Wedding of Death

Wedding of Death came about in a strange way for me. Originally, I wrote an ending scene for a writing contest. I loved it despite it's lack of a happy ending so I hung onto it, figuring I'd make something of it one day. The opportunity came when I offered to write a story for an anthology without happy endings. I never imagined it'd go the route of a historical paranormal, much less a vampire story. It's truly an experience I enjoyed.

As a single short story, it's been revised to have a happy ending. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Excerpt:

Stunned, her eyes rose. She attempted to pull her hand back, but he held on. It was difficult to comprehend all put upon her: kidnapped, her mother leaving without a search for her, and now this man thinks she is going to marry him.

"Come, let's toast to our official engagement."
He led her to the other side of the room where he poured champagne while her mind whirled. She hadn't noticed the bar where other liquor bottles set. Handing her a glass, she took it with shaky fingers all the while worrying if it might be drugged.

"To our time, our love, and our health."

Love? His glass clinked when he touched it against hers. It was barbaric. He couldn’t possibly expect me to marry him when I’m engaged to another man.

The meager distance between them disappeared and his lips brushed her brow. She shivered and tried to fight the urge to lose herself in him.

"Look at me," he whispered.

Serenity raised her eyes to his. "This is a mistake. I already have a fiancé," she pleaded.

He grabbed her arms. "I'm your only betrothed."

"No you're not," she said, keeping her voice even and gentle. The strength he gripped her with set her nerves on alert. It didn’t frighten her, but further aroused her need to kiss him again.

He took her hand and laid it against his heart. "You will accustom yourself."

She pulled her hand from him and set the glass down. Sitting down on the sofa, she squeezed her eyes shut, took a long, deep breath, and then opened them. No, it wasn't a dream. Tears welled up in her eyes. "This is all a horrible
nightmare," she said more to herself.

When she looked around for the man, he had gone to stand near the fire. She went to him. "Please. I don't know your brother. I don't know anything about what you brought me here for. I implore you to see reason and let me go."

He faced her. "The man who put this ring on your finger," he said, lifting her hand to finger the antique ring of sterling silver and diamonds, "is my brother. This ring has been in our family for generations. As the eldest, it's my betrothed who shall wear it. He was to present it to the woman who meets my specifications. He chose you, then neither told me, nor brought you here to me."

Serenity couldn't believe her ears. This couldn't be right. Ramon couldn't be this man's brother, much less have forged his relationship with her with under false pretenses. He was generous, caring, considerate, and…honest. Trembling started deep within her, but she refused to let it surface. She needed to be strong if she was going to save herself. Reginald obviously believed in what he says, and that could make him dangerous if she wasn't careful.

"Come, let's walk."

With a hand on her lower back, he led her through the door behind the drapes similar to the ones in the bedroom. Glancing around, she attempted to take in her surroundings in the darkness. There was no moon, no stars, not even garden lights one would expect to light paths.

As if her mind had been read, lights came on lighting three areas. They weren't enough to see everything, but enough to see where you were going which was their purpose.

"I know the garden so well I often forget there are lights," he said. "You can relax now. These gardens are centuries old, full of colors and plants I'm sure you'll find peaceful in the daylight."

They walked along in silence until he stopped. The shadow of something large loomed before them. She looked up. Her breath hitched. She jumped back.


Available at: Smashwords, Barnes & Noble, Diesel, Sony, Kobo, and Amazon


Take Care!
Bekki
http://www.bekkilynn.net

Shapeshifter Flash Fiction ~ Back to School by Pat Cunningham

Originally posted at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS. This is erotic in content.

“All right, class.” Mrs. Murphy clapped her hands smartly. The dozen dog owners brought their pets to heel and formed a line in front of the instructor. The dogs, far more informal, sat, scratched, tugged on leashes, lolled tongues, tried to sniff each other, and, in one unfortunate case—

“Miss,” the instructor said icily. “Please control your—” She hesitated to call that giant, wolfish thing a dog. “Animal,” she finished.

“Yes, ma’am.” Ziva tugged sharply on the leash. Nick, the bastard, went right on enthusiastically licking his balls. Ziva nudged him with her foot. “Quit it,” she muttered, “or we’re out of here.”

Nick left off his last-minute wash and got up. He shook himself and peered up at her with bright yellow eyes and a hanging tongue. Ziva studiously focused on the instructor.

