Happy Hoppy Easter from ShapeShifter Seductions

Greetings, everyone. Here for your reading entertainment is a flash scene from the Talbot's Peak vault at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS.

Bunnies are not always what they seem. Keep that in mind when reading this *r-rated* piece of flash fiction.

Magickal, Fantastical Bunny

By Savanna Kougar

Once upon a time on Earth, we Shapeshifters ruled. That thousand year reign has been nearly lost to history, and now belongs to the timeless mists surrounding this third planet from the sun.

The only remnants are myths and legends, and a few ancient ruins. Yes, there are written documents. However, they are hidden away, and mostly used for sinister and despicable purposes.

During my epoch, Earth, or Galaxias, as we knew her, orbited the Grand Light as the fourth planet, and later as the fifth. At that time, Venus was not with us. Mercury and his two sisters were. A colossal comet streaked into the solar system, and instead of allowing the destructive force to claim Galaxias, we hired a space-faring, super race to capture the barren comet.

In retrospect, adding the comet to the gravitational dynamics of the solar system backfired on us, because it allowed for a climate change conducive to the rise of the dinosaurs. Even though, these massive creatures were no danger to us, those who had brought their genetics to Earth proved to be the Betrayers.

And, they still are.

The Betrayers, as a race, have remained on Earth. Many wars and battles have been fought at their instigation, and some in an effort to rid the world of their presence.

As of this time, April 2011, the Betrayers, these Grays are on the rise. They threaten all Life on my beloved Galaxias.

I am a Slayer.

I am invisible to them because of their arrogance. They have no natural love of animals. They sense only fur and meat. My blood is meant only for their constant genetic experiments.

Yes, I will own the advantage, despite their advanced mind capabilities, and their manipulative technologies. The real challenge will be the primitive rigors of life in what is called the early 21st century.

My real test is mental survival. Will I successfully negotiate the labyrinth of the human mind, as well as the fractionalized minds of surviving shapeshifters? For, by creating endless mayhem and agony, the Grays have split their psyches against their divine natures.

Raising my arms in reverence, I part the etheric curtain, and gaze at the moon on the eighteenth day of April. For long moments, her celestial breath becomes my breath. Once she invites me into her embrace, I merge and she becomes my through-the-mists barge.

On the white-jewel beams of the Great Feminine, I arrive in Talbot’s Peak, the new haven for shapeshifters.

Or, for those of you with a bent toward science, I utilize the moon’s 2012-activated frequencies. In instants, I exchange my particles from my where I was in time, to where I land now, the midnight forest close to what is called the Interspecies Pleasure Club.

Land. On my four paws. I’m in trouble. Somehow, I have been morphed against my will into my animal form. With my instincts kicking in, I sniff the breezes while peering through the deep darkness for the nearest safe thicket.

The odor of hunting werewolves shivers through me. Paralyzed for an instant, I then leap in the direction of a small bush still shrouded by autumn leaves. Too late!

Four sets of paws race toward me, vibrationally thundering the ground. I hear their quickening pants in anticipation of the chase, then the kill. The rending of me from limb to blood-spurting limb.

Launching forward, I sprint, my hindquarters driving me ever faster over the moist fecund ground. With the hungry werewolves hot on my trail, and way too close to my tail, I zigzag between the large tree trunks. The vegetation is all too sparse here.

Still, I am a survivor. I have been prey many times. With fear coursing my blood, I sense for any means of escape. Seeing chrome riding machines, and the light from the above-ground bar, I ran flat out until I am weaving madly between the wheels.

Crashing thuds follow me like dominos. The motorcycles, as they are called, must be flying in all directions. I race for the bar’s entrance, and as the door opens, spilling a pathway of light, I charge between one of the patron’s legs. He shouts a string of curses, then I hear, “What the fuck! Is that a goddamn rabbit?”

Inside, I dash wherever there is open space. Roaring growls split the air. Some of the women shriek. Drinks splash and spill. Glass shatters on impact. Chairs scrape the floor, one right after another. The jagged sound hurts my ears.

“It is a fucking rabbit.”

“Someone grab dinner.”

With bedlam following in my wake, I avoid the surprised stomp of boots, the tipping tables and the falling chairs. I hear the door being bolted, then the slam of werewolves against the heavy, obviously steel-reinforced wood planks.

As the saying goes here, I’ve jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. And, everyone wants me for dinner.

With a giant hop, I dart behind the bar, and run the length. Just as I dive between several liquor bottles, giant hairy morphing hands come real close to grabbing my ears and tail.

With my heart beating fast and hard against my ribs, and the blood pounding in my flattened ears, I scrunch backward, behind the tall bottles. Making myself as small as possible, I press against the walls of the storage compartment beneath the bar.

“If anyone shifts you’re banned for a week.” The dominant voice reigns over the mad-hatter frenzy. “Barry, you and your crew, throw out whoever needs to be tossed on their furry asses.”

“Sure thing. Need to tell ya, Dante, that critter don’t look like no ordinary rabbit.”

“It’s red.” A female voice barks squeakily. “And tall. Extra long legs.”

“Anyone here stop to think it might be a shifter, and a customer?”

It’s this Dante’s commanding voice. I stop my frantic quivering long enough to train one ear forward.

“Couldn’t be a customer, Dante. It busted in here, running pell mell like it was rabid or something. You shoulda seen the leap it made when it dashed behind the bar. Want me to show you where it’s hiding?”

“Yeah, Kelly. Get your shift under control first.”

“Well, you’d be running scared too, if a pack of werewolves were snapping at your tail...and you were a rabbit.”

The woman’s spirited voice sends a jolt of much-needed warmth through me. But, what now? I’m unable to shift yet. Fear has me in its icy-taloned grip. I can't even move.

There’s a pause, and I feel everyone’s attention focused on this Dante. He must be the alpha in charge. Although, that is not my intel.

“Listen up,” he growls authoritatively. “Is there anyone here who has a fondness for rabbits? And, I don’t mean for good eating. Got it?”

In the heavy silence, I tremble, but avoid rattling the bottles.

“Yeah, Dante. I had a rabbit girlfriend. Once.” I feel the man’s glare before he speaks again. “No,” he growls sharply, “I didn’t eat her at the first full moon.”

“Ridge Runner, over here. Bend my ear privately. Kelly, get drinks for everyone on the house. Back off,” Dante orders, “give us some breathin’ room.”

An eery quiet takes over the place, and I listen to Dante’s and this Ridge Runner’s footsteps come closer. They sit at the bar, and fast enough, their noses sniff me out. The frequency of it travels through my bones.

Even though, I manage to angle my ears toward them, I hear only the low sound of their voices, but no words. If I could only shift...

“Problem here?” the young woman’s voice floats on the airwaves beautifully. “Oh, oh, there is a bunny here.” Her true joy stuns me at the same time it fills me with some relief. “Where are you bunny? Here, bunny? All I want to do is hold you, and pet you...I promise.”

“Damara, you’re underage. What are you doing here?” Dante’s voice is stern, yet also kind.

“I told you. I want to dance. Like Gypsy does. I’m learning. Besides, you need me right now.”

“I better not find out who let you in here,” Dante growls like a protective father.

“No one,” Damara proudly lilts, as she continues in my direction, moving behind the bar. “Bunny...beautiful rabbit...I’ll carry you out of here.”

I know suddenly why Damara is drawn so strongly to rabbits. The scent of her blood hums through me. She is a witch keeper of hares, and draws strength from their companionship. Although, I am uncertain if she is aware of her heritage.

As her light footsteps approach, I stretch just enough to view her face. She bends over to look for me, and our gazes meet. When she smiles, her surreal radiance is like the moon.

“Oh, magical, fantastical,” she murmurs. With a slow hand, she sets the bottles to the side, then reaches forward, her palms open, her hands soft. “My magical, fantastical bunny,” she croons. “Come here, please. Please...”

