Tomorrow! The Sexy Summer Solstice Blog Hop

Bring one, bring all! Time to get your 'read' on, and enjoy an eyeful of yummy hotness. Plus, win prizes.

~~~~~~

Summer Solstice Eve howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

Since I'll be penning a flash scene for the blog hop, you're getting my WIPs latest 'unedited' chapter. Apologies for the lack of a setup, but I'll just let it stand on it's own.

~ From the Kougar’s Writing Den ~

Her Midnight Stardust Cowboys

Chapter Forty-Nine

Sherilyn followed the stream of sequin like stars, and knew she dreamed. A sense of reality enveloped her, more than she'd ever experienced while lucid dreaming.

When her starry path swirled upward, then vanished, Sherilyn drifted inside the mouth of a gigantic object that reminded her of an upside down tornado. Only nothing spun.

'Void,' she mentally spoke. Ascending slowly, she attempted to see where the enormous spiral formation ended.

As Sherilyn focused on the narrowing funnel, dread suddenly swamped her. She stilled, trapped.

A tidal wave of sheer fear gripped her, and she dove downward. Relief flooded through her when she saw Dontoya rising to meet her.

Protectively, he embraced her essence with his astral body. White light flashed around them, and Sherilyn found herself back in bed.

Realizing she remained in the dream state, Sherilyn wondered why her memory of what had occurred simply disappeared. The only remnant was a feeling of terror. 'Am I okay?'

'You're safe, precious mate. But no more dream wanderin'.'

Dontoya raised his arms heavenward. In a singsong voice, he chanted in a way that made Sherilyn aware of his Native American heritage. Yet the sound of his power prayer, as she thought of it, held more resonance, and unique notes.

The last thing Sherilyn remembered as she entered the realm of dreamless sleep, was Barney pushing his way beneath her arm -- the feel of her rabbit's soft fur as he cuddled close.

****

"Mornin', sleepyhead." Zance stood, and with a big sexy grin, he indicated her place at the sunny breakfast table.

"Good morning, handsome." Feeling somewhat shy, yet also adored and tingly exuberant down to her booted toes, Sherilyn took a seat.

"Hungry?" Zance poured a glass of juice for her, then lowered himself into a chair across from her in that swaggering way of his.

"Yeah, but I think the edge has finally worn off my hunger. Is that a good thing as far as healing?"

As Sherilyn lifted the glass something flitted across his eyes. She took a quick swallow of the cherry flavored juice, then nervously tossed her hair.

"You're mendin' just fine." Zance paused, his sharp golden gaze assessing her. "I had one of my 'knowings' about the future."

"Something you want to share?" Sherilyn automatically took another drink of the yummy juice, her gaze leaving Zance for only for an instant. The solemnity of his features concerned her.

"It'll hold, sweetheart. I'll discuss it with you and Dontoya later. Now why don't you enjoy your breakfast?" With a careless sweep of his arm, Zance uncovered a cast iron skillet. "Like fried potatoes with onion, and green and red pepper?"

"Smells delicious." Sherilyn helped herself, and as Zance filled another glass with milk, she ate hungrily.

Once she'd taken a long sip of the raw milk, then wiped her mouth with a napkin, Sherilyn observed Zance closely. "Bet your 'knowing' has something to do with those bully disgusting creeps, the Templetons."

"Are you sensin' them?"

"It feels like a damn lifetime of sensing them. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Looks like your highschool friend, Madeline, did her job. A private dick showed up at your ranch. Me and Dontoya had Marcy's niece move in with her boyfriend. Carmella's a tough little gal. Only gave the hired dick the same phone number on my business card."

The grinding wheels of her thoughts took over, and the old familiar fear stabbed her insides. "So, it's a matter of time before they track me down."

Zance took hold of her hand squeezing tenderly. "Sherilyn, me and Donny-cat got plans." He paused, his eyes flaring to feral gold. "It could get ugly. Don't mean to spoil your breakfast, sweetheart. But I got to prepare you."

"Ugly..." Sherilyn hauled in a breath, loving the way Zance held her hand. "I've had nasty run-ins with them and their hired goons. And it's feeling like final showdown time. But, how ugly are we talking?"

Zance looked her straight in the eye yet stroked her palm with his thumb. "Me and Dontoya might have to shapeshift to our animal forms, and go real primitive."

"Oh." Sherilyn knew what he meant. However her mind couldn't quite go there, shutting off the visual that wanted to form. "To protect me, right?" she murmured.

"To protect my precious mate." Drawing her hand beneath his lips, he placed a kiss near her thumb, making Sherilyn sizzle with desire.

"You know, sweet thing, those bastards won't stop comin' after you."

Damn if Zance didn't sound like an old-fashioned western hero. Sherilyn would have melted toward him like an eyelash-batting, gooey heroine if the Templetons weren't about to rear their effing heads.

"True. I know." She sighed and felt her shoulders slump. "The Templetons are criminals down to their very last cell. And no law enforcement agency will ever stop them. Too much bribe money, and lawyers that are slicker than a corral of greased pigs."

"Yep, that's why the Good Lord made those of us who will stop them."

"I never thought of it like that. It does make sense, though." Sherilyn twisted inside with conflicting emotions. "It's just that...that I was raised to be ever so civilized. Too damn civilized, and look where it's gotten me."

"In my arms, sweetheart. And in my bed." Zance winked outrageously, squeezing her hand again.

Sherilyn couldn't help but answer him with a sassy smile -- a flirtatious toss of her hair. Still, foreboding now clung to her. "The plan you and Dontoya have...when and where?" She frowned. "What exactly are you planning to do?"

"Tell you what, why don't we talk about it this evening? Goin' over the details will take some time, and the ranch needs tendin'."

Sherilyn nodded. To calm her jittery nerves, she drank more of her milk. "Given Talbot's Peak is...is different. Shapeshifters in control and all. Okay. But how are you going to deal with the Fed authorities if, when--?"

"There's another complication, darlin'."

Dontoya strode toward them, obviously attired for their riding date in well-worn but heavy duty jeans, a thick plain leather belt, an impeccable dark blue flannel shirt, and durable cowboy boots that shouted high quality workmanship.

He looked eat 'em up sexy.

"Complication?" Before her mind's eye, the image of a woman appeared. Sherilyn jerked backward as if zapped by an electrical shock.

"You see her, don't you?" Dontoya asked.

Resisting the urge to tremble like a damn leaf, she asked, "Is...is she a relative?"

"No. Her people are genetic cousins from the beginning times."

Dontoya seated himself, and intently searched her face. Fascinated, Sherilyn stared at the banked fires in the depths of his eyes. Even so, his gaze remained enigmatic.

A lump the size of a baseball formed in her throat -- so it felt. Sherilyn swallowed, and managed, "Who is she?"
~~~~~~

Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side...

Savanna

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

Your Cable Access Station

(Don't say it. I know. I'll run the announcement blog next week, I swear. May Dean Winchester hunt me down if I don't. Whoa, hold on ... )

Transcript: Mrs. Geaufeur’s Garden Tips Episode #58, broadcast 6/18


Talbot’s Peak Cable Access Channel 11

Mrs. G: Good morning, all! Welcome back to the garden. And how was that fresh carrot casserole, hmmm? I’ll be sharing more viewers’ recipes later in the show. Right now we’ve got a very special guest with us today, a carnivore with his very own vegetable garden! Please raise your trowels in salute to Mr. Greg Lupine from right here in Talbot’s Peak!

Greg: Call me Digger.

Mrs. G: Certainly, Digger. Now, you’re a wolf, is that correct?

Greg: You betcha.

Mrs. G: And yet you’ve planted a vegetable garden.

Greg: Well, I like to dig in both my forms, so one day I figured, I’m going to get my paws dirty anyway, why not put all that effort to good use? So I got some seeds and a couple of starter plants and first thing you know, they’re growing. I was kind of surprised myself, but now that I’ve got the hang of it, it’s working out great.

Mrs. G: What did you put in?

Greg: Well, I started with green beans because I heard they’ll grow anywhere. Look, I’ll be up front here. I wasn’t sure what to go with, but my girlfriend Laurie, she’s a human, she works at the garden center and she gave me some tips. I put the tomatoes in because of her. She looooves home-made spaghetti sauce. I’ve got about three types of lettuce, some carrots, radishes, zucchini, you know, the usual backyard crops. Oh, and a flower garden. I like all the scents. Don’t tell anybody. You know wolves. Any dog who says he likes flowers has to be a swishtail, know what I’m saying?

Mrs. G: (points to camera) You know this is being broadcast to the whole town, don’t you, dear?

