ShapeShifter Kisses

January 30, 2014

Yeah, Dugger thought, dog-monkey mutant.


Thursday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

A bit of promo first. On the 2nd, I’ll be participating in the February FIRST KISS flash scenes featured at KMN BOOKS ~ or Karen Nutt’s blog It’s a month long ‘kissing’ event!  

Okay… looks like Dugger’s story continues from last week. He’s on a mission for Dante, and watching out for Ewan. ‘Cause, after all, a threat is a threat, no matter the low-level players. Fate can always throw in the ‘monkey or ape’ wrench.

This week, Dugger has some fun and dingo games with the amateur monster hunters.


Yeah, Dugger thought, dog-monkey mutant.

The motley crew belonging to the ‘let’s exterminate all werewolves’ club — a couple with cigs still in their hands — charged toward Dugger from across the parking lot. Crickey!

Contacting Hoover would have to be put on the backburner. Behind him Mr. Blonde Sluggo made grunting moans of pain. “Kill him!” he squealed in an unmanly shout. “Or get the fucker dog-monkey mutant for Mr. C.”

‘Yeah,’ Dugger thought, ‘dog-monkey mutant. Have to remember that one for me bar mates.’ Spinning around on top of the auto’s slick roof, he balanced, then sprang.

Dugger sent the full force of his dingo body between the bloke’s Hulk like shoulder blades. A bloody bull’s eye.

“Argh-shit!” Slugger choked out as he toppled forward and crashed face first onto the cold hard asphalt. Dugger rode him all the way down.

‘Yippie-kai-yay,’ as they say in these parts. Dugger grinned from dingo ear to dingo ear.

Suddenly sensing the presence of Moon-Moon’s camera surveillance — set up to catch St. Nick at work — Dugger figured he’d give a right good show for the local Taltube afficionados. Yeah, the ‘hunt a werewolf’ posse wasn’t slashing at him quite yet.

Given their running footsteps, the yells of concern, the drongos were dodging between autos, and still a few minutes away. Righto, piss for hire! Those ales he’d shared with Dante were about to be served up again.

Half-unconscious, Sluggo-brain writhed like a hooked fish out of water. Dugger hopped off his back. Raising his back leg high, he let the yellow river flow. Flow fast, given his nose told him the ‘pizza out the pores’ pack was about to make a right serious grab for his tail.

‘Marinatin’ you in the finest ale at the Pleasure Club.’ Dugger smirked, then dashed for the nearest set of legs.

‘Dingo sport for piss and grins. Keep the cameras rolling, mate.’ As if he hunted a hare, Dugger snatched hold of the raggedy bottom of the ape’s jeans. Barely breaking stride, he jerked, then let momentum take its course. Crash-boom-bang, the bugger slammed against the side of the van.

Sighting the flash of a silver blade, and another pair of jogging legs, Dugger shot beneath a monster, chromed-out pickup. Scooting fast, he clamped his jaws on the grimy, fake rubber of the ape’s tennie, and gave a sharp tug.

A scream followed before the thwack-thump-bang of a human body against unforgiving metal. “Fuck! Over here,” his hapless victim shouted.

“What the hell are you kids doing?” a guttural, parental voice demanded. A wolf shifter voice. Deciding it was Hoover, the super-nose bloke, Dugger froze, listening.

“Someone better start explaining or I’m calling the police,” Hoover boomed. “I guarantee you Officer Friendly won’t be too friendly.”

“There’s a rabid dog attacking us,” one of the blighters called out.

“Yeah, yeah rabid… he’s foaming at the mouth, and all. We were trying to save…”

“Stuff it,” Hoover growled. “Where is this rabid dog?”

Moments ticked by as if an Agatha Christie murder scene unfolded. “I got the cell phone,” Hoover threatened, “and I’m about to punch in 9-1-1.”

“Over here,” the hapless victim meekly spoke up. “Think he’s hiding under the truck.”

Figuring his fun and dingo games were over, Dugger peeked out to make certain a knife blade wasn’t waiting for his tan, furry hide. Seeing a clear field and not scenting any immediate danger, he popped out from beneath the pickup.

Dugger gave himself a proper shake, then trotted toward Hoover. He added an ‘I got you blokes’ spring to his step.

“Watch out!” one of the wet-behind-the-ears werewolf hunters shouted. “Looks like he’s gonna attack you.”

Tame as a right castrated poodle, Dugger approached and sat. He gave Hoover a big cheeky grin.