My muscles cooperate, and I gradually lengthen myself. With a sniff of her fingertips, I give a hop right into her arms. She rises hugging me to her bosom, and I feel her smile of sheer delight. “Oh, you are a big bundle of bunny goodness. And, what a lovely red chestnut color you are. Just like my pony.”

“Stay away,” she warns, once she’s carried me a distance. “Except for Ridge Runner. He can come with us.”

“He better,” Dante rasps with quiet alpha power. “He’s your guardian from now on. For both you, and the rabbit shifter. Damara, do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Damara trills over her shoulder. “I wonder what you look like? I bet you’re as beautiful human as you are a rabbit.”

“Yeah, I bet she is too.” Ridge Runner strides beside us.

Is that carnal hunger I hear in his voice? It’s been so long since -- ignoring my sudden yearning, I cuddle into Damara’s hold, and thank the Most Sacred for my rescue.
~~~~~~

HAPPY EASTER!

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Happy St. Patrick's Day from ShapeShifter Seductions

May you have a memorable and magickal St.Patty's Day.

Here's a fantasy flash scene I had no idea was there until I began writing it. But it is the Year of the Dragon.
~~~~~~

Wearin' of the Green Scales ~ Dragon Warrior

Dragon Warrior that he was, Dhaegan lowered his blade slowly. Bright as moonlight, the immense blade had served him well ever since he'd pulled it from the bottom of Avalon's deepest lake, and out of the grip of a red-haired giant who, though he lay in a state of suspension, nevertheless kept a savage hold.

Yet, wrest it away he had for the sake of the many princesses and fair maidens -- also for the foolish knaves or unlucky knights -- he'd rescued during the past few centuries, his training having begun once Merlin passed into another realm taking the age of Magick with him.

Now, a sort of retirement lay before him. Dhaegan could not have said he was sorry to see this day. He'd lived the ages-long adventure with gusto, slashing and slaying those of evilest heart and mind.

His soul had been tried, tested, and purified by the fires of both supernatural temptations and the fiercest of tribulations. However, in the end his triumphs had won out -- his reward earned.

Now his scales were the brilliant aurora green of an elder statesman, a counselor to the youth of his dragon shapeshifter kind. Now he'd earned family and castle and the proper leisures of life.

Yet, his true reward, therein lay his problem. Few dragon maidens without mates were about in these times, this year of 2012. And since the world tilted wildly and madly, thundering toward ever more tumult during this end of, and beginning of, a new age, even fewer maidens wished to be his mate.

None, in point of fact.

So he'd been told by the Dragoness Matchmaker. His warrior strength and ability counted against him. For, he would not forsake a fight, or a battle that needed winning, even though his days of seeking out such rabid-dog villainy had ended. And he was glad of it.

Refusing the sigh that would pass between his lips, Dhaegan placed the point of his broadsword on the thick strong brick before the crackling fireplace. Leaning on it for a bit of balance, he propped his booted foot on the bonnie hearth, feeling the hefty brush of his kilt against his thigh.

Pondering his dilemma, he let the cooking odors of the fine establishment bring him some measure of enjoyment. While he'd found a grand view and a lush mountainous terrain for his castle and grounds -- the purchase having been completed only a few days ago -- the true benefit would be settling himself within an established community of shapeshifters, and other diverse paranormal folk.

Of course, Dante's wondrous underground dungeon known as The Interspecies Pleasure Club held all manner of fascinations to be explored. While Dhaegan was a man-dragon of lusty and unlimited appetite for pleasures with the fair sex, both artful and primal, his nature was not inclined toward such erotic fetishes as had been described to him.

That is, other than what his dragon physiology offered. The tip of his tail tickling the pearl between a woman's thighs had gained him many lovers in the past. As had many other of his passionate and unique skills.

Dhaegan was also not inclined toward more than one woman at this stage of his life. He desired a richer relationship, one that included an intimacy of the heart and mind, not only the sweetfire ecstasy of joining loins with a woman.

He wanted a mate to share his life with. He favored the type of rollicking and loving life his sire and damn still enjoyed.

Dhaegan gave the bar maid an appreciative nod as she placed a pewter tankard brimming with a dark frothy brew beside him. She gifted him with a sassy smile before spinning on her heel and swaying away, her movements like an impatient sylph.

Lifting the ale to his lips, Dhaegan quaffed with satisfaction, his gaze on the leaping flames, yet not. Truly he'd not owned an abundance of time to plan out his new life. Now seemingly time had become his ally in the matter.

As a Celtic songstress began warbling over the pub's sound system, Dhaegan coiled his inner dragon around the heartfelt singing. He counted it good luck that his end of days as a wandering and dutiful warrior coincided with the modern version of St. Patrick's day, and the wearin' of the green... or the wearin' of his newly acquired green scales.

This, even though, St. Patrick, the man, had been of simple mind and a one-trick saint. The poor fool had been saved far more times by others of Dhaegan's ilk than the bumbling holy man had ever saved another human being.

Earlier in the day, as Dhaegan stared at his reflection in the hidden pristine lake, he'd been quite proud of the emerald sheen of scales. He'd also watched Sivakka, the Nessie, swim and frolic with her dolphin friends. In fact, the placement of his castle would not be far away, an hour's flight on a day of serene weather.

Dhaegan allowed himself a grin at his dragon's vanity before he threw back another large swallow of his ale. Moments later, the lilac, white-heat smell of the human woman he'd attempted to rescue mere days ago caused him to shake back his mane of hair, then alter his position to seek her out.

Letting the mostly finished tankard of ale rest atop his knee, Dhaegan searched the pub's ever-burgeoning crowd. He'd been hiking along the riding trails of Merry and Dash's dude ranch to familiarize himself with the terrain, and to stretch his human legs.

He'd observed the woman's horse slip on a patch of recently loosened pebbles. She'd taken a tumble, her behind thumping on the ground after a valiant effort to hang on. In seconds, Dhaegan had caught hold of the frightened horse's reins because the wild-eyed animal trotted straight at him.

Once he determined it was mostly the woman's pride that had been hurt, and since her mount was uninjured, with just a bit of fetlock bruising, Dhaegan had offered to give her a leg up, then escort her back to the ranch.

Her response had been a stiff but polite thank you for catching her horse. After tossing her long glossy braid over one shoulder -- her tresses were the color of dark chestnut -- she'd deigned to gaze upon him. Instantly, layers of frost formed over her peacock-blue eyes -- the piercing and mystical eyes of a Seeress, he swiftly noticed.

Dhaegan realized with little effort that the woman absolutely despised the male sex -- confirmed when she'd gone on to inform him she was just fine, that she would lead the horse back, and didn't need his help.

He didn't question why. There was no need, given how often he witnessed the fair sex being poorly treated, and often with utter disrespect. He'd chastised or severely punished any man who had done such in his presence, depending on the degree of the oaf's fault and failing.

Despite the woman's curt insistence that he could be on his way, Dhaegan had discreetly followed her to the ranch's barn until he'd known she was being attended to properly. And not that he hadn't lustily enjoyed every moment of viewing the pear-shaped swell of hips and the precocious outline of her buttocks as she walked down the trail.

The woman had been careful to keep her mount managed and calm. And Dhaegan wondered what it would be like if she managed him with such attention and care. He also didn't deny that her eyes still intrigued him, still haunted him to this very moment.

He didn't deny that he wanted her to pierce him down to his soul -- his soul as man and dragon.

Once he gained sight of the fey-delicate woman, Dhaegan set his tankard down, sheathed his broadsword, and strode toward her. She spoke with Gypsy Red Wolf, exotic dancer and Talbot's Peak psychic.

