ShapeShifter Kisses

September 16, 2014

Freedom was a beast she wanted to ride… by Savanna Kougar

Filed under: Uncategorized — Savanna Kougar @ 6:14 pm

Mid-September kisses, shapeshifter lovers.

First, take a look at this new Nessie sighting.

HEADLINE-SNIPPET: Is this the Loch Ness monster?

Is this the Loch Ness monster – spotted 150 miles from its traditional home?

Photographer Ellie Williams captured this amazing image of what she believes to be a creature from the deep while taking snaps in the Lake District.

The 24-year-old had set up her camera tripod to automatically take photos throughout the day at Windermere.

It was only when she reviewed the images, which were supposed to be of the colours of the changing seasons, that she came across the shocking snap.



Then, here’s a flash-scene I wrote back in August 2011. Since it follows the *lone wolf* theme Pat intro-ed for her Monday flash, I thought you might enjoy it. Plus, I added a little update.

Anyhoo, I need time to finish polishing my mss, Ride the Roan Stud, so I can submit it, then move onto the my next WIP. I’ve been begging for an out-of-time closet where I can write to my heart’s content, then simply step back into current time… but, so far, my request to the writing goddesses and gods has fallen on deaf ears… yeah, maybe, someday. ~silly grins~


Freedom was a beast she wanted to ride.

“Get yer motor runnin’… head out on the highway,” Kristy screaming-sang the words of the Steppenwolf song playing in her head. She barely heard them because they were whipped away by the blast-furnace winds on either side of her.

Why she’d hopped astride her Harley, roared it into gear, and taken off down the nearest highway beneath the high noon sun… well, she knew why. Freedom was a beast she wanted to ride.

No, not wanted — had to ride. Right now.

Kristy hadn’t just reached the end of her rope, she’d been forced to climb way past it. Her nerves shrilled painfully, every last one of them. Yeah, like chalk scraping on a chalkboard. So too bad she was old enough to remember and cringe at that sound. Even now.

Good god! Where had her life gone?

To hell and back several times, she answered herself.

And, no, as she’d patiently and impatiently explained to family and friends, freedom wasn’t the name of her bike. Freedom was what she wanted. What she craved. What she yearned for until it became a torment inside her, and finally she acted.

Acted, despite all the endless, weight-of-the-world responsibilities calling her name each and every moment of every effing day. Christ, she was tired. Tired in body, mind, soul and spirit, as she put it to herself.

Hell, on top of it all, she had unbidden visions of being hooked up to some mad scientist’s colossal, sorta steampunk battery. Static electricity sizzled the air, waves and waves of it. In true movie style, gigundis, streaking bolts of lightning formed and flashed to white hot, and Kristy saw her listless body juiced up.

As the vision-fantasy progressed, and it always did, the leviathan flares of lightning raged around her. Edged in a fiendish shade of purple, the sinuous flares danced and twined like frenzied dragons. Until finally she heard, “She’s alive…she’s alive!”

These days riding her Harley, whenever Kristy could manage the time, had become her only escape. Her only true joy.

Sheer, fierce, get-away-from-it-all freedom, that’s how Kristy described it to herself, as she hauled ass down the twisty, backwoods highway to nowhere. At least, nowhere she’d ever been.

To freaking hell with everything she had to do… everything that was expected of her. Her life had become little more than a day to day grind — an existence she’d never wanted.

Crap, double crap! Even her ongoing sacrifices weren’t appreciated, much less noticed.

So, the sun relentlessly beat down on her back now, and she sweated like a pig. So, heat waves shimmered up from the asphalt, putting her into a light trance. Every now and then, she felt instants of relief as she zoomed through the shade of a tall tree. Especially since the highway’s elevation increased.

“Lookin’ for adventure…born to be wild,” she shouted the lyrics that were her soul.

On a flat stretch Kristy hit full throttle, and revved the Harley to flying speed. Leaning forward like a jockey, she smiled as she focused on the center line.

The zone enveloped her. Born to be wild, she rock-n-roll howled in her mind.

Everything felt incredibly deliciously perfect. The fast hot vibration between her thighs. The powerful roaring beast-machine beneath her that seemed to come alive. No, to be alive.

The sparse, old wood forest around her blurred, and the sensation of speed thrilled through Kristy. Speed, she adored it to her core.

Peace enveloped her, even as pure excitement shot through her like bolts of electricity.

“I’m alive! I’m alive,” she chanted.

The creature she suddenly glimpsed from the corner of her right eye, just before it dashed in front of her, had to be a wolf. It had to be, but it was too large, not shaped quite right. And why was it suddenly standing on two legs… just before…?

Kristy swerved with all her might to the left, and knew her time had come. I’m dead…I’m dead, she sang as the rear tire screeched her death. No matter what her excellent reflexes tried to do to save her, the Harley slid along the asphalt for such a long time, out of control.

This was as good a way to end her life as any — saving an animal — even it had been stupid enough to run in front of her when there was no other traffic. Because her last look at the enormous, dark gray creature before she smashed into the guard rail, and was propelled off the road… before the massive tree trunk filled her vision… it had been a wolf of some type with an almost human look to its eyes.

No more fucking bills to pay, she thought. No more taking care of everything for everybody else. No more struggling like a complete idiot day after day with very few moments of relief.

Still, Kristy felt sadness at the loss of her life. This wasn’t how she’d wanted to die, splat against an unforgiving tree trunk. But then when had she ever gotten what she wanted?

Except for the Harley, that was about to be blamed for her somewhat early demise.


Darthos couldn’t let the woman be murdered by the two serial killers waiting around the next curve. Already, the lab-created, human hybrids had claimed thirty lives he knew about.

Craving their next victim, they’d been about to chase the Harley rider down in their deceptive-looking, super-charged pickup truck. Using the isolated forest to their advantage, they planned to toy with her for miles, then go for the thrill kill.

Darthos had been tracking the two teenage males for the past week, and had come upon the scene too late. There’d been no way to capture the pair quick enough to save the woman. If he’d made his presence known and tried to stop the genetically bred killers, they would have eluded him while still sport-hunting the woman.

Not that it had been a particularly smart move on his part to send her careening into a monolithic sized pine tree. Darthos regretted that.

Dammit-ram it, the bare trunk she bounced off like a flung ragdoll was about twenty feet high. As he judged it now, the pine’s girth had to be four foot in diameter. He’d have to heal the tree’s extreme lacerations once he brought her back to life.

No evidence of the accident could remain.

Darthos raced as wolf toward the limp, nearly lifeless woman. He thanked the One Spirit she remained unconscious. Having rolled down the long incline, she lay on her side mostly, her body cushioned by a thick bed of pine needles.

Damn, stop the presses! Darthos had never seen a Harley so mangled and twisted. And he’d witnessed quite a few after they’d been wrecked by Hell’s Angels. The chrome brute could have been a gruesome art piece in a museum — the artist hailed for his eccentric genius.

Darthos gently licked the woman’s bloody, torn up face. Not wanting to waste his energy, he didn’t shapeshift into his human form. Besides, his saliva as wolf entered her bloodstream, preparing her body to heal at a rapid pace.

Darthos hoped he could breathe life back into the woman fast, and affect her resurrection without too many questions. Yeah, yeah, likely just delusional thinking on his part, since he couldn’t morph until she was close to being totally rejuvenated.

As soon as the woman moaned, and while she remained on the edge of unconsciousness,  Darthos pressed his nostrils to hers, and blew softly. He kept breathing his life force inside her until her eyelids flew open, and remained wide apart.

Saucer-shaped green eyes — the color of a deep forest just before twilight — focused on him. The woman stared in utter disbelief.

“What the bloody fuck…?” she sputtered. “This can’t be heaven. You’re not an angel,” she accused angrily, “you’re…you’re a wolf!”

Darthos backed up several steps as she bolted upright, her gaze fastened on him like a hunter’s rifle. Halting, he pointedly directed his gaze at her legs.

She followed, and when she caught sight of her youthful shape, and the beautiful gleam of her skin through the blood-soaked rips in her heavy-duty denims, the woman uttered a sharp startled cry.

