Hot for Friday: First Kiss

Friday hotness kisses, everyone!

Here's the first kiss between my heroine, Kaily, and her hero, Dylan.
~~~

Santa Baby, Several Stars Away

To Kaily, it felt as though Dylan deliberately prolonged the moments before their lips touched because it increased his pleasure, and because it heightened her to a burning want.

His mouth alighted on hers, the sensation feathery. Then, he rested his lips on hers softly yet firmly.

The texture of his mouth, and the wintry coolness thrilled through Kaily, awakening her body, all of her senses—passionately blistering her insides.

Ding, ding, ding...we have a winner, she thought.

Gradually, beautifully, his kiss deepened, his mouth becoming a large dominant force on top of hers. So dominant, she could only succumb, and wish for more.

So much more. Please...oh, please.

~~~~~~

For more of Hot for Friday ~bookboyfriendscafe.com~
~~~~~~

~~~ Kaily and Dylan invite you to read their love story ~~~ 

Kaily has been consumed by curiosity ever since Dylan suddenly appears in her small town. Surreptitiously, she watches the mystery man restore a rundown Victorian mansion, all while his charm and sincerity gain him the good will of most everyone. This is especially true when he volunteers to become the annual Santa Claus for the children at the town's park.

The problem for Kaily: No one really knows anything about Dylan's past or where he came from. With her attraction to him growing day by day, she becomes a driven woman. On a desperate whim, she gives herself to him as a Christmas present. Will Dylan be able to resist her waiting naked, but gift-wrapped beneath his tree?
~~~

Excerpt/Buy link: savannakougar.blogspot.com/p/santa-baby-several-stars-away_388.html

Available: SMASHWORDS PREMIUM CATALOGUE ~ KINDLE ~ AllRomanceEbooks

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Happy Hot Reading ~

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 ~

Belated Happy Valentine's Day from ShapeShifter Seductions

Here's a flash scene I wrote for Valentine's Day at the Midnight Stardust Supperclub.
~~~~~~

The Lonely Hearts Club and the She-Wolf

"Lonely Hearts Club," Sarielle whispered once she mentally translated the words from her language to the planet's American English language. "That's me."

Ever since leaving on this intergalactic tour of other wolfen shapeshifter worlds, Sarielle had practiced speaking the various languages while studiously learning about the many different cultures. Now she glided along the fringes of the supperclub's dance floor.

Whirling embraced couples, all of them in what she identified as a deep romantic trance, danced to a type of music she found heart-stirring and pleasurable. The playful but elegant notes made her feel deliciously supple.

Sarielle also listened to the lovely silken swish of her long gown as she approached the special area where men, all in full humanoid form, and clothed in what were called tuxedos, took turns partnering the women who, like her, obviously had no man or mate in their life.

What she thought was called a midnight buffet had been placed in this Lonely Hearts Club area. As well, sparkling beverages of all kinds spilled into stemmed glassware. Her nose inhaled a feast of fragrances, especially the quite virile man who began striding toward her as if he'd caught her scent and now hunted her.

Maybe he did. He certainly had the handsome build and the powerful loins of a hunter. Although, Sarielle couldn't distinguish his wolf kind by his smell or his, to her eye, spectacular humanoid appearance.

Further, she wasn't entirely certain of all the dating and mating customs in this geological region on Earth. It had been a constant confusion she'd been unable to sort out during her culture-learning sessions.

****

Dante had carefully explained about the three extraterrestrial she-wolfs that would be joining the Valentine's Day extravaganza at the Midnight Stardust Supperclub. At first, Dh'liam had believed his cubhood pal was pulling his hind leg. It wouldn't be the first time. They'd pulled about every prank imaginable on each other, almost to the day Dante had roared out of Talbot's Peak on his Harley.

Several weeks later, Dh'liam had taken to the back roads on his Harley, determined to explore the vast areas of America that remained mostly uninhabited. What he'd discovered and experienced could easily fill a set of old-fashioned encyclopedias. Now for the sake of his pack, and for those who lived in Talbot's Peak, he'd returned to make certain they remained protected from the monstrous evil he'd encountered -- far beyond the tiger shapeshifter, Shere Khan, and his Yakuza ninjas.