Of all the stupid kinks to indulge her twisted mate in. As if the desks and the rulers and the schoolteacher outfits weren’t bad enough. Watching a dog obedience trial on TV had sparked this latest fetish. For an alpha, Nick seemed hell-bent on submission, but only on certain terms.

As long as he submitted only to her, maybe she shouldn’t complain.

She spared a quick glance at her fellow students. There seemed to be an even mix of young and adult dog owners looking for help in training their pets. All were human. She and Nick were the only shifters in the class, and probably the only ones here for the discipline aspect. Nick had picked out the choke-chain collar himself.

Lessons began with “sit.” “Keep the dog’s head raised and press down firmly on the hindquarters,” Mrs. Murphy ordered. The class followed instructions with varying degrees of success. Most of the dogs caught on after a couple of tries, and eventually the line achieved uniformity.

Except, of course, for Nick. He locked his hips and wouldn’t budge no matter how hard Ziva yanked on his leash and shoved at his butt. The son of a hound. She knew what he wanted. Ziva drew her hidden ruler out of her blouse and whacked him smartly on the butt. Nick promptly sat. He just as promptly bounced back up again. “You want it, don’t you, you dirty dog?” Ziva murmured, and paddled him again. This time Nick stayed sitting. His tongue hung out of the side of his muzzle.

“A-hem.” Ziva looked up into Mrs. Murphy’s frigid glare. “We do not strike our pets,” the woman said. “Gentle, firm and loving. These are the keys to obedience.”

“He’s fine with it. He likes it rough.”

“I do not tolerate abuse in my class,” Mrs. Murphy said. She snatched the ruler from Ziva.

Instantly Nick lunged for the ruler. His jaws yanked the ruler from the instructor’s hands. Mrs. Murphy sprang back with a shriek. Nick growled with the ruler clamped between his wicked teeth.

“Better let him keep it,” Ziva advised. “He likes his wood.”

The teenager with the pit bull two students down snickered. “Wood.”

The instructor composed herself with an effort. “You will control your animal, or leave.”

Ziva smiled sweetly. “That’s what we’re here for.” She tugged the ruler out of Nick’s mouth. He gave it up reluctantly. It was drenched in slobber. Ziva made a face at it. Nick flashed a wolfish grin.

Next up, heeling. Mrs. Murphy had her students parade their pets around the high school gym. Ziva held the leash like a show-dog lead, keeping the leash and the collar as tight as Nick could stand. With her other hand she tapped the ruler against her thigh. Nick kept an eagle eye on both the thigh and the ruler.

This wasn’t half bad, Ziva decided. She held the business end of the leash. She held the ruler. She was in charge. The thought sent a tingle through her alpha nethers. When Nick veered off course she jerked him back viciously and growled at him. Several owners and all the dogs looked around.

The teenager with the pit bull snickered loudly. “Your dog’s got a red rocket.”

Ziva glanced down. Scat on a cracker. Nick’s Big Bad Wolf had thrust itself out of its furry den. His eyes had that glint in them that said attack was imminent.

“Miss,” the instructor shrilled, “you’re going to have to remove your animal until he’s calmed down. Dogs cannot learn in a state of excitement.”

I don’t know about that, Ziva thought, Nick and I learn quite a bit when we’re excited. But she trotted the obedient Nick out of the gym.

Under the fluorescents in the hallway Nick’s arousal glistened with scarlet vengeance. Ziva stared at it and licked her lips. He was so huge. A hoarse growl built in her throat, and she tightened her grip on the ruler.

Nick waved his bushy tail. Was I a good boy or wasn’t I?

“Yes,” Ziva panted, “You’re a very good boy. Good boys get rewarded.” She tore at her skirt.

# # #

When the noises in the corridor couldn’t be ignored any longer, Mrs. Murphy marched out to give that irresponsible little snip a piece of her mind. Yanking the poor thing’s neck like that! Hitting him with a ruler! That kind of abusive behavior turned dogs vicious. She probably shouldn’t own a pet at all.

She couldn’t find the bad owner. Instead she found the big wolfish beast humping madly away at a smaller but equally feral-looking bitch, both of them loud and uncaring. The female had the ruler in her mouth.

Mrs. Murphy was an old hand at misbehaving dogs. She grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher. It took three extended, well-aimed shots to separate the beasts from their carnal activity. Covered in foam, they pelted for the exit, woofing all the way. She would have sworn they were laughing.