After a wink, Hoover scowled formidably at the ‘we’re gonna save the world from monsters’ gang.  “I sure don’t see any foam. He ain’t attacking me.” Hoover paused for dramatic affect, one brow reaching for the night sky. Beneath the harsh neon lights, his large mug looked like a cranky Tazzie Devil in human form.

“What did you slime buckets do to this dog? Tell you what. You got five minutes to clean up your act, and get out of my sight. Any more problems, and I’ll have the cherry tops rolling in here.”

“Why don’t you try patting his head, see if your hand is still attached,” the slurred voice of Hulk-Sluggo interrupted.

“Need an ambulance, man?” one of the gang asked.

“Save you the trouble. I’ll call an ambulance if it’ll get you troublemakers outta here,” Hoover snarled. “Come here, doggie,” he gently called, then bent toward Dugger.

Sweet as American apple pie, and all that, Dugger padded close to Hoover. When the big wolf patted his head, Dugger smiled like he’d found his last best buddy.

“You’ll be sorry,” Mary Jane-smoker began.

“Good onya,” Hoover whispered before straightening. “No, it’s you who’s gonna be sorrier than a skunk-sprayed idjit. When the local humane society gets a hold of this story… and they will. We got cameras for the protection of our patrons…got the message?”

“We got the message. Let’s get outta here,” Hulk-Sluggo rallied his troops.

“Trouble in River City?” Hoover asked, once their steps faded away.



Have a Magickal Shapeshifting New Year…  


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Originally published at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS.

January 23, 2014

Yeah, righto, did he shift to human? by Savanna Kougar


Thursday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

Gosh, my current schedule doesn’t work well for posting. But here it is, finally written. Dugger is on mission for Dante, and watching out for Ewan. ‘Cause, after all, a threat is a threat, no matter the low-level players. Fate can always throw in the ‘monkey or ape’ wrench.


Yeah, righto, did he shift to human?

The rank smell of stale, over-fried food assaulted Dugger’s nostrils. Bugger! Humans doin’ the horizontal dance filled his nose, too. Yeah, just as he’d figured by the short ride, they now rolled through the parking lot at the Rocky Top Motel.

Dugger mind-sent the info to his sheila, Symone. ‘Hoover,’ she telepathed the reminder, ‘Dante’s watcher at the motel.’

‘Yeah, got it, luv. Time for action jackson. We’re stoppin’ and the scumbags are about to get restless on Ewan’s ass.’

His sheila, being the trained warrioress she was, didn’t answer. She simply kept the dial tuned to their connection.

Dugger did his own tuning in, his ears high on his dingo head. Sensing Ewan’s decision to go coyote on the motley crew, and his dick-on-a-stick attraction to brainy gal, Dugger merely watched and listened as the wannabe monster hunters hustled their captured ‘werewolf’ out of the van.

With the slam of the van’s back door, Dugger focused his senses on the direction of their footsteps. Yeah, righto, did he shift to human? By the odor, there were clothes in the duffel bags he could hijack.

Or was it bloody smarter to stay dingo, and hunt down the big-muck blighter who was running this piss-for-grins show. Scat logic, and body language, told Dugger these drongo males were followers, not leaders.

Yeah, he’d seen this sort of catch-the-werewolf scene too many times before. Bugger, though, that didn’t eliminate the potential threat to Talbot’s Peak.

Instinct slid like a right knife through Dugger’s belly. ‘Wait. Stay a turtle,’ he told himself.  Someone eyed the van. Yeah, a safari hunter type, a trophy killer by nature. The vibes sizzled Dugger to his toe pads.

No use exposin’ himself to the enemy. Dugger counted down the minutes automatically until he heard, “Mr. C., the target is secured. Givin’ us trouble, though. He’s got a big ‘f’ mouth. Needs shutting, until he’s willing to talk to us.”

An auto door opened, then slammed shut. A heavier tread made tracks in the same direction Ewan had been un-properly escorted. So, the bad boss man was this Mr. C.

Dugger trained his ears and his nose, inhaling the trophy killer’s rancid garlic stench. What? Did the buzzard-brain really believe in that made-for-human’s myth about vamps?

Grinning wide, Dugger dropped his blade, then snapped it back up between his teeth. Time to blow this van of clueless apes. Apes, monkeys, yeah, the common lingo in Dante’s biker bar. ‘Course, DNA-wise, that had proven to be mostly false propaganda by the global Big Bads – given the real genetic profiles were wider apart than the Nile river. Behavior-wise, now that was another ball of snakes.

