ShapeShifter Kisses

September 26, 2012

Damien Hancock’s Mutant Werewolves by Savanna Kougar

 Pic from COAST TO COAST AM  ~

Painting: Late Night Encounter

Toronto based artist Shawn Pascuttini ( shares this painting he created while listening to Coast to Coast.

Wednesday kisses, shapeshifter lovers.

First, apologies to everyone. I had planned to continue last week’s flash scene, Someday My Wolf Prince Will Come.

However, fate and my muse intervened. Enter, the Mutant Werewolves. One is pictured above and was discovered hiding in plain sight on the COAST TO COAST AM website.

Yes, Damien Hancock, the powerful werewolf alpha responsible for taking over the town of Talbot’s Peak, has a new unholy pack he’s hired. Not only is Damien planning some realistic Halloween mischief… not only is he planning on ‘disappearing’ his enemies… but, for the rest of story — so far — keep on reading.

From the Kougar’s Writing Den ~

Her Midnight Stardust Cowboys

‘Unedited’ Chapter Sixty-six ~

“Dang it, pard, we’re in Mayor Link’s sights. What does that chimp shifter want now? We don’t live in Talbot’s Peak proper. And I ain’t endorsin’ him no how. Not over Vernon, one of my own wolf kind.”

From the corner of his eye, Zance saw Sherilyn quickly glance in Lance Link’s direction. “I thought he and Dolly were splitsville. Although, I didn’t pay much attention to all the talk at the coffee shop, because who really cares?”

“Downright entertaining, their temporary breakup, if you like slapstick.” Dontoya chuckled in his rumbly way. “Me and Zance happened onto the scene.”

“I’m headin’ the Mayor off at the pass, pard. Why don’t you seat our mate, and I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“Countin’ on it, pardner.”

Zance paused only long enough to see Dontoya take hold of Sherilyn’s elbow to assist her up the steps to their table. Guldurn it, her shapely figure encased in that glamorous, slinky gown nearly knocked his eyeballs out.

She was the most gorgeous woman ever created, and Zance mentally thanked the Goddess Moon that his wolf juice had saved her that fateful day, and now ran in her veins forever. 

Most important though, Sherilyn belonged to him and Dontoya. Even more important by his reckoning, her heart embraced them both.

Zance strode through the burgeoning festive crowd, meeting Mayor Link and Mrs. Link near the edge of the highly polished dance floor.

“Happy new year, Lance. And, Dolly, don’t you just shine this evening, beautiful and lovely as the full moon.”

After giving him an audacious wink, Dolly presented her gloved hand, so heavy with the weight of her gemstone-loaded rings, Zance had to wonder if this had been Mayor Link’s way of paying for his sexual transgressions.

He pressed a kiss on the top of her hand in an old-fashioned tribute to her womanhood. Dolly excused herself then, and departed with a rustle of her stiff satin skirts.

“Something I can do for you, Mayor?” Zance covertly studied Link’s expression, but he’d put on his poker face. 

“It’s what I can do for you and Dontoya. What I have done to be precise.” Link’s large dark eyes remained inscrutable.

“Mayor, I ain’t too good at playing these kind of politico games. If you got something to say, spit it out.”

Link rocked back on his heels, and with confidence oozing out of his pores, he hooked his thumb in his waistcoat pocket. “I understand via the grapevine your mate Sherilyn Wingate, isn’t it — was struck with deadly force, and you came to her rescue.”

“That’s right. Both me and Dontoya.” Zance gave Link his one-eyed stare, and waited.

“Can you identify who was behind the wheel?” The Mayor raised a bushy brow, his gaze bright in that alpha way of chimps.

“Nope. Not which one was drivin’. Only know who the truck belongs to, and saw who was in the passenger seat.”

“I’ve got one of the Brady boys sitting in the pokey right now. Seems as though he confessed to swiping Ms. Wingate’s pickup.”

Reflexively, Zance stepped into his gunslinger’s stance. “When?”