Gypsy had been kind, engaging him in an extended conversation when he'd complimented her dancing. Of course, he had remained platonic in his manner, well-knowing about Sergei, her Siberian Tiger lover.

Now, simply from overhearing snatches of conversation, and from what Dante had mentioned in their brief words together, he knew Gypsy was seeking a Power Circle to protect the paranormal community from psi attacks, and to advise those who were desirous of more assistance in these times of turmoil.

If his Seeress intended to be part of the Power Circle, there was no way he would allow her to remain unprotected, unescorted. He would simply prove his worthiness to her. He would be her Dragon Warrior no matter her distaste for him, and his presence.

"Ah, Dhaegan," Gypsy greeted, a knowing smile on her lips and in her eyes. "Have you met my dearest friend, Sychelle? She is from the Dawn Galactic Order."

Dhaegan halted in his tracks a few steps before he'd meant to stop. Astonishment coursed through him. His dragon blood burned in his veins like bolts of lightning.

The Order was as ancient as his kind. Only descendants of the High Priestesses who had first settled in Spain as the Basque people were allowed, and their blood had been kept as pure as possible.

Dhaegan could only stare as Sychelle turned her head, glancing at him over her shoulder, and only from the corner of her eye. For once, gallant words failed him. His tongue, the bastard, refused to move from its fastened position against the roof of his mouth.

"You are dragon, are you not?" Her formal voice did not surprise him, even though it was completely different than how she'd first spoken to him.

"I am a Dragon Warrior," he boomed. Yet his answer had been spoken in a low tone meant only for her ears, and also for Gypsy's hearing.

"Yes, then I was not mistaken as I thought about our encounter later. Why do you approach now?"

"Now," Dhaegan moved beside her. "I will be your Dragon Warrior, Seeress of the Dawn Galactic Order."
~~~~~~

~ Happy Wearin' of the Green ~

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Cupid's Choice Bog Hop at ShapeShifter Seductions

Here's the first few paragraphs of my post for the Cupid's Choice Blog Hop.
~~~



The Were-Huntress, Cupid's Victim

Like background music, Selakiah smelled the woman's werewolf lover. The smiling blue-haired barista placed a second cup of Cappuccino, sprinkled with cinnamon, before her.

Without taking her gaze off Zuquotti, the mercenary-for-hire werebeast striding toward the coffee shop from across the street -- not for a fraction of a second, Selakiah thanked the young woman, then lifted the cup and took a small sip.

"Delicious," she praised.

"You're new in town. Planning on staying in our fair Talbot's Peak for awhile?" the barista chattily asked.

There weren't that many customers. Selakiah assumed it was because the lunch crowd had departed. Even though, shapeshifters and supernaturals were the main population of this off-the-beaten-track town in Montana, many of them appeared to have regular jobs and careers. So she'd observed the past three days.

"Depends," she answered. "I'm a working girl...as in private investigator," Selakiah added because of her snow bunny outfit, her generously displayed cleavage.
~~~

More at ~ shapeshifterseductions.blogspot.com/2012/02/shapeshifter-seductions-cupids-choice.html ~
~~~~~~

~ Have a Magickal Valentine's Day ~

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Romancing the Rise of Magick ~ A Flash Scene by Savanna Kougar

Wednesday greetings, everyone. I thought I'd share my last flash scene written for the SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS blog.

When Magick Rises Once Again

Hearing the crackle-rustle of autumn leaves, Zalasdair halted and watched the cottontail rabbit dash away from the intruding human. In this case, the intruding warlock.

The young buck rabbit ran as if a demon grabbed for his tail, and Zalasdair admired his speed. Likely he would survive despite the large population of wolven, big cat, and other predator shapeshifters.

Zalasdair used his force and that of the Mother Earth to gift the rabbit with greater speed and more endurance. Afterward, he closed his eyes and silently intoned his gratitude to Gaia for their deep connection, one that had lasted since the end of the Mage Age -- as Zalasdair thought of it, to his sardonic amusement.

“What prize-ass fools,” he darkly muttered. With a twirl and flick of his power staff, Zalasdair spoke the short incantation destroying the satellite tracking him. “Machines are never a match for magick.”

“Never?” Attired like a mock version of Robin Hood, the woman, curvaceous as an hourglass, regarded him, one hand planted on her cocked hip.

After a leisurely scan of her feminine figure -- from the tip of her suede-laced boots to the feathered cap perched atop her flyaway auburn tresses that she’d untidily tied back -- Zalasdair settled his gaze on the delicate yet blatantly sensual features of her face.

“My record ‘against the machine’ as they say, remains one hundred percent. Do you have a challenge? A technology you wish to see rendered useless, little dryad?” Zalasdair arched his brow, a match for hers.

“Human and Dryad,” she corrected, her tone dulcet and deadly.

After an assessing gaze that swept over his tall length, the woman sauntered toward him. She didn’t need an archer’s bow to fire arrows. Zalasdair suspected she possessed the power to shoot lightning from her fingertips. Or create it at will as a thought-form.

Taking her sweet time, Maid Robin Hood walked around him, looking him up and down as if judging him worthy of purchase. Knowing it would be to his later advantage, Zalasdair placed his cantankerous ego aside. Immediately, he felt the human-dryad’s energy as pelting sparks of white light.

Having been in what could be called a dimensional stasis until his recent emergence into this critical period of time, Zalasdair wasn’t surprised at the sudden animation of his cock. After all, the woman owned a lusty nature, one he would like to explore with the art of pleasure.

“As you must know, Mage, I have been sent by the Golden Oak Circle to act as your guide.” She lifted her gaze to him, her hazel eyes shining like sunlight on water.

“Warlock. Here, at this time when magick rises once again, I wish to be called a warlock.”

Her eyes narrowed while her softly pointed chin aimed at his face like a drawn arrow. “I suggest you begin, warlock, by disabling the GPS units that have been attached as spy devices to many of the vehicles in Talbot’s Peak.”

Zalasdair let a small smile tilt the corner of his mouth before he spoke. “Lead on, merry maid.” He paused to take note of her expression. When she twisted her mouth and glared, he asked, “May I know your name? Or, perhaps, the title you desire?”

“You toy with me as if I am autumn’s leaf and you are the wind.”

“You invite my wind to buffet you, my autumn leaf. However, since the matter of the GPS units are crucial to you, and to the welfare of those in Talbot’s Peak, let us attend to them.” Zalasdair lifted his power staff then struck the ground for emphasis.

Like an affronted warrioress, his human-dryad faced him. She planted her fists on her hips as if she channeled Errol Flynn. “I didn’t ask for this assignment... warlock. I didn’t want this assignment.” She huffed out a breath. “Given your reputation...”

“Ah, yes, one’s reputation. Sometimes a blessing. Sometimes a curse. However, I assure you I live up to mine.”

Hearing the sudden drone of several helicopters, and knowing they searched for him, Zalasdair opened himself to the strength of Mother Earth. As he raised his staff directing it toward the infernal flying machines, Gaia quaked her force through him. Zalasdair married his power to hers and closed his eyes.

“A soft landing you will achieve. Only if you turn and leave.” His tone thundered even though his voice remained low -- almost a whisper. “Remain my enemy, if you dare. And I will have no mercy to spare.”

“What are you doing? You can’t make them crash,” his autumn leaf snapped.

Zalasdair cracked one eye open observing her flushed angry face. “But, I can make them crash. Shall I demonstrate to your satisfaction?”

“Stop it. Stop it right now.” She stomped her foot, the sound muffled by the moist thick bed of colorful leaves.

“What if I refuse your command?” Toying with her was a wicked sort of joy indeed.

“Your crotch becomes my target,” she threatened. “I am responsible for --”

“My crotch is yours to target as you choose,” Zalasdair interrupted as he listened to the helicopters retreat, a slight hitch in the sound of their engines.

