Living to the Kilt...

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

For Talbot's Peak fair week, I had an entirely different flash scene in mind. However, that was before Scottish, sexy, kilt-wearing shapeshifters got the best of me.

Well, no surprise there ~grinz~

This scene follows last week's post, Wearin' Their Kilts at the Talbot's Peak Fair. Hope you enjoy...
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Living to the Kilt...

Tripping to a halt, Patrice slowly lowered her camera. Lusty Scotsmen in Talbot's Peak? Who knew?

'Course, she'd just moved to Mystic Falls, Montana. Upon his passing, her beloved uncle had kindly willed his small retirement house to her.

Hearing about the 'first annual' fair, Patrice had decided to unpack her camera, and give it a whirl. Check out the lay of the land, so to speak.

At the sight of several manly men in kilts, Patrice couldn't help it. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared like an infatuated teenager. To her credit she didn't drop her older, but expensive camera.

Gah, those kilts looked real, even if they weren't. Obviously the hunky Highlanders 'manned' the 'Scots Best of Breed Tavern' booth that was behind them.

Instead of serving customers, two of the out-of-time-appearing Scotsmen played a game of hopscotch with a group of younger children -- excited, giggling kids with flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

Patrice ogled, while giving them brownie points for the tender, playful way they  interacted with the youngsters. Almost in the manner of a family dog, she thought.

How odd...that thought followed on the heels of the first... then was lost as she watched the brawnier Scotsman, the one with the gorgeous sable and tan locks, swing one of the children onto the first square.

When it was his turn, Patrice murmured before she could stop herself, "Everybody pray for a good stiff wind."

But what holy, unholy inspiration! Already, she was damp in her so-called nether region.

With each hop on the squares, the brawny, but noble Scotsman's kilt flipped upward, revealing rock-hard, fine-fine thighs. Patrice clutched her camera hard. Was she actually drooling over the flex of  his thigh muscles?

"Lassie," a voice boomed toward her. "Why don't ya come join in the game?"

Patrice tore her gaze away long enough to locate the baritone gruff voice.

"Lassie, come on over." The giant Highlander sporting a wild black mane of hair, waved her closer. "Have a pint of ale. Plenty of Scottish shortbread 'n fixin's."

Patrice followed her feet. She had no choice. They moved her toward the booth, closer...closer to him, her kilt-wearing dream come true -- who now mock wrestled with one of the boys.

"Duff's the name." The Scottish giant pulled out a heavy wooden chair. "Give your feet a rest, lass. I'll have me boys serve ya, once the parent's come for the wee ones. Won't be much longer."

Patrice knew she sat, knew she nodded. "Ale sounds good. My throat's gone dry," she semi-croaked.

"Comin' up, lass. Good timin' must be on your side, showin' up now," Duff continued, as he poured golden ale into a tall glass. "Plenty o' lassies lining up for Donnie and Dristan. Tonight is a dancin' party."

"I bet," Patrice mumbled, taking hold of the ale Duff placed before her. "How much?" she remembered to ask.

"On the house. All you have to do is answer one question, lass."

Wary, about to take a sip, Patrice asked, "What's that?"

"Have a fondness for dogs?"

Thrown, but seeing no harm in the question -- after several moments of thought -- Patrice answered. "Sure, I like dogs. Why not? Why do you ask?"

"Go ahead. Take a sip, lass. If the ale's not to your taste, I have several other brews on hand."

What met her lips, then her mouth...well, delicious was hardly an apt description for the unusual ale. Patrice downed several more swallows.

"It's an old recipe." Duff spoke as if he read her thoughts. "Been in the family for several generations."

"You ought to bottle this stuff...oh, you did." Patrice grimaced at her words. What a way to make a good impression. To cover herself, she made a show of placing her camera inside her carry-all bag.

"Any particular dog breeds catch your fancy, lass?"

Duff's unexpected question caught Patrice mid-sip, and she nearly choked. "Have a litter of pups?" she managed to ask.

Even as she spoke, her gaze had been captured by Donnie and Dristan as they said their 'goodbyes' to the children. Although, which one was which, she didn't know. Not yet. She damn well intended to find out.

"No litter, lass. Are ya lookin' for a pup?" Duff set a plate of what looked like biscotti, but was likely something Scottish, in front of her.

"I want to settle in before I think about getting a pup...just moved to Mystic Falls," Patrice added, while wondering why she felt compelled to answer.

"Only been in this fair land of Montana for about nine months, meself. The tavern's between town and the Pleasure Club. A lovely forest glade, if yer so inclined."

Pleasure Club? Patrice felt her brows shoot upward. What the hell? What had she gotten herself into? Better question, what did she 'want' to get herself into?

Anything! that had to do with the two Highlander hunks striding toward her, both of them with the sexiest pair legs she'd ever had the 'pleasure' of seeing.

However, if she had her choice...

"Dristan," her choice introduced himself in a brogue that did terrible-wonderful things to her womanly parts. He extended his hand American-style, but Patrice got the distinct feeling he'd just learned this social expectation.

"Patrice." Willing her hand to quit its sudden shaking, she reached out.