“Last night, during a drinking binge.”

“Know I saw Tom Brady through the passenger window. Smelled him too.”

The Mayor gave a slight nod of his head. “I’ll have Tom Brady brought in for questioning on your say so. If the Sheriff gets something out of him, I’ll need you to testify. You and Dontoya, if he saw the same. Agreed?”

“Yep. You and the Sheriff get the goods, and me and Dontoya will play it that way. Let justice take its course.” On second thought, Zance added, “Won’t be able to testify about how I saved Sherilyn, though.”

“Nothing in the public record. Understood. We’ll work out the details beforehand.” 

“And?” Zance asked at Link’s telltale hesitation.

“Some of us in Talbot’s Peak want to keep the town friendly for both shifters and humans. To put it in plain terms, I need backup.”

“I got no problem with that.”

“Figured as much. To my knowing, you and Dontoya have never been anti-social to any species.” Link rocked back, his expression turning grave. “Got the word today that Damien Hancock is in a howling rage over how Talbot’s Peak is changing — all the newcomers, but mostly anyone with human blood.”

“Yep, ole bloody-tooth Damien has gotten too big for his werewolf britches. Ever since he and his pack took over The Peak and nearly made Miss Kitty roadkill. What’s ‘he thinks he’s the king of mountain’ up to?”

“Damien and his top lieutenants are planning terror raids. Got that from a reliable source. But,” Link’s ears twitched, a sign of his nervousness, “rumor has it he’s hiring mercenaries, a mutant werewolf pack.”

Zance chilled with ‘psi-knowing’, and his hackles raised painfully. “Mutants?”

“According to Sergei they look like a cross between a Hollywood werewolf mated to one of those cryptid goat suckers.”


Mayor Link nodded as if they were only discussing the weather.

“Did Sergei say if his tiger Yakuza boss, Shere Khan, knows anything about these werewolf mutants?”

Lance cracked half a smile. “Sergei said when he reported his sighting, Shere Khan made some Confucius type of joke about summoning the Teenage Mutant Turtles.”

“Well hell, grease yer guns, cowpokes. Ain’t nothing like a Yakuza varmint with a sense of humor.” Zance shook his head at what he was learning.

“Shere Khan has taken his claws out of our fair town for now. Thanks to you and others. But, he’s sitting pretty like a fat tick on a lazy bloodhound, just biding his time.”

“I reckon that’s true.” With his thoughts racing, Zance asked, “Talk to Dante about his sire’s nefarious plans?”

“No, not yet. Why spoil Dante’s grand opening of the supperclub?” Lance glanced around. “A world-class achievement. Me and the misses call it hoop-di-doo elegant.”

“World-class is damn right. I ain’t been in these razzle-dazzle surroundings for quite a span of time.” Zance shot his gaze toward Dante briefly, having caught his scent. He and his lovely Kitty were moony-faced gazing at each other. “Yeah, why spoil his romantic evening? It’ll hold.”

“Good evening, White Fang, Ms. Pasha. Happy New Year,” Mayor Link intoned in his official, I’m-your-friend voice.

“Happy New Year, Mayor, Zance.” The super wolf and his cat goddess paramour echoed each other’s words.

“You two boys are looking particularly serious,” White Fang continued. “Something I need to know about?”

“Are you here with your reporter’s hat on?” Lance demanded, his tenor still oily with friendliness.

Zance watched White Fang’s small grin form. “It’s off for this evening, Mayor. But, don’t tell Nick. I have him fooled into believing I’m always investigating the next story.”

Mayor Link rolled his eyes to the left, but didn’t move his head. “Nick’s already eyeballing us from clear across that half-a-football-field sized dance floor.” Lance’s brow wrinkled like a chimp as he whispered, “And with his extra sharp hearing…”

When the Mayor’s words faded, White Fang’s deep blue eyes subtly twinkled with humor. “Nick’s werewolf nose for news is telling him, ‘Flash! Front-page headline’. Quickly followed by ‘every copy sold’.”

