Tigress Shapeshifter ~ a cold feline fury ...

Tigers hug trees, too... 

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

Here's the next action episode of my ongoing flash. Kytaira, my tigress shapeshifter, and Zurroc, her black tiger man, are battling an on the bad-side SWAT-type team.
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Tigress Shapeshifter ~ a cold feline fury...

I have to wonder how many of the SWAT team charging toward me from every direction, know they defend a corrupt operation. One that is run by the most vile thieves who steal food from those in need.

Not an ounce of compassion stirs inside these monsters, encased in human bodies. The thought of their fellow humans starving is so much debris floating inside their heads.

I know. I scanned their minds. Gazed at their lost dark souls.

Yeah. Always know your enemy.

What I do detect from the vibes of those wearing black suits of armor, and aiming their big bad rifles at me, is their willingness to mindlessly serve a master. To be like the stormtroopers in the "Star Wars" movies.

On orders, they will capture or kill without remorse. An innocent means nothing to them.

A cold feline fury grips me as I hurl SpaghettiOs like a windmill. Zurroc throws the cans with unerring skill, keeping me supplied.

I target their big black weapons mostly. The bam-bam-bam strikes sound like strange, rapid-fire bullets. Tin clanging hard against forged-steel metal.

With their rifles jarred, or knocked out of their hands, their shots at me go wide. Soon, most of the SWAT team is slip-sliding on pools of SpaghettiOs, their arms flying about wildly as they try to keep their balance.

Twisting back and forth, I keep the enemy sighted, pelting those who are still able to attack. Grunts of shock follow as my weaponized cans boing-boing smash against their aimed rifles, or bong-bounce off their helmets.

The earthy-iron smell of spinach slams against my nostrils. Uh-Oh, no more SpaghettiOs!

To my advantage, the slimy spinach bursts out of the cans doing the job. Sliding, pumping their legs comically, my foes smash against each other.

At the same time, they try to raise their weapons, or take me out with other kill-stun types of devices. With my warrioress blood roaring through me, I take aim.

Unconscious from my hurled cans of spinach, they make friends with the asphalt parking lot real fast. Their equipment clatters loudly, even so I hear, smell the final two attempt to sneak up on my blind side.

I whip around, and crouch, confronting them. Game over.

The tigress screams inside at the menacing point of their rifles. My savage nature blinds me as I morph rapidly.

Yet, I hear the low throb-throb growl of three helicopters. Before I spring, bullets graze my sides.

The force of my pounce topples the last two like bowling pins. Behind me, Zurroc sends them into the black void with the slamming force of his mind.

'Jet!' I mentally shout to Zurroc, as I sprint toward the landing helicopters. 'Make the truck invisible again. Lift off.'

I hear Zurroc's racing steps, his quick leap onto the dock. No use letting the moving truck become an easy target.

'What a mistake, landing the copters,' I think, as I streak toward the nearest one. Three sets of blades whirl, creating a strong whipping wind.

I scent the adrenaline-laced blood of the sniper as he sights me. Dropping lower, I charge. The bullet he fires creases the fur on top of my head.

But his legs are all mine. I ram my chest into his shins like a linebacker, buckling his knees. The sniper's second shot pings off the blades.

"Shapeshifter," a commanding voice bellows over some sort of bullhorn, "surrender or your mate dies. We are prepared to sacrifice the warehouse. One more move, and the missile will be launched."

~~~~~~

TUNE IN FOR NEXT WEEK'S FLASH-SCENE EPISODE...

~~~~~~


 
Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Tigress Shapeshifter ~ my iconic commercial weapons

Super Moon in Aquarius yowls and howls, shapeshifter lovers. Time to tune into your dreams, then invent yourself anew with another shining aspect of who you truly are.

THANKS! To everyone who participated in the *A Midsummer Night's Dream-Man* blog hop.  And congrats to the SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS' winner, Colleen.

A short flash episode today, since I'm still under the weather some. And, yes, canned violence ahead.

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Tigress Shapeshifter ~ my iconic commercial weapons

I glance around for my weapon of choice against the ten special-ops guards, who have surrounded the warehouse. Spying a stack of clearly labeled cases, I sing out, "Uh-Oh SpaghettiOs!"

Spinning toward the large supply, I use my claw-like nails to rip open a box, and strip away the plastic. Zurroc is beside me, tearing open more of the boxes.

"I'll keep you supplied and guard the jet," he growls.

I grab the twelve-pack of SpagettiOs, racing to intercept the team of four guards who are advancing on us. I smell their sweat-stench, and see them before my mind's eye as they take up positions around our moving truck

Using his supernatural strength and speed, Zurroc tosses opened cases onto the dock. I hear the tinny thumps as I charge toward my locked and loaded prey.

Aimed, high-tech rifles greet me. The red laser pinpoints search for the kill spot as I drop the case on the dock, then bend over scooping up four cans.

"Come and get it, boys," I murmur. Moving into a fast spin, feeling the dots of heat, I use their rifle lasers as my guide.

I hurl one can of SpaghettiOs after another. Did I mention they're wearing night vision goggles?

Clunk. Smash. The cans strike their mark. I hear the steps of my prey falter, and the pricks of heat disappear.

Rapidly retrieving four more of my iconic commercial weapons, I whip around and finish the job. I target their goggles, throwing the cans so forcefully -- bang, bang, bang, bang -- the metal splits. Tomatoey gunk and the white Os ooze out as they stagger backward, then crumple to the ground out cold.

Emboldened by the arrival of the Canadian SWAT-like team -- I hear the machine-racing growl of their military grade vehicles -- the remaining six special-ops guards close in on my position.

I clutch the last four cans against my chest, and spring upward. Rotating through the air several times, I land on the front edge of the dock.

The tigress takes over, and I crouch, sighting the positions of my opponents. "Dinner is served," I mutter, as I take aim.

Splat! A hard cracking splat against his temple. I watch SpaghettiOs splatter on the side of his face. He wheels around like a drunkard, the Os dripping like pieces of his brain. 

Dodging bullets, I whip around to the closest assailant. With an underhanded throw, I smash the can into his unprotected Adam's apple.

He made the mistake of lowering his rifle to sneak up behind me. Now he staggers, his hand wrapped around his throat.

Bounce! Bong! I watch the can Zurroc's hurled hit him square in the forehead. Straightening, he falls over backward, stiff as a corpse.

Leaping upward, I throw my can of SpaghettiOs like a speeding bullet. The third guard is targeting me up close and personal with his rifle.

Roars, oh yeah! The can strikes his third eye. I almost growl a laugh watching the can crunch like an Accordion.

SpaghettiOs spill out from the burst seams.  "Like zombie brains," Zurroc rumbles behind me.

I whirl around, catching the can he tosses. Armed with SpaghettiOs, I launch into an aerial cartwheel. Landing in front of the dock, I aim fast, then sling both cans.

Yowls, ouch! Mr. Special Ops guys should have been wearing a helmet. The cans crash into his temples, just above the sides of his goggles.

I hear his head ringing from here, his brain sloshing. More importantly, he's definitely down and out for the count.

Shouted commands penetrate. The sorta SWAT team rushes toward us, their armor clanking noisily. As they deploy around us, their odor overwhelms me like a backed up sewer on a sweltering summer day.

"More SpaghettiOs," I shout.

~~~~~~

TUNE IN FOR NEXT WEEK'S FLASH-SCENE EPISODE...

~~~~~~

 
Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

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Tigress Shapeshifter ~ ferocious to chase and attack...

New Moon howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

Here's the next episode of my ongoing flash. Kytaira, my tigress shapeshifter, and Zurroc, her black tiger man, are on their way to heist the food that was denied to Oklahomans by the border guards.
~~~

Minimal violence ahead...
~~~~~~

Tigress Shapeshifter ~ ferocious to chase and attack...

