wolf. Wolves had just enough magic to switch between skin and fur, which was some pretty heavy lifting, magically speaking, but they usually couldn’t do anything else. I didn’t know much about red wolves, though. Maybe the extra boost in power was normal for her kind. One thing was for certain—Gypsy Rose didn’t have to dance for her dinner. The fact that she chose to meant that her show was bound to be good.

Finding a booth in the now crowded stage section was easier than I had thought it would be. All the urban pirates had staked out tables, though none of them were sitting. Instead, the faux wenches were circling, waiting to be invited to sit in the chairs their male counterparts were guarding. Ah, the mating dance of bar flies. Don’t it bring a tear to your eye?

I slid into the black pleather upholstered booth just to the left of the stage as the lights dimmed. In the blink of an eye, all the pirates and wenches took their positions facing the deep burgundy velvet curtain. All the cowboys and cowgirls settled into booths, sometimes as many as ten crammed into the horse shoe shaped seats. The available standing room filled with bikers and roadies. Just then, I saw Mooney slip into the bar.

--Over here,-- I thought at him and held up the beer I'd gotten for him. He grinned and pushed his way through the wall of people, a very cocky swagger making everyone get out of his way without any argument.

Space Opera Comes to Talbot's Peak

Middle of May howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

Okay, I was Muse-struck by this sci fi story idea last week. And as usual it began playing in my head like a movie.  So I thought I'd turn it into today's flash scene. 

~~~~~~

Space Opera Comes to Talbot's Peak

"Jettison escape craft."

Commander Sarza listened to her final order reverberate through the empty battle cruiser.  On screen she watched ten pods emerge from the belly of her ship, then scatter like a flock of hunted birds -- before they cloaked, becoming invisible to the Gray Galactic's surveillance platform.

The monstrous pyramid lasered frequencies nonstop in this sector of the galaxy, the information instantly available to their war fleet.  However, Commander Sarza owned a decent amount of hope that her devoted crew would be rescued or find their way to rebel-held planetoids.

After star-all, they'd decimated the enemy in this sector. Until now that is. With this defeat not one weapon functioned, all of them drained to uselessness.

"Why are you still onboard?" she demanded, hearing Nherone's quiet familiar tread.

"Why would I leave you?" he countered, stepping before her, his night-purple eyes glistening with concern.

Sarza rapidly roamed her gaze over his face. Bronze-red, glistening skin stretched over sharp features, and his prominent elf-like ears swivelled toward her. "The others need you. Leave now," she harshly ordered, knowing it was likely the last time she'd see her paramour, her second in command.

Nherone didn't argue. Instead, he deferred to her wisdom. After kissing her with his gaze, he spun around and raced for his small fighter jet.

Sarza slumped forward, and for a spec of time, she simply sat in her command chair, her senses dulled. The screeching alarm for the ship's auto-destruct had long since run its course.

With a mental snap, she straightened fast and refocused as she'd trained herself to do over the long years of battling the Gray Overlords.  So what if she faced particle obliteration, her precious cruiser blown to its eternal rest.

She remained in command to the end.

Yeah, feck the fat brain androids and their evil, withered hearts. With two minutes ticking down, Sarza threw her gaze at the holo-screen. The Gray's death ring of battle craft advanced at warp speed now.

They knew, and planned to shoot scalar rays in an attempt to halt the Intrepid's destruction. On an impulse she didn't understand but respected, Sarza leapt up rushing to the silicon container that held Herman, the new AI she and her crew had liberated from an outpost lab – before he'd been programmed by the Gray Overlords.

As he proved his loyalty, Herman had been allowed more responsibility in running some of the cruiser's systems. With this final battle, he'd kept them alive and fighting far longer than would have been possible pre his AI assistance. 

The decision had been made to leave Herman behind. Given his unique AI capabilities, they couldn't afford for the Gray's AI master-hive to assimilate him.

At her touch, the container whirred open. "Sleep," Sarza ordered. She scooped the shimmery alabaster egg out, and since Herman was larger than her palm, she pressed him against her chest. "We can go boom together," she whispered.

"No!" burst past Sarza's lips in the following moment as she heard the racing paws of her pet drogon, a small dog-dragon breed.  He sprang, and Sarza caught him against her side, their usual athletic game together.

"What are doing here?" she scolded, hysteria welling up at the thought of his death. "You were supposed to be with the rest of the animals. Safe."

From beneath her arm, Drexi gazed at her, answering with what she called his sweet face.  "Damn the fascists freakazoids," Sarza muttered, fast-walking toward her command chair.

