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

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 ~
~~~~~~

Envisioning Beautiful Worlds for Romance Novels

Middleton Place Plantation in South Carolina

The idea for this post began with a blog I wrote on Kougar Kisses, my personal bloggie, back on August 6. Here is a portion rewritten for this post.

Creating Beautiful Worlds...the Kougaress had an intriguing insight earlier today. At least, intriguing to her. It becomes more important, in fact crucial to create beautiful worlds.

As romance writers a lot of us know that urge to ‘create a beautiful world’ for our heroines and heroes. Whether that means the HAPPILY EVER AFTER, or world-building another realm as in sci fi. Maybe we dream up a far-away fantasy place. Oh, the exquisite possibilities we have as writers. Our imagination is allowed to take flight, to surpass the boundaries of reality as we know it, as we live it everyday.

This Big Cat believes humanity instinctively has an innate drive, a need to create beauty. An obvious example is art in all of its glorious expressions. Art has always been with humanity, ala the prehistoric cave paintings. Another classic example, to the Kougaress’s mind, is the fairytale wedding mania of the nineties. Beaucoup bucks have been spent on that perfect day, as if for a short time, a beautiful world could be created, one that would last a lifetime in a world where trials and tribulations are the norm.

This desire to create beautiful worlds, to escape into a beautiful fantasy world, will only dramatically increase in the upcoming times. One, because of the harsh realities most of us are facing. And, two, because, it’s time. Time to bring forth our personal visions of a beautiful world.
~~~

Envisioning Beautiful Worlds

Beauty feeds and nourishes our souls. As writers we are able to give this gift to those who read our books.

I’ve envisioned beautiful worlds ever since I can remember. The stories my parents read to me at a young age were the beginning. My imagination spun with the images evoked by fairytales, and other children’s books. Being highly visual, the illustrations also inspired my flights of fancy into these beautiful realms.

Later, when I began reading all the non-fiction and fiction horse books, like The Black Stallion by Walter Farley, that I could get my little grubby hands on, I not only envisioned beautiful worlds filled with horses, but I began daydreaming about how to create my fantasy worlds for real.

As a child, I wanted to create a beautiful world of my own. Desperately. The urge became so strong it burned bright and fierce inside me all of the time.

Of course, the more I learned growing up, and the more I experienced life, the more complex these ‘romantic and beautiful worlds’ became. Often they lived within my imagination as real, more real than everyday life, especially during the nineties.

These worlds I daydreamed about, some of them were the dreams I wanted to bring about for real. Over the years, I’ve fought for my dreams, lived for them. However, that’s another story.

At this point in time, I have no idea how many of my romantic fantasy realms are stored inside my mental hope chest, and are my current WIPs...hundreds, at least. Most of them will never see the light of day, unless I pen them into full existence -- world-build them in my paranormal erotic romance novels as a finished book.

I should add a bit of a correction here because I do have one ‘sweet’ romance written. However, it’s so different, I don’t know what to do with it.

Even though, my romances are character driven, my stories are always based on a beautiful world or worlds -- my ideas about them, of course. This happens in several ways. There is the potential to bring one forth. The heroines and heroes are saving their beloved land, and their way of life. Or, my happily-ever-after couple lives in a thriving, full of life society, and this is their love story.

To world-build these beautiful realms is challenging, a joy, and very hard work. I constantly ask myself, or my muse...what does it feels like -- the society, the day-to-day activities, life in this particular OtherWorld, this OtherRealm, this OtherTime?

As authors, the question often becomes: How do we create beautiful worlds -- this includes ALL of the romance subgenres -- for our books? Or, how do we bring them forth from our imagination, and onto the page?

For some of us it’s a natural ability, even though it ain’t easy at times. One approach is to look at the dreams of your childhood. What was it that made you feel radiant inside, that lit your soul, your face?

As a teenager, what kind of world did you fantasize about, and long for so much it hurt? So much you made plan after endless plan?