“No worries, gentlemen.” Pasha slinked closer to White Fang, resting her hip against him. “Ziva has Nick by the collar, and she’s whispering naughty promises in his ear.” She spoke in her slow sultry voice, the one that always riled Zance to hot and ready.

But no more. That was reserved for Sherilyn.

“You’re surely right, Ms. Pasha.” Zance gave her a wink. “Nick is followin’ Ziva now, and lookin’ like a stud on a short leash.”

“Like I was telling Zance, rumor is…” Mayor Link began.

“Tell you what, fellas, Ms. Pasha,” Zance interrupted. “I’m itchy as a flea-bitten mutt to get back to my mate. Mayor, me and Dontoya will back you up. White Fang, ole buddy, we’ll be attendin’ the get-ready meetings like always.”

“Congratulations to you and Dontoya on being mated,” White Fang offered, his tone genuine. 

“Yes, congratulations, and blessed be your union.” Pasha glowed, and with his psi-eyes, Zance observed her golden essence whirl, then surround him.

He gave her a slight nod of thanks.

“Your mate, she is Ubarion, is she not?” Pasha smiled, the Egyptian cat goddess who captured any canary she wanted.

Zance answered with a lopsided grin. Figuring the Ubarion cat was now out the bag anyway, and a cat goddess would know the truth, he drawled, “Close enough, Ms. Pasha. But we’re keeping it under our hats.”

“Of course,” Pasha met his gaze squarely, and Zance witnessed the strength of her sacred force. “I will not speak of it. However, if your mate would care to know more about her heritage, I will happily speak with her.”

“Enjoy the evenin’.” Zance spun on his heel, and like an eagerly panting stud, he strode toward Sherilyn.

Why should Donny-cat get her exclusive company tonight of all nights? Mentally growling, Zance quickened his pace to a near trot.

Dammit! What did that beta, Mooney, want? Zance curled his lips in a silent snarl as Mooney waved him over, then moved like a linebacker to intercept him.

Was the beta werewolf sniffin’ for a story? Could be, since Mooney and Nick, the editor of the G&B Gazette, were brothers, and the beta had been the newspaper’s sports writer.

Zance couldn’t recall if the siblings were still on the fang-ripping outs with each other. Not wanting to make a stir at the supperclub, he reluctantly slowed his steps.

Where was Mooney’s dang, good-looking little mate with the blue hair? Marissa, that was her name. Yep, that sweet human witch surely kept Mooney on love’s leash.

Zance took advantage when a passing waiter presented a tray holding glasses of bourbon straight up. At least, his usual good luck showed, and right on time, even if he was missin’ time with his precious Sherilyn.

Waiting for Mooney to charge through a group of vampires, dressed impeccably in tuxedos, Zance took a healthy swallow. He savored the mellow tempest of flavors as the bourbon slid down his throat.

That was Dante for ya. Always the best whenever he could get his paws on it.

“Reach for the ceiling,” Zance muttered about his eyebrows as they raised high. The werewolf’s playboy-handsome mug was contorted by an urgent expression, and his eyes shone darker than normal.

“What’s stickin’ between your fangs, Mooney ole son?”

Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side…


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

This blog was originally posted at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS by the author.

September 19, 2012

Someday My Wolf Prince Will Come by Savanna Kougar


Tuesday kisses, shapeshifter lovers.

I swear Halloween vibes are in the air, and it’s not even officially Autumn yet. Every year I get grabbed by the Samhain magick earlier and earlier. This could have to do with the Wave from the galactic center that is about to the bathe all of us on Earth, and upgrade our intuitive abilities.

Hey, even the NASA scientists say we are now being bombarded by new cosmic particles. So this is not only in the province the new-age, 2012 mystical crowd.

Alas, today’s flash scene will have to be continued next week. I just hit the wall, and need to get some shuteye.