On top of the moving truck inside my invisible jet, I activate the power. "Time to rock 'n roll."

The slightest whir of sound lets me know all is performing well. "It's a go," I say to Zurroc on the jet's com system. Before leaving New York, we hooked it into the truck's radio.

"At the first sign of trouble..." My black tiger man leaves the rest of his low growly words unspoken.

"I'll set you down real soft and easy," I croon like a sassy tail.

"That's gonna cost you, tigress mine. Next time we mate."

"Only if you can catch me," I whisper, my tone pure enticement.

"Go. I don't want to be dropped in the middle of the morning rush hour," Zurroc rumbles in a deadly serious voice. Yet I hear his rampaging lust.

"Let's see what this baby can do." I speak to alleviate my concern.

The jet is at full power and I engage the frequency web. On screen I watch it weave around the moving truck until it disappears from view. "Testing...testing..."

Slowly, cautiously, I begin the jet's ascent. Within moments the truck's tires leave the street. "We have lift off," I dramatically whisper.

"My ass is feeling suspended," Zurroc drily quips.

Keeping one eye glued to my instrument panel, I get the feel of the truck's cumbersome weight. "Holding...all is well," I assure him.

Taking great care, I fly in the direction of the well lit Ambassador Bridge. Able to observe the heights of buildings easily at this slow speed, I skim over rooftops.

Midnight has come and gone. Zurroc and I decided to make our food heist once the night shift came on duty. Why scare and battle more humans than is necessary?

Before reaching the bridge, I pick up speed while monitoring the frequency web. "So far, so good," I say, then blow out the breath I've been holding.

"What about hitching a ride on top of that semi?" Zurroc rumbles, as we close in on the bridge.

I consider the idea, but something warns me off. As warrioress, I've come to trust this intuitive ping. "Do you know how much weight the top of a semi can hold?"

"No," he barks in tiger.

"I don't want to set down, then have to lift off if the top caves in," I say.

Zurroc remains silent, knowing I must focus now. I negotiate a path that leads us to the bridge, then cruise above the flow of traffic. Once I've locked in the coordinates that will take us to the other side, I integrate my psi sense with the jet's electro-magnetic system.

I realize immediately the system is straining. Although, the loss of power is minimal at this point, and doesn't register on the panel. But, damn the rhino hide!

"Rhino hide?" Zurroc softly demands, having caught the expression from our homeworld as I thought it.

"No problem now." Reluctantly, I add, "There could be later."

"Later," he growls in that tone that says it all.

I ease the jet's speed ever higher, debating with myself about the loss of power now, versus what would be gained by arriving and departing faster. I could have put the question to the ultra computer. But that would be another small drain on the system.

Soon we're outracing the traffic by a good margin. As we close in on the Canadian border, then shoot above the stopped traffic below, the tigress merges her senses with mine, and my fierce nature takes over.

Having mind-scanned the route to the warehouse complex, I quickly arrive and locate the right loading dock. Within minutes, I've descended and settled the moving truck.

To conserve power, I shut down the jet, a move I hadn't planned on making. This will slow our take off time.

"Rock 'n roll." With a twist, I leap from the jet. Landing, I see Zurroc has already leapt out, and is opening the back of the moving truck.

Racing forward, I alter the density of my body, then phase through steel. Once inside the warehouse, I whirl and quickly figure out the opening mechanism. As I raise the huge, garage-like door the surprised shouts begin.

Ignoring the commands hurled at me, the guns now aimed in my direction by three guards who run toward me military style, I take a deep breath, and initiate my shift.

The tigress roars, ferocious to chase and attack. As full tiger, with power surging, singing through my muscles, I charge the closest target.

He halts in his footsteps, frozen. His gun shakes as if it's been turned into a cheap vibrator. His eyes bulge like they've been replaced by golf balls.

I'm nearly on top of him when his brain finally gets the message through to his feet. His adrenalin kicks in, and with a strangled scream he spins, running for his life.

Badly aimed bullets pop around me as I whip around. Three guards fire, their military training obvious, even if they can't shoot straight. Shock has them in its jaws.

I bound toward them like the killer beast I am. Their eyes turn to glassy unseeing spheres just before they scatter like prey, and sprint for the exits.

I run the aisles, roaring, sniffing out the two remaining guards who attempt to hide themselves. Once I flush them out, I take swipes at their frantically pumping legs -- just for fun.

With the warehouse cleared, I listen for the silent alarm. Nothing. Why?

Yes, the cameras whir, recording everything. To kill their digital eyes, I'll have to shift first.

Scenting Zurroc's position, I race toward him, morphing as I run. He's already loading the moving truck with case after case of canned food. By the smell I realize he's found a cache of organic vegetables.

Once I've fully shifted to human form, I concentrate for several moments. Every electronic device fizzles out, dead.

Zurroc and I work side-by-side, rapidly filling the moving truck with the best food we can find on the heavily stocked shelves. We continue knowing the special ops squad -- there to guard the illegal drugs and the cartel money -- have surrounded the warehouse.

We also know the Canadian version of SWAT teams are on the way.

"The X-Files ops are coming," Zurroc informs, as he tosses a case of artichoke hearts high, so it lands on top of the stacked cases.

~~~~~~

TUNE IN FOR NEXT WEEK'S FLASH-SCENE EPISODE...

~~~~~~


 
Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Tigress Shapeshifter ~ on second thought a little lesson in carnage

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers. Happy upcoming Fourth of July.

Honestly, I can hardly believe it is July. I hope you enjoy all the right kinds of fireworks. ~wink!~

No fireworks in today's flash scene, or actual violence. Kytaira, my tigress shapeshifter, and Zurroc, her black tiger man, are planning their food heist for the sake of those in need.

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Tigress Shapeshifter ~ on second thought a little lesson in carnage

Continued from the week before ~

Zurroc thumbs my palm lazily. He rumbles a knowing laugh when the bio globe I've placed on my lap glows, blazes red, then fills the truck cab with a dazzling light.