Right now, what are those ‘beautiful worlds’ living inside your imagination, the ones that resonate with you the most? Start there, and your story will unfold.
~~~

As an example of how I’ve envisioned a beautiful world, here’s an erotic-romance Flash Scene I wrote for this past Valentine’s Day between Volcano and Sedona, my hero and heroine in WHEN A GOOD ANGEL FALLS.

Valentine’s Day, February 14, 2014

The rose, in full bloom, landed in her palm. Sedona felt the prick of thorns as she gripped the stem in reaction. Transfixed by the radiant scarlet rose, she stared, barely aware of the tiny pain.

Lost in the spiral of gorgeous petals, Sedona noticed the heavenly heady fragrance moments later, when it wafted inside her nostrils. An appreciative sigh sang from her. Lifting the rose, Sedona inhaled its scent more deeply. Her eyelids drifted shut and she dreamily soared inside.

“Volcano,” she whispered with her lips brushing the petals.

My angel woman. His telepathic voice trembled her with desire.

Playing cupid? Sedona mentally teased her words though him.

My arrow is only for you. The image of his ready cock filled her mind’s eye.

Oh, my cupid, I want to stroke your wings. I want to kiss each feather tip. I want –

With a loud whoosh, Volcano’s powerful essence vortexed around Sedona. A firestorm of pleasure captured every inch of her body, and she moaned.

Yes, smolder me, you naughty cupid. Until I surrender to the launch of your boldest arrow.

Even as the scorch of orgasmic rapture seized her mound, and spiraled upward, Sedona felt herself lifted from the floor. Her carnal cherub carried her with his incredible force. Somewhere.

All Sedona knew was that she traveled light-fast through the ethers, as her molecules blissfully entwined with his. Yet, strange to her senses, she still felt the prick of the rose thorns.

Barely steady on her feet, Sedona heard, Your Valentine’s Day surprise, my woman.

The press of Volcano’s kisses covered her body like a phantom lover, as she blinked her eyes open. She certainly didn’t stand in the front room of their mountain cabin anymore.

“Oh, Volcano...” Hardly daring to believe it, Sedona gasped. With her hands flying to her throat, she murmured, “Straight out of Gone With the Wind. Like the plantation mansion of Tara.”

Sedona’s astonishment was an ecstasy unto itself, as she slowly turned, taking in the lavishly appointed ballroom. The crystal chandeliers and gilt-framed mirrors sparkled in afternoon’s sunlight. Dark red velvet drapes added to the room’s elegance, as did the taper candles waiting to be lit.

With her senses staggered, Sedona took her time, gazing at everything. How long ago had it been when she’d revealed her youthful, twenty-something dream to him?

They’d been in bed, cuddled in each other’s arms. She’d been leafing through an old magazine they’d discovered in a trunk. Inside were photos of a replica, pre-civil war southern mansion -- the exterior and the interior.

After her spontaneous gurgles of delight, Volcano had questioned her. Shoving away her sadness, Sedona had talked about her dream to create a back-in-time resort based on this period in time.

Do you like it? We cupids aim to please.

Maybe it should be Rhett instead of cupid. Sedona hugged herself, and knew her eyes shone with anticipation.

Before her mind’s eye, Volcano performed a rakish bow.

Are we dancing soon, Rhett Volcano?

Soon, my beloved. The Divine Council meeting is progressing well.

The pups? she asked, concerned about their two dogs.

In seconds, Aru and his mate appeared before her. After quizzical looks at her, they gave her doggie smiles, then began their canine exploration.

Volcano’s ephemeral kiss touched her forehead, a temporary farewell. Your gown is upstairs, my Sedona, inside our bedroom.

With her heart lighter than air, and trip–trip tripping rapidly, Sedona rushed toward the splendid staircase. Reaching the first step, she raced upward, the rose still clutched in her hand.