Now frozen in place, she watched him with a glassy bewildered expression. Even as he slowly shifted into a man, she didn’t move. Couldn’t move judging by her fear-scent.

“There’s no time,” he began. Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone must have reported the Harley. Or the teenage killers had discovered his presence, and knowing they couldn’t overcome him, this had been their little fuck-you gift.

Darthos offered his hand. “You’ll have to come with me.”

“Where…?” broke through her obviously parched lips. But it was the lost, forlorn, scared-down-to-her-toes look in her green eyes that did him in, that grabbed his heart.

Seizing her hand, Darthos hauled her upward. “Got a new place in Talbot’s Peak. You’ll fit right in. I promise,” he added, before whipping around and tugging her after him.

In short order, the woman gave up, running lithely with him. Darthos sensed her surprised yet reluctant joy at how superbly her body worked.

Somehow he’d make it up to her with a new life. After all, his decision had been spur of the moment, and at least, she’d been saved hours of mental and physical torture.

And hot damn, if she wasn’t one beautifully packaged woman. Darthos decided he couldn’t wait to unwrap her. One way or another, he’d make his unit commander understand. That, or he’d go lone wolf on the super bad hybrids.



Talbot’s Peak, September 2015

Wearing the Halloween costume she’d designed for this year’s Unmasked Ball at the Pleasure Club, Kristy sauntered into the bedroom. “What do you think… my very own big bad wolf?”

Darthos rolled toward her in that sexy wolf way of his, and like always desire madly thrummed  through Kristy. Yeah, too bad the sheet covered his exceptionally hot assets.

A slow grin of sheer appreciation appeared on his rugged, unshaven face as her wolf-man roamed his gaze up and down her barely covered assets. “I could eat you up, darlin’ little red riding hood.” He paused, a wicked twinkle in his dark eyes. “And come back for more.”

“Mmm-mmm, devouring does sound good.” Kristy languidly rolled her hips, then provocatively thrust one of them. She palmed it. “But am I delicious enough to chase through the woods?”


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side …
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance


June 7, 2014

The Demon Dog Angel Amongst Us by Savanna Kougar

Filed under: Uncategorized — Savanna Kougar @ 4:33 pm


Pic ~ Mark Lindsay of Paul Revere and the Raiders. He’s a look alike of today’s hero, Dhraki.

Saturday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

If you’re intrigued by the realm of angels and demons, this flash scene might be for you.

The Demon Dog Angel Amongst Us

The Good Lord knew — as well as Satan, of course — being a half breed angel and demon dog shifter had its share of gigundis and wacky challenges. Long ago…during the turn of the century…when the world spun like a maddened dervish teetering between great enlightenment or the darkness of war and oppression…Dhraki had gone renegade.

Disgusted down to his demon-angel bones, he’d refused service to the Light Force and the Dark Side. Why waste his eternal life, such as it was…even with the constant, high-strange harshness of it all…on this backwater, prison planet?

Okay-yips…because Dhraki despised lying, including lying to himself, he corrected his own thoughts. Yeah-barks of truth, since the ‘age of the garden’ when Eve had been cruelly seduced into producing an heir to the dark throne, Earth had been quarantined by the Light Council…the once paradise planet lost.

Yet not lost…even with he unending war in the heavens…the brutal battle between light and dark where nothing was ever resolved…would never be…not until the final hour on the cosmic time clock. And, holy of unholies, that hour could not be foretold.

Unwelcome in his home realms, Dhraki searched for a place to belong. Because, despite his interventions on behalf of those in need, the human world didn’t want to know about his existence — given their religions were not his friend, to put it walking-through-hellfire lightly.

Now, like a tourist, Dhraki strolled the streets of Talbot’s Peak, currently filled with the lunch crowd. The small growing town had gained quite the reputation on the underworld-net as a haven for not only shapeshifters but supernatural types like him. Yip-snort, not quite like him — from the bowels of hell and the glorious on high.

With keen interest, Dhraki scanned the various businesses and shops, and surreptitiously studied those he passed by. His angel side sucked in the kaleidoscopic-colored vibes put off by everyone around him, seen and unseen…while his demon dog side dined on their distinct smells.

Pausing in his stride, Dhraki watched a were-squirrel in human form scamper — travel bags in hand — down the steps of the mayor’s mansion. After tossing the bags in the back of the car, he hopped inside the passenger seat, as if life itself was about to grab his tail, then devour him whole.

Must be Mayor Gil, Dhraki thought, then shoved his hands deep inside the pockets of khakis. Although, there’d been no info about his animal form on the underworld-net. “Intriguing,” Dhraki muttered. “He must have an ‘in’ with the predators, and the werewolves in charge.” 

“New in town?” a feminine voice asked behind him, one that resonated to Dhraki’s core.

He knew before spinning around that the woman sensed his angelic side. The sacred fire flowed within her veins as well. And her tantalizing pink-rose scent bloomed around him, pure yet infinitely wise.

Once Dhraki faced her, surprise at her appearance caught him off guard, and he felt his brows raise to the brim of his rakish, down-under hat. That is, until he realized she’d intentionally disguised herself as a middle-aged woman — non-threatening in the extreme.

Dhraki stuck his hand out in the friendly fashion of humans. “My name is Dhraki. I just got into town and was taking in the sights. You are?”

“You’re not here to cause any trouble, are you?” She one-eyed him, and Dhraki witnessed the avenging angel. His demon-dog side almost withered on the spot. 

Almost…he gathered his force, and grinned. “Trouble is my middle name at times,” he bantered, hoping that would stop her flame like penetration of him. “No,” Dhraki quickly added. “I’m a benign sort. Unless attacked.”

She visibly relaxed, obviously hearing the truth of his words. “I’m known as Kimilia here. Kim for short.”

The softest hand he’d ever felt met his. And when her grip matched his, sparks leaped up Dhraki’s arm. But he didn’t release her hand. The demon dog howled with fiery rapture.

“A pleasure to meet you, Kimilia. How long have you been in Talbot’s Peak?”

She smiled, merely a small lift of her lips. Yet her features brightened, her beauty exposed for a fraction of time. Dhraki’s breath blasted back inside him at the sight.

“I arrived about a year ago,” she answered, her riveting silver-lavender eyes still assessing him. “My niece owns the ice cream shop… just two blocks down. We have quite the good business these days.” 

Reluctance ripped his inner hide, but Dhraki released her hand. “Too early in the day for ice cream?” he asked, simply to keep her talking with him.

“I was on my way. If you’re careful with that demon hellfire of yours, and promise not to melt the ice cream, I’ll make you a volcano fudge sundae.”

Her singsong voice, her melodic vibe twined around Dhraki and owned him down to his flaming core.

“You know,” he murmured, then gave her an audacious doggy wink. “I haven’t had a better offer in ages.”

In a blink, Kimilia’s face transformed to a somberness Dhraki had rarely observed in his long life. “What’s wrong?” The question poured out of him.

“Full disclosure,” she whispered only for his ears. Kimilia paused, her gaze flashing yet beautifully ephemeral. “I am in need of protection. When I first sensed your frequencies, I thought you might be one of ‘his’ dark angels on my trail. Or a hellhound who sniffed me out. With the shape of things to come…on Earth, I…”

As gently as he knew how, Dhraki took hold of his angel’s arm. He gentlemanly wrapped it around his. “How about that volcano fudge sundae? Then we’ll talk. I can be quite the ferocious guard dog.”

“You’ve gone renegade, haven’t you?” she softly asked, as they walked side by side.

“Thank God for the renegades,” he teased in a low growl.

“Thank God for avenging angels,” she returned, her tone solemn, much too solemn.


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side …


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance 


June 3, 2014

Take me to your loins… by Savanna Kougar

Filed under: Uncategorized — Savanna Kougar @ 4:56 am


Art by Susan Sedon Boulet 
  June kisses, shapeshifter lovers.

A couple of weeks ago my hero, White Fang, a super wolf, and his heroine, Pasha, an Egyptian cat goddess, provided a nice surprise, the beginnings of a love scene. Link: “Mating dance or battle of the sexes?”
This week, Pasha gifted me with her side of their impassioned encounter.
Their story is yet to be fully written, and is titled, WHITE FANG, ACE WOLF REPORTER.
The following is unedited… but I hope you enjoy.