The rest of the class crowded in the doorway. They’d witnessed most if not all of the ghastly spectacle. The teenager knelt beside his pit bull. Both sets of eyes were huge.

“When do we get to teach our dogs that?” the kid asked hopefully.

# # #

“Look at me!” Ziva complained, shaking foam off her arms. “Not only is my hair a mess, now I’ve lost all my clothes. And I’ll bet my deposit, too. That old biddy will never let me near her or a dog again.”

Nick wiped at the foam on his chest. He was grinning like a psycho. He still wore the collar, and nothing else. “That was so hot. We should have ducked into one of the classrooms. Or found the principal’s office. I’ll bet he’s got one of those big oak desks.”

“No. We’re done. No more collars or leashes or hitting or heeling or all this other crap. Why can’t you just hump my leg like a normal canine?”

“Because you love it, you kinky bitch.” He lunged at her.

Ziva brandished the ruler. “Sit!” Nick skidded to a stop and dropped onto his rump. “Good boy. Now fetch.” Ziva shifted to wolf form and dove for the nearby woods, with Nick in close pursuit.
~~~~~~

Author, Pat Cunningham, can also be found at TITLE MAGIC.

Shapeshifter Flash Fiction ~ Sparks Fly by Serena Shay

Originally posted at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS.

“Come on.” Big Bart, the stinky human, tugged once again at Arianna’s leash. “One foot in front of the other, freak.”

Easier said than done with appendages she was beyond rusty at using. Gah, how long had it been since she’d left her watery home and ventured on to firm land? Twenty, forty, sixty years maybe? Not nearly enough time to erase the painful memories burned into her psyche.

The film makers had gotten her story wrong in every way possible. There were not witches or sea hags granting the gift of legs to unsuspecting, idiot mermaids. The man had not been a prince, but a pirate and love didn’t rule the world—greed did. When the buccaneer she thought she loved got a glimpse of her tail, she’d become treasure to him. Booty he attempted to sell to the highest bidder.

Her only saving grace at the time was the shadowed deck hand who’d opened door of the pen where she’d been kept. She was doubly thankful her (un)princely pirate hadn’t known the secret stinky Bart had somehow unearthed about the pearls.

Arianna teetered to the left, falling into the giant sea lion at her side. His whiskers brushed over her bare abdomen producing an arousing tingle in her system as he nudged her back into an upright position.

“Omygosh, did you just shock me?” She gazed into the warm brown eyes of the male mammal staring up at her. Intelligence simmered in his stare and humanness filtered through his aura. She’d peg him as shapeshifter, but with tail loss, she’d also lost her ability to identify extraordinary creatures.

“Shudup back there and walk. You’re barefoot for cripes sakes so how come you keep falling.”

“You need to remove the pearls, stinky.” Though pretty, the jewel was a hindrance to her kind. They weakened and lost control of their tail when the natural stone touched their skin.

“Like hell I will. No way are you returning to the ocean on me this close to my prize.”

“And where, exactly, would I find said water in this landlocked settlement?”

“Don’t know, but nothing surprises me in this freaky town so shudup and lets go.”

Arianna hobbled a few steps further, eyes drawn to the oddest shaped fountain she’d ever seen, before again tipping into her fellow ocean-loving prisoner. This time instead of shocking her uncovered tummy, his electrified whiskers ended up in a more southerly location. The jolt was far from unpleasant. As a being from the watery depths, she and electricity were not close friends, but considering how the tingles of lightening goodness crept into her bobbily-bits and brought them fully to life in less than ten seconds, perhaps it’s time she dive into some on land research.

“Flying flounder, Sparky, is that an eel on your face or are you happy to see me?”

The lions bark rang with laughter even as he pushed her up a little too hard. Instead of standing straight up she found herself leaning against the brick ledge and facing a family of seahorses in, oh happy halibut, seawater. The light, salty, and comforting liquid filled this town’s fountain and somewhere close was a route home.

“Damn blastit, girly freak. Stand up and walk!”

“I can’t, I’m exhausted.” Arianna slid down the side of the bubbler. She hoped Bart bought her story long enough for her to facilitate a removal of the pearls and get both herself and Sparky into that water.

“Fine.” Stinky pulled a muzzle and heavy iron chains from his bag, storming at them with an evil glint in his eye. He placed the mother of pearl over Sparky’s snout and tightened the thing until it bit into his hide.
“Now change.”

From eight feet of animal emerged the sexiest six and a half foot man she’d ever seen—wide in the shoulders, thick in the thighs and as dark as the oceans at sunset. He was also naked in a way that made her heart flutter and her skin prickle. He had true beauty and inner strength even with the pearls covering his nose, mouth, and chin leaving him weak.

Stinky slapped the heavy irons on both wrists and ankles only giving Sparky enough play to lift his arms chest high. He looked tired, uncomfortable and guilt swamped her at Big Bart’s next words.

“Pick her up, seal boy and let’s go.”

“He’s the mighty sea lion, you stupid stinky.” Arianna wrapped her arms around Sparky’s neck as he bent to lift her. “He deserves respect!”

“He’s a freak. You’re a freak. This whole town’s filled with freaks…I just want my money for you two, and then I’m gone. Don’t mess with his gag unless you’d like to watch his face blow off. I’ll be supremely pissed if you cost me the prize on that one.”

Arianna stopped herself from searching for the muzzles tie behind Sparky’s head afraid of doing anything that would remove this beauty from the world and rubbed a soothing hand down the firm muscles of his chest.

“You’re an awful man, Stinky Bart.”

“Yeah, freak. Ain’t it grand!”
~~~~~~