~~~~~~

WHEN A GOOD ANGEL FALLS

Blurb ~

Winter Solstice, December 21, 2012 – The end of the Mayan Calendar

What happens when a world weary, worn out incarnated angel, Sedona, who believes she is merely human has three choices after her old van breaks down? Let the Nazerazzi squad of the North American Union capture her and force her into a FEMA concentration camp? Walk out into the Arizona night desert, let the wildlife have a good meal, with the hope her death will be quick? Or does Sedona trust the mysterious stranger suddenly before her? Handsome as sin and all in black, he emerges from the darkness astride a super-speed black motorcycle.

Is he her savior from the brutal hell of end times, or is he a roving cult member of the New World Order, hunting his next blood sacrifice?

Sent from heaven to help her save humanity, Zerr Dann knows the Divine is playing its last card on Earth.
~~~~~~

Have a Happily Ever After ~

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Christmas Eve Magic

Tiny, before kindergarten age, I had no idea what Christmas was all about, only that there were yummy new things to eat and it caused lots of excitement, especially my parents who put up the real fragrant-special tree and eagerly talked about Santa Clause. My dad’s blue eyes glowed with a happiness I will always treasure and remember that night before Christmas. Well, it was just me and my younger sister then, sitting with my dad while he, dramatic as a poet actor, read Twas the night before Christmas to us.

My teensy imagination lit up like the bulbs on the tree, before lightbulbs twinkled, when you had to figure out which one had gone bad on the string and replace it before the tree would be bright with colored light again.

On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen! Those immortal words are what I remembered most about the poem that Christmas eve night. Santa Claus and his reindeer, the magnificent reindeer...More rapid than eagles his coursers they came...in my imagination I could see them flying through the night sky, the snowflakes whirling ‘round them. They looked magical, these elegant beasts with branch-like antlers. And I felt magical, light as air, all tingly fizzy inside.

I swear that poem danced in my head as we set out the hot chocolate and cookies for Santa. My eyes were filled with twinkling stars while my dad assured us that Santa would somehow make it down the chimney we didn’t have in our GI bill ranch house. I still remember heading off to bed bouncing on my tippy toes.

Kissed goodnight and tucked in, I imagined Santa in his miniature sleigh with his eight tiny reindeer flying toward us, much better than dreaming about sugar plums. And soon I heard them...the pawing and prancing of each little hoof...on my very own rooftop. Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! Santa called to his reindeer team. I heard it plain as day.

It was so real, their hooves on my roof, I woke up to the loud jingling of sleigh bells, like the ones you hear on the horse harnesses as they pull the sleigh over the snow to grandma’s house. Springing out of bed, I ran outside to a beautiful white blanket of snow, so cold on my bare feet. Santa had landed on my roof.

He waved, stepping out of the old-fashioned handsomely-carved sleigh. Prancing spiritedly on that new fallen snow were Santa’s life-size reindeer decorated in the red leather finery of their harnesses. They were exquisite creatures, their fragile-looking legs, their thick brown coats glistening with snowflakes, the drifting flakes falling from the black heavens. Their faces were noble, their eyes large and brilliant as they looked down at me.

I remember being entranced by the regal tangle of their antlers. And I wondered what it would be like to ride on one of their backs as they soared through night. Santa shouted down to me, a jolly voice reminding me he couldn’t deliver his gifts until I was back in bed.

The next morning when I dashed outside to see my dad, who was fiddling with the outdoor lights, I was surprised to see no blanket of snow, only short brown grass. But I simply ignored that tiny detail and exuberantly told my dad I knew Santa was real because I had seen him last night.

Despite my dad’s rather puzzled expression I went on to tell him about hearing the prancing hooves on the roof, about running outside and seeing Santa and all his reindeer. I think he tried to tell me it was dream. But I was so insistent in all my glorious detail, he ended up nodding and smiling. And not spoiling anything for me. Thank you, Dad.

And no one, not any playground gossiper or any kid’s cruel attempt to spoil Christmas for me, could ever convince me Santa wasn’t real. After all, I had seen Santa and his sleigh full of toys, and his reindeer...oh, his majestic reindeer too. In fact, I may have turned a few kids back to the magic of Christmas simply because I believed. I truly believed.

Until, okay, seventh grade. Laugh if you want. That’s okay. I had a Christmas spirit then, that I still treasure to this day. It was magic. It was pure magic instilled into me for a lifetime.

That lucid dream was absolutely real to me, as real as anything I have ever experienced since. That enchanted dream still feels as if I lived it, and remains as vivid inside my mind as any memory.

I originally wrote this post, back in December 2007, as part of a Christmas eve blog for Title Magic. And, as I penned I realized like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash...that I hoped the paranormal and otheworldly romance novels I was writing would be as movie-screen vivid, as magical and magnificently real for readers, as my Santa lucid dream was for me.
~~~~~~

