S.C. Dane's Blog, page 5
November 10, 2014
WIPS (with no H, ladies!)#deepPOV
I’m back to writing on a regular basis. Whew. It feels like immersing myself in a warm bath: utterly rejuvenating. You might think writing is work. You wouldn’t be wrong. It’s challenging, sometimes downright grueling. Yet, for me, it’s invigorating. Replenishing as it depletes.
Which is why I’m glad to be back at it. I’ve missed it terribly. I’ve got new characters I want to spend time with. Yes, I have real friends, but these imaginary ones lead far more exciting lives.
With this WIP, I’m exploring the Holy Grail of narration: deep POV. I hope I’m mastering it. If not, I’m having fun trying, anyway. Because it feels more like stream of consciousness, and therefore, the story feels more immediate.
I think this is what deep POV achieves. Right? Right?!
~S.C. Dane
July 12, 2014
Maine Author: Jennifer DeCuir and #Disorganized Chaos
#Maine author: Jennifer DeCuir and #Disorganized Chaos
As promised, here she is. I could blab on about her, but she really ought to speak for herself. So, without further ado, here is Jennifer DeCuir railing about Disorganized Chaos:
Author Bio:
Jennifer DeCuir writes small town contemporary romances while wrangling two kids, a husband, and three neurotic pets. She lives in the Pacific Northwest, where she can never get enough sunshine or caffeine. Her Scallop Shores series, published by Crimson Romance, is based on her hometown of York, Maine. When she isn’t writing or reading, she is probably adding to her obsessively huge yarn stash and wondering what gifts she’s going to crochet for Christmas this year.
Social Media Links:
Twitter: http://bit.ly/160UYHt
Facebook: http://on.fb.me/HdgQXi
Website: http://bit.ly/1bbkFom
Pinterest: http://bit.ly/1aE8XBg
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/1k35SPl
Disorganized chaos… it works for me.
Where the heck did I leave that little sticky note? The post it with all the important dates for the month on it. Ah, here it is! Stuck to the bottom of my coffee cup. I knew it was there all along. I was just testing you.
I had originally meant for this guest blog post to be a comparison on the merits of “old school” writer tools vs new technological gadgets to help us become better organized and more productive. You know, index cards and post-it notes, pens and highlighters and how they stack up against excel spreadsheets, One Note and all those different writing software programs out there. But I realized that I use all of these and still my office is a crazy mess.
My husband thinks it’s scary how he can ask me where something is and I’ll turn, lift a stack of papers and books several inches thick and come out with that one receipt or important paper he’s looking for. To me, that’s just normal. I can’t explain it. Things just have a way of cataloging themselves in my brain so that, when the time comes, I can remember easily.
I’ve tried mapping out storylines on a poster board. I mean, hey, it’s a guaranteed trip to Staples – and that store is like Disneyland to me! But I get to the second chapter in the book I’m plotting and the newness wears off. My ADHD kicks in and I’m distracted by all the pretty colors. I hand the poster board off to the kids and save the post-its for myself.
I have a calendar, and I’m very good about marking down dates. I have spreadsheets for all kinds of things. Do I update them? Nah. Do they keep me on task, more productive, focused and organized? Ha! I have One Note on my phone, on my laptop and on a tablet that my husband tries to get me to use more often. Poor techie genius got saddled with a wife who has a hard time jumping into the 21st century. I do use Write Way Pro to write my books.
Maybe I have a touch of OCD. Somehow the thought of transferring all my handwritten notes into something more functional gives me hives. Throw out my notes? My index cards and post its? God forbid! I go through drawers and still find random plot ideas for books that are already published. I don’t need these. But I just smile and close the drawer.
My desk is an absolute war zone right now. My pen cup is empty – because the pens are littered all over the desk. I have a rainbow memo pad cube. I’m on orange now. Bright scraps of orange paper are strewn everywhere. It’s beautiful. I can’t decide on one votive candle scent to burn while I’m writing, so I have a few of them clogging up my work space. I love choices! And we won’t even talk about the Legos, Hot Wheels or other toys my son leaves behind on his whirlwind trips to visit while Mommy is working.