As a kidlet, our local zoo had a sea lion show my folks would take my brother and I too. I was totally enamored by the sweet creature and all of the tricks he could do...I wanted my own to live in our bathtub. I never won that battle...gee I wonder why? ;)
Have a sparky day!

Serena

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

War Comes to Gaia in 1 day - A Green Rose Preview

War comes to Gaia in 1 more day. Dare to join the battle?

The Green Rose is a fantasy romance set in the mythical land of Gaia. There are 4 allied nations: N'Gasse, Daháka, Tapin, and Ravenrock. Past Ravenrock, to the east, in a tundra-like land, the savage wyldebeasts are kept at bay a 50,000 myle granite wall that runs the length of Ravenrock.

The evil mage, Balthyser, has betrayed Tapin. Seeking power, he uses the wyldebeasts to attack the allied nations, kidnapping the kings of Tapin and Daháka.

The rulers of the allied nations must seek the Green Rose and harness it's magic in order to defeat Balthyser.

Ravenrock is the land of ravens. It also contains a 50,000 myle wall that separates it from the tundra-like land where the wyldebeasts live. Previous to the wall, the wyldebeasts were kept at bay by the ravens. The beasts feared the black bird. King Talas rules the land, but he's grown lazy and complacent in his duties. Balthyser has found a new home in Ravenrock – Vesper's Keep, near a weak point in the wall. This allows the evil mage access to the wyldebeasts. Talas has been a poor warden of the east, but can he overcome his sloth and greed and be the king Ravenrock needs?

Colin Firth inspiration for "King Talas"


ENJOY THIS EXCERPT:

"The keep is in ruins." Talas' voice was firm.

"When was the last time you inspected the Eastern Wall?" asked Queen Rowan.

Talas frowned. "Upon my ascension."

"Twenty-five years ago?" Disgust was evident in Queen Rowan's voice. "You have been a careless warden of the East, Talas. That wall is to be inspected every five years. I suspect if I went to Vesper Keep right now, we would find it reconstructed and heavily fortified."

"And the breach to the wall itself would be nearby," finished Ivanstan.
Sonia glared at Ravenrock's fat lord who stood before them with a look of disappointment on his face. His laziness in guarding the Eastern Wall threatened to plunge Gaia into war.

"King Erik the Great of Ravenrock would turn over in his grave knowing his descendant had turned to sloth and greed," said Queen Rowan. "Now you must act, Talas, and I expect you to do so with the nobility your position requires."

Talas scrubbed a hand across his mouth and sat in his seat. "Damn." His eyes grew vacant.

Did the fool finally realize his folly? By Nyla, what was worse? A knowing betrayal purported by Balthyser and Gabriel or an ignorant one as committed by Talas?

Finally, Talas looked up. "We are doomed to war. The green rose does not exist."

"I have never heard of the green rose," said Sonia.

"Nor I." Ivanstan placed his hand on top of his chair's headrest. Sonia shared his intense expression.

"True knowledge of the rose is passed down from the monarch to their heir upon death's door." Queen Rowan furrowed her brow. "Talas, it was Ravenrock's turn to send men into the Tagrasse forest to find the witches who guard it. Did you?"