Someday My Wolf Prince Will Come

The flamelight from the multitude of candles enhanced the dreamy old-fashioned mood. Samantha sighed over the gold-gilded candelabra trees placed around the gorgeous dance floor.

And, oh sure, the instrumental version of the song playing at the Midnight Stardust Supperclub was beautifully melodic, perfect for the romantic atmosphere that had been painstakingly created…still…

“Someday my prince will come…oh yeah, right,” Samantha muttered beneath her breath. “If ‘my prince’ was going to come, he would have arrived ‘years’ ago.”

In defiance of her fate, Samantha tossed her long ringlets. Her hairstyle, carefully crafted by one of the Pleasure Club’s beauticians, was reminiscent of the 1800s, and she loved it.

Again, Samantha caught herself smoothing her hand over the ice pink ball gown — the Cinderella gown she hardly dared to believe she wore. Clutching the voluminous satin skirts, she scanned the sparse number of people…oh, wait, not exactly people.

No…shapeshifters were in attendance, or any number of the not-strictly human crowd. Hell, she might be the closest to a full-blood human present — even though, her parents were half shifters.

Samantha detested the fact that her brother could morph at will, while she couldn’t muster up a patch of fur or an elongated fang. Although, she did possess superior eyesight, hearing, and smell — plus an animal’s strength and agility. Definitely useful in these times, and long ago when she’d done the dating thing.

Not certain how to handle herself in this situation, Samantha frowned and froze. She hadn’t been in Talbot’s Peak for that long, and didn’t see anyone she recognized.

Snatching a deep breath, she ignored the wiggly sensations in her stomach, and surveyed the close to thirty men and women who were flirtatiously getting to know each other.

Dante’s formal invitation to this special evening at his supperclub sure hadn’t lied. The men were yum-o’licous. Every…single…one…of…them.

Wowza! And powza right to her sex-starved, now steamy insides.

About to take a step toward the group, and toward a waiter carrying a silver tray of various wines, Samantha heard the man’s confident step first. When his firm grasp commanded her elbow, surprise exploded through her.

And so did his scent. Deliciously potent, and with a raw vitality she’d never had the pleasure of smelling before. And yet, there was something else. Had he recently run through the surrounding forest?

“I might as well be a bird you’ve just caught. I can’t seem to move.” Samantha’s breath deserted her as the man eased her around to face him.

“Ah, loveliest woman, I detect no avian genes. However, your fae wings are quite visible in the etheric.”

Samantha unabashedly stared into eyes of deepest indigo. Being a hobby oil painter, she could only describe their unique color in that way.

“I am Drovario of Z’quenne. May I know your name?”

While his unusual accent, and his raspy smooth voice, had it’s way with her hormones, Samantha struggled to make her tongue work. In her usual Sagittarian fashion she blurted out, “I’m afraid you’ve thrown me off balance.”

“Yes, I see that I have. Will a glass of wine suit you?”

“Please.” As she spoke, it hit Samantha that all the men were similar in appearance, as if they were from the same family. “Where are you from? I mean, I haven’t seen you around.”

Damn, she’d spoken so clumsily. Not that she was a whiz at always speaking in an erudite manner. Maybe, it was because he hadn’t relinquished his hold on her elbow, and the heat of his touch now radiated through her like bathing in the noon sun.

With the ease of a man who was used to being in charge, Drovario summoned one of the waiters. Before she knew it, Samantha held a glass of wine. Gathering her wits, she took a sip of the high-priced Chablis.

After her palate thanked her, she offered, “Samantha. My name.” Hoping against hope he didn’t address her as Sam — which would ruin everything — Samantha roved her gaze over his aristocratic wolfen features.

Strength but not cruelty, she decided, and smiled.

“Samantha. Your name rolls from my tongue beautifully.” After intensely gazing at her for moments, Drovario effortlessly moved her beside him, and began guiding her toward a more secluded area.


Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side…


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

This blog was originally posted at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS by the author.