Yes, I have a system. It’s crazy and it’s messy and it only works for me. I thrive on chaos and probably wouldn’t know what to do if everything was neat and tidy. Is this just a “creative type” thing? Do all writers have desks like mine? I’m curious. Are you organized? Or is your workspace a jungle? Leave me a comment below and I’ll choose a winner for a copy of my first book, Drawn to Jonah. E-book or print, winner’s choice. J
Books:
Drawn to Jonah (a RONE 2014 Nominee and 2nd place winner in the 2012 ECO contest)
Quinn finds new purpose in life caring for the local handyman’s daughter and teaching the sexy single dad how to read. He knows he owes her a huge debt, but he’ll start by giving her his heart.
Amazon link:
http://amzn.to/1bSSBHr
B&N link:
http://bit.ly/1aHR9IP
Five of Hearts
Shannon is a single mom to triplets. Dean is a former boy band member hiding from the latest fake paternity scam. They couldn’t be more wrong for each other. Sometimes falling in love is more about chance than choice.
Amazon link: http://amzn.to/Mp0ahN
B&N link: http://bit.ly/1eK6ypW
Wynter’s Journey (A 2nd place winner in the 2013 ECO contest)
A childhood promise brings Wynter and Sam together again after tragedy ripped them apart over ten years earlier. Fate has given him a second chance to tell her how he feels. This time he’s not going to run.
Amazon link: http://amzn.to/Qlv4cG
Fun, right? Most definitely something refreshingly different from my books and writing. Feel free to contact her, or make comments about your Disorganized Chaos and how it works for you. Besides, if you contact her, you just might be the lucky winner of the free book she’s offering, Drawn to Jonah.
~S.C. Dane
July 7, 2014
A Review for a Fellow Author
#review #paranormal suspense #Melange Books author Carrolli
I confess I’ve retreated from the world. No longer do I watch or read the news. I hear about world or national events through friends, and after several years of being a drop-out, I’ve discovered nothing has changed. Oh sure, it’s been so long now that most of the people have changed. Sadly, the news has not. But it’s my responsibility as an American to be involved, you say? Pfffft, is my response. Or, bull shit, when I’m not feeling particularly indulgent. And so the argument ensues. We go back and forth…
But this isn’t what my post is about. The reason I started the post with my confession was to mention how corporate giants still strangle the little guy. I’m not one hundred percent clear on what is happening with Amazon because I am a media hermit, but I do know they slash reviews from fellow authors. We all have our opinions on this and mine would just reiterate what has already been said. But I have to wonder: can’t authors ever submit reviews? I mean, we write books, but we read them, too. Duh.
Aaaaand, I’ll shut up about it.
Instead, I’d rather post my review of fellow Melange Books author Christopher Carrolli and his paranormal novel The Listener. I consider it to be a part of “paying it forward.” What we authors do isn’t easy. The challenges, hurdles, and mountains we face is enough to deflate even the most determined writer. But, I’m preaching to the choir, to drop a cliché. Which is one of the many other reasons I love being a part of this vast “published authors” realm: You get the part about helping each other out and do it with altruism. It’s a beautiful thing.
So, here is my review of Christopher Carrolli’s The Listener:
Using the same cast of characters from his first novel The Pipeline, Carrolli keeps us in the thick of the action. The Listener picks up where the first story leaves off, only this time it’s the beloved Sidney Pratt, the conduit to the dead, who is in trouble. In a near-death state, he transcends the physical realm to visit the spiritual. Or rather, the mystical visit with him.
Yet they aren’t the only voices he encounters while comatose. Sidney also “hears” a young boy calling out to him for help. Wanted for his psychic abilities, Ryan, an audio clairvoyant and telepath, has been kidnapped by a secret organization. The head of which turns out to be none other than the man governing the university’s team of ghost hunters.
In a brilliantly woven spider’s web of intrigue, Carrolli leads us through our beloved team’s emotional and psychic upsets as they set out to rescue their young friend. The suspense continues to build as The Listener unfolds, and I find myself scrolling through the pages like a fiend. Not only that, I’m sympathizing with the villain! Just as in real life, there is always the back story, the reason behind the motivation, and Carrolli delivers this with a talent I hope to see in his third book of this series.
With The Listener ending with another lead-in, I have no doubt readers won’t miss a single thread of these knuckle biting, suspense driven plots.
Hopefully, it makes you want to check this book out, or even the first, Pipeline.
And don’t forget: this Saturday July 12th it’s Jennifer DeCuir, a fellow Maine author, who gets her plug here on my blog.
~S.C. Dane
June 28, 2014
Writers, Scavengers and Co-existence
It’s been a while, I know. But the life of a writer can be a varied thing. We’re like scavengers, perpetually watching, constantly consuming. We closely watch our environment for any opportunity. When it arises, we want to be there. We don’t want to miss a thing, subtle as it can be. Which means living outside of our computers and our fictitious worlds. In order to build them, we must gather our material.