"Aye, but they came back empty handed."

"Empty? That can't be."

"They did not find the witches?" asked Sonia.

"Nay."
"Who did you send? One of your banner houses?"

"Nay -- men from my guard."

Queen Rowan clasped her hands together, fury gathering in her eyes. "Oh, you stupid fool! The witches need to mate! Damn. I pray they are not barren, or the guardians of the rose will die."


BOOK TRAILER:


PREVIOUS: Visit The Writer Limits to learn about Prince Ivanstan at: http://thewriterlimits.blogspot.com

Visit Romance Under the Moonlight to learn about Princess Sonia at:
http://sgcardin.blogspot.com

Visit Lindsay's Romantics to learn about Queen Rowan at:
http://lindsaysromantics.blogspot.com

The Green Rose releases tomorrow, 1 APR and will be available at:
Amazon.com
Barnes & Noble
All Romance ebooks
Sony ebook store
Kobo ebook store
Apple ebook store
And from the publisher's website

Join Sonia, Ivanstan, Rowan, and Talas at Romance Under the Moonlight for a launch party tomorrow 1 APR 2012: http://sgcardin.blogspot.com


PUBLISHER'S BUY LINK:
http://stores.desertbreezepublishing.com/-strse-280/The-Green-Rose-Stephanie/Detail.bok

GIVEAWAY: Leave a comment about the fantasy genre along with your email and I'll pick a winner to receive an ARC of The Green Rose tomorrow.

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 ~

Guest blog: Nana Malone - 'Game, Set, Match' and 'Reluctant Protector'

Eleven years ago after reading Bridget Jones’s Diary, I lost my damn mind. Or so everyone told me. I decided I could do that - Put funny words to paper and have people pay me for it. When I told my family, they thought something must have been lost in translation. Oddly, “writer” sounded nothing like Engineer, Doctor or Lawyer. For a young girl from a strict Ghanaian family, writing as a profession wasn’t even an option. It was a hobby at best.

Armed with my laptop and a dream with not a lick of experience, plot, or character development in sight, I started with my first scene. Apparently that’s how these book things start...with a scene. Since then I’ve learned a little something. Or at least I hope have, for won't it be a shame if after the endless worshops on conflict, motivation and goal, plotting with mythic structure, plotting by motivation, character development, I still didn’t get it “write."

It may have taken me a little longer than I thought, but I finally got here. Who knew I wouldn’t write the book in month, sell it the next month and become a NYT bestseller overnight? Please refer to afore mentioned lost mind. Luckily I found some amazing writers over time that mentored me, critiqued for me, sent me mental Godiva to keep my muse going, and sent me mental hugs for every rejection. I must say, that was a lot of hugging.

Alright, so admittedly I was a little naïve. I was one of those people. You know the ones who think that writing romance is easy. I mean all I had to do was craft a lovable heroine, a sexy hero, a page-turning plot. How hard could that be? I didn’t know the hours I would give up because I couldn’t afford not to write, because my characters wouldn’t leave me alone until I told their stories.

And now that the big day is here, there’s elation and excitement, then there are the nerves and the fear. It’s like starting a new school praying somebody eats lunch with me. Then of course comes the realization that I wrote a romance…a hot romance…a hot romance that my mother in law and co-workers will read. *blush* `

Funny thing is, I’ve had more than one person ask me if I think I’ll write another one - Clearly, non writers. My answer, "Hell yes!" I’ve got the bug. It’s the hardest job I’ve ever had. It’s demanding. It’s broken my heart. But seeing Game, Set, Match on Amazon, and now Reluctant Protector as well, there’s no way I could not do this as again. It’s too addictive.

Author Bio:

My love of all things romance and adventure started with a tattered romantic suspense I borrowed from my cousin on a sultry summer afternoon in Ghana at a precocious thirteen.  I've been in love with kick butt heroines ever since.  With my overactive imagination, and channeling my inner Buffy, it was only a matter a time before I started creating my own characters.

Waiting for my chance at a job as a ninja assassin, I, meantime work out my drama, passion and sass with fictional characters every bit as sassy and kick butt as I thinks I am.  Though, until that ninja job comes through, you’ll find me acting out scenes for hubby and puppy while catching up on my favorite reality television shows in sunny San Diego.

Game, Set, Match and Reluctant Protector available on Amazon.

http://nanamalone.com