Dugger squirmed his way out the duffel bag pile. Figurin’ dingo was safer, even with  a blade in his jaws, he hopped into the driver’s seat. A deft pull of his untrimmed nails unlocked the door. Using his paw like an abbreviated hand, Dugger cracked it open, then slipped outside.

With his hind leg, Dugger kicked the door shut, then crawled beneath the van. He scanned for several moments before darting across the parking lot toward a sparse evergreen bush beneath the window where Ewan was likely being grilled. Yeah, maybe like a shrimp on the barbie.

Dugger grinned at himself.

‘Now for a mental photo of –’ Headlights, the shouts of teenagers over-medicated on beer interrupted Dugger as he raised upward to peer between the crack in the heavy curtains. He slouched behind the cube-shaped evergreen right quick as a bushbaby.

Dugger heard the curtains pulled together sharply. Crickey! There went his shot at an easy look at this cast of un-super villains.

By the walkabout gods, though, he had their individual scents. And from what Dugger was scenting now, Ewan didn’t need his helping paw. Not yet.

Yeah, speaking of the un-super, one of the motley crew was creeping up on him. Dugger figured the great monster hunter had seen neon lights flash off his large blade.

With a grin, Dugger burst out of hiding. He charged straight toward the hulking linebacker type. Before the bloke could help it, he briefly shrieked like a little girl.

“Hey!” the shout followed. “The monster’s got an effing buddy.” To his credit, the un-green hulk whipped out a silver blade, and stood his ground.

Dugger liked that bloody better. He increased his speed with each stride.

Leaping as the blade slashed at him, Dugger clawed his way up the blighter’s tree-trunk leg, then up his broad chest fast as a mad cat. Holy dooley!. Oh yeah, his light body weight, and his quick reflexes always served him right.

Before the silver blade could catch his hide, ripping away chunks of fur — and the hulk was certainly trying to slash him a good one — Dugger climbed up his beefy face. He sank his claws in deep.

Once on top of Sluggo’s head, Dugger sprang landing on the roof of a nearby car. From there his escape was a piece of cake, as his sheila was fond of saying — yeah, when she aimed her rifle, and took out a practice target no one else could touch.

The question of the day: should he make contact with Hoover? Let the wolf know what was happening under his superior sniffer…



Have a Magickal Shapeshifting New Year…  


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Originally posted at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS ~ Turning Into Your Wildest Desire

January 16, 2014

“Should I accept this mission,” Dugger lampooned… by Savanna Kougar


Full Wolf Moon howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

Dugger, my dingo shapeshifter, makes another appearance in this flash scene. After all, Dante, the alpha werewolf, would never have lax security at his biker bar.

“Should I accept this mission,” Dugger lampooned...

With a flick of his wrist, Dante sent the tankard of dark ale sliding toward Dugger. “Thanks, mate.” Dugger flashed a ready grin while neatly retrieving the tall mug, then lifting it to his lips for a long taste.

“You ain’t gonna tell this Ewan Carter, are ya?” Dugger leaned an elbow on the bar’s shiny surface — almost like a bloody mirror. “Just let him dangle like bait, is that the plan?”

A grin glinted in Dante’s gaze before it hit his mouth. The alpha werewolf made himself more comfortable against the pub’s dark-wood bar. “By my reckoning, Ewan’s better off not knowing. Besides, I’m counting on his coyote wiles to keep him out of any real trouble.”

“Should I accept this mission,” Dugger lampooned the infamous “Mission Impossible” saying. He took another swig of the rippin’ good ale, before continuing. “You want me to gather the intel, then report back.”

Dante gave a short nod after tossing back a swallow of his ale. “If there’s any real danger, give Ewan a helping paw.”

“Yeah, mate, I could use the exercise. Gotta keep in top bloomin’ shape — the dingo and the man — for the rigors ahead. Enemies to the right of us… enemies to the left of us.”

“Enemies above us. And below us,” Dante growly continued.  Raising a hand, he stopped the approach of a server. “Looks like these none-too-smart interlopers are an annoyance, like fleas bitin’ in midsummer.”

“Bugger fleas. Always keep the pennyroyal in my pocket.” Dugger enjoyed making Dante crack a smile. “Want the herbal recipe, mate?” 

“I hear Gypsy has her own recipes for the flea bitten among us.” Dante’s gaze turned dangerously serious. He set his tankard on the bar with a back-to-business clank.

Dugger followed suit. “Yeah. Gotta keep our territory tidied up. Never know when it could get downright messy.” 