Giddyup!
As I’ve been doing. My readers know I’m currently in Wyoming. I have immersed myself into the ranching culture and have been glutting myself like the good scavenger I am. For I do not know when the next opportunity will present itself. This might be the only time I get to experience the “real West.” Sadly though, my other love has taken a hit. I haven’t been writing, or spreading word about the books I’ve already written.
A co-existence must be found, for even scavengers must abide the rules of balance.
My place to start? With my roots. I might be traveling across our country, but I can do so because of my strong ties to Maine. The landscape has shaped me into who I am today. As have the people. Characters themselves, every one. So, I thought, why not share with my readers a flavorful morsel. Let you enjoy a taste of one of the things that makes Maine so special: her talented artists.
I present to you Jennifer DeCuir. A Maine author who now lives in the Pacific Northwest, but who writes romance novels framed within a small, coastal town on the East Coast. No need for warnings here. Her novels are fresh and charming. The heat level won’t burn you, but the characters will mark you anyway. Check her out�� again and in depth when I showcase her on this blog site July 12, 2014.
Drawn to Jonah (a RONE 2014 Nominee and 2nd place winner in the 2012 ECO contest)
Quinn finds new purpose in life caring for the local handyman’s daughter and teaching the sexy single dad how to read. ��He knows he owes her a huge debt, but he’ll start by giving her his heart.
Amazon link: http://amzn.to/1bSSBHr
B&N link: http://bit.ly/1aHR9IP
Stay tuned! July 12th and more from Jennifer DeCuir will arrive before you know it.
~S.C. Dane
Writers, Scavengers and Co-existence
It’s been a while, I know. But the life of a writer can be a varied thing. We’re like scavengers, perpetually watching, constantly consuming. We closely watch our environment for any opportunity. When it arises, we want to be there. We don’t want to miss a thing, subtle as it can be. Which means living outside of our computers and our fictitious worlds. In order to build them, we must gather our material.
Giddyup!
As I’ve been doing. My readers know I’m currently in Wyoming. I have immersed myself into the ranching culture and have been glutting myself like the good scavenger I am. For I do not know when the next opportunity will present itself. This might be the only time I get to experience the “real West.” Sadly though, my other love has taken a hit. I haven’t been writing, or spreading word about the books I’ve already written.
A co-existence must be found, for even scavengers must abide the rules of balance.
My place to start? With my roots. I might be traveling across our country, but I can do so because of my strong ties to Maine. The landscape has shaped me into who I am today. As have the people. Characters themselves, every one. So, I thought, why not share with my readers a flavorful morsel. Let you enjoy a taste of one of the things that makes Maine so special: her talented artists.
I present to you Jennifer DeCuir. A Maine author who now lives in the Pacific Northwest, but who writes romance novels framed within a small, coastal town on the East Coast. No need for warnings here. Her novels are fresh and charming. The heat level won’t burn you, but the characters will mark you anyway. Check her out again and in depth when I showcase her on this blog site July 12, 2014.
Drawn to Jonah (a RONE 2014 Nominee and 2nd place winner in the 2012 ECO contest)
Quinn finds new purpose in life caring for the local handyman’s daughter and teaching the sexy single dad how to read. He knows he owes her a huge debt, but he’ll start by giving her his heart.
Amazon link: http://amzn.to/1bSSBHr
B&N link: http://bit.ly/1aHR9IP
Stay tuned! July 12th and more from Jennifer DeCuir will arrive before you know it.
~S.C. Dane
May 14, 2014
���How To Throw Away A Perfectly Good Husband��� #divorce #publishing #nomadic lifestyle
How To Throw Away A Perfectly Good Husband
I thought the title was going to be an introduction to this blog. Turns out���no. As I put my fingertips to the keys, I’m not sure what’s going to sprinkle across the page. I already wrote one blog on this topic, shared with you some personal stuff about being a paranormal romance novelist, a nomad, and a divorcee.
��������For those of you who aren’t detectives: I didn’t post it. Instead, I got hit by my techie-gremlin again. What’s a techie-gremlin, you wonder? A snag in my computer experience that behaves like a sentient being. You think my toast has fallen peanut butter side down, don’t you? Probably it has, but there’s no denying the existence of this something. It’s like Jiminy Cricket hovering over my shoulder, only he has a magic wand to halt the internet. Every time I’ve tried to post something that later bit me on the ass, my techie-gremlin tried to interfere.