However, at this moment in time, all he wanted to do was protect, and dance with the magnificent she-wolf beauty of extraterrestrial origin. The instant, he glimpsed her heart-shaped face he'd loosed an inner howl, while his cock straightened like it was cupid's drawn arrow.

The otherworldly woman-wolf possessed a petite and svelte figure beneath her fluid, backless peacock-blue gown. Yet more impressive to him, her lithe muscles were power-packed strength, and he knew she could run like the wind.

What captured his notice first was her tumbled wealth of hair, most of it piled artfully on top of her head. At the time, she'd had her back to him, and he'd stared at the cascading curls of rich dark russet, unable to move.

When she'd finally turned around, and lissomely moved in his direction, Dh'liam had forced himself to halt in his tracks. He'd had to fight the urge to stalk her, nip-kiss her neck, then sink his fingers into her tresses.

Determined she would not be leaving his hunter's sight this night, he'd strode toward her. Eyes that were a gorgeous burnished gold followed his progress, and they both halted within a few feet of each other, their gazes fastening on each other.

Without hesitation, he offered her a slight bow. Not one that would take his gaze off her, however. "I am Dh'liam. Welcome to Earth. Welcome to Talbot's Peak. Welcome to my arms. Or, perhaps, you would prefer something to drink and a bite to nibble on before we dance."

A smile teased the corner of her bow-shaped mouth, and he couldn't help but ravish her lips with his gaze. At the same time, she offered her hand to his, the one he'd extended without thinking about it. With a grace he'd rarely known, her hand alighted on his, and Dh'liam held on as if she were his next breath.

"Dancing in your arms is quite delightfully acceptable, Mr. Dh'liam. My feet are anxious to enjoy the dance floor. I am called Sarielle for short." She paused, her eyes pure sparkle. "Is that how you say it?"

"Sarielle," he savored like a meaty bone. "Would that be considered your first or familiar name, my beautiful she-wolf?"

Her puzzled frown halted every cell in his body. "I can't sniff you. You are a wolfen shapeshifter?"

"I am. But I have learned how to hide my scent. A long story," he added. Howls! the love trap had sprung, and he'd been caught. And Dh'liam wasn't about to chew a hunk out of his heart to escape. No way on the Mother's green earth.

"Ah, you hide your scent from enemies. I understand. Sarielle is my chosen name, a first name as you would call it in your culture, Mr. Dh'liam."

He drew her closer. He couldn't resist. "It's just Dh'liam, or Liam, as my friends often call me." When she cocked her head in apparent confusion, he continued. "It's a family name. No Sam, Dave or Harry in our pack."

"Your touch is pleasing, Dh'liam." Her tone was a soft sultry growl, and she moved closer so they were mere inches apart.

With her enchantingly exotic face nearly beneath his, Dh'liam realized she now stood on tiptoe. He felt the heat of her loins against his. Her mating fragrance seared his nostrils. And, as he swept his arm around her slender waist, he became aware the big band era music was transitioning into the romantic strains of a waltz.

"Do you waltz, Sarielle?" he thought to inquire like a gentleman.

"You lead, and I'll follow. We often dance on the galactic cruise ship."

With a low raw growl only for her ears, Dh'liam swung his she-wolf among the other dancers. True to her words, Sarielle matched him effortlessly, and he whirled them around the dance floor in time to the moonspun music.

Her strength flowed against him, a grace he'd hungered for, and never known it until now. Now, this very fierce moment of knowing what he'd needed, what he wanted.

So, Dante had been right in insisting he refresh his ballroom dancing skills. Dh'liam even mentally thanked his sire and dam for all the lessons they'd made him endure over the years, given his family believed in a formal presentation of themselves at times.

As the tempo of the music slowed, she allowed the tightening of his arm. And, when he wrapped both arms around her, she draped herself against him. Her small, long-fingered hands stroked the back of his neck before she laced her fingers, and held onto him tightly.

The thought of her pressed against some other man, regardless of species, boiled Dh'liam's blood. He leashed his stud-possessiveness, willing his focus on Sarielle instead.