Her gaze flared brilliantly, and with her rage barely contained, she demanded, “What’s your actual name since I’m stuck being your guide? I refuse to call you Magician of the Sacred Woods. Or ‘Warlock’ of the Sacred Woods.”

“Sacred wood... yes, I must confess I am feeling quite wooden at the moment in the area you intend to target. Since you ask, my autumn leaf, you may address me as Zalasdair.”

His human-dryad flitted a few steps back. Fright darkened her eyes.

Frowning with his concern, Zalasdair asked, “What’s wrong? Certainly, I have never harmed --”

“You have! My grandfather...”

“Explain.” Zalasdair raised his voice in a manner that did not allow her refusal.

An immense sigh burst past her lips, and her shoulders slumped forward in defeat. “There is no need to explain. Your... your magickal retribution was justified. It’s just that I...I can’t forget. Won’t forget.”

Zalasdair refrained from weaving his power around her. To bring forth a confession of truth would not serve him now. Her emotions already swirled like barbs around him, and likely she would never forgive him.

No, he would wait. Although, patience had never suited him. “Shall I request another guide from the Circle?”

Raising her chin high, and stiffening her spine, his autumn leaf faced the trail that led to Talbot’s Peak, the trail he had been traveling to meet his current destiny.

“I will do my duty, warlock.” She spoke without looking at him. “There is no one else. As you said, magick rises once again. We are needed to bring down the machines. The human and shapeshifter soul is very much in peril. Evil has ascended, and the old ways are their salvation.”

“Yes, the old ways. Yes, truth passes your lips. Salvation is needed from the mad brutal beasts who would use the magic of technology to enslave instead of enlighten.”

Once she turned and moved onto the trail, Zalasdair followed yet kept a goodly distance. With his gaze on her light tread, he wondered about the beauty of her dryad wings.

No doubt lived within him that his Maid Robin Hood could manifest them if she so desired.

However -- while an asset to being his guide in the shapeshifter and human world, it was as clear as his ring’s ancient, all-knowing crystal -- his autumn leaf favored her human side.

“Kellyn.” Her voice floated back to him, becoming part of the gusting wind. “My name is Kellyn.”

“Lovely.” Zalasdair dared utter no more words. She had offered him a fragile truce.

To gain more patience, and keep his bond with Gaia strong, Zalasdair swept his gaze, his senses over the Montana forest. His own ability to shapeshift would serve him with the locals, so he assumed. He witnessed evidence of them everywhere.

Perhaps, on a whimsy, he would present himself as a turkey on the day that was called Thanksgiving. From his dimensional window Zalasdair had studiously observed life as it played out on Earth. Helpful, and necessary to fulfilling his destiny, yet he fully realized it was a poor substitute for all that he had missed as real life experience.

Moving ever downward, Zalasdair fondly gazed at the bare-limbed trees who prepared themselves for the rigors and the resting time of winter. Whipping in the stiff wind, a large russet leaf refused to let go, despite being all alone.

In that moment, Zalasdair realized to the depth of his being, he felt all alone.
~~~~~~

Have a Magickal Autumn!

Savanna

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

Halloween Romance ~ Never tell a vampire, 'bite me'.

Flash Fiction by Savanna Kougar

“Damn, no. Not what I need.” Karoline scowled as the traffic light turned red.

She nearly uttered a quick spell to change it. But, instead hit the brakes hard. There’d been a rain shower earlier in the evening and her tires skidded a bit.

Once Karoline came to a full stop, she glared at the ticket camera. “I’m making it my business to fry your circuits. Tomorrow.” Gripping her steering wheel mercilessly, she muttered, “I should have been speeding, I would have made the effing – “

Smack! Crunch. The loud dull sound that meant another vehicle had struck her bumper charged through her an instant before her car rocked back and forth like a boat.

“What the freaking crap now?” With anger streaking down to her toes and blazing out the top of her head, Karoline threw open the door.

Blown by the strong gusting winds, wet autumn leaves struck her face, and glued themselves to her black velvet cape. Hiking her gown’s voluminous skirt, she launched outward. Her loose hair danced wildly, the strands slapping her cheeks. Heedless of any danger, Karoline marched toward the back of her car.

“Oh, wonderful, some prize idiot thinks he really is Batman.”

For a split second, Karoline hesitated taking in the futuristic, sleekly styled, black-as-midnight car. “At least, whoever, might be rich enough to pay for the damage. If not, I’ll add his ‘bat wings’ to my cauldron, and throw some gasoline on the flames.”

“Please, beautiful witch, not my bat wings.”

Startled that he’d heard her since he appeared to be coffin-sealed inside his bat car, Karoline was even more taken aback by the rich-as-dark-chocolate timbre of the man's voice.

Still, propelled by pure fire, she firmed her chin and approached as he rose upward. Good Goddess did he ever quit? Apparently not. He had to be well over six feet. Agile as a ballroom dancer, he stepped from behind the door’s long gleaming curve, and closed it with an elegant flick of his wrist.

Her head tilted backwards at a ridiculous angle just to see his face, and Karoline stopped in her tracks. Not that she could see his features since they were shadowed by the large cowl of his vampire costume. “What?” she snapped. “No bat wings springing up. Just a regular door.”

“I must apologize for our abrupt meeting. However, it seemed the only certain way to gain your attention.”

“Attention!” Karoline sputtered, burning at the stake of her own fury. “You run into my car to get my attention. Unbelievable.” Letting go of her skirts, she balled her fists. “One good aim,” she derisively muttered.

“Ah, yes, your athletic spunk is quite renowned within my circle.” He took a courtly step toward her. The unusual glitter of his pale eyes had her taking a mental step back. “I recall,” he suavely continued, “betting on you to win the cage match – “

“How did you...?” she interrupted. “No one knows about my fights.” Jerking in several breaths, Karoline assessed him. “Except my manager...because...”

“Yes, Jahrundi. Because he is your kind.”

Once she’d absorbed the shock, Karoline countered by narrowing her eyes. “What do you want, bat boy?”

She caught the hint of a smile before he lowered his head. He swept downward, and bowed in some sort of French, old-fashioned manner. At least, from the period epic movies she’d seen, that’s how it appeared.

Rising with more elegance than any man had a right to, he extended a card. When she didn’t take it, he deftly slipped it inside a vest pocket. “Ah, yes. One never knows the sorcery that could imbue a card of introduction. Is that not so, my beautiful Egyptian cat?”

A growl rumbled up from her belly, but with practiced ease, Karoline stopped her shift and kept her cat from clawing its way out, then leaping for his oh-so debonair throat.

“I am Viscount Zavoyon Dicarlo, recently of Vhulferth Court.”

Ignoring his sinfully sexy voice, Karoline arched her brows high. “Not Count Dracula?”

“Would you like me to be Count Dracula on this All Hallow’s Eve?”

Her heart stopped and started, all while it felt like bats flapped their wings in the belfry of her loins. Damn! That was so not a good sign.

“I have a date. And I’m late. No thanks to you.” Noticing she stood on the balls of her feet, Karoline clicked down on the moderate heels of her witch shoes, as she called them. “I asked you a question. Viscount,” she enunciated snarkily.

“Indeed, may I address you as Karoline?”

He leaned forward ever so slightly, and Karoline suddenly had a full view of his face. She swallowed, hiding her gasp of appreciation. He certainly looked like some otherworldly immortal designed to excite a woman’s deepest passions.

“Oh, great, the tall, dark and mysterious Viscount, knows my name.” Shaking her head vigorously, Karoline sought to fling her hair back, now plastered to her face by a blast of wind.

“I must insist on escorting you out of the arriving storm.” He offered his arm.

Gripping a swathe of her hair, Karoline stared at him as both of their capes billowed and whipped around them.

“Insist all you want. You know what. I’m leaving now.” She took several steps backward and prepared to dash to her car. Already drops of rain pelted her. Worse, he pelted her with those eyes that reminded her of perfectly cut peridot.

“I am in need of your assistance in removing a particularly vile curse from my sister.” His arm remained in position.

Karoline heaved in a breath, then shoved it out as fast. He didn’t lie. Not that she could tell, and she was good at knowing lies. Very good.

“Find another witch. I promised to help a friend tonight. I don’t break promises.”

Thinking she’d convinced him since he remained silent, Karoline pivoted toward her car door.

“Plesyntauz.”

The name of the warlock shapeshifter who had almost possessed her own sister’s soul caused Karoline to spin around. With her heart tripping painfully, she gazed at him. Keeping his arm in position, he approached her with the arrogant assumption that he had won her over.

“There is no need to break your promise. I will act as your date. Then we will depart for Vhulfeth Court.”

“I told you, Viscount. I already have a date.”

“Shall I use my powers of persuasion to dismiss him?”

Karoline gaped for a moment. Then, the force of a bonfire filled her, and livid, she snarled, “Bite me.”

“Never tell a vampire, ‘bite me’.”

He hauled her against him, his mouth crushing hers with such bold passion, Karoline didn’t fight. And, even as his fang slid down the side of her neck in a long slow caress, she clung to him.

“A small taste only, beautiful witch,” he rasped.

Dazed, almost delirious with desire, Karoline felt the needle-sharp prick of his fangs as they sank into her tender flesh, where her neck met her shoulder. As quick, the point of his tongue laved her wound, sensual and warm.
~~~~~~