Dristan enfolded her hand as if he'd been given a gift. Patrice quivered inside, then flushed hot -- yeah, as if she'd turned the shower up to its highest heat level and stepped inside.

"A pleasure to meet ya, lass." 

"Looks like you have a fondness for collies, Patrice lass." Duff barked a laugh that sounded like he enjoyed an inside joke.

"Pay him no mind." The one who had to be Donnie gave her an exaggerated wink. "You'll excuse me. Customers are arrivin'."

"So they are, Donnie bonnie lad."

From the corner of her eye, Patrice watched Duff whip around fast, surprisingly fast given his enormous size. And, an even greater surprise to her, Dristan still held her hand. More like he caressed her hand with his.

"Now you just stay seated, me beautiful lass," he intimately crooned, "while I help serve. I'm Duff's partner. You'll understand my responsibility in the matter."

Patrice could only nod as Dristan let go of her hand. Feeling dumbfounded, but like she floated on a whole sky full of clouds, she watched him pivot toward the bar.

Whatever...she knew one thing. Her butt wouldn't be moving from this chair. Her gaze wouldn't be straying from Dristan, or his kilt-covered assets.

"Living to the kilt," she murmured to herself, as she lifted the glass of ale to her lips. "Why not live to the kilt?"

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Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Zaig sauntered into town...

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

I spent most of my writing time today editing HER MIDNIGHT STARDUST COWBOYS, and got quite a bit done. I'm about two-thirds finished, and figured I'd better go with the flow while I could. Yeah, especially given all the roadblocks there've been.

Thus, hopefully for your enjoyment, I let the muse run fancy free, and this is the result... so far.
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Zaig sauntered into town...

Zaig sauntered into town, his curled tail tight to his back. Given it was nearing midnight and snowflakes pelted him, not many were around to witness his arrival in shapeshifter-landia, otherwise known as Talbot's Peak.

Being a Shiba Inu dog shapeshifter, and only weighing about twenty pounds when soaking wet, Zaig figured he needed a positive male attitude. Oh hell yeah, he heard and smelled the werewolves and the big cat shifters roaming, enjoying the wintery night in the forest close to town.

No need for him to be dinner, though. But he sure could use some dinner. His stomach growled, agreeing.

Where? He couldn't morph to human. His energy had been too doggone depleted.  'Doggone', he was already thinking in the western lingo he'd been studying.

Using the last dregs of his energy, Zaig strutted his stuff, and headed toward the late-night bar with the most enticing scent. He'd escaped from the Billings, Montana animal shifter, just in the nick of time before his balls would have been nicked off.

Ouch-howl! Zaig shivered, remembering.

Sprinting for his life, he'd squeezed through a door that was about to be shut. As the good-hearted humans chased after him, Zaig dodged and darted through traffic.

Running as far and as fast as possible, he'd continued his journey to the Red Silk Garter Saloon. Owned by his jackal shifter buddies, the Old West saloon was one of many bars and businesses located inside Dante's underground complex -- so they'd explained to him.

Even though, Zaig performed card tricks for partying fun and not for profit, Drew and Dune had offered him a position at the saloon. Knowing Zaig's ability to deal was slicker than most card sharks, they'd promised him a good salary, and a place to bed down.

Being at loose ends, and with no prospects... hell-yip, with shapeshifter hunters suddenly on his human tail, Zaig had made a run for it, as his dog self. With the Ninja like bastards shadowing him through four states, he hadn't been able to contact Drew and Dune.

Finally shaking the hunters' dogged pursuit, Zaig had curled up inside a vacant dog house, only to be picked by animal control. He'd been in a dead-tired sleep.

Now, salivating from hunger, Zaig broke into a trot beneath the shop awnings where the snow hadn't accumulated. The fragrance of raw and cooking meat drove him forward.

He hoped someone would have a heart, and feed him at what was obviously a late-night bar. Zaig well knew he looked like an underfed stray. Hell, maybe a pathetic one at that.

If no one offered him a meal, he'd rely on his super quick agility, on his wily skills to steal a bite or two, as much as he could gulp down.

"Omygawd, pup," a woman's concerned voice interrupted his dash for the opening door. "What are you doing out here on this freezing cold night?"

Before he knew it, Zaig had been scooped up -- hugged against a bosom he only wished he could see as his human self. Even through the woman's expensive wool coat, Zaig felt her 'make him drool' shape. 

With his hunger temporarily forgotten, he sniffed her scent -- like a rose warmed by  sunshine, but earth-musky and womanly. She wasn't a shifter, but she wasn't only human either.

"Put that mangy thing down," a man's arrogant, cultured voice commanded.

"I will not."

"You will. Or we're--"

"We've been finished for a long time," she interrupted, her tone like a bitch who'd endured too much, and was making her stand.

"Your father won't be happy, Saffina. We have an agreement."

"I don't give a flying you know what. Right now, I'm going in that bar. By myself. I'm going to make certain this dog is fed. Report that to father for all I care."

With that, Saffina hugged him a bit tighter, and marched toward the door someone from inside was opening for her.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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~ Have a Magickal and Miraculous Day ~ 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~