He listened to the quickening of her breaths that were almost wolfen pants. He listened to the rapid passionate beat of her heart. He felt the way her loins cradled the large bone his cock had become, and wished it would last forever.

"I crave fresh air," she murmured toward his ear, once the music faded.

Immediately, Dh'liam eased her against his side, escorting her to one of the tunnel exits that led to a small clearing, one surrounded by a stand of majestic fir trees.

"Will the cold temperature bother you, my beautiful she-wolf?"

"I am from a colder region. It will feel refreshing, Dh'liam. Besides, I will depend upon your arms around me."

Once they stood outside in the crisp winter air, she snuggled against him, her cheek pressed against his love-struck, fast-pounding heart.

"Lonely Hearts Club?" he asked, hoping against hope.

Sarielle had been headed toward the area that Dante set up for the women who arrived alone and wanted dance partners. Even though, Dante had explained about their extraterrestrial visitors, he hadn't said if they were unattached, un-mated.

Now Dh'liam had to know.

"Yes, I am a lonely heart." She hesitated, and he felt her quiver in his embrace. "I had a husband..."

"Had a husband?" he roughly barked out as he instinctively clutched her closer against him.

"We were matched. We were to be mates." She shook now, and Dh'liam knew it wasn't because of the cold.

"What happened, Sarielle?" His hands roamed her back, reflecting the urgency he felt like sparks of fire throughout his entire body.

"I was not a good mate to him... I tried. But it was so... ho-hum, I believe you would say."

Dh'liam wanted to laugh, to bust a gut with his howls of laughter. Instead, he buried his nose, his lips in her hair, and wrapped himself around his she-wolf. Somehow, some way, he could convince her to stay with him on Earth. He would convince her to be his mate -- he would convince her that he would never be a ho-hum husband.
~~~~~~

~ Have a Magickal Valentine's Day ~

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 Santa, the Night Before Christmas

With the hope of spreading some holiday cheer, here’s my version the popular Christmas poem, “Twas the night before Christmas”, written a couple of years ago.

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through my home
Only I was stirring, to pen my romance tome.
My best black silk stockings were hung, ready to wear,
In hopes, my miracle Santa stud would soon be here.

The pets are nestled all snug in their places,
With visions of holiday treats making them run dream races.
Their mamma has just slipped into her red lace teddy,
And is settling her brains to continue writing her fantasy.

When out on the lawn I hear such a loud clatter,
I spring up from my desk to see what is the matter.
Away to the window I trot in my boa-trimmed slippers
To take a peek through the curtains. Oh no, is that drunk Mrs. Kippers?

The full moon shines on icy slush, instead of new-fallen snow
Giving a natural spotlight to celebrating Mrs. Kippers below.
Yet, what to my wondering gaze does appear?
But an old-fashioned sleigh, and eight majestic reindeer.

With a Viking driver, so handsomely tall and magnificent,
I knew in a moment I must be dreaming this whole event.
More rapid than jets, his stags flew the midnight sky untamed,
His long mane blew wild as he shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! soar on Donner and Blitzen!
Fly to the top of each roof! Above the city walls!
Now race higher and faster! And sail over all!"

As autumn leaves that before the approaching blizzard fly,
When they meet with a whirlwind and spiral to the sky.
So up to my rooftop, the brown and white stags they flew,
With a sleigh full of glittering gifts, and Viking Santa too.

And then, after a blinking of my eyes, I heard on the roof
The precise landing, then the pawing of each jingle-belled hoof.
As I drew in my dreaming head, and spun around,
Down my fake chimney the Viking arrived, with an impressive bound.

He was splendidly dressed in red and faux fur, down to his boots,
And his garments remained perfect, despite all the ashes and soot.
A bundle of shiny presents he had flung behind his back,
And he looked like a romantic hero as he dashingly opened his pack.

His darkening eyes, how they naughtily twinkled! And at his dimples I gawk!
His features are sternly carved, reminding me of a beautiful proud hawk!
His full sexy mouth slowly turns upwards, a knowing grin,
As I continue to stare like a vixen at his strong virile chin.

With a saunter he approaches, making me weak in the knees.
His searing gaze travels the length of my body. And I freeze.
Without a word his powerful arm captures my pliant waist.
Crushing the lace against my skin, he has me tightly embraced.

Oh, how stalwart he feels, his muscles like hot heated ropes
And I sigh, then softly pant as I give free reign to my hopes.
His half-lidded gaze takes in my face, then settles on my parted lips
While his palms slide in a caress and boldly seize my hips.

“Oh, Santa,” I softly exhale, before his mouth claims mine in a torrid kiss.
“Wear those black silk stockings,” he rasps. “I promise bliss
When I return from leaving presents beneath every sparkling tree.”
After plundering my eager mouth with another kiss, he spins from me.

I hear him spring to his sleigh, to his stags give a fierce long shout,
Then, from my window I watch them depart like a meteor flaming out.
Still, I hear him exclaim, as he disappears from my sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to my gorgeous woman, leave on the light!"
~~~~~~