September 11, 2012

On Their Way to the Midnight Stardust Supperclub by Savanna Kougar

A Jimmy Thomas photo.

Tuesday kisses, shapeshifter lovers.

It was crazy-busy yesterday, and since I’m trying to get the last chapters of my latest WIP finished, I figured I’d give you what I have, even though the chapter *is not* finished. Darn it!

It’s already way past my bedtime so that’s why I’m stopping here. Please forgive this rough draft, and any mistakes. And, no, this is not a plot spoiler.

On Their Way to the Midnight Stardust Supperclub
From the Kougar’s Writing Den ~

Her Midnight Stardust Cowboys

The freshly written, unfinished, and ‘unedited’ Chapter Sixty-four ~

Dontoya eyed the blacktop highway as he made the turn. Despite the sparkly dusting of snow, it was still dry, and he stepped on the accelerator.

Once they sped along at a good clip, he stroked Sherilyn’s hand, then solidly gripped the steering wheel.

“Me and Z-Dog never did settle who was gonna kiss you first at midnight, beautiful mate.”

“Hmm…that is a dilemma.” Sherilyn absently rubbed his thigh. “You both kiss me so I can’t think straight. I mean, how could I ever choose? I love the way..all the ways…both of you kiss me.”

“How about choosin’ on our dancing skills?” Zance twanged like the courtin’ devil himself.

“How about,” Sherilyn lilted, her tone a tease, “whichever one of you doesn’t step on my toes?”

“Darlin’, we need a backup plan. What if your toes remain unbruised?” Dontoya tenderly squeezed her hand for a few moments, feeling the Ring of Union through her glove.

“No fair. It’s impossible for me to choose between the two of you.” She smoothed her palm along the top muscle of his thigh. Her touch was so damn pleasurable, his blood firestormed through his veins, and his shaft hardened.

Not now, beast, he ordered. You’ll get your turn. Later.

“Appears there ain’t no solution. Given this is a civilized shindig, me and Donny-cat can’t go rollin’ and brawlin’ over you. Now can we, sweetheart?”

She chuckled softly. “No, but thinking about you two brawling in tuxedos like cats and dogs is too funny.” She paused. “Not saying I want that tonight. Not at all. I sure do like my two gallant cowboys.”

“Darlin’, we are your elegant gentlemen for this evening.” Dontoya slowed, now following a line of vehicles obviously headed for the supperclub, and the tunnel entrance that was about three miles away.

“Coin toss,” Zance announced. “You do the tossin’, sweet kitten.”

“You brought your lucky gold coin. Figures, Z-dog.”

“Yep, fancy coin for a fancy night out. Besides, it’s always worked. Gettin’ us outta trouble.”

“Can’t argue with you there, pardner.” Dontoya rumbled a laugh, remembering.

“Gold coin?” Sherilyn asked, her curiosity obvious.

“From our gold mining days,” Zance drawled.

From the corner of his eye, Dontoya watched his pardner flip the specially minted coin before Sherilyn’s gaze, and neatly capture it. As Zance opened his palm, Dontoya switched on the interior light.

Without letting go of their mate’s hand, Zance showed Sherilyn one side, then thumbed the coin over for her.

“A wolf and a cougar. Oh, it’s beautiful.”

“Whichever one of us lands face up gets the first kiss from those sweet-as-honey lips of yours. Right, Donny-cat?”

“Yeah, right.” Dontoya fondled Sherilyn’s hand, his possessive nature surfacing fast. “Only way we won’t be snarling and circlin’ each other over our mate.”

“Seems fair.”

His mate’s fragile-sounding voice turned up the heat already burning him alive. He’d always been a lusting fool whenever a woman spoke soft as a purr.

Now, with Sherilyn it had to be ten times the temptation. Dontoya changed position, only enough to ease the pressure of his tux trousers on his throbbing cock.

“But,” she continued, “I’m counting on kisses from both of you that damn well knock my dancing shoes off.”