She sat, placing Drexi on her lap. After cradling Herman in the crook of her arm, Sarza stroked her pet's silky slick coat. "You were supposed to be safe. I've had a long space run. Longer than I ever dreamed possible ... I knew the end would come like this ... some day."

Drexi licked her hand in his loving way. One tiny sob broke free, and sadness overwhelmed Sarza.  As the last warning buzz began, her life flashed before her mind's eye.

Tears dripped from the corner of her eyes slightly blurring her vision as Sarza glanced at the holo-screen. Stunned, she stared, watching an unknown sleek warship streak toward her, ahead of the Gray's death ring.

White flames of light surrounded Sarza, and unconsciousness claimed her.

***

Shaky on her feet, Sarza forced her eyes open. About twenty paces away, a tall, broad-shouldered man in a nondescript, skintight uniform stood with his back to her. Hair the color of an Earth puma fell in a thick curtain to his shoulders, and he appeared to be studying something on a com pad, even though he was behind what appeared to be a personal workstation.

Where in the galactic hell was she? This was no Gray prison-interrogation ship. Unless they'd constructed a holo program to deceive her.

Going on the offensive, Sarza demanded in universal vernacular, "Where is my pet?"

The man turned to face her, his manner unhurried. Piercing eyes that reminded her of a clear turquoise sea regarded her, but gave nothing away.

"Where is he?" Sarza took a step forward, discovering she wasn't exactly steady on her booted feet. Dammit it to the next galaxy, and beyond.

"The animal is being tended in the health ward." The man's voice sounded like a low boom, even though he spoke calmly. "I am told he is recovering well."

"What do you mean recovering well?"

"The beam I used to extract you from your exploding cruiser was designed only for your physical signature, Commander Sarza of the Khy Woden."

At his words, Sarza glanced down just to make certain she was still fully attired, given some beams stripped away any garment. Except for her array of weaponry, yeah, so far no problem.

"However," the man continued, his voice even more baritone, "I strengthened the intra-fractional–"

"Got it," Sarza interrupted. "So where is my AI? And how do you know who I am?"

In that instant, her brain kicked in and Sarza's eyes widened involuntarily. "The Hunter," she puffed out, even as all breath fled her body.

Why bother with any pretense? Clearly in her depleted state, there was no way to best him, not now, not mind to mind.

The Hunter grimaced more than smiled. "You can believe me or not, beautiful woman, I have always been allied with your rebel cause."

"Not the story I hear," she fired back, her hand grabbing for the plasma sidearm she didn't have. "I lost two station comrads, two of the best–"

"Two traitors," he interrupted, his expression grim. "Or, I should say, they'd been targeted by the Sirens, and were about to turn to the dark side. I got to them first."

"The Sirens," Sarza murmured. "We've lost several to those machine seductresses. Lost cruisers too, because of it." Narrowing her eyes, Sarza studied The Hunter, who did his wanted holo-poster one better, as far as good looks.

"AI?" he inquired, hiking his dark brows.

What the starhole hell? The Hunter seemed genuine. Yet... this could all be an elaborate deception. Still, her psi-warning system wasn't blaring at her.

"Herman," she stated. "Looks like an egg."

Without answering, The Hunter lowered his gaze, and touched open a compartment on his workstation.  "Herman?" he asked, holding out her AI, who fit neatly inside his palm.

Sarza found her tongue, saying, "That's him."

She tried another step forward, but whooziness stopped her. Resisting the urge to clap her hand to her forehead, Sarza stood still, willing herself to keep her gaze locked on him.

"It will pass," The Hunter assured. He moved around the workstation with the latent power of a big cat species. "The temporary affect of the specialized beam," he explained.

In what appeared to be a gesture of good faith, he handed Herman to her.  Sarza clutched the AI close, and felt the slight throb of recognition. Even so, she kept her gaze targeted on The Hunter.

"Is the AI why you survived long enough for me to arrive?" he asked. His gaze hard as diamond-infused steel sought to see through her every atom. Yet, she noticed, the warmth of humaness flared within.

"One reason," she conceded. "Where are we headed? The Grays have to know you betrayed them."

Half a smile lightened his boldly formed features. "They figured that out several star months ago. I had the element of surprise on my side when my crew broke through the death ring.  However," The Hunter pivoted from her striding toward what Sarza recognized as a food station, "I have contingency plans. We're headed toward Earth."

"Earth! ... why? Every space bad ass and his scavenger mother is there."

"Not in Talbot's Peak. At least, not at the Pleasure Club. It's an underground fortress, and there's an ancient tunnel system that will conceal my ship."

Mentally rocked back on her heels, Sarza uttered, "I hope so ... Pleasure Club?"

~~~~~~


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side ...

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~