Have a Magickal Halloween!

Savanna

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

Romance of the Wolf Shifters

Happy Holidays, romance lovers. I posted this Flash Scene last year as a celebration for this time of year. I thought I’d offer it again in case you haven’t read it, or would like to again.

For those of you who are fond of running on winter’s wild side with the wolf shifters among us... here’s an R-rated Flash ~

Love at White Wolf Lodge

ONE
“I love you.” Kindra’s heart skipped a beat. A really big beat. She hadn’t heard that. Had she? Rising slowly, while trying to think in quantum leaps, she draped the popcorn trim on the nearest branch of the nine foot tree she’d chosen for her father’s lodge, The White Wolf. “I love you.” There it was again. To make certain her ears weren’t deceiving her, she did what she didn’t want to do, turn around and face the owner of the voice, the man her father considered to be his right hand. Kindra stuffed her hands into her back pockets.

TWO
Zack, the man she’d spent the last three weekends having ‘body heat’ sex with, in every position she’d ever fantasized about, looked as though he was about to howl his feelings for everyone at the guest lodge to hear, if she was any judge of his expression. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way...” she began, then halted as his gaze blazed like the enormous fireplace to one side of them. Usually enigmatic and aloof as their moon, now, fierce determination carved his ruggedly handsome features and glittered his dark silver-colored eyes. “What am I supposed to say?” Kindra shrugged.

THREE
Zack D’Guerre of the Voltz Pack was used to getting his own way. He’d certainly seduced her easily enough, a discreet assault that aroused her passions to a ferocity that had her climbing up his lean sex-delicious body with her slit pressed against his tall brute of a cock. He’d suavely introduced her to his den of iniquity, then proceeded to show her carnal pleasures she’d never dreamed of. He had her panting every time she saw him or thought about him. Kindra figured she was his winter conquest, the woman he’d entertain himself with until the spring thaw. Wrong.

FOUR
“You’re supposed to say ‘I love you’ back.” His silvery hot gaze didn’t waver. He was on the hunt. For her. Kindra took several steps backwards, nearly crashing into the Christmas tree she so carefully decorated. “You’re supposed to say ‘yes’ when I ask you to marry me.” Reaching out, fast as he could snatch a rabbit in his jaws, he caught her arm. With surprising gentleness, he pulled her away from the tree. “You know I can’t think of you... in that way,” she whispered, then waved to a couple passing by who smiled a greeting at her. “Why not?”

FIVE
Kindra desperately wished she ran through the newly fallen snow. Alone. Free. Her paws cushioned by the airy coldness. She wanted the scent of pine and warm-blooded prey seizing her nostrils. She didn’t want to be here. With him. His words of love growling in her ears. He was supposed to be the man she had a once in a lifetime affair with, the one she remembered as she lay curled before the fireplace, dozing. He was her guilty prized secret. That’s how she’d written their script in her mind. Mounting savage lust, and that was the end of it.

SIX
Instead, she stood here, feeling and smelling his wolfen mating heat for her. The man who heated her blood to an impossible, unbearable sizzle. Reluctantly, he released her arm. “Because I can’t.” Kindra jerked her hands out of her pockets, then crossed them tightly beneath her swelling breasts. She glared, her wild frustration steaming out of every pore on her body. So it felt. He stared. The need to know more than what she’d spoken flared deep in his eyes. “Why can’t you?” “Because... to be with you... I couldn’t let my heart get involved.” Kindra thrust her chin out.

SEVEN
“That’s why,” she added, louder than she should have. Dying inside, Kindra averted her face. Why couldn’t she just have been decorating the tree as she did every year, enjoying the heady excitement of bringing it to holiday life. Glistening. Golden. Bright with colored bulbs and ornaments. Damn. Grrrring snarling damn. And damn his need to mate her. His unique potent musk surrounded her, demanding her surrender. Demanding she surrender to her own she-howling need for him. “Your heart is already mine, Kindra. You just don’t know it, yet.” “Is that so?” she attacked, baring fangs she didn’t have. Not yet.

EIGHT
But wished she did. She’d rip into him, her teeth snapping so fast he couldn’t subdue her. She’d teach him she meant fierce bitch business. Her heart didn’t belong to him. Not one untamed beat of it. For good measure, she’d slap him with her tail, before racing away to bound over the snow. Free. Alone. “That’s so, little wolfess mine.” Whirling, she moved back to the boxes of decorations. “Go away, Zack. I need to finish the tree...” His hand caught hers and with a command she couldn’t fight, he tugged her flush against his body. “No,” she whispered.

NINE
His lips claimed hers, then devoured with a primal sweetness that had her yielding, her body as soft as the marshmallows in her mug of hot chocolate. The shouting no’s in her mind turned to whimpering yes’s. Kindra grabbed his neck and clung. Her legs swung upwards, wrapping around him. They panted, placing kiss after tumultuous kiss on each other’s mouths. Immersed inside their own world of raw seething passion, neither one of them noticed the gathering crowd. Until the sound of clapping and cheers intruded. Kindra let her lips unglue from his and slid down his body. “Marry me.”

TEN
He didn’t relinquish his lover’s hold, despite the fact she squirmed to free herself. “Marry me, Kindra. I love you.” “You planned this,” she accused in a whisper. “Asking me in front of everyone. I’ll look like the bad-bitch Grinch who stole Christmas, if I say no.” “Yes,” he admitted, his growl adoring. His gaze sparkled, as silvery as moonlight on the snow. “Do you know when I knew I loved you?” Kindra could only shake her head no. “The first moment I saw your face.” Her heart unfroze, then blazed like the roaring fire. “Yes, Zack. I love you.”
~~~~~~

Have a Splendid Holiday Season... May your most romantic dreams come true...

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

The Romantic Awakening of Sleeping Beauty

Picture from ~ l-art-en-rose.deviantart.com

For a beautiful illustration of ~The Romantic Awakening of Sleeping Beauty~ read Lindsay Townsend’s ‘free’ short story, A CHRISTMAS SLEEPING BEAUTY. I confess shedding some good tears, those sweet tears that slip down your cheeks when lovers discover each other, or are reunited for their Happily Ever After. The story is available at THE PINK BLOG.

Lindsay’s story inspired this SWEET Flash Story. Yes, for those of you who thought I only wrote erotic romance...well, yes, I can pen a sweet romance...believe it, or not.
~~~~~~

The Awakening of Sharomond
by Savanna Kougar

She walked in the land of shadows. Even her roses were pale shadows, their vibrant beauty denied to her, their heavenly scents gone. Sharomond remembered another life, another time, when lush fragrant rosebushes, heavy with red and pink blooms, twined up her balcony stairway. When roses, happy in their abundance, climbed up the marble archway of her garden. Dreamy, ephemeral and brilliant, her roses had been nearly every color and shade in the rainbow. Once upon a time.

