But besides those, I've got some stuff I'm just...writing. Here's what I've got so far on those:
Book One in the Range Cat Series
What causes one man to be attracted to another?
Ronan Endigner mulled that question over in his mind as he watched the dark-haired man across the street. For a week now, he’d seen the stranger every afternoon, at the same time-- almost to the minute. A glance at his watch, and Ronan had to grin. Yep, right on time. One o’clock on the dot.
Muscular to the point of looking like a gym rat, the man walked with a confident stride that Ronan envied. Despite Ronan’s best efforts, he’d never been able to put on any weight, muscle or otherwise. He was slender at best, though he’d been taunted more than once about being ‘scrawny’, which was one of his least favorite words in existence.
But he wasn’t willing to dwell on himself. Instead, he studied the stranger, aware that something very much like a physical hunger pain struck him in his gut. Except he wasn’t the least bit hungry, having just finished up a large lunch minutes earlier.
It was lust, hot and pinching, prickling under his skin, warming him on this already toasty Texas day. Ronan wiped at the sweat on his brow, nearly unsettling his sunglasses, so distracted he was by the man. He simply couldn’t look away from him. Broad through the shoulders, narrow at the waist, with an ass that had to be firm to the touch, and long, long legs that were thick with muscles.
And big hands, with a light dusting of black hair on the backs and knuckles. Ronan had to discretely adjust his burgeoning erection before he ended up injuring himself. The idea of those hands on him, touching, caressing—Ronan’s mind shifted into a darker fantasy of him being pushed, spanked, held down and fucked.
“Oh Lord,” he mumbled as he reached for his prick and tried to make some room in his jeans for his hard-on. The plastic chair he sat in made an odd groaning sound, then Ronan yelped as he toppled sideways, at least one of the old chair’s legs snapping under his weight.
Not a lot, but it's a start. Then there's this one:
Book One: Moon’s Son
And when the Moon found him, she loved him as no other
Adam Wolfsong stepped out from the dense tree line and loped toward the cabin. His coat was matted with blood and mud, burrs and God only knew what else.
At least the blood wasn’t his. His outing could have gone much worse than it had.
The moonlight streamed down, illuminating the dew on the grass, making it glitter like diamonds on every blade. Adam would have been charmed had he not been in fear for his own life.
Humans. It’s always the damned humans! Unless it’s a rogue shifter. But more often than not, humans were the bane of his existence.
Ever since shifters had been outed to humans, it’d been open season on Adam’s kind. The dissolution of the packs had been devastating for shifters despite being a necessity to help ensure survival.
As it turned out, lone wolves didn’t fare so well. Adam ached for a pack, and had since he’d been a pup. Yes, he’d had his family, but that was it, and it wasn’t the same—and they were all gone now, killed or, in the case of some of his siblings, hopefully alive and somewhere safe. For an alpha-born like Adam, madness often set in due to the solitude and loneliness, a combination that often led to a violent death.
And Adam could feel it in him, the dark, savage, primitive thing that needed. It grew angrier with every passing full moon when he had no pack to run with or lead, no companionship, no mate. That anger scared him, for he knew it was the beginning of the end. Unless something changed, he’d lose his mind and turn full-on mad beast sooner rather than later.
It was why he went out at night, searching for a fight. Not with a human—never with one of them. He’d never give them the satisfaction of killing him outright while he was capable of rational thought, though their thirst for shifter blood was killing him slowly.
Adam wanted to howl at the moon but knew the foolishness of doing so. Holding back his wolf song was another reason why he was losing his mind. Wolf shifters were tied to the moon; she was their Goddess, their Salvation—and she’d abandoned them all. Now, to sing her a song could lead to discovery by humans. Adam ground his teeth together as he padded around to the back of the cabin, where shrubbery provided plenty of cover. The closer he got to the cabin, the lower he crawled until his belly was on the ground, until he went under the small porch.
There, in the complete darkness, he shifted, whimpering as pain streaked through his body. It wasn’t the bend and magical altering of bones and tendons, muscles and nerves that caused the pain. The injuries he’d gained while fighting a mountain lion were the reason for his discomfort now.
The damned cat had gotten away, too, which meant more people were at risk. The mountain lion had already attacked a hiker. Fortunately, the man would live, but he’d carry his scars with him unless he had the money for a really talented plastic surgeon. Even so, that might not be enough.
Adam grimaced. He’d have to keep hunting the cat even though he understood its mentality. That was part of his job he hated—wildlife ‘management’.
Still, he would do what had to be done. That’s how he lived his life, being responsible. It was the alpha in him, needing to protect even those that hated his kind, not that anyone knew what he was.
Right now, what he was was injured. Adam looked at the scratches and gouges on his body. His healing abilities wouldn’t be enough to eradicate all the wounds before morning. That meant work was going to suck the next day.
Adam sighed and pressed the hidden button for the panel. The cabin came along with his job as a park ranger. It was a perk, but one he altered so he could come and go with less fear of being found out. The panel slid back and he slipped through it, crawling on his hands and knees. Once inside, he closed the hidden door then stood up.
His clothes were right where he’d left them. Adam got dressed, ignoring his aches and injuries. As much as he’d love a shower, it’d have to wait. He had things to do. While he was going to end up insane and all beast at some point, for now, he was still man as well as wolf.
He went back outside and stood on the porch, looking out at the surrounding area. There were no predators nearby—not human nor animal. Adam had excellent senses and he knew he was alone. Even so, he searched again, listening, watching, scenting. He was always cautious until he’d checked and double-checked the area. Certain he truly was alone and unobserved, he felt a slight decrease in the tension around his shoulders that he hadn’t realized he was carrying.