��������He popped in again with the last post I wanted to publish about throwing away a perfectly good husband. I was having no problems navigating, playing, or adjusting my blog until I hit “publish.” I tried it several times, had success with other functions, browsed around on the internet, and returned to re-post. Nada.
��������So, given this has happened too many times to ignore, I sat back and wondered if I shouldn’t be airing detes about my marriage. Or, if it’s all right to blab, maybe I need to rephrase things. For our purposes this time, I’m only going to publish the stuff I wrote about writing. So, release your breath, here it is:
��� (this follows what the techie-gremlin didn’t want me to share.)So, I stepped off my porch. And I stepped. Until the individual steps became a walk, one which got increasingly easier as I gained momentum, as I felt the titillation of freedom only the open road can give.
Of course, the first book I ever wrote told so much about myself it was practically a personality profile. Living vicariously through my characters? Hell, yes. I did a lot of running and exploring out on the Great Heath of my home town, which is where my first novel began. Did I hope to be thrown a lifeline in the form a sexy wolf-man? Oh, my, who wouldn’t? The people who knew me and read the book, Luna: Book One of The Luna Chronicle, wondered if the reason I ran on the heath everyday was because I did have a wolf-man out there.
They weren’t far off in their suspicions. Writing the book was an adventure in escapism, so every time I headed out to the bog, Luna and her supporting characters came with me. As I ventured through the wind-stunted forests like a white-tailed deer, events in the storyline unfolded. By the time my lungs were wheezing, I was ready to return to the box of my house and sketch my imagined world to life: once written upon the page, Luna-Beth’s world became real.
Little did I know then that Beth’s leaving everything behind to follow her wolf-man would presage my own experience (minus the wolf-man, boo-hiss!). Like my title character, I could no longer stay in a world where I just didn’t fit.
My husband���bless his understanding heart for a thousand years to come���stayed behind while I traipsed forward, armed only with my intuition, a bit of courage, and raw faith that readers would love my characters as much as I do.
��������Later, I’ll try again to share the madness behind my motivation. Here’s hoping I can. In the meantime, keep in mind that the title for this blog is more appropriate than the dress code at a Catholic school. I really did throw away a perfectly good husband when I set out to discover more of the world and my place in it. Maybe you’ve done the same. If so, I’d love to hear from you. Who knows, maybe a little dialogue will lull Jiminy Cricket and his magic wand to sleep. Winks!
~S.C. Dane
“How To Throw Away A Perfectly Good Husband” #divorce #publishing #nomadic lifestyle
How To Throw Away A Perfectly Good Husband
I thought the title was going to be an introduction to this blog. Turns out—no. As I put my fingertips to the keys, I’m not sure what’s going to sprinkle across the page. I already wrote one blog on this topic, shared with you some personal stuff about being a paranormal romance novelist, a nomad, and a divorcee.
For those of you who aren’t detectives: I didn’t post it. Instead, I got hit by my techie-gremlin again. What’s a techie-gremlin, you wonder? A snag in my computer experience that behaves like a sentient being. You think my toast has fallen peanut butter side down, don’t you? Probably it has, but there’s no denying the existence of this something. It’s like Jiminy Cricket hovering over my shoulder, only he has a magic wand to halt the internet. Every time I’ve tried to post something that later bit me on the ass, my techie-gremlin tried to interfere.
He popped in again with the last post I wanted to publish about throwing away a perfectly good husband. I was having no problems navigating, playing, or adjusting my blog until I hit “publish.” I tried it several times, had success with other functions, browsed around on the internet, and returned to re-post. Nada.
So, given this has happened too many times to ignore, I sat back and wondered if I shouldn’t be airing detes about my marriage. Or, if it’s all right to blab, maybe I need to rephrase things. For our purposes this time, I’m only going to publish the stuff I wrote about writing. So, release your breath, here it is:
… (this follows what the techie-gremlin didn’t want me to share.)So, I stepped off my porch. And I stepped. Until the individual steps became a walk, one which got increasingly easier as I gained momentum, as I felt the titillation of freedom only the open road can give.
Of course, the first book I ever wrote told so much about myself it was practically a personality profile. Living vicariously through my characters? Hell, yes. I did a lot of running and exploring out on the Great Heath of my home town, which is where my first novel began. Did I hope to be thrown a lifeline in the form a sexy wolf-man? Oh, my, who wouldn’t? The people who knew me and read the book, Luna: Book One of The Luna Chronicle, wondered if the reason I ran on the heath everyday was because I did have a wolf-man out there.