“The bigger shark eats the smaller shark, and we got more trouble than I want,” Dante growled. “From last report, the van should be arriving tonight at my biker bar. Everyone working is onboard with keeping the patrons inside… except Ewan.”

“Righto. I’ll be lurking in the shadows, watchin’, waitin’. Hitch myself a little joy ride.”

“You got mental contact with your mate, Symone?” Dante stated what they both knew.

“Yeah, I’ll send her the images, the intel. Had to talk her out of followin’ with that special rifle of hers. Long as she has instant access to you, mate, we’re right as rain.”

“We’re right as rain, pardner.” Dante reached out gripping Dugger’s shoulder for moments. “Like we discussed, I’ll be hanging with the posse, in case you and Ewan need a rescue team.”

“Appreciate the backup, mate.”


As dingo, Dugger peeked around the corner of the biker bar, sniffing the wind. The low-level ratbags he’d been waiting for saturated the air with cheap booze and cheaper pizza. His nose wrinkled of its own accord. Yeah, crikey, the wind-driven odors were stronger than werewolf piss, and their van’s exhaust.

On alert, Dugger crouched into a ready-to-spring position. He was counting on the young whackers being amateur kidnappers with all the speed and senses of a beer-drunk slug. That was the intel Dante had telepathed to him minutes earlier.

Yeah, there. Lights off, the van crept toward the bar’s entrance, but halted like a giant cockroach afraid of the minimal light splashing over the long lineup of Harleys. Hearing Ewan step outside, Dugger snatched his Crocodile Dundee blade between his teeth.

Staying low, he stealthily moved around the corner. With his gaze trained on the action, Dugger watched the scumbags throw the canvas bag over Ewan’s head. At that instant, he raced for the back of the van.

Missing a tangle of legs as the crew wrestled Ewan toward the van, Dugger leapt inside. Righto, barely above age ankle biters! The collection of duffel bags shoved against one side offered the perfect cover.

Dugger sprang over them, quickly burying himself behind the highest part of the pile. While Ewan did his token resistance thing, Dugger twisted into the best position to watch his hapless prey. Staring through the small space between the duffel bags, he scoped out the layout, then focused on his own facial, scent, and voice recognition via good ole brain power.

Yeah, likely college kids on a “Supernatural” slayer-type mission. But who was the bloody blighter conning them?

Dugger listened to Ewan charm up the sheila, one ear pricked for clues that could tell him the identity of the bad bloke or blokes behind scenes. Could be a scumbaggery mad-scientist type involved, no tellin’. Those lunatic buggers were always breaking-bad news. He’d hike leg on them and give a good long piss any day.

Werewolf? So, the minions didn’t own a fancy clue who or what they’d bagged. Dugger tightened his jaws on the blade handle. No use lettin’ anyone get the proper drop on him.



Have a Magickal Shapeshifting New Year…  


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

January 8, 2014

“I got a rope and a tender touch,” he drawled. by Savanna Kougar


Howl and Yowl and Happy New Year, shapeshifter lovers.

A BIG THANK YOU TO EVERYONE who participated in the *Baby, It’s Cold Outside* BLOG HOP!!!

Here’s the sixth installment starring Drey, the wolf rancher, and Korinne, who has escaped to the Montana wilds after her ex-husband stole her most of her wealth.

“I got a rope and a tender touch,” he drawled.

Drey cradled his mug of tasty hot chocolate in one hand, while scrutinizing Korinne’s expression. She’d been startled some, her gaze flickering. At least, she hadn’t said a downright ‘no’ to his suggestion about a New Year’s celebration at the Midnight Stardust Supperclub.

Watching her take another long sip from her mug, then rest her head on the back of the rocker, Drey imagined Korinne on his arm at the fancy doing’s. The more he envisioned being with her, the more he surely liked the idea. The Great Above be praised, there was a certain wonderful pleasure in watching a woman strut her beauty.

“I don’t know,” she softly spoke, returning her gaze to him.

Sadness, regret, fury flitted like early evening shadows in her forest green eyes.

“Even if I accepted your invitation, dressing up would be impossible here at the cabin,” she continued. “I’m afraid I’m a spoiled little rich girl when it comes to an elegant event. I want to look my best.”

Korinne mocked herself with a small wan smile. She lifted her hot chocolate to her lips, removing her gaze from him.

Faced with a hide and head-scratching dilemma, Drey hesitated. It would seem too forward of him to suggest she dress at his ranch, where he’d be more than stud-hot glad to accommodate her. Then, the recent conversation he’d had at the livestock feed store with Zance, a timber wolf shifter — mated to the mostly human woman, Sherilyn — offered him a way out of this ambush to his plans.