Greg: Scat. Can you cut that part about the flowers?

Mrs. G: I’ll speak to the film editor. It’s rather unusual for a meat-eater to plant a vegetable garden, isn’t it?

Greg: That’s what everybody says. But y’know, it’s a real thrill watching the little shoots poke through the soil and the tomatoes grow and get big and ripen and all. The whole circle of life thing, y’know?

Mrs. G: Sounds as if you’ve had substantial luck. Do you use commercial fertilizer?

Greg: I’ve got a compost heap. And whatever I, uh, put out.

Mrs. G: Say no more, dear. I hope you wash everything you cook.

Greg: Oh, I don’t eat the stuff myself. Some of it goes to my girlfriend, but the rest is for the bunnies.

Mrs. G: You provide food for the local rabbits? That’s so philanthropic!

Greg: No no no, you’re getting the wrong idea. Not shifter bunnies. Real bunnies. I planted all that to lure them in. They eat the veggies, I eat them. Like I said, circle of life.

Mrs. G: You—what?

Greg: Look, I’m not a big veggie eater. I have to choke some down to keep the human body healthy, but mostly I eat meat. Wolf, remember? Well, I got tired of those mob scenes that are a pack hunt, me being down the ladder and all, the alpha and beta get the best cuts and we’re lucky if there’s scraps left on the bones, y’know? And I can’t just eat out all the time. Have you seen the prices in some of the restaurants around here? Who do they think we are, Warren Buffet? So it’s chase my own game. Rodents are pretty much all you can get without a pack for backup. Then one afternoon I was throwing dirt around out back and I realized, hey, I’ve got half an acre back here, why not plant some bunny bait and let them come to me? Son of a mutt, it worked, too. I put out a couple of live traps—

Mrs. G: Mr., um, Digger—

Greg: —and I must take in five or six a week. I had to get one of those big freezers. Took care of my gopher problem, too. No more holes in the lawn.

Mrs. G: (chokes)

Greg: That’s not the best part. I planted sunflowers and now I get squirrels and mice. Oh, and this one time, a deer. I swear, I get up one morning to mark the ol’ territory and there’s an honest-to-Lupa deer in the lettuce. A real deer, not a shifter. Well, he didn’t get more than one jump before I brought him down. Careless. You ask me, I did deerkind a favor taking him out of the gene pool.

Mrs. G: Oh my dear God—

Greg: Oh, and I’ve started an herb garden, did I mention that? For cooking. Nothing like fresh venison with onions and just a bit of basil. I’ve got it all now. Parsley, sage, rosemary and squirrel. You ever try sage on squirrel? Unbelievable. Squirrel goes great on home-made pizza, too. And gopher sliders. Love those.

Mrs. G: (makes retching noises)

Greg: You okay? You don’t look so good.

Mrs. G: (frantically) Go to commercial!

Voice: We’re cable access. We don’t have commercials.

Greg: Can I say hi to my girlfriend? (waves at camera) Hi, Laurie!

(Mrs. G slides off her chair)

Greg: Mrs. Geaufeur?

(TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES CARD)

Voiceover: We’ll be right back with this week’s viewer recipes. Here’s last week’s recipes, for those who missed it. Dammit, Nelson, roll clip!

Celebrate Father's Day ~ Take dad out for a run...

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!

From all of us at ShapeShifter Seductions and Talbot's Peak.

Louie picked up the picture...

Louie picked up the picture laying on his desk. His heart skipped one beat, thenanother. He blinked twice. If he inhaled too deep, his chest ached. How had she found him?

He laid the picture back down. Picking up the envelope he’d recently opened,he glanced toward the office door. Good,it was shut. No one would dare botherhim for another thirty minutes. Being theboss had its moments, like taking lunches behind closed doors that nonequestioned. Well except Bettina, and shedidn’t follow protocol unless she made the declaration. Sometimes her queenly ass could be a royalpain. Their nightly strolls down to MissElly’s dinner for Red Blood Sundaes had folks talking. Miss Elly’s homemade ice cream topped withher secret chocolate sauce and dark Bing cherries cured many a shifter’s sweettooth. Bettina’s cravings had clearedout Louie’s baked goods as fast he could make them until he introduce Bettinato Miss Elly. Now sanity reigned most ofthe time.