Have a Merry Christmas in July

Savanna,

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

Just in time for Christmas, Christmas 2012, that is...

What happens ‘When a Good Angel Falls’ ?

Being an avid listener of Coast-to-Coast am, night talk radio, famous for its paranormal topics ~ the subject of 2012, the end of the Mayan calendar ~ is one of the hottest conversations going, and only gets hotter as we come closer and closer to what some people refer to as the endtimes.

So, what if? What will occur on that magical and mystical winter solstice date of December 21, 2012 ~ that final day of the Mayan calendar?

My novel When a Good Angel Falls, answers that question with Sedona and Volcano’s unusual love story.
~~~

Blurb:

Winter Solstice, December 21, 2012 – The end of the Mayan Calendar

What happens when a world weary, worn out incarnated angel, Sedona, who believes she is merely human has three choices after her old van breaks down? Let the Nazerazzi squad of the North American Union capture her and force her into a FEMA concentration camp? Walk out into the Arizona night desert, let the wildlife have a good meal, with the hope her death will be quick? Or does Sedona trust the mysterious stranger suddenly before her? Handsome as sin and all in black, he emerges from the darkness astride a super-speed black motorcycle.

Is he her savior from the brutal hell of end times, or is he a roving cult member of the New World Order, hunting his next blood sacrifice?

Sent from heaven to help her save humanity, Zerr Dann knows the Divine is playing its last card on Earth.
~~~~~

Futuristic Erotic Romance ~ An Author Discovery

AUTHOR DISCOVERY ~ Murder by Hair Spray in Gardenia, New Atlantis

~~~ An Author Discovery by Serena Shay ~~~

What happens when two strong-willed characters collide? A whole lotta alpha goodness!

Kalypso Sun Wing and Zryphus Vasquoz are sure to delight readers with their sassy interactions with one another and their "my way or the highway" attitudes.

Kalypso Sun Wing likes to think she's as hard-headed a leader as they come, what with her command position during the conflicts and her general dislike of Federal, but really she is a mushy-gushy marshmallow on the inside. She protects her friends, her society and the ones she loves.

Zryphus, whew, what can I say about Zryphus? He's smart and a male in all the wonderful ways men can be male. He comes on strong and stays that way, proving to Kalypso that he's here to stay and that she can trust her heart with him.

I love the way Ms. Kougar has taken a real historical event and injected it into a fabulously fictional future. The mixing of the two era's offers, to this readers way of thinking, an innocence to a fast paced, post war society.

Don't miss Murder by Hair Spray in Gardenia, New Atlantis - New Atlantis Trilogy, Book 1. You'll want to be ready for the next installment on the newly re-risen continent!

Serena Shay

Author of the top selling, THE CHALLENGE ~ serenashay.com ~ shapeshifterseductions.blogspot.com ~


~~~~~~

Murder by Hair Spray in Gardenia, New Atlantis
by Savanna Kougar

Blurb:

In 2051, Atlantis is no longer a legend. The risen antediluvian land has been colonized by rebels who battled for freedom against the Global Elite.