"Stop that," I order the globe. "We're supposed to be traveling incognito."

~~~

Late night, and Zurroc and I are parked close to a big box store, not far from the border crossing at Windsor, Ontario -- where the truckload of food was refused entry. I've already zapped several cameras, including one red light camera programmed as a moneymaker for Detroit.

"Goldmine to say the least," I say softly to Zurroc, after a more thorough mind-scan.

"Three warehouses full of confiscated items," Zurroc growls above a whisper. Telepathically connected to me, he sees the images in my mind. "Lots of pantry food, so it wouldn't spoil."

"There's room in the van for a lot of it," I murmur. After all, Zurroc and I don't have many Earth possessions, and only a few crucial devices from our homeworld.

"If I followed your scan accurately, there's a black market operation. Looks lucrative."

"I concentrated on the food storage sections. But, yes, I noticed. Lot of action out the  back door."

"Do we make the great grocery heist tonight?" Zurroc asks.

"No time like the present. I don't like tunnels," I snarl, referring to the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel that passes beneath the Detroit River.

"No fast getaway on a bridge, either, my tigress. We need another plan like we talked about."

"Silly cub me." I shake my short cap of hair. "When I read that news article I had no clue we'd have to cross a river, a major-artery type of river. There are miles of Big Foot forest along the Canadian border, and I thought..."

Frustration eats at me like the horde of mosquitos we'd encountered earlier. Yet even as I speak an idea forms... a risky plan because I've never done it before.

"The jet," I blurt out. "What does this truck weigh?"

Reluctance in his voice, Zurroc tells me, and I quickly compute the carrying capacity of my invisible jet's fusion beam, a web of energy that captures an enemy, or carries objects.

"You know, even if your jet is capable of lifting this truck... for how long, Kytaira?"

Zurroc is not happy, his tone surly. I don't blame him.

Too late, though. Excitement  surges, builds inside me. My tigress blood races as if I bound over the beautiful wildlands of our homeworld.

"If we get off the ground, I'll follow the Ambassador bridge. Set down if... you know my pilot skills."

"Beyond excellent," Zurroc concedes, then turns the key in the ignition. "That means I remain inside the van. Get the motor running if... what about the extra weight once the truck is loaded?"

I take a moment to consider. "Then we make a run for it. And I telepathically holler for assistance from our ET brethren."

I feel Zurroc's scowl more than see it form in my peripheral vision. Still, we're rolling toward the parking lot's exit. "I'll get us as close as possible to the bridge," he grumbles, but it's a fierce grumble.

I nod, and begin removing my clothes. Likely the tigress will be needed. She roars agreement, and her lithe fearsome strength soars through my limbs.

There's a contingency of guards at the three warehouses, both outside and inside. Actually, they're well-armed thugs, because of the illegal drugs shipments that are stored in a fenced off area.

"Only one warehouse," Zurroc sternly commands, as he slowly negotiates through the street traffic.

Purposefully, he doesn't look my way. Our raw carnal desire for each other could interfere with my focus, and his vow to be my stone-cold warrior.  Although, I can't help but scent his potent male need.

"Yes, my tiger man," I say, having already decided to tackle only the warehouse with the most usable food stuffs. "I'll land on the freight dock like a cat. Blast the door apart. And we're in."

"Like a cat." Zurroc allows himself a short laugh. "The black helicopters will show. There's a vault of drug cartel money."

"Agreed. Unless we get in and out fast enough. Then disappear... although, on second thought a little lesson in carnage might be just what those corporate, drug-running bastards need."

~~~~~~

TUNE IN FOR NEXT WEEK'S FLASH-SCENE EPISODE...

~~~~~~


 
Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Tigress Shapeshifter ~ I am a killer... but never of innocents...

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

The summer solstice is almost here, and there's what is called a super moon this coming weekend. Enjoy the summer months ahead. The year is speeding by so fast I can barely keep track of it.

This is the third installment starring my tigress heroine, Kytaira, and her black tiger man, Zurroc.
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Tigress Shapeshifter ~ I am a killer... but never of innocents...

Continued from last week ~

"What the shooting star! How can they do this? Those people need help." I re-read the small article. "If my head wasn't firmly attached, it would be spinning, then orbiting around the moon."

"As we know, suffering seems to be of no consequence to those who live like the Earth kings of old." Zurroc's tone condemns.

"Yeah, let them eat cake," I mutter.

~~~

Moodiness claims me as I watch NYC's familiar skyline disappear. A dismal gray haze has captured the Big Apple already. "Like a foreshadowing," I say.

Zurroc slides the moving truck into the steady of stream of traffic on the freeway. He has become an expert driver of Earth's primitive vehicles. A valuable skill, since I have little patience for it.

"We both know the signs, my tigress."

"The odor of decay, of death was everywhere... I wish..." I halt my words knowing they will not bring the miracles I would wish for -- so many innocents, yet their fate has been sealed. Unless they choose to leave.

As tigress, I am a killer at heart. But never of innocents -- never those who live with good and generous hearts. Then, my nature is to protect, to rescue.

I rumble a soft moan, and remove my gaze from the outer-edge, decaying buildings we pass by. A part of me mourns for what will be.

"It's time for us to join forces with those who roar with life."

Zurroc's alpha power sensuously tingles my blood as he speaks.

"Right you are, my tiger man. I'm looking forward to Talbot's Peak, being with those who build and create the future as it should be."

I crumple the empty cellophane bag, shoving it in the small trash container. Earlier, Zurroc and I polished off the buffalo jerky.

"Still hungry?" I ask, then fish through our goody bag in search of what will hit the spot. With the days of packing and logistics planning, Zurroc and I skimped on meals.

"The turkey and pumpkin treats," he answers helpfully.

"Arf, ruff," I badly imitate a dog's bark. Quickly, I locate the large bag of organic pet treats both of us have developed a real fondness for.

"Open," I say, once I'm poised and ready to toss one of the nuggets.

Without taking his gaze off the road, Zurroc slightly tilts his head back, then parts his lips.

"Score," I triumphantly yowl, as the treat vanishes inside his mouth.

Satisfying my hunger, I munch on the tasty nuggets, passing them one by one to Zurroc. As I enjoy, I can't help but think about the Oklahomans who have been tornado-ravaged. About the generosity of the Canadians who tried to send them food and aid.

My anger gets a solid foothold. I scowl at the high-handed pettiness, the power-tripping stupidity of the border guards.  

"Side trip, love?" Zurroc asks, reading my thoughts.

I don't answer immediately, taking time to contemplate the consequences that could arise if we hunt down the Canadian truck full of food. In the end, it proves to be a futile effort in the face of my rising anger -- my fierce desire for a kindly justice.

"Canada, here we come," I say, my words clipped, ferocious. "People cared enough to give to others. That sacred act should be respected."

Zurroc growls ominously, his righteous rage fueled. "Convoy," he utters.

"If that truckload of food can't be tracked, or... whatever, yes, absolutely a convoy. We'll gather up supplies, more food." My jaw firms with savage determination. 

"Nothing like a change in plans to fire the blood." Zurroc's hand tightens on the steering wheel.

"Nothing like coffee to fire up my brain synapses," I say, reaching for the thermos, and mugs.

This time, as we roll smoothly, locked in the traffic grid, I pour the dark fragrant liquid into our mugs, and pass one to Zurroc. We sip companionably.

"We could encounter a strong military response." Zurroc lowers his mug, resting it on top of his thigh.

"Good thing we have time to plan for that likely contingency."

Balancing my mug, I reach for the know-it-all globe, as I affectionately call the bio-device that carries a wealth of knowledge about Earth. The globe sits in my palm, and warms at my touch.

"I estimate leaving this traffic behind in about an hour, my Kytaira. Then, I'll super-charge the engine, lessen our driving time."

"That's my tiger man. Pedal to the metal. Are you up to watching out for the highway patrol smokies?"

"Keep feeding me, and the answer is yes."

I finish off my coffee, make certain the thermos is capped, then bend over searching for what Zurroc calls his mind-power food. The wild-game formula is from Dante, and dried for convenience.

Once I've opened the jar, and set it in the holder for Zurroc, I lift the globe activating it with my gaze. Sparks of light move like shooting stars.

"I'll map out the route to the border crossing, and gather all the available data on our save-the-food operation."

"I'll concentrate on driving, and keeping the smokies off our tail," Zurroc intones seriously, yet dry amusement colors his voice. 

"I love the way you drive. More coffee?" I retrieve Zurroc's empty mug.

"Save the coffee for later. You love the way I drive only because you don't want to do it." Zurroc's tone is bantering.

"Partly true. I will admit. But I find it manly, and I do love watching you." My heart thumps faster, warming with how much I feel -- the intensity of my passion.

"You're distracting the driver in a highly desirable way," Zurroc intimately growls, his passion obvious.

"Okay, I can take a hint. No more distracting..." I've leaned toward the small ice chest.  Rummaging about briefly, I pull out my prized bottle of raw milk.

"Storage facilities," Zurroc states several miles later.

I lower the bottle of milk, glancing at him. "Do you mean at the border?"

"Storage of what's been confiscated. There could be a goldmine, as the Earthers say, of food and other supplies."

I nod, pondering. "What hasn't been sold on Ebay, or the black market. Later, I'll do a mind-reconnaissance. Find out." When another thought pops to the surface, I say, "Perhaps, Valiant Thor can be persuaded to assist if there is a motherload of supplies."

