ShapeShifter Kisses

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 ~ 


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