New Atlantis Sheriff, Kalypso Sun Wing, has survived the sterile fifties' suburbs, the revolutionary turbulence of the sixties and the disco guru seventies. After the suicide of the man she loved, Kalypso barely survived the designer eighties or the fast-forward nineties. Watching Atlantis rise from the ocean she realized her destiny.

Zerculeon, Zryphus Vasquoz, chose an enforcement career with Earth's Federal Union. He is fascinated with primitive worlds and wants to make his own way outside the family heritage. Once he gets an eyeful of the beautiful Sheriff, as they investigate the Hair Spray serial murder, Zryphus knows he's found his one woman, despite her cold disinterest.

When the Hair Spray Killer stalks Kalypso, Zryphus won't let her out of his sight, or his bed. They realize those controlling the Killer's leash will use every evil to win world dominion.
~~~~~~

Available at ~ bookstrand.com/murder-by-hair-spray-in-gardenia-new-atlantis ~ bookstrand.com/savanna-kougar ~
~~~~~~

Escape ~ Indulge in an Erotic Romance Novel

Kevin Sorbo as Hercules

Happily Ever After, everyone. I hope the New Year of 2011 is treating you right? And, I hope you’re treating yourself right by reading those romance novels that tingle you the most ~ heart, mind, body and soul *tingle* you.

Escape, that magical feeling when you’re reading a book that carries you away to another world, another time, another place. As human beings, we also use our fantasies to escape. And, as a writer, my fantasies come in darn handy when I’m dreaming up plots for my erotic romance novels.

One of my reoccurring fantasy themes is escaping to a world of real men. Yes, REAL MEN!!!

Okay, I’ve always had this special fondness for the male sex. I don’t mean only as a woman wanting a man. I just like men. I liked hanging out with them. I liked playing sports with them. I liked listening to their stories. Yep, I’ve always enjoyed being around men, unless they got too crude or too into the whole ‘top dog’ thing.

However, these days, where are the real men? Being a baby boomer I’ve seen and experienced a lot in this world. I’ve witnessed and lived the changes. My memory of the events, the times I’ve lived through is as brilliant and sharp as watching a movie.

And, sadly, I’ve watched our culture become what I call ‘wimpified’, in general terms that is, and certainly not on an individual basis. I believe this is one reason there is such a craving for Alpha Heroes and also Alpha Heroines. Certainly, these romance novel subgenres remain a hot trend.