“Count on it, darlin’.”

“Count on it,” Zance echoed.

Focusing on the traffic ahead, Dontoya stopped himself from being as restless as his inner cougar. The black beast paced, savagely hungry to claim their mate. Soon.

“Problem, pardner?” Zance’s gravelly voice commiserated.

“Yeah, our gorgeous mate has me dang hot and bothered.” Without looking, Dontoya embraced her hand with his, and brought it to his lips. He pressed a quick kiss on her gloved fingers, then gently placed her hand back on his thigh.

“No, Sherilyn darlin’, keep your lovely hand on my thigh. Please,” he added, since his tone sounded harsh to his ears.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to unintentionally torment you. Well…sometimes I want to torment you,” she seductively added.

Dontoya and his cougar roared inside. Yeah, certain as the sacred sunrise, he’d be heading to the bar, and downing one of the inhibitor tonics Dante always kept stocked.

“Inhibitor,” Zance growled, having mind-read his thoughts.

“Soon as we arrive, pardner.”

“Inhibitor?…oh…okay, I understand.”

Sensing her shyness, and her uncertainty with them, Dontoya rasped, “Sherilyn, this is normal for us. We want you drivin’ us loco with passion.”

She drew in a long breath, and Dontoya felt her overcome her doubts. “If you insist,” she crooned, and stroked his thigh like a temptress.

“That’s it, kitten,” he encouraged in a rough purr.

“Looks like we’re joinin’ the parade.”

Zance spoke as he settled the SUV behind Mary Lou and her date. Dontoya hit the horn in a friendly hello, and the mare shifter returned a short honk.

“Mary Lou’s pink pickup surely can’t be missed,” Zance twanged, amused.

“You mean Mary Lou from Talbot Peak’s Livestock Center?” Sherilyn leaned forward, even though she couldn’t see through the darkness.


Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side…


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

This blog was originally posted at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS by the author.

September 5, 2012

Keeping the Peace at the Red Silk Garter Saloon by Savanna Kougar

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , — Savanna Kougar @ 6:34 am

Wednesday kisses, shapeshifter lovers.Image

Last Friday, Serena Shay posted a little writer’s challenge. Being in the mood to take her up on it, I created a flash scene using her five words. Which are:

1. Gull \guhl\, verb:
1. To deceive, trick, or cheat.
1. A person who is easily deceived or cheated; dupe.

2. Crucible \KROO-suh-buhl\, noun:
1. A severe, searching test or trial.
2. A container of metal or refractory material employed for heating substances to high temperatures.
3. Metallurgy. A hollow area at the bottom of a furnace in which the metal collects.

3. Compère \KOM-pair\, noun:
1. A host, master of ceremonies, or the like, especially of a stage revue or television program.
1. To act as compère for: to compère the new game show.

4. Fabulist \FAB-yuh-list\, noun:
1. A liar.
2. A person who invents or relates fables.

5. Velleity \vuh-LEE-i-tee\, noun:
1. Volition in its weakest form.
2. A mere wish, unaccompanied by an effort to obtain it.

Keeping the Peace at the Red Silk Garter Saloon

“What a gull. And I don’t mean seagull,” Kirquelle muttered. With her fists clenched at her sides, and her teeth grinding together, she paused, not wanting to overreact.

The fires inside didn’t subside, so she planted her hand on the butt of her low-slung pistol, and strode toward the two slick, fashion-plate gamblers who were fleecing a barely-out-of-his-baby-curls sheep shapeshifter. After all, it was her job at the Red Silk Garter Saloon to keep the peace.

And Kirquelle wasn’t feeling too darn peaceful at the moment. In fact, she felt downright deadly.

Kirquelle, or Kirk, as most called her, resisted the urge to quick-draw on the gamblers who obviously worked as a team — one of whom was now raking in the pile of chips. A hint of a grin played on his chiseled ‘Clint Eastwood’ lips.