"Has he returned from Venus?" Zurroc reaches for my hand, and our palms mate.

"We were in the midst of packing. His telepathic message slipped my mind. But, yes, he's on his ship orbiting Earth as we speak."

Zurroc thumbs my palm lazily. He rumbles a knowing laugh when the bio globe I've placed on my lap glows, blazes red, then fills the truck cab with a dazzling light.

"Stop that," I order the globe. "We're supposed to be traveling incognito."
~~~~~~

TUNE IN FOR NEXT WEEK'S FLASH-SCENE EPISODE...

~~~~~~

 
Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Tigress Shapeshifter ~ Scissors instead of your razor claws...

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers...

New moon greetings as well. Apologies for the late posting. A long, way too busy day on Monday.

Okay then, this is the second installment starring my tigress heroine, Kytaira, and her black tiger man, Zurroc.

Once again... Warning: violence ahead.
~~~~~~

Tigress Shapeshifter ~ Scissors instead of your razor claws...

Continued from last week ~

The four ninjas who have avoided my weaponized scissors surround me. Like panthers, they circle, stalking...

~~~

...seeking a point of attack. For a split second, I pretend to be frozen in fear. When my four enemies mentally take a step back, I flip on my side.

Flash-quick, I seize the scissors pressed against my outer calf inside my boot. In the same motion, I flick my wrist sideways. Those silver beauties whirl like helicopter blades. 

The ninjas counter by combining their force. Blue lightning streams from their fingertips.

Sparks bounce off the gleaming surface of the spinning scissors. But, it's too late for number twelve ninja.

The point spears through the hollow of his throat like a thrown blade, severing his spinal cord. He crumples.

The three ninjas close in, and I grab the scissors holstered between my shoulder blades. All the while, sparks crackle around me like a barrage of firecrackers.

My protective field holds, and I hurl at the ninja crouching, leaping for the kill. Bull's-eye, the scissors hit the target. Gruesomely, number ten ninja staggers back, blood leaking from his eye socket.

For my next trick, I slither on the floor snake like -- escaping the swift-rolling attack of the two remaining ninjas. Twisting upward, I land on my feet, facing their charge.

My inner tigress roars as I rip the scissors out of the holster at the base of my spine.  Number eleven ninja launches. He flies toward me, his foot extended.

Obviously, he wants to separate my head from the rest of me. My double bladed weapon flies faster. Let's say castration is the least of his worries.

Suspended in air, the last ninja whirls like a dervish, so rapidly he looks like a mini tornado. I dodge, leap high landing on the loft floor.

He is right behind me, almost riding my butt. I smell his acrid determination to end my existence.

The heel of his hand grazes the center of my back only. I've whipped away from the blow that would have broken my back in two, paralyzed me.

I grip both pairs of scissors taped to the support column. Weapons in hand, I whirl positioning myself behind the column as he spins, then aims a kick that would have made my head a splattered melon.

His attack denied, he stops in midair, and falls yielding to gravity. I don't hear him land.

I do see the glint of the blade as I one-eye him from behind the column. Unusual, but he's desperate to finish me off.

The hum of his blood is faint, disguised by his smoke body. Yet, my tigress senses tell me exactly how my prey is positioned. Starkly, I feel his muscles bunch and ripple beneath his skin.

The ninja moves, quicker than a striking cobra. His blade softly whistles through the air aiming for my temple.

I'm faster. Moving mere inches, I fling my arms around the column. With a death grip on the handles, I plunge the scissor blades beneath his ribcage, skewering his vital organs.

No, I don't bother watching his death. It's enough to smell his life seep away, float from this mortal realm.

Instead, as callous as it may seem to humans, I swiftly retrieve my collection of barber scissors. Once I've placed them inside the chest, which is a cleansing unit from my homeworld, I say a silent goodbye to the warehouse.

With the next onslaught of enemies about to arrive, I race outside. Zurroc throws open the passenger door, and I leap inside our truck. He guns the engine, and we rumble-roar down the back street as the sun peeks above NYC's skyscrapers.

"Good timing... as always, my black tiger."

"You don't mind that I beam-dispatched two alphabet agency thugs. They were about to interrupt your scissor-throwing party."

I hear the self-satisfied grin in his voice.

"Hmmm... smarty pants, as they say here on Earth. You said that because you knew I didn't detect them."

"I have to show off somehow for you. Being the male of the species."

"You certainly did a lot of showing off..." I halt my words, shivering with the fierce heated memory of our recent mating pleasures.

"Coffee, my tigress?" he asks several moments later, even as my cheeks still burn.  "The thermos--"

"I've got it," I interrupt. I fish out two mugs from the duffel bag close to my feet, and also grab the newspaper -- our way of keeping watch on the world.

We're traveling without any e-devices, and Zurroc has disabled the moving trucks various transmitting electronics. No sense in making ourselves an easy target.

"The next time I see you with a pair of scissors I'll have a new level of respect," Zurroc praises and teases.

"You'd better. I believe I've just proven myself." I open the thermos inhaling the coffee's dark rich fragrance.

"Once we arrive in Talbot's Peak, and settle in, perhaps you should talk to Dante about teaching a martial arts class -- specializing in scissors."

I frown at my black tiger's obvious amusement. "Did I look that comical?" I demand, well-knowing he kept a hunter's eye on me as I fought the ninjas. Zurroc can observe me inside his mind, given he's my assigned protector.

"I have to admit, my Kytaira,  if it hadn't been a matter of life and death... let's say I found it humorous." He pauses, turning onto another back street that leads out of New York City. "Scissors instead of your razor claws," he adds as if that should explain everything.

Telepathically, I catch glimpses of his mind's eye view of me in scissor-hurling combat. Reluctantly, I let a smile curve my lips. "Perhaps, I could learn how to design topiaries like Edward Scissorhands."

Zurroc chuffs a laugh, then focuses on his driving. The street is still relatively clear of traffic, and I know he wants to make good time leaving the Big Apple behind.

"Lady Blade, your human-form call name when we trained," Zurroc growly reminds. "Even more true now."

"Lady Blade," I murmur, remembering those times so long ago.

The truck bounces over the poorly maintained road, and I screw the lid back on the thermos. "I'll wait to pour the coffee. How about snacking on buffalo jerky?"

Zurroc rumbles a yes, and I bend down to retrieve the package. As I rip it open, I notice he's circled a small headline.

Canadian relief for Moore tornado victims denied at border U.S. border officials want 20,000 kg of food itemized, physically inspected before entering

"What the shooting star! How can they do this? Those people need help." I re-read the small article. "If my head wasn't firmly attached, it would be spinning, then orbiting around the moon."

"As we know, suffering seems to be of no consequence to those who live like the Earth kings of old." Zurroc's tone condemns.

"Yeah, let them eat cake," I mutter.

~~~~~~

TUNE IN FOR NEXT WEEK'S FLASH-SCENE EPISODE...

~~~~~~

 
Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

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

Tigress Shapeshifter ~ How to protect yourself with scissors, the advanced course.

I'm advocating National Hug a Tiger Day.

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

June is here... it's mid year... wow! It doesn't seem possible.

Okay, I've run out of writing juice, and I need to get some sleep. Since I'm not even close to finishing this flash scene, or what I had in mind... yes, I plan to continue next week.
~~~

Warning: violence ahead.
~~~~~~

Tigress Shapeshifter ~ How to protect yourself with scissors, the advanced course.

I know they come.

My blood sings with it, fire and fierceness -- a fury waiting to be unleashed.

We have been discovered. This is one of several reasons why Zurroc and I must leave New York City -- leave the enormous, 'dilapidated on the outside' warehouse that has been my home since arriving on Earth, some four spins of the sun ago.

