Friday, April 18, 2014

Eye Candy Friday!

Alas, Mz. Muse and I have not been able to hook up this week due to life exploding all over us.  I'm drowning in school work, Mz. Muse is drowning in, well to be honest she's the lucky one this week as she's drowning in pleasure.  No unattached Peaker living in my brain is safe from her lascivious intentions.  She said something about stocking up so that we can write our collective asses off this summer.  I think she just likes sex and really, who can blame her.  :)

So in honor of Mz. Muse Liven' La Vida Lustful I figured this would be a good week for sexy pics.  I mean, who doesn't need a good pick me up once in a while?  This author got hers last weekend when she took Darling Diva to the movies to see Divergent.  Hours in the dark spent looking at this guy...

Muse and I left the theater with a smile on our face and a new eye candy to ogle!  So I thought I'd share a little Theo James with ya'll.  Enjoy!

Have a great week-end!


Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Random Flash Out Of My Junk Folder

The Leprachaun story seems to have stalled out in my brain and I am suffering a book hang-over after reading Jennifer Harlow's latest offering, "Werewolf Sings The Blues." And if you have not read it, OMG! I lover her books, but this one's like a speeding freight train. It just sort of slammed into me in chapter 17 and didn't let go until the very last page!

So anyway. Book hangover, no more progress on the serial flash. So I dug into my files of half baked stories and pulled out something to share. Please pardon any typos; I know there's probably more than a few. I hope you like it.

~ Rebecca

Locker Room Hunting

The slow tick-tick-tick of water dripping onto soggy wood was the only company I had as I hid behind a ratty cotton shower curtain. The locker room wasn't filthy, just run down. The faucets all leaked, the cedar floor mats were all warped, and the tile that wasn't covered in wooden mats was cracked. Which probably explained the presence of the mats, I supposed. There was no mold or mildew, which I would have expected considering the constant moisture from drips and the air or general neglect about the place.

A snuffling sound joins the plop of water on wood. The werewolf has found her way out of her impromptu cage. She'd done it quietly, too. If not for the sound of her snuffling on the floor trying to catch my scent, I would have had no warning at all that she was coming. The tattered shower curtain bursts open and there she stands, growling fiercely in all her puppy glory.

"Oh, no!" I exclaim with fake panic. "She found me! Ah, ah! She's getting me!" I continue as my young daughter clambers into my lap and proceeds to give my face a thorough tongue bath. "Ack! I'm covered in Ro-Ro slobber!"

I giggle at the happy puppy noises she making and proceed to tickle her back. I had blown my mind when I discovered that Ramona, my two-year-old werewolf daughter, was ticklish in the ribs in both forms. How could I have known? It's not like I was a shape shifter.

My first clue that humans were not alone on this planet was when I gave birth to a wolf pup, the parting gift of my asshole ex. I had told him I was pregnant. He accused me of being a whore and trying to pin some other guy's brat on him because he couldn't knock me up. I found out later that it was incredibly rare for a human woman to be able to carry a werewolf pup past the first month. Something about our bodies recognizing the foreign DNA and rejecting it.

"I didn't hear you tip over the laundry basket this time," I say to her as I fondle her ears. She barks once and wiggles out of my lap backwards, her puppy tail wagging madly.

"Again?" I laugh. "We've been playing 'find momma' for nearly an hour, Ro-Ro!" She yips and spins in place. "Ok," I concede. "One more time, and then we get down to work." I pick her up and deposit her squirmy butt back in the empty laundry basket. She's getting bigger, about the size of a two-month-old malamute puppy now, so the basket's almost too small to present a challenge for her. I'd have to come up with something else for next month's full moon.

A burst of static from the intercom interrupted my thoughts. "Paging Rhonda De La Cruz. Ms Rhonda De La Cruz, please pick up a white courtesy phone." Another crackle of static signaled the end of the message.

"Well, shi-- er, shoot," I say, looking at Ro-Ro out of the corner of my eye. I didn't know how much she understood in werewolf form. She barely spoke in human form, mostly one syllable words. Especially swear words. I'd gotten pretty good at watching my potty mouth in front of toddler Ro-Ro, but sometimes I still catch myself slipping up in front of wolf pup Ro-Ro.

"C'm on, munchkin," I saw as I hoist her back up. "Mommy needs to find a white courtesy phone."