Not that he particularly resembled the ‘make my day’ actor… except he did have those flinty, pierce-your-soul eyes. Oh yeah, obvious to her, he’d done his fair share of riding the range beneath the endless blue skies, same as his partner had.

It showed in their tanned rugged features. In the easy but efficient way they both moved. Plus, there was no way their roped muscles could be hidden beneath the elegant, old west attire they both wore. Kirk had to wonder what crucible in their lives had turned them into debonair cheatin’ gamblers… well, not exactly cheating, but close enough to suit her sense of fair play.

Okay, and not the infamous O.K. Corral of Tombstone, Arizona — Kirk switched off her psi-abilities. Now was not the time to travel that trail. For now, she needed to keep her steely-eyed focus on those handsome varmints in case she needed to shoot straight.

The one not stacking the chips sat back and gave her lazy grin as she approached their table. He raked his gaze over her, and his sky blue eyes didn’t miss a trick. His follow-up smile made it real obvious he definitely liked what he saw.

“Something wrong, missy…” he paused, steepling his fingers in a cocksure manner, “do you prefer ‘bouncer, enforcer. Wolf Dawg’s deputy? Or, I could address you by name.” He arched a jet black brow in question, a glint of hope in his eyes.

“I know her name,” sheep boy bleated. “Tell ya, if you promise to give me a free poker lesson next week.”

Now Kirk’s brows shot toward the brim of her dark red Stetson. “Poker lessons?” Reflexively her hand eased away from her pistol, but rested with attitude on her hip.

“You gotta deal, son,” Mr. Tall In the Saddle answered, as he roved his gaze over her assets. “Spill it, and get on home like I promised your mama.”

“Yes, sir.” Sheep boy flicked her a semi apologetic glance, then announced, “Kirquelle. Kirk for short.”

“Last time I save your ungrateful hide from a pack of wild dogs, Burke. Or,” she muttered, “get that annoying wolf in a sheepskin off your tail.”

Kirk narrowed her eyes, but didn’t lay her intimidating stare on Burke. He was just a kid by her reckoning. She saved it for the two ‘grins as wide as their fancy black hats’ gamblers, who weren’t backing down either.

“Yes, ma’am. Gotta scoot. Give ya a toot on the horn later,” he added as he sidled out of his chair, then high-tailed it for the exit.

“Sheep kid wanted to learn so bad he was sneakin’ his way in,” Blue Eyes drawled.

“We figured it’d be better if we just went ahead and taught him,” Black Coffee for eyes baritone-twanged, Texas style.

“Yeah? Well, someone could have told me, so I wouldn’t have wasted breath and time on you two.”

“Maybe.” Blue Eyes drew out the word. “We wanted a dressin’ down from you, deputy. A spirited gal like you is hard to find in this ole world.”

“Lot’s of us here, in the Talbot’s Peak area,” Kirk all but snapped, and made to turn around. That is, until her olfactory senses finally got a lock on their scent. “Jackal shifters.”

“You say that like we’re all but condemned and hung by the neck,” Texas Style bantered like they flirted.

He rocked his chair back, and hitched his thumbs beneath his leather-tooled belt. The silver buckle could only have been created by a true artisan, and didn’t come close to the ostentatious rodeo belt buckles of current day. “Name’s Drew. Drew Cassidy, Miss Kirquelle.”

“Oh, I get it. Like Butch Cassidy. Well, Drew, by any other name that’s likely made up, I bet by your pedigree you got one of them fancy Egyptian god names. Don’t you?”

“He got as close as he could, choosin’ a name,” Blue Eyes smugly answered.

“What are you?” Kirk directed her interrogating gaze at him, and folded her arms. “Something ‘Kid’ or something ‘Sundance’?”

“Dune Brisco,” he announced, amusement glittering his eyes.

Kirk watched him reach inside his gold-trimmed western jacket, and remove a mother-of-pearl case, then select a cheroot. All while the pieces of her memory finally fell together. “Brisco County Jr., The Adventures of…starring Bruce Campbell.”