The generous-sized moving truck we rented, as if we are mere humans changing location, is packed, yet cloaked. Zurroc keeps watch, though. At the helm of my invisible jet, atop the truck, he trains the beam gun on the twelve ninjas stealthily advancing -- flitting like shadows toward me.

I know. We are telepathically linked, my black tiger man and me.

Their faint-smoke stench reaches my nostrils, warning me as they scale the outside of my warehouse. I don't hear them. They're good, these ninjas from the dark putrid bowels of the global serpent cabal.

They don't know I have barricaded every entrance with steel bars, simply to hinder their ability to silently enter. Yes, to give me the battle edge.

There's something else I doubt they know. I am loaded for ninja with my collection of thrown-out barber scissors. I found them during one of my nightly prowls as full tigress. Amazing how muggers turn tail and run when I flash my pearly-white fangs, then begin to crouch.

Oh, yeah... gun grabbers, this is for you. How to protect yourself with scissors, the advanced course.

First, create a hip belt with four scissor holsters, two on your hips, one in front and one in back. Slide another slim pair in a holder between your shoulder blades. Then, strap a couple of those sharp silver babies to the outside of your thighs.

Got boots? Got room for those double-blade daggers on the inside and the outside? Remember, of course, this easy slip and slide rule -- because the easier those tempered steel killers glide in, the easier they'll come whipping out when defending yourself.

Next, consider the area where you'll be confronting unwanted intruders. Strategically place your scissors for easy access and in clever unexpected positions -- say beneath a toaster, taped to the back of every door.

Think it through, and practice, practice, practice reaching for your scissors until, as the saying goes, you can find them in your sleep. Of course, this scissor-defense method assumes you have some degree of training in martial arts techniques.

Also, if you await ninja warriors as I do, keep scissors in hand gunslinger style. Aim those deadly points, and throw at will.

Now, the first ninja breaches the roof hatch of what will be my former home. He's dislodged the steel bars using his supernatural ability to manipulate matter into a lesser density.

He drops straight toward me... as I planned. I step and whirl. As I rotate toward him, he's landed without a sound. I sling my sharp-pointed scissors. He shoots his palm forward, ready to blast me with his deadly force.

The point strikes his third eye, and my scissors embed themselves. Before he can pull them out, I spin driving the other pair through a tender patch of flesh, inside his upper throat.

Not waiting for him to fall, I bend avoiding a brutal kick to the base of my skull. Seizing the scissors that have been strapped to my thighs, I whip around plunging one pair into  my enemy's solar plexus.

As he staggers back, I whirl a half turn hurling the other pair of my barber scissors. True as one of William Tell's arrows the blades pierce his eye, the tip buried in his brain.

Immediately I dive into a roll while quick-drawing the scissors in my front holster. Three of the ninjas fire, the energy pulses exploding all around me, deflected by the force field I have created.

Coming out of the roll, I see one of them charge. I stay on my back, aim, and with a quick flick of my wrist send the scissors flying. It's not Cupid's arrow piercing his heart.

Mid-motion, the ninja stops. Before he drops to the floor, I slide another pair of scissors out of my boot, twist, and jerk the covering away from another foe's throat -- the one almost on top of me.

I plunge the double blades into his voice box like a dagger. Keeping hold of the scissor handles, I swing his body above me slamming it full-force against number seven ninja.

Rapidly, I roll to the side like a log rolling downhill. At the same time, I whip out one pair of my side-holstered scissors. Number eight ninja is about to pounce. I stab his foot, penetrating the flesh close to his big toe.

He's effectively nailed to the wood floor, even though his body has been altered to both smoke and physical substance.

With his death blow stopped, number eight hesitates for seconds. I draw my other pair of sidearm scissors, and as he awkwardly attacks, I leap upward. A swift thrust, and the scissors slide into his temple. Like butter.

The combined force of the remaining five ninjas challenge my force field. Pain lashes my back like a cat o' nine tails.

Feeling another blast on the way, meant to take me down, destroy me, I bend forward fast.  Super-speed, I grip another one of those silver gleaming babies.

After I slip it out of my boot, I look between my braced legs. Huntress sighting my prey, I hurl my choice of weapon. On target, straight to the heart, the scissors are buried to the hilt.

The four ninjas who have avoided my weaponized scissors surround me. Like panthers, they circle, stalking...
~~~~~~

TUNE IN FOR NEXT WEEK'S FLASH-SCENE EPISODE...

~~~~~~

 
Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Tigress Shapeshifter... Never waiting to be tamed...

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

She’s back... my Tigress, and yes, if violence is not your thing, tune out for this episode... although, a Haunted House is likely to have much more horror and gore.