Take me to your loins…

The inferno force of the universe spun through Pasha as she feverishly kissed White Fang, and gently caressed his back with her human claws. She’d known once their hungry passion for each other was loosed, it would burn her. No, firestorm through her soul as if she rose in the ashes of the phoenix — a ritual she performed every seven years.
Her cat yowled savoring the extreme pleasure as White Fang straightened and drank in the sight of her. The vibrations of his gaze pummeled the swells of her breasts, delicious raw sensations that swirled over clit and wickedly teased her toes.
When White Fang stroked down her arms, then manacled her wrists, Pasha shivered inside. Predictably, her cat purred with fierce delight at his masculine power.
Let him be the victor in this first round of passion between them.
His wolfish kisses fell like a rainstorm on the parched need of her skin, swelling her breasts. Her nipples pushed against the confines of her gown, an ache of bliss all its own.
White Fang’s savage need dizzied Pasha, and his canine growl at being denied the taste of her breasts by the gown between them, sent a wild rush of heat that only a woman could feel. For, the man-wolf desired her beyond else.
“Beast,” she softly taunted. “What are you going to do to me now?”
His grip tightened on her wrists, a claiming Pasha felt like sparks of flame in her  belly, deep inside her pussy mound. “Your wolf beast,” he growled, his lips on her skin, his hot pants tingling the sensitive flesh between her breasts.
“My wolf beast,” she sultry-mewed, aware her cat heat saturated the air.
White Fang groaned a sharp growl, then nipped along the upper swell of her breast with his lips. He used his teeth to passionately pull her gown from one shoulder. Then, with the beastly finesse, he jerked the gown off her other shoulder, uncovering her trembling breasts.
His mouth caught hers hard, his kiss utter demand, his wolf lust ravishing her in a manner that shook Pasha to her cat woman core, and even made the goddess wanton.
Desperate for more, Pasha strained against White Fang’s hold on her wrists. Raising to her tiptoes, she sensually thrust her sex against the carved bold tower that was his cock.
At the thought of White Fang lunging inside her pussy, taking her, Pasha shuddered, her softer flesh shivering against his super-powered physique. Goddess yes! Every round curve of her adored the pyramid-hard planes and angles of him.
In sacred truth, White Fang was not superior in male form than some of her past lovers. Yet, his complete handsomeness of face and body — the driving, relentless strength of his muscles now pressed against her — excited Pasha beyond measure of the starry cosmos.
That alone surprised her, a rarity at this time in her centuries long life. Pasha reveled in the emotion. She basked in the way his mouth covered hers, obviously wanting more of her nipping sultry kisses.
With one hand, White Fang gently yet firmly trapped her wrists behind her back. Bold as a pharaoh, he shoved her closer, forcing her breasts against the muscular shield that was his chest. 

Pasha yielded, mindlessly desiring White Fang’s commanding way with her. His deep thorough kiss devoured her lips, even as his other hand squeezed, then caressed her ass.
Bast alive! Pasha would never admit it now, but she already felt like his lust slave.
A warning she ignored light-burst inside her mind. He was to be her love captive, help her defeat the black-hearted ninjas who had murdered her friend. Yet, it was she who succumbed.
“Pasha,” he stud-panted against her mouth. His tongue traced her lips, and Pasha flamed with how much he carnally enjoyed the taste and shape of her.
Parting her lips, she sucked his tongue into the hollow of her mouth. After holding his large tongue hostage for moments, and savoring his man wolf taste, Pasha languidly sucked.
Once she gained the upper paw, she rhythmically undulated his tongue.
White Fang clenched her ass possessively, yet didn’t resist the erotic rule of her mouth. Instead, he groaned and fused their lips more tightly.
As his cock jutted with more strength against her belly, Pasha sprang upward. Despite the restriction of her gown, she wrapped her legs around his super-strong thighs. Immediately, he roughly stroked her ass, his hand swiftly sliding over the satin fabric.
Their lips tangled and battled for supremacy then. Pasha pyre-blazed inside, her desire fully unleashed as the carnal plundering of her mouth nearly overwhelmed her senses.
“No,” she tore her lips from his, an unusual fear slicing up her middle like an enemy’s claw.
“Yes,” White Fang pursued. His hand stilled and cupped her ass, and he planted a tender kiss on her forehead.
“The depth of my desire–” Pasha panted losing her words, even as her breasts heaved ridiculously fast. “I wasn’t prepared. I–”
White Fang touched kisses on her face as if he owned the infiniteness of time. With her sweltering pussy tight against the base of his thick cock, Pasha surrendered. She slightly rocked against him. “Super Wolf,” she praised.
His lips trailed along her jaw, a lovely sensual torment. “My beautiful cat woman.” White Fang velvety poured his words inside her ear. “You are the temptress I’ve dreamed about…dreamed about but could never envision as being this desirable, this irresistible…”
His soft desperate groan burned Pasha alive, as if he held her essence within the sacred flame of a temple ceremony. “Words fail,” he whispered against her throbbing pulse. 

He pressed his mouth against her pulse point. The long kiss on her neck sang beautifully through Pasha. Ferocious with need, she whispered, “Yes…yes, own me. Take me to your loins.”
White Fang’s hand deserted her ass, slid over her bared back, then seized the length of her hair. He tugged with lust’s frenzy, his lips seeking the taste of her breasts.
Pasha moaned and arched her back, offering him her aching, begging nipples.


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side …


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~ 


May 27, 2014

Space Opera Comes to Talbot’s Peak by Savanna Kougar

Filed under: Uncategorized — Savanna Kougar @ 3:57 am

Howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

Okay, I was Muse-struck by this sci fi story idea last week. And as usual it began playing in my head like a movie.  So I thought I’d turn it into today’s flash scene. 


Space Opera Comes to Talbot’s Peak

“Jettison escape craft.”

Commander Sarza listened to her final order reverberate through the empty battle cruiser.  On screen she watched ten pods emerge from the belly of her ship, then scatter like a flock of hunted birds — before they cloaked, becoming invisible to the Gray Galactic’s surveillance platform.

The monstrous pyramid lasered frequencies nonstop in this sector of the galaxy, the information instantly available to their war fleet.  However, Commander Sarza owned a decent amount of hope that her devoted crew would be rescued or find their way to rebel-held planetoids.

After star-all, they’d decimated the enemy in this sector. Until now that is. With this defeat not one weapon functioned, all of them drained to uselessness.

“Why are you still onboard?” she demanded, hearing Nherone’s quiet familiar tread.

“Why would I leave you?” he countered, stepping before her, his night-purple eyes glistening with concern.

Sarza rapidly roamed her gaze over his face. Bronze-red, glistening skin stretched over sharp features, and his prominent elf-like ears swivelled toward her. “The others need you. Leave now,” she harshly ordered, knowing it was likely the last time she’d see her paramour, her second in command.

Nherone didn’t argue. Instead, he deferred to her wisdom. After kissing her with his gaze, he spun around and raced for his small fighter jet.

Sarza slumped forward, and for a spec of time, she simply sat in her command chair, her senses dulled. The screeching alarm for the ship’s auto-destruct had long since run its course.

With a mental snap, she straightened fast and refocused as she’d trained herself to do over the long years of battling the Gray Overlords.  So what if she faced particle obliteration, her precious cruiser blown to its eternal rest.

She remained in command to the end.

Yeah, feck the fat brain androids and their evil, withered hearts. With two minutes ticking down, Sarza threw her gaze at the holo-screen. The Gray’s death ring of battle craft advanced at warp speed now.

They knew, and planned to shoot scalar rays in an attempt to halt the Intrepid’s destruction. On an impulse she didn’t understand but respected, Sarza leapt up rushing to the silicon container that held Herman, the new AI she and her crew had liberated from an outpost lab – before he’d been programmed by the Gray Overlords.

As he proved his loyalty, Herman had been allowed more responsibility in running some of the cruiser’s systems. With this final battle, he’d kept them alive and fighting far longer than would have been possible pre his AI assistance. 