Luckily, I find one just inside the locker room I'd chosen to be our impromptu full moon puppy training gym. I wasn't ashamed of my daughter but I didn't want to parade her around in this form, either. According to my mentor and boss, Malcom, she was the only known full-blooded femwolf alive. And she was born, not turned. This made her incredibly vulnerable and made my job as her primary source of protection dicey. I preferred to leave her enmities unaware of her existence.

I take my call, retrieve my message--nothing important--and then smuggle my squirming daughter back to our room. Call me paranoid, but it seemed to me that the easiest way to locate me would be to page me. There was no good reason for anyone at this convention to know where I was at eleven 'o clock at night. It might be nothing or it might be something. Either way, I'd rather be back in my room with my stash of defensive equipment. Ro-Ro would just have to do her scent training there, where I could ward her.

I'm not a witch but I had spent the two years since her birth learning everything I could about things that went bump in the night. For instance, I'd learned that there was a good deal of defensive magic that could be done by non-magic users. Some runes that drew power from collective belief, some herbs that worked on a physiological level to discourage would-be attackers.

Powdered wolf's bane worked on werewolves the same way mace worked on humans. Peridot irritates tolls enough to make them steer clear of it. Undead and soulless things couldn't cross thresholds warded by salt. Tourmaline warded against psychic attack. There was a Norse peace prayer that, when chalked on a wall, cause those with ill intent to ignore you.

I had some of those tools with me at all times, along with my Smith & Wesson .40 caliber handgun. I couldn't very well set up a salt line in a public locker room, though, and never mind trying to chalk Norse prayers on damp walls. So, back to our tiny room with its double twin beds, microscopic 3/4 bath and arthritic a/c unit.

But first, a little parting gift. Just in case I was right. The spell was mostly harmless and would resolve at sunrise. It was enough to let me know if someone tracked my call to that particular courtesy phone. I may be paranoid, but that didn't mean someone wasn't out to get me.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Blood Moon Rout

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 ~

Monday, April 14, 2014

Smash and Grab

Maureen backed up against the van. Her eyes darted past Atcheson’s sneering face toward the bar and the parking lot and any chance of help. Her hopes soared at sight of the cop car, only to plummet when Barry and Lowenstein climbed out of it. A delivery truck rumbled into the parking lot. Odds of the driver coming to her aid wavered at 50-50. One other car sat at the far end of the lot, but its driver appeared slumped behind the wheel. Some late-night partier, sleeping off his binge. He’d be useless even if he did come to in time.

She caught sight of one of the bar staff at the window, motioning to the manager. Atcheson waved to Barry and Lowenstein. “You boys go have fun,” he said. “I want a private word with Maureen.”

Barry and Lowenstein charged at the bar door just as the staff charged out. Surprise and momentum carried the hunters inside, driving the wolves before them, and dashing Maureen’s last slim hope of rescue.

Maureen tried to duck around Atcheson, but he slammed her up against the side of the van. “Now, where were we?” he said. “More importantly, where were you? And what the hell have you got on?” He fingered a fold of her harem outfit, then dropped it with a snarl of disgust.

“They kidnapped me,” she said desperately. “There are too many of them. We need to get out of here.”

 “We’ll leave, all right. Once every single wolf in there is dead. Then we go looking for Cochrane. Has he been here?”

“I—I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since the motel. I thought he—”

Atcheson struck her across the face. “Worthless bitch. I told him we shouldn’t let a woman on the team.”

Maureen slumped to the ground, barely conscious. Ewan, she thought bleakly. He was still asleep in the harem room. He’d think she’d run out on him again. He’d never know what happened to her. Assuming he even survived.

Atcheson lifted her and propped her upright against the van with his hand around her neck. “Now what am I going to do with you?”

A blackjack cracked against the side of his head. Atcheson dropped like a stone. So did Maureen. They landed in a heap at the feet of the driver of the delivery van.

“Funny,” the driver said. “I was just asking myself the same thing.”

He reached for Atcheson. And jumped when a hand came down on his shoulder. “Your pardon, sir … ”

# # #

From his vantage at the far end of the parking lot Ranjeet observed Maureen come out of the shifter bar. She paid no attention to the police car when it rolled into the lot, but he did. His keen eyes spotted Atcheson behind the wheel. Ranjeet slumped as if asleep, and watched the mini-drama play out while considering options. Interfere? Rejoin the team? Which would serve him best?