Oh, and here’s a costume Kytaira is wearing for her black tiger lover, Zurroc.
~~~~~~

Tigress Shapeshifter... Never waiting to be tamed...

I am captured by my black tiger’s gaze. Love shines in the dark depths of Zurroc’s eyes as his thumbs caress my cheeks. He has embraced my head between his palms, and my body doesn’t know whether to surrender against him, or attack him with fierce passion.

“One reason I love you,” he silkily rumbles, “you will never be tamed, my tigress, my Kytaira.”

“Only by your hand, your lusty paw.” My whispered words feel like mist and smoke deep in my throat -- and as they pass my lips.

"Never waiting to be tamed,” he croons -- his twist on the song lyrics ‘waiting to be tamed’.

His seductive tease curls my toes, and I feel my inner claws flex with pleasure.

“If it weren’t for this meeting...” I begin, then stroke his hands with mine.

His lips find mine fast, yet his languidly nibbling kiss is slow, a sweet torment to my senses. “I’ll put the coffee on,” he purrs long moments later.

“Lots of cream, please.” I blink, gathering my mental faculties for what is to come.

As he raises his face from mine, his expression changes to ferociously serious. “Seeing those twenty flatbed trucks in the dead of night.” He pauses, and I watch the anger flash in his eyes. “Loaded with drone planes and an artillery of advanced weapons -- all meant to use against New Yorkers...” he pauses again. “I want to rip their throats out. Leave their bodies as food for the carrion eaters.”

“Yes. It is all the cowards deserve.” I sigh inwardly. I know his rage. It eats at my insides, which is why we are meeting with Swamp Fox, and his crew, in less than an hour.

“New York City is no longer safe for us,” he growls with alpha-emphasis.

“Afterward, we will discuss it.” But, I know he is right. The war against injustice, against evil has come to the city streets. Soon it will be chaos at its worst.

His hands slip from my head, and we gaze at each for another moment before I spin, and break into a running stride. “Roof,” I holler back.

In the dim light of early evening, I ascend the outside stairs at a rapid pace. Once I stand within the protected area of my warehouse rooftop, I glimpse the massive protest taking place against the Wall Street racketeers.

Humanity is rising, finally. It won’t be a pretty thing, this soul rise toward freedom. It will be messy and savage and chaotic -- bestial at times.

I focus my gaze, and switch to infrared sight, then scan for any sign of an approaching enemy. Once, I’m satisfied we’re relatively safe for right now, I recall part of Volcano’s Angelic Forecast for this week:

The major theme for this week is everything ECONOMIC. Once again, this will have two main faces, but many differing aspects. With the rise of the renegade as part of the AWAKENING, all forms of corruption and enslavement will be challenged.

At the same time, the brutal money monopoly that has been placed over humanity, worldwide, is being tightened, and a militaristic regime is being introduced incrementally. Any manner of catastrophe, natural or not, will be used as an excuse to implement this ‘papers, please’ regime.

Just as he communicated through a trusted friend, I see a fox dart from beneath a large commercial truck. The Swamp Fox runs through the alleyway’s shadows. Behind him is his right hand man, a badger shapeshifter, who goes by the pseudo name of Ben Franklin. Some silly part of me wonders if he wears spectacles.

Observing their stealthy approach toward my warehouse, I buzz with a sudden ‘knowing’ that now is the night to strike. As I move to meet them at the bottom of the outside stairway, scenes from an old Disney TV series called “The Swamp Fox” play out before my mind’s eye.

Out of curiosity, and to understand my Swamp Fox’s mind-set, I watched the series about the American Revolutionary War hero, Francis Marion. Like youthful cubs, both Zurroc and I cheered his cleverly conceived, surprise attacks against the British troops.

The closer I come to Swamp Fox and Ben Badger, the more I ‘sense’ and scent their determination, their revolutionary spirit. Pausing in the deep shadow at the corner of my warehouse, Swamp Fox morphs to his human form quickly, and gives me a rakish grin. Beside him, Ben growl-grunts as a badger, then groans as he shifts.

I toss the bag of clothes and gear, delivered earlier in the day, at Swamp Fox’s feet. Dropping to his haunches, he jerks it open. His shock of foxfire red hair falls onto his forehead as he grabs out two bundles of clothing.

After he tosses one bundle to Ben Badger, they efficiently dress in the way of shapeshifters, and I motion for them to follow me inside. Zurroc meets us, holding a tray with hot brimming cups of coffee.

“This room is sealed against surveillance,” I tell them as I shut the thick steel door, lined with lead.

Reaching within the bag again, Swamp Fox thrusts a news article toward me, asking, “Have you read this?”

Taking a moment, I peruse what I already know.

NYPD chief: Police could take down plane if needed
Commissioner Ray Kelly tells CBS' "60 Minutes" that after the Sept. 11 attacks, he decided the city couldn't rely on the federal government alone. He set about creating the NYPD's own counter-terrorism unit. He says the department is prepared for multiple scenarios and could even take down a plane.

“You saw the black ops convoy, right?” Swamp Fox sweeps his gaze around our small hideaway bunker.

“We saw,” Zurroc snarls. “Do you have a storage area large enough for NYPD’s anti-aircraft weaponry?”

“Yeah,” Ben Badger answers. “Me, and the boys dug it out ourselves. Made it real private and real inaccessible.”

Lifting my mug of creamy coffee, I sniff the earthy yummy goodness before I take a sip. “Is your crew ready to guerilla-rock ‘n roll tonight?” I ask, then study their faces.

“My crew is in position. At my signal, we’re a go.” Swamp Fox takes a swig of his coffee, his gaze keen as the fox he is.

“In under ten minutes, the crew will move the vehicles into position,” Ben Badger adds, “If you two can get us inside the armory, we got the muscle to load up quicker’n a New York minute.”

“You did not just say that,” I tease. Already, my blood runs high and my claws ache to spring free.

“We’re loaded for bear, and the bears are ready to load,” Swamp Fox quips with a flash of his gaze.

***

Around me is the dark of night. The air is heavy with moisture, the stars hidden by an overcast, rain-threatening sky. As tigress, I sniff the familiar odors of New York City -- layer upon layer of humanity at its most potent. I smell the city at its grimiest -- moldering, days’ old garbage... dense colonies of mice and rats... the ammonia tang of urine and feces embedded in concrete.

Most of all, I scent the sweating stink of the outside guards, all of them on heavy dosages of steroids. Strolling toward the forties-era, double door of the fortress-like building, I ignore their stunned shouts at my approach.

Pulling out their revolvers, three of the guards fire. I’ve already phased to near incorporeal so the bullets are of no consequence. I leap through the door, and once inside I return to full materialized beast.

To announce my presence, and make myself a target, I bellow a long roar. Guards that look like Halloween Darth Vader’s race toward me, drawing their high-powered laser rifles, and aiming.

Several alarms activate. Their whines and screams blast my ears, and I flatten them tight against my head. Launching into a gallop, I run down a central corridor while dodging the bursts of laser fire.

Before my mind’s eyes, I watch Zurroc use his powers to dissolve a portion of the armory’s outer wall, large enough for Swamp Fox and his crew to enter. With deadly ease, they take out the four guards who have stayed. Then, like a well-oiled machine, the crew begins to load the cache of high-tech weapons and ammunition.

Whirling on my haunches, I lope in the opposite direction of the armory. Not to my surprise, I am being chased by a whole cadre of super guards who haven’t known one day’s service on the police force -- given they reek of bio-engineered enhancements.

Sprinting through a maize of corridors, I catch glimpses of what has been stored in this underground section of the compound. My blood blazes hot and my savage nature burns for a taste of traitorous blood.

First things first. Keep the bio-Vader guards on my tigress tail.

That is... until a whiff of something so deadly enters my nostrils, that I nearly stumble and cringe. For lack of a better description, it’s a suitcase nuke, and one in prime condition. Ready to be used.

With a roar of outrage, I whip around and charge toward the guards. Rapidly, they take up positions along both sides of the corridor, their laser rifles trained on me.

Up shields, I mentally shout to myself, then alter my vibrations to create the barrier. With each racing bound toward the nuke, I gain speed. The laser pulses bounce off my hide, a regular disco light show.

Figuring out somewhat fast that their weapons did nothing to hinder my progress, the remaining twenty or so guards ahead of me, grab their titanium machine guns and blast away -- I can’t help but think of Bonnie and Clyde.

Since I can’t spare the time to slash my claws across their throats, I morph my hide once again, and run even faster. The hail of bullets strike, ping at a low frequency, then fly, returning like tiny boomerangs.

What carnage is behind me, I have no clue. The smell of blood saturates the air. Why their uniforms weren’t bullet-proof against those flesh-exploding bullets...? I shrug mentally, even as I focus on my all-important prize.

The suitcase nuke sits atop a pedestal, and is locked inside a plexiglass-like safe that is far stronger than steel. I come to an abrupt halt about ten feet away. Crouching, I spring while altering my front paw to my human hand.

Dematerializing my hand and the plexiglass just enough, I seize the case’s handle. The instant it’s out of the safe, I toss it a good distance ahead. Before I land on the floor, I shift my hand back to a paw. With one motion, and already in a sprint, I snag the case’s handles between my fangs.

Then, it’s a race to the finish line, a race to Zurroc’s hole in the wall. Doors fall like guillotine blades behind me. I could phase through them, but I can’t alter the nuke in my tigress form. If I switch to human, my speed lessens, and I am not certain I could dissipate the nuke’s energy matrix without Zurroc’s help.

Two more doors ahead of me, both of them slicing downward. Racing at wind’s speed, I clear one of them. With a glancing blow to the tip of my tail, I make it past the final door.

Zurroc, I mentally scream.

My tigress. He sends a mind beam to guide me into his arms.

Psi-seeing him, I dash through the huge, full-of-rooms armory until I glimpse him running toward me.

No! Outside, I scream telepathically, then charge toward the hole.

For instants, we run side by side. Me as tigress. Him as man.

Nuke, I yell to his mind, once the chilly autumn wind hits our faces.

In seconds, he is seizing hold of the case while I shift. Joining him as woman, I place my palms on the nuke. Together, we concentrate and disassemble the particle matrix until there is nothing left but harmless atoms.

“Neat trick, that one,” Swamp Fox hollers softly from the back of a semi truck.

“Get out of here. Double quick,” I shout back.

With a jaunty salute, he steps back and the door lowers. Already, the truck is in motion, the gears ratcheting up. It’s a good thing since I hear the faraway drone of black helicopters.

“I hope they have a good escape route,” I murmur.

“Escape, what a superior idea,” my black tiger rumbles. He swings me into his arms, and runs the short distance to our tech-invisible van.

Within moments, we are on the way home, and I’m wrapping a soft warm blanket around myself. I reach for his hand as we cruise the back streets, and an intimate silence envelopes us, one I have come to treasure.

“My Tigress, never waiting to be tamed by the unknown paw of fate,” he growls long moments later.

“Not with a nuke between my teeth,” I say.

He laughs, my black tiger. Yet underneath his laughter, I hear his lover’s concern for me.

Squeezing his hand, I lean toward him. “Later... I want some taming... whatever taming gives you the most pleasure.”

His carnal growl is my answer.
~~~~~~

Have a Magickal Shapeshifting Week!