They weren’t far off in their suspicions. Writing the book was an adventure in escapism, so every time I headed out to the bog, Luna and her supporting characters came with me. As I ventured through the wind-stunted forests like a white-tailed deer, events in the storyline unfolded. By the time my lungs were wheezing, I was ready to return to the box of my house and sketch my imagined world to life: once written upon the page, Luna-Beth’s world became real.
Little did I know then that Beth’s leaving everything behind to follow her wolf-man would presage my own experience (minus the wolf-man, boo-hiss!). Like my title character, I could no longer stay in a world where I just didn’t fit.
My husband—bless his understanding heart for a thousand years to come—stayed behind while I traipsed forward, armed only with my intuition, a bit of courage, and raw faith that readers would love my characters as much as I do.
Later, I’ll try again to share the madness behind my motivation. Here’s hoping I can. In the meantime, keep in mind that the title for this blog is more appropriate than the dress code at a Catholic school. I really did throw away a perfectly good husband when I set out to discover more of the world and my place in it. Maybe you’ve done the same. If so, I’d love to hear from you. Who knows, maybe a little dialogue will lull Jiminy Cricket and his magic wand to sleep. Winks!
~S.C. Dane
May 3, 2014
Wolf-Love, Final Installment #travel #self-discovery #author’s note
Wolf-Love
Final Installment
Against Sofia’s better judgment, she and German returned to their room to change their clothes. Well, she wouldn’t be changing her clothes because she was still a wolf, the dress she’d been wearing still laying like a shed snakeskin on the floor of the dining room. Now that they were no longer downstairs, her mate was shucking his suit like a bear picking through the garbage: shit was getting tossed.
Until he stood naked, turning toward her like Adonis. God, he was beautifully handsome, his muscles perfectly formed. Not over-pumped like he worked out in a gym, but well-defined and chiseled because of the lack of body fat. German was lean, built for agility, speed, and strength.
Like a wolf.
Huh. Add two and two and you get someone worth drooling over. Literally. Sofia ran her wolf tongue along the ridge of her left lip, and her mate’s verdant eyes caught fire. She smelled his arousal before her gaze picked up on the subtle tightening between his legs. Wolf senses. Nose first—but, oh, how sharp her eyes were!
German’s smile lit his face, narrowed his green eyes with the lifting of his cheeks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was dinner.”
Sofia’s tail swept like a pendulum, heavy and low, side to side.
As if she’d spoken, he understood. Then again, she guessed she had said something. Reading body language was a finely tuned and innate talent. Now that her wolf had blossomed fully from her, comprehending the nuances of the body didn’t seem so strange. And didn’t get her into trouble, either. No wonder her transition went pretty seamlessly: she was already half-way there, her body just needed to catch up with her brain.
She loved her wolf self. Hugged it fiercely to her like the long lost twin it was. So, her mate standing in front of her nude tickled her skin beneath her fur. She was anxious for him to join her.
However. German sat on his heels and opened his arms for her to come to him. He knew she wasn’t just excited, that she’d be asking a hundred questions if she could shift out of her wolf form. But circumstances kept her trapped. She couldn’t regulate her pounding heart, couldn’t cool the heat of her blood.
“C’mere, Sofe.” His tender name for her. She needed comforting as much as she wanted him inside of her, and he knew that. She hadn’t been wrong to bind herself to this man. Who was a wolf, too. God! She loved him, loved their lives together. Unable to stop herself, Sofia squirmed against him, curling herself around her paws like they were a pedestal and her upper body a swivel chair. To be rubbed against German’s broad chest, inside of his strong arms. She kissed him under the chin repeatedly, her tongue flicking out, her nose nudging him.
He tugged an ear, let it go, tugged again. Quieting her. Quelling her rising anxiety. It worked, even without the gentle swaying of a moving car beneath them. She felt his chuckle like bubbles fizzing across her fur. “Yeah, we dodged a bullet.” He resumed the tugging as they both grew quiet. “We’re homeless, though, Sofe. I’m your mate without a territory.” She heard his regret, his disappointment. Like he’d expected more from himself.
How could she tell him he’d already given her more than she’d ever dreamed possible?
No home? Hell, nothing new from where she was standing. In fact, she’d never been better equipped to be homeless. With her fur, she had portable shelter. Her wolf body was a damned grocery cart. Push it and food could be had.