“I hear Dante has quite the beauty parlor, like they used to call ’em, at the Pleasure Club. Everything. From gowns to being all dolled up.” Drey felt as if pins and needles stabbed his insides as he waited on Korinne’s response.

She quirked a grin, obviously amused by his manner of speaking. “Well, there’s a solution. The works, huh?” Her tone teased a bit.

“Yep.” Drey gave a nod, wondering how he could sweeten the pot. Howls, so he could he could mate with her little honeypot.

“Tempting,” she murmured some moments later, after draining her mug.

Drey watched her expression soften, her gaze filled with a woman’s dreams. Hope grabbed him by the crotch. Korinne had gotten to him faster than a tick on a huntin’ dog.

“Okay,” she snapped to attention. “Take a look.” She gestured at her surroundings with the mug. “Fairly primitive, wouldn’t you say?”

Using a joking tone, Drey drawled, “I’ve seen more primitive. Lived in more primitive dwellings. Did some logging work once. Though,”: he hastened to add, “the ranch house is grand enough for my liking.”

“I think I’ve seen your house from afar… when I was hiking this summer, and gathering dead wood.” Korinne leaned forward setting her mug on the small table. She raised her brows in question. “Sprawling, painted white with red shutters?”

“That’s the one. Fireplace in most rooms. I got solar and wind power, all set up and workin’. Right cozy inside.” Anything to lure the lovely Korinne to his home. As soon as possible, given the unending demand of his cock.

“Point being,” she gazed around the cabin briefly, “I can’t afford to get ‘the works’ at this Dante’s Pleasure Club.”

With another trap about to figuratively snap on his tail, Drey tried to ponder on his next move. If he offered to pay, how would Korinne react? It wasn’t as though they really knew each other, and she’d be comfortable with his offering. Hell’s last bent nail, they weren’t even friends.

But dammit… “I’m asking you out for New Year’s Eve, Korinne,” Drey paused, fastening his gaze on her, and saw the wariness glinting in her eyes, “I got the funds. I’m in no hardship.”

Silence. Long, heavy… then feeling like it was gonna bust the walls down. Drey sweated it out, calling to the Sacred Moon.

“Coupon,” she finally muttered. A smile flirted with her lips. “I guess you’re not one of those men who’d actually use a coupon on a first date.” Korinne shook her lovely hair briefly. “The other night on talk radio, I heard this raging discussion about whether he’s thrifty and practical for using a two-for-one coupon… or not worth pursuing if he’s that damn cheap.”

She gave him an amused smirk. “What do you think?”

“Not a coupon man,” Drey twanged after a moment. “Never have been. Like to pay a fair price for a good meal. ‘Course, I don’t frequent regular restaurants, meanin’ the franchise operations. Also, like to know the owner or owners. A man wants to trust who’s puttin’ the food on his plate.”

Drey smiled large, his wide as the Montana sky smile. “Though, I do use Talbies, the local script.”

Korinne regarded him, and Drey could see the little wheels spinning as she thought. He observed the troubled shadows in her eyes, too.

“What if I have expensive taste?” she asked silkily, too softly. “Am I going to break your budget?” she continued when he didn’t immediately answer.

Drey watched her hands grip the rocker’s arms becoming like fists. “Ain’t a big spending man, Korinne. Except for quality. And you’re quality.”

Something tore inside her at that moment, tore at her heart, if he was reading her right. She couldn’t suppress her tears, tiny droplets that sprang from her eyes.

Quickly enough, Korinne suppressed them, and rose from the rocker. Drey heard her dainty sniffles as she turned away. The seconds ticked by, ripping at his heart. There was no way she’d let him hold onto her, comfort her. Not yet.

“Quality,” he heard her speak above a whisper. Anguish owned the word.

“You’re quality,” Drey repeated. “Not many women could make it, living here in a cabin — in the wilds. You got grit. And I respect that.”

A sob escaped her before she could stop it. A sob that sucker punched Drey in the stomach.

“Not grit.” Korinne heaved a breath. “More like desperation… desperation mixed with fury.” Before he knew it, she spun around on him like a wolfess who was about to chase him off for bothering her at the wrong time. “How good are you at handling a desperate, furious woman?”

Drey didn’t back down from her challenge, from the pain shaking her body. The pain obscuring her soul.

“I got a rope and a tender touch,” he drawled.



Have a Magickal Shapeshifting New Year…  


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Originally posted at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS ~ Turning Into Your Wildest Desire

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