Then the delivery van appeared and the driver got out. Ranjeet sat up. He’d been well briefed in Damien Hancock’s known henchwolves. This one and his pack were suspected of snatching humans for Hancock’s mad doctor’s experiments. Other wolves got out of the truck and gathered near the cab while their leader took care of the hunters.

Ranjeet was not a fighter. He was not equipped to take even one wolf back to Zhere Ghan for questioning. However, this turn of events provided the perfect opportunity for him to engage in his forte: infiltration.

He got out his cell phone and punched in a secret number. Code words were exchanged. Ranjeet activated the phone’s GPS. Then he got out of the car and approached the Hancock wolf.

“Your pardon, sir,” he said once he had the wolf’s attention. “These are my friends. I cannot let you take them.” He braced himself for the expected reaction.

The wolf looked him up and down. “You gotta be kidding me,” he said, and whacked Ranjeet with the blackjack. Ready for the blow, Ranjeet rolled with it. He went down, dazed but still conscious. The phone and its signal were not damaged.

“Load ‘em up,” the wolf ordered his pack. He shot a glance toward the bar, where the sounds of battle raged. “Before Dante’s team rips those yahoos up and comes after us. Dr. Frankenstein’ll just have to be happy with three.”

Strong hands lifted Ranjeet. Through slitted eyes he watched Atcheson and Maureen similarly wolf-handled into the back of the delivery truck. “Hey,” one of the wolves said. “This one’s a she.”

“Hey. This one’s a genius. Haul tail, Einstein. You want those bouncers on us?”

Ranjeet was thrown into the back of the truck. The engine roared to life. A quick Uee in the lot rolled him into Maureen. He wriggled himself off her and saw she was awake, if not fully aware. Her glasses had been knocked askew. He adjusted them for her, and patted her hand.

He also patted his pocket. The phone continued to send out its signal to the pursuing Tiger Yakuza.

Maureen’s mouth moved. “Pete?” she managed.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “All is going according to plan.”

Saturday, April 12, 2014


Kent leaned into the darkness surrounding Satin. He dipped his head lower, sniffing as he did.  Her fiery spicy scent swarmed over him.   He swallowed trying to look past the pulse just below her ear.  He felt and saw her reaction to him.  Every rhythmic beat and slosh of her heart and blood told him how she felt.  Even her gossamer wings twinkled as he whispered what he wanted to do.

Satin tossed her head back, moving her hair from her shoulders down to tangle even more with his fingers already entwined deep with the locks he clutched as her cloaked slipped off her revealing her secret.  His breath scalded her raising a blushing trail up to the lobe he’d spent the last five minutes worrying.  His mark seared her tender flesh leaving nothing untouched.  No matter the outcome of the night, he had touched her deeper than any other male, mortal or fey, ever had.

“Timidness doesn’t become you,” Kent murmured, raking his teeth along her jugular.  He nipped, and licked up and down the pulsating vein until Satin moaned deep in her throat.  “Yes, you need my touch. You wish to quench my thirst and hunger, don’t my intended?”

Satin opened her eyes, sitting up straight.  Her hands shot straight out, pushing hard against Kent.  “Who are you to demand what I give to you?”

Kent smiled, slowly wrapping more of her hair around his hand.  He tugged gently.  Then harder.  Until she shivered, ducking her head, fighting against the need whelming up inside her.  A want and lust stronger than she imagined it would be with her fated mate.  His scent burned through her after one kiss, and then another until rational thought paled in comparison to what her psyche tossed pictorially at her.

“I don’t demand.  I know your scent and touch.  We are fated.  Chosen by the powers-that-be to quote my grandfather.  I’ve dreamt of you.” Kent slid his hand off her shoulder, down across her arm until his fingers lightly touched the underside of her breast.  

Satin inhaled deeper.  Kent’s musk flowed over her, claiming what he already marked and more.  Easing her hands off his chest, she rocked back until his gaze met hers.  His eyes glowed gold, then red, and back to a mix between the two.  His smile left no guessing part of his nature.  Vampire; seeking the centuries old mating ritual of bloodletting, a sexual act in itself.  