The decision had been made to leave Herman behind. Given his unique AI capabilities, they couldn’t afford for the Gray’s AI master-hive to assimilate him.

At her touch, the container whirred open. “Sleep,” Sarza ordered. She scooped the shimmery alabaster egg out, and since Herman was larger than her palm, she pressed him against her chest. “We can go boom together,” she whispered.

“No!” burst past Sarza’s lips in the following moment as she heard the racing paws of her pet drogon, a small dog-dragon breed.  He sprang, and Sarza caught him against her side, their usual athletic game together.

“What are doing here?” she scolded, hysteria welling up at the thought of his death. “You were supposed to be with the rest of the animals. Safe.”

From beneath her arm, Drexi gazed at her, answering with what she called his sweet face.  “Damn the fascists freakazoids,” Sarza muttered, fast-walking toward her command chair.

She sat, placing Drexi on her lap. After cradling Herman in the crook of her arm, Sarza stroked her pet’s silky slick coat. “You were supposed to be safe. I’ve had a long space run. Longer than I ever dreamed possible … I knew the end would come like this … some day.”

Drexi licked her hand in his loving way. One tiny sob broke free, and sadness overwhelmed Sarza.  As the last warning buzz began, her life flashed before her mind’s eye.

Tears dripped from the corner of her eyes slightly blurring her vision as Sarza glanced at the holo-screen. Stunned, she stared, watching an unknown sleek warship streak toward her, ahead of the Gray’s death ring.

White flames of light surrounded Sarza, and unconsciousness claimed her.


Shaky on her feet, Sarza forced her eyes open. About twenty paces away, a tall, broad-shouldered man in a nondescript, skintight uniform stood with his back to her. Hair the color of an Earth puma fell in a thick curtain to his shoulders, and he appeared to be studying something on a com pad, even though he was behind what appeared to be a personal workstation.

Where in the galactic hell was she? This was no Gray prison-interrogation ship. Unless they’d constructed a holo program to deceive her.

Going on the offensive, Sarza demanded in universal vernacular, “Where is my pet?”

The man turned to face her, his manner unhurried. Piercing eyes that reminded her of a clear turquoise sea regarded her, but gave nothing away.

“Where is he?” Sarza took a step forward, discovering she wasn’t exactly steady on her booted feet. Dammit it to the next galaxy, and beyond.

“The animal is being tended in the health ward.” The man’s voice sounded like a low boom, even though he spoke calmly. “I am told he is recovering well.”

“What do you mean recovering well?”

“The beam I used to extract you from your exploding cruiser was designed only for your physical signature, Commander Sarza of the Khy Woden.”

At his words, Sarza glanced down just to make certain she was still fully attired, given some beams stripped away any garment. Except for her array of weaponry, yeah, so far no problem.

“However,” the man continued, his voice even more baritone, “I strengthened the intra-fractional–”

“Got it,” Sarza interrupted. “So where is my AI? And how do you know who I am?”

In that instant, her brain kicked in and Sarza’s eyes widened involuntarily. “The Hunter,” she puffed out, even as all breath fled her body.

Why bother with any pretense? Clearly in her depleted state, there was no way to best him, not now, not mind to mind.

The Hunter grimaced more than smiled. “You can believe me or not, beautiful woman, I have always been allied with your rebel cause.”

“Not the story I hear,” she fired back, her hand grabbing for the plasma sidearm she didn’t have. “I lost two station comrads, two of the best–”

“Two traitors,” he interrupted, his expression grim. “Or, I should say, they’d been targeted by the Sirens, and were about to turn to the dark side. I got to them first.”

“The Sirens,” Sarza murmured. “We’ve lost several to those machine seductresses. Lost cruisers too, because of it.” Narrowing her eyes, Sarza studied The Hunter, who did his wanted holo-poster one better, as far as good looks.

“AI?” he inquired, hiking his dark brows.

What the starhole hell? The Hunter seemed genuine. Yet… this could all be an elaborate deception. Still, her psi-warning system wasn’t blaring at her.

“Herman,” she stated. “Looks like an egg.”

Without answering, The Hunter lowered his gaze, and touched open a compartment on his workstation.  “Herman?” he asked, holding out her AI, who fit neatly inside his palm.

Sarza found her tongue, saying, “That’s him.”

She tried another step forward, but whooziness stopped her. Resisting the urge to clap her hand to her forehead, Sarza stood still, willing herself to keep her gaze locked on him.

“It will pass,” The Hunter assured. He moved around the workstation with the latent power of a big cat species. “The temporary affect of the specialized beam,” he explained.

In what appeared to be a gesture of good faith, he handed Herman to her.  Sarza clutched the AI close, and felt the slight throb of recognition. Even so, she kept her gaze targeted on The Hunter.

“Is the AI why you survived long enough for me to arrive?” he asked. His gaze hard as diamond-infused steel sought to see through her every atom. Yet, she noticed, the warmth of humaness flared within.

“One reason,” she conceded. “Where are we headed? The Grays have to know you betrayed them.”

Half a smile lightened his boldly formed features. “They figured that out several star months ago. I had the element of surprise on my side when my crew broke through the death ring.  However,” The Hunter pivoted from her striding toward what Sarza recognized as a food station, “I have contingency plans. We’re headed toward Earth.”

“Earth! … why? Every space bad ass and his scavenger mother is there.”

“Not in Talbot’s Peak. At least, not at the Pleasure Club. It’s an underground fortress, and there’s an ancient tunnel system that will conceal my ship.”

Mentally rocked back on her heels, Sarza uttered, “I hope so … Pleasure Club?”


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side …


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~ 


May 13, 2014

“Mating dance or battle of the sexes?” by Savanna Kougar



Monday night howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

So, this morning my hero, White Fang, a super wolf, and his heroine, Pasha, an Egyptian cat goddess, provided a nice surprise, the beginnings of this love scene. Their story is partly written, and titled, WHITE FANG, ACE WOLF REPORTER… yeah, maybe someday, time will be on my side.
Hope you enjoy…


“Mating dance or battle of the sexes?”