“Yep, deputy, right on the mark,” Drew gravelly drawled. “Bet you hit the mark every time with that fine pistol decoratin’ your hip.”

“Yeah, right, flattery will get you nowhere fast. So,” she slanted her hip, “what are you two doin’ in town?”

“Why, we’re here to work in this fine establishment.” Dune offered the open case to his partner. “As one of the compères for the shows Wolf Dawg will be featuring soon.”

Kirk blushed wildly while, at the same time, being irritated beyond belief. Damn her fair skin, anyway. Likely she looked as red as ripe tomato. But, good lord above, having to be in close quarters with these two spelled nothing but bigtime trouble. Especially, since she’d already agreed to be one of the cancan dancers.

“Yep, deputy, we’ll be seein’ lots of each other.” Drew thumbed open a matchbox, then struck the match head on the side of the table. It flamed instantly, and he lit his and Dune’s cheroot.

Dune took a lazy puff. Gazing through the thin curl of smoke, he carnally ate her alive. “Except when we’re on a bounty huntin’ assignment. Care for one?” He presented the case to her.

“No thanks. Not my style.” Kirk altered her stance minimally. Just enough to cock her other hip, and loosen her folded arms. She one-eyed them both. “Then, you’re bounty hunters? Know Wolf Dawg long?”

“Met several years back.” Drew smoked like some of the old west gunslingers she’d observed on time travel vacations. She watched, fascinated despite herself.

“Chasing the same hombre. Ended up taking the three of us to hogtie that ornery vamp. He’d been drinking the blood of drug addicts.” Dune lowered his cheroot, and gave her an audacious wink. “Can’t wait to see you all prettied up in that cancan costume.”

“Can’t wait,” Drew echoed.

Well, hell on a sharp stick, now her cheeks blazed. Kirk shook her head, temporarily nonplused. At least, her Stetson didn’t sit cockeyed, and she still had kickassitude going for her. She jutted her chin defiantly, and stared without blinking.

Drew deftly flicked the ashes of his cheroot into the brass urn. “Kirquelle, now that’s an unusual name. Rolls off the tongue nice enough.”

Kirk rolled her eyes, and huffed. How many times had she explained her name? One million plus, that’s how many. At effing least.

“I blame it all on dear ole dad. He was a Star Trek fanatic, and thought Gene Roddenberry was a topnotch fabulist. So, yeah, when I was born he named me after Captain Kirk. I figure I was lucky I didn’t get stuck with the feminine form of Tiberius — given dad’s weird sense of humor.”

“Jim Kirk, Captain of the Starship Enterprise,” Dune mused, tapping his ashes into the small urn. “James Tiberius Kirk. Yep, purty deputy, you were lucky.”

“We’re the lucky ones,” Drew rasped, his voice rough from his continued perusal of her, not from smoking. “Lucky to find a feisty little female like you.”

“If you’re not careful, I’ll put a bullet through that cheroot of yours. And, you too.” Kirk palmed her trusty pistol, glaring at them both.

“I’ll bet she can do it, Drew. I wouldn’t keep givin’ her a reason.” Dune gave her a slow and wicked smile, then took another leisurely draw on his cheroot.

“Since you two are legitimate, I’ll mosey on back to the bar, and keep an eye out for ‘other’ troublemakers.” Kirk pointedly gazed at them in turn, then began to spin on her boot heels to leave.

“Velleity is our middle name. For now,” Drew growled, so low and soft only she could hear him.

“But, not for long, descendent of the Celtic goddess shapeshifter, Skatha.” Dune drawled his words as if they spoke casually. But, again, only for her ears.

Kirk whirled. She witnessed the secret she’d guarded so fiercely glitter in their eyes.

Not speaking, she pivoted, striding away. Damn! Now what?

Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side…


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

This blog was originally posted at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS by the author.

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