Fleeting glimpses of a man, a warrior prince by his dress, haunted her. During her endless sojourn in the land of shadows she would catch sight of him astride a magnificent dragonhorse stallion. Or, she would briefly see him battling the leviathan black shadow that domed her entire land.

Sharomond had never found her parents, or discovered another human being in the shadowland. The animals were shades of gray. Moving and acting like apparitions, they took no notice of her presence. Loneliness had long ago driven her mad. Yet, madness meant nothing here. Still, she wandered, dreariness clinging to her like a wet woolen blanket.

Sharomond never saw his face, the elusive warrior prince. The color of his eyes remained a mystery, as did the manly definition of his physique. She had tried with all her might to reach him, running until he vanished.

She had tried to speak to him with her thoughts until despair ruled her heart so brutally she had been forced to quit. Sharomond only knew he was as she had once been. Alive. Alive, in a glorious land where shadows did not reign.

Sharomond could not remember how or why she roamed this shadowland. No amount of pondering brought her closer to any manner of answer. What lived inside her now was rage, a rage to find and conquer whoever had cast her spirit into this gray-black imprisonment.

In truth, Sharomond did not know the fate of her people. Were they still living their lives, cherishing the seasons and celebrating their joys? Who cared for them in their time of need? Who brought healing herbs and broths to them when illness struck?

A slight rustle of sound, one she had never heard in this land of shadows, drew her toward her sumptuously attired bed, now mere mist in appearance. Even though, her coverlet and pillows were layers of luxurious mist, they were as insubstantial as her existence.

An urge to lie down claimed Sharomond, and she obeyed. Why not? For, nothing held any great importance anymore. Unless, she could figure out a way to escape. Unless, she was granted a rescuer by some unknown benevolent hand. Unknown, indeed. Had not every one of her often-whispered prayers gone unanswered? No, her God did not recognize her. Not here. Not hidden by the shadows.

With her eyelids slipping closed, Sharomond draped the coverlet over her, even though it felt like a sodden featherbed. She prepared herself to feel nothing, to dream nothing. But, again, she heard a sound. The scrape of a boot? An odd sensation skittered through her. Was it excitement? So foreign was the feeling, she could not tell.

Warm lips pressed against hers suddenly. To her complete astonishment, a tender kiss was placed upon her mouth. Another kiss followed. This one was more urgent and longer, yet just as gentle.

Sharomond fought to respond, puckering her lips. In that moment she did not care who took liberties with her mouth. She only wanted more. So much more of this fleshly paradise.

The next kiss devoured her entire mouth with a passion she had once dreamed about. Sharomond felt the thick waves of a man’s hair inside her fist. Startled beyond any bearing, she stilled, yet did not let go. Rough breathing filled her ears, and she became aware her pants joined with the impassioned pants of another.

“Sharomond, can you hear me?” a man’s voice asked.

The low rich timbre reminded her of being in a deep dark forest, and she trembled with what felt like desire. A familiarity about the man teased her memory. Yet, no image of his countenance entered her head.

“Awaken, please. I need you. Your people need you.”

Once again, his lips seized hers. Gentleness was replaced by a searing fusion of their mouths. A light flashed before her mind’s eyes, and Sharomond felt utterly ignited. Almost painfully so. In that moment she knew who kissed her awake.

“No,” she forced out, even as her eyes flew open. His visage filled her gaze, the warrior who had won her hand in marriage. She had refused him, fearing he would demand her complete obedience.

Eyes, composed of midnight and emeralds, roved over her face. The concern glittering in the depths was so obvious her heart jerked like a rabbit freeing itself, yet leapt toward him. Sharomond un-fisted his dark coppery-colored mane of hair, an act against her sudden yearning for him.

“Sharomond, I love you. I will care for you in every way that you may need as you recover. And, my beloved, I will not insist you become my bride.”

With those words, Dhutrov straightened his handsome, sleekly hewn torso. From his kneeling position beside her, he took hold of her hand. Tenderly, he encouraged her to sit up.

Shivering like the last leaf on a tree in the face of winter’s winds, Sharomond kept her hand firmly clasped within his. The sheer vibrancy of her bedchamber caused her eyes to blink and water. A banquet of smells assaulted her nostrils. Roses, her precious roses, their scents drifted to her as if in welcome.

“The Seventh Coven of Abarus bespelled you and your people,” Dhutrov answered her question before Sharomond could ask, the one hovering on the tip of her tongue. “Your realm was considered to be too influential, too powerful.”

Sharomond knew then. With her whole soul she knew. Still, she needed to hear it spoken. “The state of our world?”

“Beloved, I must be the bearer of terrible news. Our world has fallen to those who are dark-hearted and cruel. To those who have no thought, but for themselves.”

“Yet, your lands remain free, do they not?”

“Yes. But, I am in need of you and your people to stand with us in freedom, or it will be lost.”

Torn in two, between the joy of being rescued from the land of shadows and the reality that her world now suffered from despotic rule, Sharomond could not stop the flood of tears bursting from her eyes.

She wept uncontrolled. Dhutrov lent his shoulder to her and murmured comforting words. His arms embraced her close, feeling invincible in their strength.

Sharomond reached upwards clinging to his neck like a child. Placing her on his lap, he wrapped himself around her, holding her until her weeping eased.

Their lips met in a salty kiss, yet the lingering press of their mouths overwhelmed her with sweetness, the new sweetness of love.

“Dhutrov,” she whispered her heart.

He cupped the side of her face, his gaze adoring her. “Side-by-side, we will ride, my Sharomond, and we will know triumph against our enemies.”

“Yes. As warriors we will ride together.” Sharomond caressed his hand and smiled with her newly found happiness.
~~~~~~

Awaken to Your Heart this Holiday Season ~

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Romance, what romance? ~ The Massage Magician ~

Ah, summer vacation... if you’re a single woman, overworked and undervalued... where would you go to de-stress and live a bit of the good life? And, what if you were about to get a massage from a man known as the Massage Magician... what if you began mentally composing a postcard to your girlfriend...

Yep, here it is ~ Postcard from the Flash Edge

Oops...warning...bad word ahead...

The Massage Magician

I close my eyes and mentally compose a postcard to my girlfriend. After all, she set up this appointment as my birthday gift. Dear, Linda, my tension-abused body surrenders to the mauve, perfectly cushioned table. No, I don’t want to see him as he enters. I just want to feel what he’s going to do to me. You said he’s known as the Massage Magician. I soooo HOPE so. As I wait, I listen to the soothing ebb and flow of the ocean. The island birds trill and squawk, the perfect entertainment. I smile and drown in the paradise fragrances.

I hear footsteps, a strong slow stride, and almost silent. He’s probably barefoot. A breeze seems to follow him in. For moments, it plays over the bare skin of my shoulders and lifts strands of my hair. I’ve left it loose. I feel loose here. Everything is enchantment. The sun, the sea, the sky. Walking on the hot fine sand. The tropical blooms surrounding me. I swear they know how beautiful I find them. As he comes closer, I smell him. Lion, I think, because his scent is regal and sun-golden. He reeks of power, the deliciousness of I’m-here-to-take charge.

Something about him is familiar. But, I’m so zoned out and peacefully drunk on this paradise island, I don’t bother trying to figure out what it might be. I notice his steps stop, as if he’s slightly taken aback. However, I hear him move to me. The confidant way he brushes my hair to the side, then eases his hands onto my shoulders and begins a light massage, lulls me into a sweet much-needed relaxation. Gradually, he intensifies the pressure on my shoulder muscles, kneading them toward nirvana. “Oh...oooooh,” I moan. “That is so good. Don’t stop, Massage Magician.”

He pulls the sheet down my back, a sensual sliding of the lightweight cotton. Even though, his touch remains professional, somehow there’s a sense of intimacy. If his massage hadn’t been pure magic, relaxing me in a way I could only dream about, I would have paid more attention to the warning in the pit of my stomach. He pauses, then his fingertips graze the length of my spine. “You always did have the most beautiful back.” Shock drills through me. I launch upward. “You!” My fist shoots for his jaw. A direct satisfying hit, even if it does sting.

Okay, his expression suggests he’s stunned more than in pain. The fucking I-hate-him bastard! I grab for the sheet covering my naked breasts, and glare as he rubs his chin. “Get out of my way, or I’m punching you again.” His large lion-like body is blocking my exit. His gaze peruses my face and he doesn’t move. “You do remember,” he deeply purrs. I boil inside. My ears burn. “Get out of my way.” Feeling ruthless, I clench my hand and wind up. “Why wouldn’t I remember being dumped just before the prom?” Taking aim, I land another punch. Hard.
~~~~~~