“Pasha.” Her name erupted from his lips like the ancient volcano, Vesuvius.
White Fang threaded his fingers through her lush silky hair, and seized the back of her head yet didn’t haul Pasha close. The greenfire jewels that were eyes held him in thrall, still brilliant in the dim seductive lighting of his room at the Pleasure Club.
“Beautiful,” he softly growled. “How many times have you heard that word?” White Fang taunted a bit, to throw her off balance, to keep her sensual claws from completely hooking him.
White Fang had no desire to be her love-imprisoned slave, as she was capable of magickally forcing upon him. Lykouz, he wanted their passions to be on equal footing — panting wolf to purring cat.
He wanted them to be lovers.
“Often enough, super wolf,” she taunted in return, her voice whispery, and a sexy enticement he barely resisted.
He could have hauled her close, taken Pasha’s inviting lips. Instead, White Fang waited, his hunter nature knowing she needed to come into his arms, if he was to gain control over their lovemaking.
“Standoff,” he growly murmured, then let his mouth form the smallest grin.
Pasha moved not a muscle, yet her face flared with a supernatural aliveness that transfixed him. “Mating dance or battle of the sexes?” she breathy asked.
White Fang watched her eyelids fall to half-mast, even as her lips curved to match his. “Both,” he gutturally barked. “I want both.”
As Pasha tilted her chin observing him through her bedroom eyes, volcanic steam poured through White Fang. The ache of need gripped his loins hard, and his cock jerked with a strength that should have torn through his pants.
Adding to is torment, the caress of Pasha’s long waving mane teased his fingers, while the flame and golden radiance created a subtle halo around her head.
“Are you so certain you want both?”
Her slow sultry voice razored deliciously over White Fang’s skin, and caused his wolf to howl — a desperate frenzy of howling. His wolf wanted this cat woman with a mating fierceness White Fang had never felt. Even for the woman who was once to be his mate, but who had chosen another days before they were to be royally married.
In this moment, that deep, longtime wound healed over as if miraculously cured. And he hadn’t even tasted Pasha’s mouth with kisses, with nips, with the sweep of his tongue. That was about to change.
“Yes, Pasha,” he answered,
She flinched, and White Fang psi-sensed his powerful affect on her sexual nature.
“Your passion is a cosmic force to be reckoned with,” she offered like a gift, a gift from a goddess.
Soon to be his goddess, White Fang decided.
Her gaze flashed with the lightning strength of her ancient Egyptian heritage. No surprise to White Fang. It was a signal Pasha knew the direction of his thoughts.
“Super Wolf,” she beckoned and commanded, her tone pure temptress.
Wolfishly smiling within, White Fang enjoyed Pasha’s natural haughtiness. To pleasure-torture himself more, he inhaled her rich cinnamon-spice scent, her feline heat for him.
And he waited.
His sentinel standing cock protested blazing need through him. His wolf panted, ready to mount, to possess the cat goddess.
One subtle movement of her mostly bared, beautiful shoulder let White Fang know the instant before Pasha closed the small distance between them. Her hand glided over his shoulder, blasting desire through his veins.
The softness of her belly pressed against his cock, and after an undulation that unleashed his libido, she offered her lips. 
White Fang bent his head seizing her mouth with his. He savored the full shape, the satin texture as his lips roamed hungrily. Pasha matched him taste for wicked taste, kiss for claiming kiss. 
Beyond bearing now, White Fang crushed Pasha against him, one hand still cupping her head, his other arm wound tightly around her. With her hourglass, seductress curves finally his, finally flattened against him, White Fang tightened his hold further. He reveled in the feel of his cat woman, roving his hand over the exposed skin of her back.
The gown she wore became a hindrance and White Fang released the short zipper, feverishly stroking her back while kissing her senseless. Or Pasha kissed him mindless. White Fang wasn’t certain which, and didn’t damn well care. A magnificent and savage passion owned him.
Pasha moaning-purred against his mouth, then nipped his bottom lip. White Fang tasted the salty tang of blood droplets even as Pasha sensually licked the tiny wound.
Wild with lust, he dropped his head nibbling the sensitive flesh beneath her ear until Pasha surrendered against him. With her fingers like claws, she rapidly swept her hands over his entire back. Her nails lightly caressed, offering no pain.
Pleasure’s sweetness spun inside White Fang, and caught him off guard. For a moment. He rumbled an appreciative growl into the shell of her ear, then placed ravenous kisses down her lovely neck.
Then, returning the favor, White Fang lightly bit the tender flesh where Pasha’s neck joined her shoulder. His mark, yes, but without breaking her skin.
“White Fang,” she called out breathlessly. In the throes of passion, Pasha slipped her arms around his neck, and clung.  
Knowing instinctively this was the time to make his move, White Fang released her. He passionately gripped her shoulders, then stroked over her arms forcing them downward. Once they were against her sides, he captured her wrists.
A seductress beyond compare, his Pasha threw her head back as he straightened. With his gaze, White Fang ravished the bare expanse of creamy golden skin, the gorgeous cleavage above her gown. 
After drinking in the sight as if water had never passed his lips, White Fang dipped his head. He pressed open-mouthed kisses, following the valley between her breasts. Stopped by the gown’s clinging fabric, he growled low, and felt the sound thunder through him.
“Beast,” Pasha sexually taunted. “What are you going to do to me now?”


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side …


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~ 


May 3, 2014

Bear and Lonely By Savanna Kougar


May howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

The year is speeding by like a runaway train. Who can keep up?

Anyhoo, riding on Serena, Solara and Pat’s flash-scene coattails, and Mayor Gil’s rise to Elvis-impersonating stardom, here’s how our favorite were-squirrel’s impromptu performance affects one lonely bear shifter.

Bear and Lonely

The moment his eyes popped open from a deep slumber that began with a pattering rainshower, Drolun barked a roar. In his Grizzly Bear form, he rolled off the makeshift waterbed, gained his paws, then shook the sleep from his body. In a satisfying manner his thick fur moved in great waves from his neck to his short tail.

With another shake of his massive head, Drolun snorted a small roar, then lumbered toward the pail he kept just outside the comfy dry cave. After a long, thirst-quenching drink, he noticed the plastic baggy with a thumbdrive inside, and a note in Ralph’s distinctive scrawl.

Motivated by his buddy, movie critic for the G & B Gazette, Drolun shifted fast. Cool drafts of morning air slapped against his bare human skin. He retrieved the baggy quick, and retreated inside the cave’s natural warmth.

Still sluggish, Drolun set the coffee on to brew… thank the Bear Goddess, Ursula, he’d been able to set up one helluva of a solar system. He’d camouflaged the panels hiding the extensive system from prying eyes, but not from the sun’s rays. 

After donning jeans and a logger’s plaid shirt, Drolun poured the thick joe in his overlarge mug, took a bracing gulp, and headed for his laptop. Several years ago, he and Ralph had connected on a movie set where Drolun had managed to be both bear trainer and trained bear.

Thumbdrive and Ralph’s note in hand, Drolun moved into an area he kept extra dry. He plugged in, and slipped in the device.  On good days he could intercept wi-fi or satellite broadcasts. But that didn’t matter now.

Again, his eyes popped wide and his mouth stretched into a wide grin as he watched Mayor Gil — obviously drunk as a skunk, although he was a were-squirrel — gyrate with abandon while singing the Elvis Presley tune, “Heartbreak Hotel”.

“Damn good,” Drolun growly muttered. Once upon a time, for a short while, he’d worked Vegas as a Tom Jones impersonator… the undies thrown at him from appreciate ladies had been a definite bonus, especially with his heightened olfactory senses.

But Vegas hadn’t been to his liking, and a few mob run-ins had Drolun departing the neon-ostentatious city like a double-barrel shotgun rode his ass. Hell-grrrrs, he could have turned Grizzly and clawed the bastards into ground meat, then sold it to the mob-run restaurants. That wouldn’t have solved the real problem though. Because corruption and crime ruled.

Watching the Taltube vid again, Drolun grunted a laugh. “Squirrel shifter and Elvis Impersonator. That’d sell Louie’s joint bigtime.”

On memory lane, Drolun recalled the enticing female smells when he’d performed, sweat rolling down his hip-gyrating body. Scat, now all he inhaled was coffee vapors. No mate to share his off-the-grid cave. “Yeah, you’ll be so lonely you could die,” he repeated.

Drolun felt his heart drop, then heard the lonely organ thump on the cave floor… okay, actually hit the thick wool rug he’d found in an abandoned house. Still, the pain felt like a swallowed fish hook…. the one he’d accidently swallowed as a cub when feasting on salmon.

He grimaced at the excruciating remembrance. Only quick action by his uncle, who’d learned the basics of surgery had saved him. That, and his uncle’s shamanic healing potions.

With the caffeine kicking in, Drolun figured he’d decipher Ralph’s scrawl. After a shake of his uncombed mop, and a swipe at his unshaven jaw, he set the mug down and picked up the note.

“Bud Grizz, this here King of Rock performance by our own esteemable mayor is burnin’ like a fever virus through the Peak. How about doin’ your celeb impersonations for that there Pleasure Club or a club in town? You could pay for trout dinners like a civilized mug, get some female company, instead of catchin’ fish in that ice-cube stream. Got me? ‘N you know I’d give you a good mention in the G&B. ~Da Bear, Ralph”

Visions of his Tom Jones’ costumes, packed away in several trunks, flashed through Drolun’s head. Something inside him immediately asked ‘why not?’ Although, he knew little about the Pleasure Club or Talbot’s Peak for that matter. Of late — the past year, in fact — he’d been focused on survival, on building a livable environment for both man and beast.

Growls-maybe, it was time to do a sniff-about in the Peak, enjoy the liquid refreshments at Louie’s, then make a foray to Dante’s biker bar. Oh scat yeah, he could handle his fists with the best of them.

Inspiration struck, and Drolun seized his mug like a mike whipping out of his office chair. He spun around once, then swaggered to the center of his cave home imitating he way Tom Jones strode onto stage.