However, let’s get to the fun part. What follows is a flash I came up with around my fantasy of finding real men.
~~~~~~

His Pretty Woman

Stopped in her tracks, Shekia stared at the monolithic arches crisscrossing the intergalactic port. When she’d embarked on this all-paid-for vacation she hadn’t expected to face this level of magnificent architecture. There was nothing like it on her world, or the planet-worlds she regularly traveled between as a private courier.

Even the holo travelogue couldn’t do it justice. Unaware she moved at first, Shekia gradually spun around, her gaze fastened on the gigantic sweep of what appeared to be merchant offices inside the arches – given the logos.

“Like what you see?”

The man’s low rumbly voice teased her in a kind, yet provocative manner. Unused to that timbre, Shekia whipped around. The travelogue certainly hadn’t lied about the superior handsomeness she could expect to find.

The man smelled virile. The scent tickling her nostrils juiced her sex, a rare occurrence for her when it came to encounters with the male gender.

In appearance, he reminded her of a golden-maned Hercules. His build was similar to the ‘men of renown’, ancient Earth men who had been the sons of the gods and goddesses.

As a young woman she’d spent much of her day in the Denver International Library studying the recordings of these Herculeses, as she called them. Especially the discs found beneath the paw of the Sphinx.

The ancient tech record had been discovered during the 2020s. Even though, the men of renown had been all too neatly villainized by the accompanying documents, there had been something inside Shekia that questioned, that voraciously hungered. She wanted to know the truth about them no matter what.

Now face-to-face with a man who stood a good foot, and probably more, above her, Shekia tried to get her tongue to work. And dammit! When had her mouth dried up like a desert?

“Why is it so not busy...here?” she managed in the sexy galactic lingo he’d used. “I mean for a port?”

Taking a step closer to her, his intent gaze never wavered, yet he pointed upward. “Have you noticed the position of our sun?”

Lost in the odd dark amber of his eyes, Shekia shook her head. Then, despite her usual composure in every situation, she bit her bottom lip.

He moved closer, and before she could step back, his huge hands lightly gripped her shoulders. He turned her around so she faced outward.

Her butt grazed his amazingly hard thigh as he drew her against him. The thin, pewter gray fabric garbing his warrior-muscled physique hardly prevented her from feeling what he obviously wanted her to feel.

Shekia followed his hand as he pointed upward. High in the aquamarine blaze of sky, the planet-world’s sun gleamed like an ultra shiny gold disc.

“It is the hour of the midday meal. We take that quite seriously here, pretty woman. I am here because your arrival could be scheduled at no other time.”

“Sorry to inconvenience you,” she murmured, even as her traitorous butt now tingly begged for the touch of his hand. Hell, her whole body hummed with arousal. The image of her with Mr. Hot Hercules’s hands all over her naked body flashed before her mind’s eye.

“You are an inconvenience.” His voice was somewhere between a purr and a growl, and definitely a seduction of her senses. “However, I have made dining arrangements for us.”

Shekia emerged from her stupefied hormonal state. “What are you? Part of the vacation package?”

“I am your vacation package, pretty woman.”

Somehow, he eased her around to face him again. Shekia only knew his hands were on her, commanding her in a way that quantum-leaped her libido.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

How those inane words had left her mouth, Shekia didn’t know, except she felt at a major disadvantage. For Goddess sake, she already clung to the man’s humongous forearms.

“I am Zolion, a third generation son of the Apollo lineage, as you would recognize it. Yes,” he answered her startled gaze, “we know about your educational study of us. Once a disc is activated we track whoever takes an avid interest.”

Shekia’s stomach somersaulted several times. “What do you want with me?”

His gradual smile warmed her the same way the sun warmed her flesh whenever she laid on the beach...only now it was from the inside out, lust included.

“I want to show you how we vacation here. I want to show you how a man treats his woman.”
~~~~~~

Authors, I invite you to share the fantasies that inspire your books.