May your summer romance reading dreams come true...

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Romancing Spring’s Arrival

Pic from ~ http://img.xcitefun.net ~

Spring officially arrives on March 20th, and yes, I’m romancing Spring’s arrival... sort of... mostly.

In my neck of the woods, Spring is definitely announcing its glorious self. Yep, my tame prairie is slowly greening, the bright green blades of grass emerging strongly from beneath the huge clumps of brown, winter-dead grass--I’m against mowing, for the most part, although, paths are always nice. Since I live in a no-zone, out-of-the-way-place I’m not ruining anyone else’s property values. And I don’t think the cows next door care.

Most of all, the froggies are singing loudly and blissfully especially when it rains, or just sprinkles. Yes, the daffodils are springing up magnificently from beneath their deep bed of leaves, apparently happy with all the doggie poo fertilizing they’ve received.

The down side of Spring’s arrival, so far. Mud. My long gravel drive is winter-ravaged and now the recent rains have increased the mud factor, big time, making it a challenge to negotiate. This is also true for our gravel roads. You have to be a damn good driver, or drive at a snail’s pace. Actually, a good idea, given the slip-sliding conditions and the miniature ravines that shake, rattle and could ‘roll’ your car or van. A small all-terrain tank would be an excellent choice for travel.

Still, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Spring is springing. Nature is all around me, singing, chirping, flying and growing robustly. At every moment of every new day, all I have to do is look out my favorite window, open the door... and smile at what I see and smell... well, okay, the allergies are no fun, but I have natural remedies for that.

Yes, the bliss of Spring is all mine.

Or ~

And Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast
rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.

~Percy Bysshe Shelley, "The Sensitive Plant"
~~~~~~

And, here’s my newly penned Spring Flash ~

Khryn’s Golden Unicorn

Khryn watched the golden unicorn appear in Spring’s flowering meadow, arriving from the Mist Realm. Excitement and hope flapped her lacy crystalline wings rapidly, yet with complete silence. She crept around the Walnut tree’s trunk, peering more closely at the glorious beast, who grazed on the violets. If only she could move without detection for long enough, his gleaming golden back would be hers for as long as she wished to ride him. Well aware of how keen the unicorn’s senses were, Khryn dashed for the berry thicket, her speed like a breeze’s song. From bloom to leaf, she fluttered.

Her tiny form hidden by a cluster of daisy leaves, Khryn peeked out. Directly ahead, the unicorn’s beautiful sun-kissed tail swished with contentment. Her heart quickened it’s throb in celebration. She was close enough to wing astride him. Pausing, Khryn spider-webbed her senses seeking out the stallion unicorn’s mood. Uh-oh, he’d felt her mental scan. On impulse, determined, she flapped furiously soaring for his back as he raised his head, preparing to run. Flying with all her might, Khryn focused on fist-seizing his shimmering mane. Her legs settled on his back as he launched into a gallop. She clung, ecstatic.
~~~~~~

HAPPY ST. PATRICK’S DAY!

May the March winds blow for you and not against you...

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Romancing the Erotic ~ Nude Dancer at Elazion

Yes, it’s yours truly, again, with more Flash Fiction.
Ever fantasize about being free to dance artistically, yet not be labeled as ‘less than’, but to be revered, instead?

Nude Dancer at Elazion

Drakur unfolded his large frame from his sleek black flyer and strode toward the intimate nightspot, the Elazion. She was supposed to dance tonight, the woman who occupied his thoughts so ferociously he’d turned into a bad-tempered bear. Private Detective to the wealthy and anyone who sought justice, he now spent his precious energy thinking of ways to entice her into his bed, instead of concentrating on his cases, and handling them with his usual competence and ease. Held in the highest esteem, the nude dancers were off limits, untouchable, unless they consented to being taken, or taken care of.

Shandryss watched herself in the crystalline mirror of her vanity. Languorously she swept the comb through her waist-length hair pleased with the sheen and silky heaviness. Physically and mentally, she prepared herself to dance as she most desired her performance. She danced only when inspired, only at her artistic pleasure, as did every nude dancer in the metropolis of Ovocha. Freeing her mind of thought, she gazed at her face. The indigo-tinted lighting luminesced her features, sharpening them, causing her to appear more exotic. She warmed inside to seductive, a woman who wished to please men with her carnal sensuality.

Drakur smoothed his hand downward, adjusting his double-breasted evening jacket. After a glance at the small empty stage, he lowered himself to the chair at his private table, centrally placed, yet not too close. He wanted a certain view of her as she revealed her naked body. He also wanted her know he was available, as his table indicated. Only so many men were allowed inside for each woman’s performance. Having no idea when ‘she’ would dance, he’d arrived early and paid a premium for this spot. She’d danced directly in front of him before, slinking atop his table once.

Shandryss allowed her thoughts to center on the ruggedly handsome Private Detective who’d attended all of her performances for the past half year. Rarely was she tempted by a man or how he could sexually please her in his bed. The art of the dance, the creative act of seduction, itself, is what lived inside her as a fierce and ever-driving passion. Yet, something about his strong presence, his dedicated persistence, the deep admiration and the bold desire glinting in his gaze... certainly, he’d spent a small fortune by now. Though, many men had devoted themselves to watching her dance.

Drakur tasted the drink he’d ordered. The potent anise flavor burned down his throat in the way he favored. For an instant, the smolder diverted his attention away from the pole his cock had become, already making a tent of his loose trousers. Other women had become his past, except for one, who demanded nothing more than a roll and a fuck from him. Lately, he’d cast her aside, having no desire to keep using her as a way to relieve his unrelenting appetite for Shandryss. Even her performance name taunted him, excited him and scorched the length of shaft.

Shandryss rose and propped her bare foot on the satin-covered stool. She caressed the gleaming lotion onto each of her legs, then gradually covered her entire body. Beneath the luminosity of the Elazion’s lights her flesh would glow provocatively with each movement of her unrehearsed dance. The dance would arrive from her innermost self, inspired by the music, by her mood, by the men who watched her. She practiced her art nearly everyday for the sheer love of it, for the euphoria of discovering what her body could do athletically and artistically. To learn how she wished to express herself.