“It’s not unusual to be loved by anyone,” he belted out. Pausing, Drolun announced. “Still got the voice. Let’s see if I still got the lung power.”

Imagining throngs of panting women, Drolun sang…

“It’s not unusual to have fun with anyone
but when I see you hanging about with anyone
It’s not unusual to see me cry, oh I wanna’ die…”


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side …


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~ 


April 27, 2014

The Rising Sun’s Invitation by Savanna Kougar

Filed under: Uncategorized — Savanna Kougar @ 5:46 am

Sun in Taurus howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers. 

With that in mind, I hope you enjoy today’s flash scene.


The Rising Sun’s Invitation

“The rising sun’s invitation,” Selauni murmured to herself. Bathing in the bright sunbeams she luxuriously stretched, then moved through the arch-like opening at the base of her tree trunk home. Somehow, the enormous oak had survived among the pine and fir.

Drawn to what was now called Talbot’s Peak territory in supernatural circles, Selauni had discovered the old wise tree on a walkabout, and asked permission to live within. So far, the arrangement was one of harmony and friendship.

She gave the big oak a loving pat, then hopped onto an emerging patch of green, the first leaves of wild violets. Her bare feet thanked Selauni. With joy singing through her, she jumped onto the next small clump of emerald green, made more brilliant by the morning sun.

Smiling, Selauni made a fun game out of jumping from patch to patch of new green life with the minimal use of her wings — already fluttering to catch rays of sunlight. Although, her fun wasn’t merely a game.

Selauni learned the sacred matrix of each plant, their frequencies musical notes inside her as she hopscotched through open areas of the forest. Later she would prepare her healing elixirs for the fae community, and whoever needed them.  

A family of squirrels interrupted their search for breakfast to scamper around her, then playfully dash and dart in front of Selauni as she leaped, then hovered above wild iris blooms. Tinkling laughter at their antics, Selauni sent them her vibes of happiness.

When the fragrance of rushing water captured her senses, Selauni hopped in a direction she hadn’t explored yet. The breezes carrying the scent of snow-melt and spring growth gently flapped the filmy dress she wore. A gift from her spider friends, the frock shimmered like pearls held in firelight.

Wanting to find out about the stream — if it was pure enough for bathing and for her elixirs — Selauni silently picked her way over the slick rocky surface that overlooked the water. Already tiny bits of moss had appeared, and spikes of green broke through the thin layer of soil.

Another smell caught Selauni’s nostrils even as she halted and raised her gaze. A naked man bathed in the deep wide stream. Startled, with her heart thumping swiftly,  she slipped behind an outcropping of rock, and almost stepped on a scurrying lizard.

Peeking above the rock, Selauni could barely believe her eyes. Whoever he was, the large man was magnificently formed. At least what she could see of him. His back was to her, and the dark-hued, sparkling water covered most of his ass.

Unable to move, Selauni watched sculpted muscles flex beneath tan golden skin. The man leisurely washed his torso, and when he raised his arms, Selauni panted with unexpected and unbound desire.

Could a woman fall in love with a man’s arms? Lust, she quickly amended. Nothing but lust, a rare condition for her. Yet, his arms were so bold, so beautifully shaped and muscled … “Dangerously irresistible,” she breathed out.

As if the swirling breeze carried her words to his ear, the man twisted at the waist casting his gaze in her direction. He couldn’t be merely human if he’d heard her, or even sensed her presence. Protected by the natural cloaking energy of her kind, she could only reveal herself by will.

Latent power in every line of his body, the man slowly spun toward her. Selauni ducked down, the image of his broad gorgeous chest filling her mind’s eye. She mentally groaned with need. 

Even as her breathing quickened, a sudden warning sliced through Selauni. Yet the man’s low melodic song had begun. Oh-frick-no!

With her wings already beating furiously, Selauni whipped around to flee. Too late, the song’s ancient tones trapped her. Invisible tendrils held her tight. Before darkness fully claimed her, Selauni dropped to her knees.

How strange, she thought, there’d been no hint in the man’s physique about his true heritage as a Gradjinn, an offshoot race of Djinn. Frick-frack!

Snapping back to consciousness, Selauni stared into commanding eyes ignited by green fire. Brawny arms enfolded her, while the stream’s cold waters swirled around her dangling legs.

“Who knew when I awoke today that luck would so favor me?” The man wove his baritone voice around her, increasing his magickal hold.

Selauni fought to merely think instead of being swept away by his supernatural force.  And good frick! The lustful sensations swamping her. Even her eyelids had lowered to half-mast. “Luck,” she mumbled through lips that felt like plumped up pillows.

“I am in need of a pleasure consort.” His unblinking gaze roamed over her face, and approval lit his eyes, making them appear like emeralds blasted by sunlight.

Selauni did her own staring at the strong carved planes of his face. Only the slightly odd shape of his eyes gave away his Gradjinn heritage.

“If I am to be of service to Dante, my long lost cousin,” he continued. His thumbs glided over her skin, caresses that inflamed her passions. “I need a woman who is able to match my power and my carnal desires.”

Selauni felt herself frown but wondered if her brow had actually wrinkled.

“As you must know I am only part Gradjinn, beautiful fae. Most of my ancestry is human and werewolf.”

If his words were true, then Selauni knew exactly how to escape his magick. But did she want to?


Wishing you full moon shapeshifting on the wild side…


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~ 


April 16, 2014

Blood Moon Rout by Savanna Kougar



Pic from

Blood Moon howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

In honor of this rare celestial event, here’s a flash scene about what happens if you dare intrude on Talbot’s Peak territory with the intention to harm.


Blood Moon Rout

About to quaff the blood moon ale Dante had brewed for the night’s howl and prowl through the forest in celebration of the first of four Blood Moons, Stone paused, the enormous stein held partway to his mouth. He’d sensed more than scented a rush toward the door by two horse shifter types, as had the three other musketeers in his wolf pack

One for all, and all for one, Stone and his pack glued their gazes on the biker bar’s  well secured door, where two werewolf bouncer types stood guard.  “Open the door, mates,” Dugger, the dingo shifter broke the sudden silence, “Before Catcher and Diamond bloody bust through. No use making Dante pay for–”

Too late… almost too late, either Catcher or Diamond shoulder-slammed the heavy wooden door as one of the bouncers whipped it open. A golden-coated stallion slid to a fast stop on the rough-hewn floor, followed by his sable colored buddy. The night’s blackness framed them while empty chairs and tables flew to the side — having already been deserted.

“What has your long tails in a knot, fellas?” Dugger tossed cool as ice amid the blowing snorts and anxious pawing of the two shifter studs.

“BLM troops,” a woman breathlessly shrilled from the doorway. The petite woman dressed in horse-endurance racing gear moved inward quick, grabbing hold of the sable stallion’s mane.

“Serenity, what is it?” Dugger’s better half, Symone approached, one hand on the long, strange super rifle slung across her shoulder. Stone had never seen the enhanced-human warrioress without it. ‘Course, his musketeer pack had only been part Dante’s patrol crew for the last six months.

“They’re building a staging whatever you call it,” Serenity burst out. “Weapons. SWAT vehicles. They’re, they’re massing on Talbot’s Peak territory.” She sucked in a breath. “Looks like they have the Turkles ranch in their cowardly sights,” she spat contemptuously. “We’ve got to do something. Now!” she shouted, her righteous passion obvious — her breaths heaving in and out.

“Scat, we’re in.” Stone leaped to his feet, his pack following. As they shed their leathers, and began their shifts, he growled, “Time for a Blood Moon rout of the enemy.”

“Yeah, mate.” Dugger’s guttural tone suggested he morphed to dingo.

“Let’s get it on,” Symone yelled.

Stone swore the woman’s blood blazed as fever-high wild as his — as his pack’s. Through wolfen eyes he watched the tall warrioress seize a handful of the golden stallion’s mane and jump astride. Serenity had already mounted her sable stallion lover, who now backed through the open door rapidly.

Dugger’s excited yip-yip-yip as he charged with Stone and his pack — following Catcher and Diamond — fired Stone’s bloodlust through his veins even bigger and badder.