Louie turned the envelope over, examining front andback. No return address. A smeared postmark revealed little of thecity of origin. The date showed1974. Thirty years plus. Where had the time gone? His little---no his grown daughter might be aparent herself. Maybe even agrandmother. Easing the card out of theyellowed envelope, Louie stared at the simple lettering stating Happy Father’sDay. His hand shook as he opened thecard.

The usual generic verse about Dads and their importancedecorated one side of the inside two pages. A handwritten note on the opposite page caught his attention. Louie swallowed hard. He knuckled a tear off his cheek as he read.

Louis,

Bythe time you receive this, Arisa and I will be gone. There was a time when love would have kept me by your side and ourdaughter not asking where Daddy is as I tuck her into bed each night. Your choices proved too costly and dangerousfor our safety to stay.

Nomatter how good the money and prestige, working for the mob, especially thesupernatural mob, is not worth putting your wife and child at risk. Maybesomeday, I’ll tell Arisa the truth about her father. Until then you are as dead as your name. Thank the Gods I never took your name. Nor do you know my real name. There was a time I would have trusted you withthat. Not now, probably never will youknow who I am.

Why am I even sending this picture to you? Maybe I want you to hurt as much as you’vehurt me. You’ll never know your daughter’slove or see her grow up. I will andevery day I’ll be the center of her world, not you.

Maybe someday you’ll findpeace. I doubt shape shifters know themeaning of the word.

Your soon to be ex wife

Louie carefully laid the carddown. He pushed away from his desk. He moved toward the window closest tohim. Closing the blind, he inhaled. No one would see the tears he needed toshed. He turned and made his way acrossthe office.

Life on the streets in NewJersey taught him many lessons, hard ones and ones that remained with him tothis day. Trust never came easily. It was earned and could be taken away just aseasily. Lord, how he had that oneknocked into his head many life times over. He’d taken risks along the way. Learned that life was given for a reason. He didn’t regret many of the last few choiceshe’d made. The one big one he did wasnot finding his daughter before now.

Louie lay down on the couch he keptin the office for late nights and naps. He needed one. Once he woke up,Mooney, Nick, and Penelope’s Aussie Penguin were getting a visit. Somewhere out there a daughter waited for herfather to find her. This Father’s Daysignified a new beginning.

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

Happy Weekend Gang! Happy Father's Day to all our male readers! I'm glad the warm weather is here without the abundance of a heatwave. What a week! Two nights of power outages. One last Sunday authorities say a raccoon juiced himself on. Last night another two! The joke around the spice homestead is a squirrel or two decided to try jury rigging their power supply. Watch out Gill!

I'm off to enjoy a good book or two with my spice and loves!

Have a great weekend!

SOLARA

Dear TP Lupa...

Dear TP Lupa,

I am in distress.  My turd of a mate has left me and I don’t know what to do.  After one hundred and fifteen years together, an obscene number of eggs left on the beach and letting the bastard win every race so as not to hurt his fragile ego, he left me for a stinking hare named Buns.  I gave him the best years of my life and he gave me the boot.  What do I do?
Signed,
Shattered in her Shell

“Scat!”  Nick pushed away from the computer, grabbed the keyboard and threw it against the wall.

“Penny!”

When he’d conceived of and added this new column to the website it was in the hopes of pissing off Ziva. He’d hoped to encourage her to punish him again, but not appearing to be begging at his bitch’s feet.  That didn’t happen though.

“Penelope, Nicholas.  My name is Penelope or Mistress if you’d like to go there.”  His secretary, though she’d probably complain about that title as well, came into the office and sat in front of the desk.  “What do you want, desk humper?”

“Answer these letters and post them on the site.”

“No.” 

Nick panicked as Penny rose to leave.  He couldn’t answer all these whiners and Ziva had just growled at him when he told her it was an addition to her job.  No punishment, no biting or arousing skirmish—nothing but a growl and her back as she went to her office.  Having to answer these letters was not his idea of a punishment, it was pure torture.

“Come on, Penelope, I’m the boss…you do what I say.  Here’s an easy one:

Dear TP  Lupa,
This wily coyote and I spent the last three days groovin’ the nasty.  He promised to call, but hasn’t.  What do I do?
Beep, beep,
R. Runner

See, easy.”

“In your dreams, woodman.  I’m more likely to tell those people to take up a flogger, or better yet a single tail and let the training begin.”

“Please.”