The sky was so dark where the stars and the moon didn’t touch it. There in the Kentucky wilderness, Adam felt both utterly alone, and oddly enough, like he was part of something much bigger, one of many beings. Without a doubt, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
An alpha didn’t want to be alone, though, that much he was sure of. Adam stared at the moon. “Help me, Mother,” he whispered, his eyes burning either from the moon’s brilliant light, or other reasons that he wouldn’t acknowledge.
When he only felt that same, urgent need to howl and sing for his Goddess, Adam turned and went back inside.
The moon had forsaken him, and all of his kind. He wouldn’t sing her praises any sooner than he’d shift in front of a hunter.
Even if every part of him cried out as he walked away.
Trig Reyes was fucked. He panted as he ran, his lungs burning with exertion. He was bleeding from a dozen wounds, none too deep but each one stinging and threatening to distract him.
The moon wasn’t his friend tonight, not when it highlighted his white fur so much that he might as well have been a goddamned glowing beacon for his pursuers.
And he’d be damned if he’d die tonight. Trig found a hidden reservoir of strength and stretched his legs. His paws barely slapped the ground, he was moving so fast.
ATV’s weren’t going to keep up with him. Trig had always been able to run, not just fast but long distances. Which was good, considering how often he ended up getting chased. He really did need to learn to be more careful.
Bounding through the woods, he kept catching scents of other creatures. The wolf in him wanted to stop and sniff here and there even as it kept telling him to run run run! The contrary bastard always confused Trig, but that was probably just because he was a weak wolf at the best of times. His senses weren’t all that sharp, and he knew, he just knew he was an omega—and those were the wimpy wolves in a pack.
Not that there were packs anymore. Whether that was good or bad, considering what his standing in one would have been, Trig couldn’t have said.
His jumpy thoughts weren’t helping him right now. Trig tried to blank out everything but the pertinent stuff—mainly, the need to escape and survive.
Something whistled by his left ear. Whether it was a bullet or something else, he couldn’t have said. All that mattered was that it didn’t hit him, and he was escaping.
Goddamn it, he was always on the run.
Trig veered sharply to the left. He could smell water. If it was a river, and a wide, deep one, he might be able to shake his pursuers. Humans simply weren’t as good of hunters as they liked to believe they were. The fact that Trig wasn’t the best specimen of a shifter explained why he was being chased. Again.
He broke through the trees and dense shrubbery to find himself barreling toward a cliff. The scent of water was stronger, so much so that there had to be a big river below him. Even with the ruckus behind him, Trig heard the gurgling and splash ahead of him, and he knew he was either about to make his escape or hurt himself badly-- possibly even die.
As he tended to do with most things in life, Trig leapt without hesitation when he reached the edge of the cliff. For one brief, beautiful moment, he soared, his body stretched out in a mid-jump pose, his muscles taxed and gloriously saved from bearing his weight.
The wind ruffled his fur, and the scent of water flooded his nostrils just as Trig’s heart stuttered and he began to fall.
Trig closed his eyes, stupid as it seemed even to him. He didn’t want to see if he was going to end up splattered on rocks or the ground.
The river sounds grew louder as shouting came from the cliff. Trig hit the water with a belly and ball-slapping force that made him retch. His breath shot out of him as icy cold embraced him. The darkness was total; Trig couldn’t see a thing as he battled against sucking in liquid and vomit.
Trig paddled under the water as pain burned up from his groin and gut. If he ever went over a cliff into the water again, he’d make sure not to belly-flop.
The water was deep. His paws never touched the riverbed. Trig had to surface eventually, and hoped he wouldn’t be shot when he did. The strong current might have helped to carry him out of danger.
No shouts or shots followed when he came up for air. Trig tried to gage how far he’d come but he’d always sucked at such things like navigating by the night sky. There were stars, lots of them, and the moon, and he was sure someone with more sense than him could have looked up and pinpointed exactly where they were.
He was in a damned cold river, possibly in Kentucky, or not. He’d been running for a long time. If he’d been going in a giant circle, he wouldn’t have been surprised. It was a relief to find out that wasn’t the case. There’d been no river near where he’d been at when the humans had found him. How they’d known he was a shifter, that was a mystery, and a frightening one.
Despite being cold, Trig stayed in the river for as long as he could stand to. At least as a wolf, he was better able to tolerate the chilly water.
But only for so long. Trig paddled over to the riverbank and clawed his way up. He shook his entire body, then did it again because it was fun and it felt good to fling the water from his coat.
After a sniff or two, he almost whimpered with relief. There were no humans in the area. He was safe-- for now.
He was also cold, wet, hungry, and oddly enough, thirsty. Trig huffed and considered lapping up some water from the river, but he didn’t trust that he was safe yet, and he really didn’t want to end up as a rug on someone’s floor after they did God knew what to him.
So he forced himself into an all-out run, forced himself to concentrate and pay attention to scent and sound and sight, to not let his mind wander.
That’s why he was alert enough to catch the fading smell of the mountain lion, blood—
And another wolf.
There's actually another chapter and a half done on that one, but you know I've got to keep something back :D
Neither of these are contracted or anything. Like the blog stories, I am writing them just to write, and when I'm done, I'll send them somewhere or maybe self-pub them, I don't know.
There's a couple other things I'm playing around with, relaxing with my writing, as I call it. No deadlines, no expectations, no rules, so I find that very freeing and it helps spur my creativity.
Now that I've babbled and shared, I'll get started on the installment for today. Toodles!