Within the open air she’d discovered his other half.  Sprite wings unfurled as the first beams of the moon crossed over them as they drove along the abandoned highway close to the mountains. Soft like hers. Yet, firmer and fuller in many places.   As they brushed along her hands, the night dew mixed with his magic pouring over her hands and part way up her arms.  He found her wings as he worked her cloak free allowing greater access to her neck and shoulders.  Her own magic had flowed over him marking and mixing with his.  Moments passed seeming like hours until both were heady with need and desire.

Here they lay now nestled together on her bed as a summer storm raged outside.  Could she surrender and sate her need along with his?  Did he understand a mating like theirs needed equality and passion to solidify their bond?  Or was lust theirs for the night?


Happy Weekend Gang!

Warm weather seems to be upon us finally.  Spring has sprung!  Yeah!
Time to clean up the winter gear and put it away for a while.  

Be sure to check out Book 1 and 2 of my Cascade Bay series for a couple of hot spring time reads.  I'm working on some new story ideas with more menage tales in mind.  

Remember to share a good book or two with your loves and spices!  I know I will!

Until next week,


Friday, April 11, 2014

Flash Sale!

So, Mz. Muse decided to roll with me today and incorporate what I'm learning in class with this flash.  Yes, I think she's getting desperate for my attention, but I have to say the flash worked for me and for Musy so right on!

Also, get a load of the sexy dude to my right...your left, er right or well someones right and left...anyway, sexy guy is hard to miss over there.  I figure this must be how Nick looks every time he deals with Penny and Ziva together.  Yeah, if I was Ziva, I'm make sure to tag team Nick on a regular basis with the help of one naughty Domme...but, that's another story.



“Okay, who’s the wise ass?”  Nick squeezed the metal handrail circling the newsroom with one hand and looked down at his staff.  In the other he held up a dozen wooden rulers.  “I have several hundred rulers falling out of boxes in my office.  Who did it?”

Several snickers could be heard below and even a couple behind him.  Ziva and Penny, of course.  He turned to look at the duo with their heads together, whispering about nothing good for him he was sure. “Was this either of your ideas?” he asked, waving the buttery soft wood in their direction. 

Sure he had to act all boss-like and filled with his Nick angst, the group would expect nothing less, but he’d already secured several of these beauties in his desk drawer and the backpack he carried to and from work.  He was no fool.

“Nope, sorry boss, not me.” Penny assured him with a grin.

“Not me either, lover,” Ziva promised, sidling closer to him only to whisper, “though I wish I had.”

Nick gave them each a raised eyebrow telling them he did believe either of them, then turned back to the rest of the room.  “Just remember I excel at sniffing out liars and if any of you were dumb enough to have used the company card, I’ll be the first to know.”

He turned back to the two he figured were the guiltiest in the room and asked the burning question.
“What am I supposed to do with three gross of wooden rulers?”

“Oooh, I know.”  Ziva grabbed her phone from the maternity smock she’d started wearing which hugged her softly swelling tummy and said pretty pup across the top.  He didn’t care for the words spanning above where his son lay though, but Ziva insisted they were having a girl so it fit.  He didn’t care for that thought either.  Females meant males sniffing after them and his daughter would be a perfect princess, not to be trifled with or, or sniffed around.

“What?” he growled, unsure if his sudden frustration was because they were going to say something he didn’t want to hear or because he was terrified of the baby being a beautiful little female like his Ziva.

“Flash sale!” Ziva typed quickly on her smartphone, tongue out and to the side of her lips.

“Now you’re talking, Z.” Penny chimed in, worrying him even more.

“Flash what?” he asked.

“Sale.  Flash sale.” Penny responded, “You know, a text message goes out to everyone on the Gazette loop that we have something for sale for the next X number of minutes and anyone who wants one buys them before time is up.”

“Say what?  Who’s going to want wooden rulers?” The gleam in Penny’s eye made him quickly add to his question, “besides me…who’s going to want a ruler?”

“He has a point, Z.”

“I know.” Ziva smiled in that sneaky way of hers. “Fifty sold already.  Penny, grab a Sharpie.  Lover, get your signing hand ready and let’s check out those sticks.”

“Nice…” Penny crooned.

“One hundred sold,” Ziva preened, as she pulled him towards his office and watched her phone.

“Shite.”  It was going to be a long afternoon.
Here's to hoping a flash sale of you liking finds you this fine weekend and if anyone spots a flash sale of riding crops or floggers, give me a shout out!  Mz. Muse is looking for some new tools...