Have the merriest of holidays!

May your most romantic dreams come true...

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Romance for the Holidays ~ Santa Baby, Several Stars Away

Consumed by curiosity, Kaily gives herself to a mystery man for Christmas.

Will Dylan be able to resist her waiting naked, but gift-wrapped beneath his tree?

~ A Short Shapeshifter Erotic Romance ~

Santa Baby, Several Stars Away

by Savanna Kougar

Excerpt ~


Chapter One: Santa Baby, Waitin' Just for You

Rarely reckless, Kaily flung off the negligee she'd first thought to wear. It landed in a red ephemeral heap beside the tastefully trimmed Christmas tree.

So what if she'd just broken into his house...well, she hadn't exactly broken in...more like she spied on him until she found out where he hid the extra key...lodged in a crack of the frame above the door of the Victorian mansion he'd resurrected from certain crumbling death, and now obviously treasured

There was only one thing Kaily could see amiss in the traditional holiday atmosphere he'd created with the help of the town's local historical club a garish red ribbon. The long sash had a simple bow attached to one end, and practically shone despite the low lighting.

Kaily stared at the unexpected invitation.

Certainly, the river of red ribbon didn't belong on the floor as a decoration, and she couldn't see anywhere else it belonged...except wrapped around her.

Since she was giving herself to him as a gift for Christmas...well, why not?

~~~~~~

Blurb:

Kaily has been consumed by curiosity ever since Dylan suddenly appears in her small town. Surreptitiously, she watches the mystery man restore a rundown Victorian mansion, all while his charm and sincerity gain him the good will of most everyone. This is especially true when he volunteers to become the annual Santa Claus for the children at the town's park.

The problem for Kaily: No one really knows anything about Dylan's past or where he came from. With her attraction to him growing day by day, she becomes a driven woman. On a desperate whim, she gives herself to him as a Christmas present. Will Dylan be able to resist her waiting naked, but gift-wrapped beneath his tree?

~~~~~~

Now Available ~ SMASHWORDS & AMAZON

Coming Soon to other ebook vendors.

~~~~~~

Have the merriest of holidays!

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.
~~~~~

Romancing the Year of the Rabbit

Hi, everyone. Just in time for Easter, here’s a flash scene I wrote for my post at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS. I thought I’d share here because I am blatantly promo-ing the YEAR OF THE RABBIT BLOG HOP. Details are below.
~~~

Warning: Bad Language ahead. But the rabbit is saved.
~~~~~~

Magickal, Fantastical Bunny

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 were 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.
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Year of the Rabbit Blog Hop

Just in case you want a different kind of egg treasure hunt... as in hot fun flash stories and hawt pics... also fab prizes, with the grand prize being a Nook... well, a bunch of us authors are combining our talents this Easter weekend, April 23-24, for a blog hop. Take a preview peek here ~ justromance.me ~

At SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS we’ll be hopping and bopping, also, and there just might be a few bunny shapeshifters celebrating Spring with fertility rites at Talbot’s Peak during the blog hop. Or, maybe not. Ya never know who, or what kind of shapeshifter/paranormal being/human, will show up.
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HAVE A HAPPY AND BLESSED EASTER

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
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