Readers, what fantasy-escape story turns you on the most?
~~~~~~

Happy Romancing in 2011

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.
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Awaken to Your Heart this Holiday Season ~

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Romance and Awakening to Your Inner Witch

Happy Halloweek!

Awakening to my inner witch is an ongoing process. Recently, I’ve realized, at a deeper level, how disconnected my generation is from nature, from natural practices and from the shamanic practices that are part of every world culture. Even though, significant inroads have been made, with a return to that wisdom and practice, still, what have we lost?

And, why?

Paranormal romances address those two questions often, and speak to it through a fictional, happily ever after story. I believe that is ONE huge reason why paranormal romance remains a significant trend.

There is a HUNGER these days, for everything paranormal. Despite advice to the contrary, advice supposedly from those in the know, that I’ve seen over the last ten years, at least, that the paranormal subgenres are on the way out. Well, Nada. It ain’t happening.

All I’ve seen is a steady growth curve. Plus, just look at the TV shows and the movie offerings, and not only during this season of the witch. The fact is, there is a TRUTH, or truths offered in paranormal romances that resonate with readers. It may be the myths behind the stories and the character archetypes that speak to our souls. It may be that most of us have sensed and experienced the supernatural world.

An encounter with a ghost. That intuitive hit that tells us to watch out. Even a Big Foot sighting. Okay, this subject goes far beyond what I can address here. But, you get the overall picture.

I wasn’t raised with the idea of having an inner witch. However, my journey began when I questioned why the heck were witches always portrayed with hideous warts and green ugly skin. They cackled nastily and hugged their ragged broomsticks while flying in front of the full moon. Something about that never made any sense to me.

The only beautiful witch I knew about growing up, until Samantha in the TV series, Bewitched, was Glinda, the good witch in the Wizard of Oz. And, I clung to her image like a lifeline. A good witch who was beautiful in appearance. She didn’t melt either.

The next significant WITCH happening in my life was the white witch, Sybil Leek. She was a cause celeb for her time, appearing on the TV talks shows, and I devoured her books, My Life In Astrology and Diary Of a Witch (1968), like I was starving.

I’ve had a lifelong love affair with witches, that is, as far as learning about them, their real herstory, and their craft, especially herbs. No, I never took the leap into becoming a practicing witch. It wasn’t my path. Yet, that has never stopped my inner witch from emerging.

Oh, if you want to know about one of the best witches around now, visit Dr. Evelyn Paglini at her site, Mystical Blend. Talk about a real witch with a capital R.

I consider *Halloween 2010* to be what I call a time of ~Witch Awakening~

Or, more and more, women are awakening to their inner witch. They are awakening to their POWER. Women, with the thinning of veil, are becoming aware of their true feminine nature. Their true power in the ways that have been lost to us for so many centuries.

This is ‘not’ the so-called power of women’s lib [nothing wrong with that]. This is a supernatural power that has been ruthlessly suppressed. This is a power of the soul rising to meet the Good of the Aquarian Age. This is women unshackling themselves from the horrors inflicted upon them all during our recorded history.

It’s time for herstory. All the ways that women have been and still are being brutalized is ending. No, this won’t be a pretty process. No, it won’t end tomorrow. Unless, we all get our intention aligned and make it so.

Romance has largely been the domain of women. Where else do we show up as powerfully as we do in our romance novels? Where else do we get to love, and be loved by the heroes that live inside our wildest, most impassioned dreams? And, he’s the lucky one.

Often, the paranormal subgenres offer stories where women are liberated in supernatural ways. They kick butt, use their psychic gifts and conjure magick to save those they love. Women save the world. They save galaxy, even the universe. As Women always have. And always will.
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Currently, I have two Halloween-theme books. One is a novella, BLACK CAT BEAUTY. The other one, THE TIGER’S MASQUERADE, is a short story in the anthology, Just Another ParaNormal Halloween.
~~~

Black Cat Beauty

Blurb: A private Halloween party in a gothic mansion hidden in the Hollywood Hills. Add one party crasher, Sable Kiki, a naughty black cat with a sexy wild human side.
Her covert assignment from her devious, always-cunning father: use her seductive wiles to find out the truth from Devon Zant, a movie star on the rise to super stardom.
Posing as the superhero actor, Devon Zant, D’Torr has arrived on Earth seeking revenge for the capture of his younger brother, and to assist in stopping a powerful enemy.
The leviathan warfleet of the Altirrux wants rule of all intergalactic trade routes to Earth, endangering the survival of D’Torr’s race, and all the inhabitants of the rare blue jewel, Earth.

Available from Liquid Silver Books ~ liquidsilverbooks.com/books/blackcatbeauty.htm ~
~~~

The Tiger’s Masquerade

Stacy wasn’t looking for a tiger-man to erotically and exotically fill her tank , then steal her heart. That is, until the Halloween ‘Call of the Wild Masquerade’ ball. But, what kind of tiger does she have by the tail?

Zyrru wasn’t looking for a human woman to un-tame his fiercest passions, and alter his royal life forever. After all, he’s only vacationing on Earth, and is almost engaged to The Princess. But her rosefire scent is irresistible.

JUST ANOTHER PARANORMAL HALLOWEEN available from MojoCastle Press ~ mojocastle.com/ParaHalloween.html ~
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Happy Thinning of Veils ~

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~