Hunger stronger than while on the hunt for dinner, raged inside, owning every last wolf hair of Stone. Brute. Beast. Monster. Oh howls-scat, yeah, he was all of that. And more.

As if they chased the wind, the two stallions raced along a well-used forest trail that led to a long stretch of prairie. From what Stone mentally picked up from the woman, Serenity, the paramilitary encampment lay atop a great rise of ground yet in a hollow — somewhat shielded from view.

Not his view. Not his nose. As they broke out of the dark forest onto the moon brightened prairie, the stench of human sweat smacked Stone in the nostrils. Oh hell yeah, the blood game was on. These were seasoned killers, mercenaries of the worst sort.

Stone salivated to crunch their bones, spurt their blood. Eliminate them from beautiful Mother Earth.

He knew little about the Turkle ranch, only that a Turkey shifter family owned it, and they were right handy with rifles. Damn smart when living among predator shapeshifters, and surviving. Why the Turkles were targeted by the bureaucratic agency, if they were, mystified Stone. That is, unless their land held a value prized by those addicted to big money.

Catcher and Diamond’s hoofbeats resounded like low rolling thunder as they galloped over the Spring-awakened land. The blasting heat of bloodlust rolled off Stone and his pack… off Dugger and every wolf, coyote, big cat, and half-breed shapeshifter who ran with them on mostly silent paws.

“Lasers!” Symone shouted the warning over her shoulder. “Spread out,” she ordered. “Evade and attack.” 

Scat sure enough, pencil-thin beams crisscrossed above them. Given he was in the lead, one laser weapon locked on Stone, between his eyes. He knew by the matrix-energy around him several of the others were also targeted.

Breaking his stride, Stone launched upward and to the side as shots rang out. Grinning, a super thrill sliding along his spine, he dug in sprinting past Catcher and Diamond. Amid whizzing bullets, his always-courageous pack ran loosely beside him, their scent as hot and savage for the taste of mercenary blood as his.

Howls hell no, you creepazoid bastards — not one of their shifter pack had been picked off, or injured. Stone would have sensed or heard the thud of a bullet penetrating flesh.

He credited Dante, given the alpha in charge held regular training sessions for this type of combat. Still grinning, Stone felt his energy spike to monster status. He saw through a red sheen now, and his muscles exploded with power.

Stone figured they were less than a mile out, and they raced uphill — faster than the average demon wolf. Oh scat yeah, faster. Oh, and by the way, enemies, our razor-sharp fangs rip through Kevlar like good raw steak.

A frenzied chaos of movement by the paramilitary troops, and shouted orders, entered Stone’s ears, but he hardly heard the words. What he knew, he and his musketeer pack led the charge inside the encampment.

Shots dully pinged into Mother Earth’s skin, missing Stone and his pack. Taser-like advanced weaponry buzzed like a den of pissed off rattlesnakes. Bolts of electricity hit Stone.

He grinned wider. That’s right, ape scat, give me the juice. Time for a Blood Moon rout.

Stone sprang, snapped his jaws around an aimed assault rifle, and crunched mangling the weapon. He flung it aside. Before his enemy could stumble backward, Stone sank his fangs into his exposed throat.


Wishing you full moon shapeshifting on the wild side…


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~ 


Chapter Two ~ Z’Pasha of Dendera by Savanna Kougar



Springtime howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

A ROAR OF THANKS! To everyone who participated in the FOOL FOR LOVE bloghop.

Okay then, the writerly well has run temporarily dry. And I’ve got too much on my plate right now. Thus and so, here’s a flashback scene written during the early days of our shapeshifter-supernatural town of Talbot’s Peak. The scene, starring my Egyptian cat goddess, Z’Pasha, is now chapter two of my wip, WHITE FANG, ACE WOLF REPORTER. 

Chapter Two ~ Z’Pasha of Dendera 

Z’Pasha stepped back into the concealment of the shadow she had created. Prepared to swiftly transport herself with magick, she observed the Super Wolf leap over the deck rail.

After quickly looking around, he focused like a hunting dog on a trail. Because he would remain unaware of her existence, Z’Pasha watched him flash inside the ethers. With her feline-superior gaze, she followed the streaming lines of his frequency.

Once the lines dimmed, she dissolved her shadow. As she raised her arms skyward, she heard, “Mommy, mommy, I smell a cat. Let’s go chase–”

“No! Marilyn, stop that. If you rip one more dress–”

“But, mommy, aren’t we supposed to chase cats? Please–”

“Not here! Later we’ll go for long run in the woods. Marilyn, I see fur…”

Unconcerned about the werewolf population in Talbot’s Peak, Z’Pasha smiled, something she hadn’t done for months. After briefly remembering her own rambunctious shifter kitten-hood, she concentrated.

Using her arrowed fingertips as a point of contact with the Ka-Ba, she transitioned into her smoke body. Aware various types magick were being practiced, Z’Pasha hid herself, then traveled in the Super Wolf’s wake.

She required all the knowledge she could gather about White Fang, and the reason why the Syxxrion Shifter had arrived in the isolated Montana town. Was he possible friend or foe?

Two days ago, upon her own arrival, Z’Pasha had cast her essence like a star field above Talbot’s Peak, and the surrounding area. With the All-seeing Eye of her spirit, she’d found the elusive Tiger Yakuza leader, Zhere Ghan. His stronghold proved to be near a small river tributary, hidden within massive outcropping of rock.

Once she’d eliminated any trace of herself above his territory, Z’Pasha scanned the energy signatures of the town’s residents. Wisdom demanded she identify the so called movers and shakers, and any being of consequence to her.

Destroying the life force of two Tiger Ninjas, in an act of retaliation, would be no small task, even with her goddess powers. However, outrage boiled Z’Pasha’s blood. While sadness coiled around her heart like a serpent, squeezing…squeezing…always squeezing.

The bloody and brutal shredding of her human friend was not to be tolerated. Larissa had done nothing to harm the Yakuza. In the wrong place at the wrong time, she had offered help to a man near death.

How could Larissa, as a mere human, have known the beaten man’s evil far surpassed the criminal activities of Zhere Ghan’s empire? Z’Pasha did not fault the Ninjas for ending the life of a serial rapist, one who also tortured his victims.

No, if the one with a coward’s entrails, and the cunning brain of crocodile, had attempted the abduction of her niece, as he did Zhere Ghan’s, her own claws would have ribboned his flesh without regret.

Yet, why end the life of an innocent?

After using their formidable skills to pummel the psychopathic human into a grisly state, the two tiger shapeshifters watched as death claimed him slowly, and with excruciating pain. Seeing the wretched man in the alleyway, Larissa had attempted to heal him with the natural ability bestowed on her by the Sacred. With not so much as a growl of warning, the Tiger Ninjas attacked her like enraged dervishes.

Z’Pasha shivered at the horrific memories, and nearly lost the Super Wolf’s vibratory path. Even now, Larissa slept in the divine embrace of restoration, currently lost to her.

Bastet’s favor remained, however. The path still shone slightly, and Z’Pasha gave silent thanks to her grandmother. About ten minutes behind the Super Wolf, she watched as he emerged from a cave entrance in his wolf form, a fluffy cat shifter beside him.

Z’Pasha journeyed with the pair, careful to hover high and stay behind them. White Fang’s senses swept the forest before him, his protective manner obvious. As a Syxxrion, if he had loosed his sensory powers in her direction, a swift departure would be needed. He would detect her presence instantly.

The Syxxrion were an intergalactic race of wolf shapeshifters, and inhabited many worlds. Why they kept a presence on Earth, other than the primeval beauty of the planet, no one in her realm knew.

Z’Pasha watched the impressive drive of White Fang’s haunches from her vantage point. His muscle-rippling strength as he loped and bounded over fallen logs caused a sudden yearning to burst through her, blazing as the Egyptian sun at midday.

As wolf, White Fang was a magnificently virile beast from the tip of his noble muzzle to the end of his silver-gray tail. The proud, yet measured carriage of his tail revealed his lone alpha nature.

Carnal desire slid up her middle like a knife, stunning Z’Pasha.