“Have Z do it, she’s at least got some compassion…”

Yeah, Ziva was compassionate to everyone but him.  All he wanted was another session on the leash, but no.  “She won’t do it.  How about this one?

Dear TP Lupa,
I just received a marriage proposal, but before I answer I’d like to know how to meld a largely dissimilar family?
Grazing Granola”

“That one sounds familiar, but no thanks.  Guess that leaves you, Big Guy.”

“But, there’s got to be at least a thousand emails…”

“Not that many, Nick.”

“Penny, please…”

“Nope.  Better get started—website updates are at three…”

Fuck!  It was two fifteen and no one would do this.  Plus, he had a broken keyboard.  “Get me a new keyboard, Penny.”  He screamed through the door before grabbing a pen and note pad to jot down his answers.

Shattered:  Start a fire, grab a spike and have you some dogs and Buns.
 
R. Runner:  He’s not calling back.  Next time, rub one out.
 

Grazing Granola:  I better not know you!

~~~

“Is he doing it?”  Ziva stood next to her mate’s door twirling the choke chain around one finger.

“So cruel, Z…God you make me hot.” Penelope slid back into her seat after delivering a new keyboard to
Nick.  Yes, he’s doing it, begrudgingly, but it’s getting done.” 

“Damn.”  She pocketed the metal links and turned to head back to her office.  She’d hoped to have the luxury of going in and delivering a punishment to get him to do the job, but he caved to fast.  Now she needed to find another opportunity. 

“Hey Z, you sure you don’t want to play sometime?  I’ve got the perfect crop picked out just for you.”

With a wink and a smile she kept moving down the hall answering the beautiful Domme the same way she always did—with no answer.

~~~

 May we all have 115 years with our loves and never once have to write to the TP Lupa!

Serena

The Enemy of My Enimy

Since I have not gotten around to describing Tom in the story, I figured I'd share what he looks like with you via a picture. Without further ado, here's this weeks snippit.

(See Pat? No dangling cliff hanger this week!)

**********

Day 6

               

                Tom watched as Alex Hamilton, aka the fat Aussie bastard, plowed his way down Main Street headed right for the Washington State PI. Curious that the county’s most prominent pimp knew exactly who the mule would be, he thought. He glanced over at Jenna McGowan, aka the Washington State PI, and flinched. She had seen Hamilton, all right. By the looks of it, she was all set to kill him the moment he came within range. Curiouser and curiouser. One thing was certain, he needed to forestall  the pending confrontation, preferably without alerting Hamilton that Ms McGowan was in contact with the local authorities.  No problem there; all he had to do was harass the pimp a bit. No way a career criminal like that would run the risk of contacting a mule right in front of a cop. Then he’d have time to force an explanation out of Ms. McGowan.

                He started the engine of his patrol car, revving the huge V8 hemi enough for it to be heard over the car’s sound isolation and the regular street noise, and slowly pulled out into traffic. He smiled, genuinely amused, when Hamilton’s startle face flashed his way and then turned back fast enough to give the pimp whiplash.  Hamilton turned on the next cross street—two blocks before the drug store Ms McGowan was coming out of—and walked at a brisk pace toward the pedestrian-only mall. 

                Yep, he’d been headed for the lovely PI, all right. And judging by his reaction, Hamilton had been so very focused on her that he hadn’t seen Tom in his patrol car. That fit with her strong reaction of hate toward the pimp since emotion that strong for someone you don’t know, or didn’t know you knew, was always reciprocated. Tom stifled the urge to follow the fat bastard—great, now she had him calling Hamilton that!—and continued down Main Street at a leisurely pace.  The pedestrian mall wasn’t a problem, cops could drive on it. But it was best to let Hamilton think he’d gotten away before blowing his contact.

**********

                “Hi,” Tom said out his rolled down window an hour later. Ms. McGowan glanced behind her, toward him, then smiled. He was officially off duty now, in civies and driving his old pick-up truck.

                “Hi yourself,” she said, quickly picking up on the game he had in mind. Just two strangers meeting for the fist time at the city park. He pulled up to the curb and parked.

                “The cops in this town must be pretty lax if you feel confident parking on the wrong side of the street like that,” she said with a smirk. Tom shot her a dirty look before letting his face relax in to a sexy grin.

                “Oh, I don’t know about lax,” he drawled. “But I’m confident they’ll let me slide this one time. I’m Tom, by the way. Don’t remember every seeing you around town before.