Savanna

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

Tigress Shapeshifter ~ M for Murderous Claws

New Moon, new month howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers. Yes, beastly violence and bad language ahead.

~~~~~~

Tigress Shapeshifter ~ M for Murderous Claws

Kytaira softly rumbled her appreciation after several long sips of the raw milk she’d just purchased. Perfectly chilled, it hit the spot on this warm Spring day. Around her, Saturday morning shoppers crowded the farmer’s market. Human children bounced and squealed with delight or temper, that is, if they weren’t clinging to the legs of their parents.

Closing her eyes, Kytaira inhaled the sweet-pasture aroma of the milk as she turned toward the trunk of an aged elm tree. With no one able to witness her societal transgression, she lapped the milk until it became too low in the glass.

With a shake of her short hair, Kytaira strolled in the direction of the Amish farmer’s booth. She’d been purchasing from him for a year now, grateful to have found the healthy moo juice.

Reveling in the late morning sun, Kytaira looked for other yummies to try. As she passed the booths fragrances of potted herbs, flowering plants and yeasty baked goods invited her attention. Earth was a paradise when it came to varieties of food.

Intending to pick up the crate that held her bottles of raw milk, and stow it in the modest car she and Zurroc used when traveling outside of New York City, Kytaira halted in her tracks. The odor of what she described as 'wimp evil' drifted from the horse and buggy area. Not only that, she recognized the owner.

In the past, Kytaira had listened to the undercover fed agent wheedle and beg to have raw milk delivered to him out of state. However, to her relief the Amish Farmer had known not to sell since it meant a certain raid, and the loss of his dairy cows. Perhaps, even imprisonment.

With her instincts biting at her middle, Kytaira set the glass down, then shoved her hands inside the pockets of the comfy jeans she wore. As if something had attracted her interest, she casually walked toward the roly poly agent with the pock-marked face. He spoke with a thirtyish woman, obviously of his same ilk.

“Milk, it does a tigress’s body good,” Zurroc purred close to her ear. Briefly, he caressed her belly, then with an affectionate nip of her earlobe, he moved beside her. “What’s up?”

“So, you noticed my lack of arousal,” she bantered with a purpose. An electronic mike had been aimed at them from inside the ubiquitous white van.

“Your ass didn’t cuddle up to my cock. I noticed.”

“If you could put the milk in the car, I’ll be ready to leave soon.”

“Don’t keep me waiting too long.” Pivoting from her, Zurroc established their telepathic connection. On the hunt, my tigress?

Yes. Suspicious activity by the enemies of raw milk lovers everywhere.

I’ll rev up the engine for a quick pursuit.

Pausing, Kytaira pretended to admire one of the horses. She cocked her ear tuning into the agents’ conversation. What she heard caused her to see blood red. Her teeth gnashed threatening to morph into fangs.

With the desire to attack burning through her, Kytaira clenched her fists to keep her claws from thrusting into existence. Meet me, she telepathed, as she strode toward Zurroc.

He rolled toward her, and keeping her rage contained, Kytaira opened the passenger door, hopping inside. “They’re waiting for him.” She chewed the words. “They’re going to use a SWAT team to raid his farm once he returns...our Amish farmer,” she added.

“I did my own surveillance.” Zurroc spoke as he drove toward the exit. “I know the exact location of his farm. We’ll cut them off at the pass.” He swung onto the road, heading toward the two lane highway.

“You’re watching too many Westerns.”

“Is that so? I haven’t heard one complaint when I wear my Stetson and spurs, and tell you to mount up.” His growly tone teased her.

Kytaira hesitated only a moment. “And you won’t hear any, tiger cowboy. Yeeehawww,” she throatily rumbled. With a flip of her hair, she switched to killer. “I’ll deliver a timely message to the agents in charge before we scatter the vermin.” Kytaira licked her lips in anticipation. “I can taste the wanna-be Darth Vaders now.”

“I’ll prowl the perimeter, and get a fix on their positions, first, while you take out their operations base with your special expertise.”

“A plan I can love, black tiger mine. Don’t look,” she sassily tossed toward him, even as took off her shoes.

***

Naked, Kytaira leapt from the slowly rolling car. Staying low, she charged toward the two agents who stood beside their car, parked within sight of the farmhouse and barn. The woman spoke on a cell phone, while the man talked into a walkie talkie like device.

Knowing the woman was in charge of the operation by her dominant vibes, Kytaira sprinted toward the man. As he paced, adjusting his ear piece like it was a talisman, she snuck up behind him.

With a swift spin, she kicked punching his temple with the heel of her foot. He blacked out immediately, collapsing to the ground. Retrieving the communication device, Kytaira crushed it in her hand, then tossed it aside.

“What the goddamn fuck?” The woman whirled, facing Kytaira. Even though her gaze registered shock, she dropped her ultra-smart phone, and pulled her revolver. In a quick professional motion, she aimed true.

Kytaira was quicker. With a half spin, she avoided the fired bullets. Seizing the woman’s wrist, she twisted ruthlessly. The gun dropped into Kytaira’s hand, and she flashed a bolt of energy, melting it.

Screaming in pain, the woman backed up. She jerked open the car door, intending to grab another weapon. Before the woman could open the driver’s door completely, Kytaira launched her foot, striking the side and slamming it shut.

Snarling, Kytaira stalked closer. “You don’t learn, do you, blondie?”

“Who are you, bitch? You won’t get away with this. I don’t care who...”

Ignoring the petulant demand, and the woman’s silly assumption that she was about to be rescued, Kytaira glared at her with feral eyes. Once yuppie blondie’s lips stopped flapping, she snatched up the beeping signaling phone. Keeping one eye trained on the dishwater blonde, Kytaira disabled the satellite uplink, then the satellite itself. Firing her force into the phone’s other connection frequencies, she fried the monitoring electronics in DC.

“Here, blondie.” Kytaira tossed the phone to her. “Once you take a good look, we’ll have a conversation. One sided, of course.”

Thumbing buttons like a texting queen, the agent also kept watch from the corner of her eye. Then, in a desperate bid to escape, she threw the phone at Kytaira’s face, and charged forward with the clumsiness of a young cub.

Kytaira almost laughed as she flipped the woman onto her back. She hit hard, and Kytaira leaped on top of her. Trapping blondie’s throat with her hand, she pressed down just enough to keep control.

“I have a few messages for your corrupt bosses.”

The woman gurgled a scream while grabbing Kytaira’s wrist with both of her hands. Before she could do any damage with her digging nails, Kytaira morphed her free hand. Faster than blondie could scream again, she swiped her cheek with the tips of her claws. The fine scratches welled with blood.

“Ready to listen now?”

The woman nodded pathetically, her eyes like twin ping pong balls.

“Never get between a tigress and her raw milk.”

Frantically, blondie shook her head no, her gaze somehow staying Kytaira’s face and raised paw.

“If you or anyone dares to bother this Amish farmer and his family in any way, it will be your last regret.” Kytaira paused for effect. “Got it, blondie?”

She nodded like a rapidly bouncing ball. Still, Kytaira witnessed the woman’s belief that she and her rapacious ilk would prevail. That is, if she lived to tell the tale.

Kytaira smiled with slow cruelty. “Remember, blondie, it’s not V for Vendetta, it’s M for Murderous Claws.”

With a deft swipe of her paw, Kytaira ripped open the top of her blouse. She flexed one claw so the woman could see it’s entire lethal size before she flashed it downward, and carved an M on her chest. Of course, blondie fainted.

Kytaira sprang upward. “Now for some real predator fun.”

Shifting to tigress, she roared as she ran to join Zurroc. He’d already scattered the SWAT team, and now chased them as if they were a flock of giant blackbirds who couldn’t wing off the ground.

Weaving in and out like the powerful beast he was, Zurroc batted their assault weapons away as soon as they raised them. With fierce enthusiasm, he hunted the black-shielded cowards. For, only cowards harmed those who were no threat to them.

Kytaira bounded into the fray, her jaws clamping onto one man’s arm as he took aim at her black tiger. The bones of his forearm snapped between her fangs satisfactorily.

Releasing him, Kytaira watched as he ran for the hills clutching his arm. Several of his fellows followed, and the smell of their fear was a sweet gift all its own.

Together, she and Zurroc sprang toward those who drew sidearms and formed a circle around them. Before the Darth Vaders got one shot off, she and Zurroc slapped at the black helmets with the deadly strength of their paws.

When a second wave raced toward them, their weapons firing wildly, Kytaira and Zurroc split apart and charged behind them. Whirling back and forth on their hindquarters -- their claws flashing beneath the noon sunlight -- they tore hunks of material off their indestructible uniforms.

In minutes, the entire team retreated. Kytaira and Zurroc playfully pursued them until they ran like frightened rabbits.

Home, my tigress?

Yes, home. I have plans for that raw milk.

Organic cocoa powder and honey does make the best chocolate milk.
~~~~~~