Although, she possessed a passionate disposition, this intensity was rare. Since the death of Larissa, lusty liaisons had been nonexistent–so fierce did Z’Pasha want righteous revenge.

As she continued observing White Fang, his great strength brought to mind the early days of Egypt. During this reign of the goddesses, spirit and technology had been combined in a balance that benefitted all. 

With the rise of corruption and the Draconian elite, there had been a gradual decline into a lesser culture. The eventual death of real magic for those outside the mystery schools, caused her kind to create enclaves, now curtained by protective mists.

Goddess Divine, how Z’Pasha missed the resplendent and festive sporting games. Once two of the pyramids had been completed, the competitors leaped or raced over them.

Unbidden, images of White Fang as both man and wolf competing in the Royal Sun Games entered her mind. Her fantasy refused to leave easily, despite the discipline Z’Pasha practiced to maintain the viability of her magick.

Dismissing the raw fire of her loins, she stabilized her lighter-than-air form. White Fang twisted, barely able to shove through a house’s pet door. Kitty Collins, that was the name on the mailbox.

Jealousy did not usually afflict  Z’Pasha. Staggered by her sudden reaction, she felt the sharp pangs grow like grapevines, as White Fang spoke with Kitty inside her home, both of them now shifted to human.

Many men, of every race, had fallen at Z’Pasha’s feet, and she had lustily basked in the extreme pleasures they offered. On occasion, to gain her own ends, she seduced men, especially shapeshifters–the ability natural to her as a feline goddess.

As Z’Pasha listened to White Fang’s chivalrous attention to Kitty, she wondered how pleasurable would it be to gain his assistance in her quest for vengeance?

Having briefly witnessed the Super Wolf’s handsome attributes as a man, obviously his seduction would be no hardship. Inspired by the right woman, Z’Pasha instinctively knew the Syxxrion would provide a passion and pleasure that enslaved the carnal senses.


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side …


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance 


April 5, 2014

Deuces Wild, Secret Agent Wolf by Savanna Kougar


Howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

GUESS WHAT!!! April 4th-6th we authors at ShapeShifter Seductions are participating in the FOOL FOR LOVE bloghop. For info hit this link

Yep, another day with way too much on my plate. However, here’s a spinoff flash scene starring one of the wolf boys from Pat’s Monday flash.


Deuces Wild, Secret Agent Wolf

Deuces Wild, as he was affectionately known at the Interspecies Pleasure Club, kept his expression savage even as he mentally grinned. A bunch of ape goofballs got out of an obviously stolen cop car. To his trained wolfen eye, they weren’t up to no good in the Peak. Not yet. Instead, they appeared to be tracking another of their stinky, brainless kind.

Scat, one of them  reeked of candy bars, and cheap hamburger grease. “Hunters,” he growled in wolf. “Bet they’re after Cochrane. Heard at the club that coyote screw up, Ewan, bit the bastard.”

For almost as long as he’d been part of Damien Hancock’s enforcer pack, Deuce had been Dante’s inside source — his loyalties switched once he’d discovered the depraved depth of the pack leader’s desire to rule Talbot’s Peak.

Deuce played a double game, feeding meaty chunks of info about Dante’s growing empire to Damien — his reason for frequenting the Pleasure Club. So far, his ‘secret agent wolf’ life had gone smooth as the Kentucky bourbon he favored.

Being Dante’s inside wolf man — Deuce grinned to himself again — they gamed out what tidbits of truth to throw in Damien’s snapping jaws.  But why Dante wanted his sire’s mad scientist, Morloxian, to be supplied with more subjects … howls to freak-show hell, the alpha werewolf had said something about looming danger from a mammoth mutant werewolf, pieces on a chessboard, and the ‘good for all’ endgame.

Mentally, Deuce shook his head. He didn’t own that brand of smarts, that level of strategic gamesmanship. Not like Dante and his sire, Damien.

Scat, he was a street smart wolf, having been an orphan cub in New York City. Yeah baby, he’d taken ferocious bites out of the Big Apple. Deuces was damn proud of how he’d been able to survive, even thrive into his teen-wolfhood. But, with the lure of a werewolf-owned town, he’d moved west. Fast. 

Now Dante relied on Deuce’s paws-on-the-ground intel. The main wolfman as Deuce thought of Damien’s rebel son, always showed his toothy-grinning gratitude. Plus, the rewards at the Pleasure Club… AHROOOOOOO WOO WOOOahhhhh!

When it became apparent the motley ape crew was headed for the bar to send Cochrane to the happy hunting ground, there were further yips and grrrs of communication between their bad-boy pack.

Deuce had carefully remained second in command, a superior position for his double life. It kept him close to the pack leader and freed him from being the low-level grunt who’d been ordered to get their delivery van. Everything inside the Full Moon Deliveries’ van had been set up for their ops, and to transport ‘captures’ to Damien, or in this case, Morloxian’s lab in Colorado.

‘Status?’ he mind-heard. Shandris’ soft voice sang through him. As usual, his cock pressed against his black leathers before he could stop the ‘bad boy’ from thickening.

The shy fae witch caused bolts of need to race through his blood. But she was off limits.

Dante hadn’t forbidden him from pursuing Shandris. No, the petite beauty claimed her powers would be lessened if she… to quote her words “allowed their involvement”. 

Shandris had become part of Gypsy Red Wolf’s circle to protect Talbot’s Peak. She’d been able to join her mind with his, despite Deuce’s lack of supernatural talent. Shandris also possessed the supernatural ability to guard his thoughts from Damien Hancock’s psychics, as well as the Yakuza tiger shifter, Zhere Ghan’s psi-spies.

She kept a permanent but undetectable barrier around his mind, which left Deuce able to fully use his fang-tough personality, all while covertly gathering intel. He mindspoke with Shandris only when time was of the essence, and when she contacted.

‘Status is the capture of Cochrane’s crew. Take them to mad scientist Morloxian,’ Deuce telepathed.

‘I will remain connected. And watch through your eyes.’

‘You can do that?’ Yeah-yip, probably a stupid question. Although, Shandris hadn’t revealed that psi power to him.

‘Our bond allows for it now… secret agent wolf,’ she added, humor in her mind voice.

‘How did — you read my mind,’ Deuce teased. ‘Van is here. Gotta jump.’

‘Secret agent wolf man…’ Shandris sang to him as he leaped into the passenger seat. Oh hell howl, this wasn’t half bad, a fae singing in his head.

‘Am I distracting you too much?’ she asked, once the pack leader hit the accelerator pedal, and they pursued the ape crew down the open road.

‘Not so far,’ Deuce answered. He kept one ear on the pack leader’s barked orders, while listening with his inner ears to Shandris. ‘This is gettin’ easy as licking –” Deuce stopped himself from finishing with ‘a bitch’s butt’.

‘Tsk, tsk,’ Shandris admonished, her amusement obvious.

‘I’ll have to mind my manners. But your little ears are gonna do some serious burning.’ Already the rest of the enforcer pack used foul language as they prepared the back of the van.

‘Sticks and stones,’ she crooned. Deuce found himself liking this side of Shandris way too much. His cock agreed, lengthening again.

“No scat ridin’ our tail,” Deuce reported to the pack leader. “The sniffer is clean,” he added. With the best nose in the pack, it was Deuce’s job to ride shotgun.

‘Message from Dante.’ Shandris interrupted the pack leader’s sideways glance at Deuce’s crotch.

“Something you’d like to share, Deuce?” he snarled.

“Beautiful bitch at the Pleasure Club. She got my attention, and I’m feeling her something fierce. It is Spring. You know how it is.” Deuce spoke in an offhanded manner. For good measure, he threw the pack leader an apologetic glance.

“Scat yeah, Spring. Did some tail chasing the other night. Just keep your mind on business. Damien’ll have our hides… hell, he’ll offer our asses up to that franken-wolf, Morloxian.”

“Got it under control,” Deuce growled, even as he felt Shandris enter her protective shell against him. Yet she didn’t disconnect her mind from his. ‘Message?’ he prompted.

‘Don’t let the mammoth mutant werewolf bite.’

Damn Lupa! The thing was alive and kicking.


Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance 

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