Drakur endured the performances of the three dancers, sexually beautiful presentations of the Goddess. Yet, they weren’t the woman who’d staked a permanent claim on his loins. Yeah, permanent. He didn’t fool himself. Only the fact that he would be banned forever from the Elazion stopped him from possessing Shandryss with his touch. Stopped him from dragging her close and kissing her lush lips until she willingly clung to him, and wanted him enough to let him bed her. Knowing she was about to perform, he gulped down the last swallow of his drink, then surreptitiously observed the other men.

Shandryss glided to the center of the stage, merely a half-circle extension of the Elazion’s slick shimmering floor. Keeping her gaze lowered, she listened to the opening strains of the music she’d chosen. To the languishing soft-sweltering tempo she allowed her white satin robe to fall from her body and pool around her. Utter silence prevailed, except for the sultry rise of the music around her. Shandryss moved, her arms twining above her head. Sensually arranging her body in the demure invitation of a rain goddess, she danced, presenting a series of sinuous poses, then fluidly whirling among the tables.

Drakur sat like a statue, completely transfixed as the robe slipped from Shandryss. Her exquisitely formed body undulated, each curve beckoning him again and again. Enhanced to blue radiance by the lighting, she lissomely spun as if she truly danced on the glistening blue surface of a lake. His perfect goddess, she drowned him with her beauty, tormented his loins with her inspired dance, and made a tidal wave out of his most ruthless passions. Only for her. The gorgeous writhing of her body moved closer to every man until the crescendo of the music. She fled, a chased nymph.

Shandryss breathed rapidly from the exertion of her dance. And, she admitted for the man who had powerfully chased her every move with his gaze. Why not discover if he could please her passionate appetite? With the performances ended for the evening, she swayed toward his table before reason could stop her. The attack of his gaze, the hope blazing in his eyes, had her hips exaggerating their natural swing. Like a feline she launched on top of his table, then leaned forward on her elbows. Watching his hunger devour her, she touched her fingertip to his offered his fingertip.
~~~~~~

HAVE A LOVELY WEEKEND...

~ MAY YOUR BRIGHTEST READING DREAMS COME TRUE ~

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~ http://savannakougar.com ~
http://bookstrand.com/authors/savannakougar ~
~~~

Romance Flash on the High Galactic Seas

Artwork ~ Flight of the Intruder

Yo ho ho, a space pirate-ing we will go... yep, I admit it. I have swoony *oh my heart be still* thing for those wickedly gallant heroes... the pirates in swashbuckling tales, in the olden movies and in romance novels.
So, when the opportunity to write a pirate flash came by... I didn’t resist. At all.

The Buccaneer King’s Captive

ONE
Zambrono drastically reduced the speed of his space hawk jet. He’d launched from his Galleon cruiser mere minutes ago. Someone was about to steal the cargo he’d already claimed with his own eye via his senors. On his galleon’s main screen he’d watched a three-person Slip, a small battle cruiser, flash-shoot toward the heavy-bellied transport craft being escorted by a fleet of six warships. Whoever engaged the warships must have balls as heavy as dense black matter because the other galactic pirates he knew would have given it a wide berth without enough attack ships. Zambrono growled, his lip curling.

TWO
Selendra streaked her Slip between two of the warships, blasting them both with one of her secret weapons. Streams of diamond-fed plasma disabled one warship and significantly damaged the other. Looping above them, she dove toward the warship on her tail and fired hydro-shots into its central energy core. That would slow it down until she could finish it off. Zigzagging past the limping warship, she flew beneath the whale-like transport and targeted the bay hatch. Her red cutting beams seared away the magnetic-hold field. Having dispatched two warships already, she spun her ship like a top, searching... oh, no!

THREE
Zambrono caught the charging warship’s core with his gold suspension rays, and left it floating helplessly close to the transport. While he roared a laugh of triumph, he watched the Slip halt its amazing spin, then lock on his hawk jet with a particle scan beam. A second later the balls-brave captain slid the Slip up and to the side of the transport, out of his firing range, unless he wanted to take a chunk out of the transport’s cargo hold. “Later,” he snarled the promise. Corkscrewing his jet toward the warship still able to attack, he gold-coated its core.

FOUR
Selendra’s innards flinched for an instant. Her scan didn’t lie. That was the hawk jet of a man known as the Buccaneer King. Well, frizzle frazzle hell, he wasn’t getting her hard-won cargo. Avoiding the pulse cannons peppering space around the third cargo bay’s entrance, Selendra carefully wove toward her real target, located within the bay she hadn’t attacked. Keeping one eye glued to the jet hawk’s advance, she unsealed the tiny bay’s field and cruised her Slip inside the instant the door cracked open. She re-sealed the door enough to allow for some gravity. The ten giant cases settled.

FIVE
Zambrono barked with irritation. The Slip had vanished from his sensors and not within the bay that had been opened with red cutting beams. With the warships useless, he aimed for the guts of the transport and fired his plasma ice ray, freezing the four energy cores to gelatinous goo. The cores would reform in a short time powering the transport again. He grrrrrd, then sneered. What the black hole hell was the other pirate captain up to? His curiosity engaged and his wrath, Zambrono combed his sensors over the transport looking for the balls-to-the-space-walls captain. He found him, departing.

SIX
Selendra sidled the Slip close to the cases, filled with the red diamonds that had been stolen from the Juijitts, then illegally sold, and now on their way to a weapons’ manufacturer. Swiftly placing on her breathing helmet, she opened her own holding bay. She seized her magnetic grappler and jogged the short distance to her bay. Waiting for the atmosphere to stabilize enough, she hauled ass outside and rapidly attached the beam-lock to the cases, loading them one by one. About to enter her hold, she felt muscular arms latch onto her waist, and squeeze unmercifully. “What the hell...”

SEVEN
Zambrono finished, “you’re a girl.” His new prize twisted like a fairy fiend, seeking any way to hurt him, and escape. He kept his capture of her, barely. Her exceptionally rounded ass attacked his engorging cock without mercy. Her soft, beautifully firm breasts were no easier on his forearms as he carried her to his hawk jet. The heels of her boots struck his booted shins. And he would have laughed heartily at the way her arms flailed seeking his harm, if he could be certain of his hold on her. Tossing her within, he dived on top of her.

EIGHT
Selendra stilled, as motionless as her cruiser caught in the eye of galactic cyclone. She listened to the wind-keening sound of the Buccaneer King’s jet seal itself. Once the gravity field stabilized, his tremendous weight pinned her all too effectively. She needed a superb battle strategy to escape the Vrilorv man engulfing her entire body with his. Not only that his breeding anatomy seemed pleased with the feel of her. “Damn, you beast,” she scathingly greeted. He’d nearly ripped off her breathing helmet. “What is that? Your cock or are you carrying a planet blaster in your pants?” She laughed.

NINE
Zambrono stared at the beauty who belted out guffaws. Hell’s black star, if her luscious little body didn’t feel like the perfect carnal distraction beneath him. She’d captured him as easily as he kept her trapped. Before he could think what to do with her, other than throw her inside his bed quarters and bind her against escape, the various ways he’d pleasure her, then relentlessly mount her, during one of his libation-spilling feasts, possessed his mind’s eye like a treasure he’d decided on acquiring. “Red diamonds,” he uttered, at the thought of booty. “Keep your paws off,” she snarled.

TEN
Selendra assessed her enemy like the ice princess she’d been accused of being, by every male who’d sought to defrost her with the stabbing thrust of his mating blade. The Buccaneer King’s features had been carved by a wicked laser. Harsh, feral, with a handsomeness that, no doubt, conquered many a female, his startling indigo eyes sought to conquer her. Unmoving, he gazed at her, wanting to steal her woman’s soul the same way he carried off a belly full of precious cargo, then unscrupulously sold it to the highest bidder. By her life, he wasn’t plundering her red diamonds.
~~~~~~

HAPPY ROMANTIC NEW YEAR!
May your brightest, most romantic dreams come true...

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~