AND...

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

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

Chapter Six ~ Shere Khan’s Dishonorable Ninjas

A whirling wind heralded dawn, and blew through Z’Pasha. Once Earth’s breath intermingled with her essence, she knew she had achieved her desired diaphanous state.

Z’Pasha retained the full use of her magickal skills as she would while fully materialized, yet she could also travel as the wind. Aware Shere Khan possessed a similar sorcery due to his disciplined practice of the esoteric knowing, Z’Pasha sent breeze-like tendrils to act as her alarm.

While the Yakuza leader’s ninjas were advanced in the art of fighting astrally, they did not match his abilities, as Z’Pasha had discovered. She considered Shere Khan a dangerous enemy.
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Note: For a look at the first five chapters ‘six sentence’ openings, check my page.
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Happy New Moon Shapeshifting

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
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Tigress Shapeshifter ~ My claws ache for justice...

Discombobulated greetings, shapeshifter lovers. Yep, my head is spinning... my eyeballs are spinning. Finally, oh finally, Kandy Apple and Her Hellhounds is polished, and ready for submission. So... when I looked at the date from a numerology point of view... well, here’s a quote from my Kougar Kisses bloggie ~ Oooh, the numbers are freaky magical too. It’s a FOUR MONTH, and a FOUR DAY, and a FOUR year ~ April 4, 2011 ~ picture this Big Cat cross-eyed right now.
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Warning: The Tigress is back with her jaw-crunching, bloodletting brand of justice... even if there is no actual crunch of jaws in this flash scene. However, no, this flash is not for the faint of heart... or the politically correct.
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Tigress Shapeshifter ~ My claws ache for justice...

I glance at the crystalline screen, brought from my far-away homeworld, and my lip curls in a snarl. Immediately, my claws ache for justice. Glaring at the Earth news headline, I almost spill the specialty creamy coffee my Zurroc has thoughtfully made for me.

Mon Apr 4, 11:22 am ET
Transocean awards safety bonuses to execs, BP vies to resume Gulf oil exploration
By Brett Michael Dykes

As I continue reading I rumble a warning growl. The hair on the back of my neck raises, and the urge to morph, then taste spurting blood has me seeing red. Blood red!

As The Lookout reported last week, corporations doled out skyrocketing bonuses to executives in 2010, while the average worker keeps putt-putting along. And now comes news that executives at Transocean—which owned the Deepwater Horizon platform that blew up and claimed the lives of 11 oil workers while touching off the BP oil spill—are collecting safety bonuses for their performance in 2010.

Controlling my inner beast, for now, I stare at the screen until I see words again. “Dastardly despicable liars,” I growl loudly. Yes, I want my Zurroc to hear me. Rage is beginning to boil my huntress blood.

While noting "the tragic loss of life" in the incident that led to last summer's Gulf disaster, the company said in a regulatory filing that it would pay two-thirds of a possible safety bonus to senior managers because—outside of the Deepwater Horizon explosion—the company's 2010 safety record was "exemplary," claiming it was "the best year in safety performance in our company's history."

“I could go on a shredding, ripping, killing spree.” I viciously snarl the words as Zurroc approaches, and moves to my side. Quickly, his growl thunders through me, as we scan the article together.

Transocean is one of three main parties involved in the disaster—together with BP and Halliburton—and the official verdict is still not in on how much responsibility it bears. Just last week, Bureau of Ocean Energy Management Regulation and Enforcement director Michael Bromwich accused Transocean of stonewalling investigations into the causes of the incident. Until the bureau can effectively gather and cull that information, Bromwich, explained, investigators cannot determine what kind of fines to assess among the three companies involved in the disaster.

“What the fang-ripping fuck?” Zurroc spins on his heel, pacing, his hand whipping through his hair.

“The problem is,” I pause for an instant, “a blood-pouring killing spree won’t help.”

“No,” he snaps in a growl. His back and forth strides are beyond agitated, and I know he is thinking at a furious speed.

Automatically tasting my coffee, I also burn the gray matter. “What if we ruin them the way they’ve ruined others?”

Zurroc halts, whirling to face me. “Similar to the way you did before? By spreading the wealth into the little people’s bank accounts.”

I nod, a plan forming nicely inside my head. “Only this time. Let’s put their ugly stinky asses into foreclosure. We’ll wipe out every bit and byte of their bank accounts. Every stock and bond they own... oh!” I jump, but not enough to spill my coffee. “We’ll put them into a debt hole they can’t climb out of. No matter how much gold and silver they have secreted away.”

Zurroc’s gaze darkly glitters with speculation. His brow furrows as he considers how to accomplish what I’ve spoken. Not only how, but how fast.

“Can you...?”

“I have learned how to manipulate this primitive technology well enough,” he begins. “Put on the serious coffee pot, Kytaira. Let’s get started.”

“Yes, sir.” I imitate American speech, then take a hopping step toward the kitchen cabinet.

“And, the side of beef,” he calls after me.

“Bloody rare?” I shout.

“Fire up the pit, my tigress. We have a long day and night ahead of us.”

“Yes, my black tiger,” I holler back, as I set my coffee mug down.

Reaching for the monster commercial coffee pot, I catch myself smiling. With a flip of my hair, I plug it in, then bend over for the large container. Yeah, from Jamaica, Blue Mountain coffee beans.

Now, it’s my turn to play the supportive role. Finally.

Zurroc will be the one savagely killing off the futures of those who take blood money for the lives they have brutally ruined. For the murderous acts they commit over and over again like mad beasts.

“Thirty pieces of silver was nothing back in the day,” I mutter to myself, as I stride toward the meat locker. “Grrrrr,” I growl as I think. At today’s silver prices...what? A mere thousand dollars, or so.

“I’m in,” Zurroc roars. “Let the slaughter of evil begin. My claws ache for justice.”
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HAPPY SPRINGTIME SHAPESHIFTING

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
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