                “Jenna,” she said with a smart-aleck grin. “I’m not from this town.”

                “Just passing through or…?” he asked.

                “Or,” she replied. She waited a moment to let him know she was still teasing/needling him, then smiled for real. “I’m in town following up on a few job leads. Just got here today.” She turned away from him and looked around the park. “I have to say, this park is truly exceptional. Who came up with the idea for a dog bowl for a pond?”

                Tom laughed at that. This park was rather exceptional, but it was also more than a touch whimsical. That “pond” was a magical portal into a huge underground water system used by water-type shifters. No one knew who built the water bowl pond, probably the same person who opened a portal in it, but it had fired the imagination of the town’s artistic set. They now had a huge kitty litter sand box, a cork screw pet tie-down stake that doubled as a curly-que slide, and other house pet themed playground equipment. Even the non-shifters in town loved this park.

                “That is putting it mildly,” he agreed as he sat down next to her on the dog bone park bench. “About every six months, someone comes along and adds another “attraction” to this park. There’s been talk of tearing down that old warehouse next to it to make room for more stuff to be added.”

                She laughed and a chill ran down his spine. Tom couldn’t help leaning just a bit closer to catch her scent. She’d obviously found the stash of heat-defeating body sprays the drug store stocked because he didn’t catch the overwhelming scent of a bitch in heat, but her natural scent, augmented with natural plant-based perfume, fired his every canine sense anyway. There were other dog shifters in town, even a couple German shepherds like him. Not one of them smelled as good as this female, though. He shifted slightly to release some of the pressure on his suddenly stirring cock. Oh, damn, this assignment was going to be hell on his cold water bill.

                “So,” he said, forcing his mind to over-ride his body. “Just how do you know Alex Hamilton, a.k.a the fat Aussie bastard, anyway?” He smile faltered, then became wooden. She shrugged.

                “I’m a dingo, he’s a Tasmanian tiger. My kind have been trying to hunt his out of existence for thousands of years.”

                Score! He thought excitedly. He’d known Hamilton was a shifter, but no one in town knew what type. And his sexy little PI was a dingo. That explained why his nose told him “canine” but not what kind. He’d never run into the Australian breed before, in shifters or in regular animals.

                “I thought Tasmanian tigers were extinct,” he commented.

                “Real ones are,” she agreed. “They lost the evolutionary battle over a hundred years ago. We’ve been trying to force the shape shifting type to follow their animal bretheren but so far, no luck.”

                “Why?” Tom asked, curious. Shifters usually banded together, not hunted each other out of existence.

                “Trust me, the world would be a better place without them.”

                “I have a hard time believing there are not good Tasmanian tigers around,” Tom said with disbelief.

                “Well there aren’t, and that’s not species bias talking. They kill any of their young that doesn’t pass muster. And for them, “muster” means being cold, nasty, psychotic pieces of filth.” She shrugged. “We tried the live and let live approach back when we first settle in what is now Australia. They started this war by slaughtering our young. They’ve continued to give us reason to keep trying to eradicate them.”

                “I don’t understand,” Tom said.

                “It wasn’t humans who killed off the real Tasmanian tigers, Tom. Fossil records clearly show that ancient tigers were much smaller than they were when they officially died off.”

                “Real tigers were small and the shifter type were bigger,” Tom said, realizing the point she was trying to make. “The bigger species killed off the smaller one.”

                “And decimated our people as well as many other animals, too,” she agreed. “They are cold-blooded killers. They destroy everything they touch. Once the giant lizards of Australia died out, they had no natural predators, so they began killing everything. Now we dingos keep their numbers under control.”

                Tom nodded, understanding her point but not liking it. He was a cop. He’d seen criminals that were totally unrehabilitatable, no matter how many breaks a judge gave them. The thought of a whole race of mindless criminals running around unchecked was worse than the idea of shifters killing shifters. The humans could keep their ideas of turning the other cheek. That kind of thing worked for them, but it didn’t usually work for folks whose animal nature was just a turn away from showing at all times.

                “That makes it kind of interesting, then, with you being sent here to make contact with him and all,” Tom said after a moment.

                “Sweetie, you have no idea. I’m pretty sure this was all a set-up for me.”

                “And you contacting me was…”

                “The best answer I could think up to ambush the fuckers right back.”