Aaaand…door number three? She wasn’t alone in any of it. No matter what the future held, elementally she knew German would always be there. They were bound together, his promise to her going far beyond mere words spoken. He was a living thing moving within her.
Within her. Those weren’t just pretty words. The gray wolf prowled below her skin, in every cell, through her blood, so she always felt him, always knew he was with her.
“We could head back to the northeast.” Sofia wiggled deeper into his embrace. Hell, yeah! As much as she’d enjoyed her first trip across the country, she missed Maine. If that was where German wanted to go, then they should be heading there yesterday. She released the whine building up in her chest as her tail thumped. “That’s a yes, huh?” She felt his smile along her fur as he buried his face into her ruff, his arms squeezing tighter.
He needed her. As much as she needed him.
After a deep breath, he stood up. “Okay. Just you and me, and our paws beneath us.” Determination hardened his features, pacing like a fierce thing in his eyes. “Wolf, Sofia. We leave here as wolves.” Which meant they would take nothing, so he wouldn’t owe anything to this pack. He would finally be free.
But, he knew the risks and wouldn’t go if she didn’t dare. Wolves lived together not just for the camaraderie. As pack, they helped one another survive. Which wasn’t some theory discussed while sated and warm, comfortably safe beside a crackling fireplace.
Survival.
She’d been surviving on less than she had now. So, no, she wasn’t deterred, she wasn’t frightened. Loping toward the door, she stopped and yipped. If they were going then they’d better get going before the idiots downstairs did something predictably human: like take back their promise that she and German could go in peace.
Her mate fell to his knees as he succumbed to his wolf.
Joy swelled, expanding inside her, filling her to overflowing. To stem it, she ran, the Minnesota night enveloping her as she and the gray wolf burst from the manor. Sofia didn’t look back, but up, where the stars were sharp diamonds in a navy sky so wide the constellations were self-evident.
German brushed her shoulder, matching his stride to hers. Other wolves emerged from the trees silent as ghosts, falling in behind them. Two, then four, five, and still they appeared like wraiths from the landscape to follow.
German poured on a burst of speed. Not to lose them, but to strive forward, to release the exultation of a born leader overwhelmed by the unexpected show of solidarity, of loyalty. As he slowed then halted, the others circled, tentatively skimming their fur against the gray wolf’s. Against her own. Their tails swishing low. Her mate lifted his muzzle to the night sky to howl his triumph.
Pack. The red wolf would get her family, after all. A fairy tale ending? Hardly. But it was Sofia’s version of happily ever after.
~S.C. Dane
~The End.
~Author’s note: As Monty Python is famous for saying: “Now it’s time for something completely different.” I’m going to change tack, veer off course, turn left at Dunkin’ Donuts. My next several blogs will be more personal; a little sharing of an author’s life and how I got to be where I am now: traveling across the country with my dog as my co-pilot. Title of the next several blogs? “How to Throw Away a Perfectly Good Husband.”
I’ll post a blog for you in the next several days, once my wheels find their groove. Wish I could give you something a little more concrete date-wise, but I’m traveling. The road has a way of chewing time, and the scenery tends to launch my imagination, so it takes me a little while to dig my toes back into solid earth. I apologize ahead of time for this inconvenience of being a little off the map (pun intended). But losing myself to find myself is kind of the point of my journey. I welcome you to hop aboard and share. I’m sure I’m not the only woman out there who had a dream and pursued it before time ran out. I would love to hear your stories!
April 29, 2014
Wolf-Love, Installment No. 49 #wild #devotion
Wolf-Love
Installment No. 49
German moved with Sofia, trailing her while keeping his two feet on the floor, and not on the table as his red she-wolf had done. He had to hand it to her, though. A wolf leaping up then stalking down the center of the long table was impressive, even to those who were the wolf-people. Apparently, they’d been too long out of touch with their beasts because every eye followed the red wolf gliding past them. Some jaws were even a little slack with wonder—despite beliefs to the contrary, that the wolf should be shunned, locked away beneath the skin, repressed.
Their trailing eyes gave away their respect, as well. Not only had they watched her passing, but they’d averted their gazes ever so slightly. A human would have never noticed. But German had never been human, not even when he walked upright. Sure, he played at it and was good enough no one ever suspected, but his wolf was ever present, pacing just behind his eyes, watching everything with a predator’s keenness.
He halted halfway down, behind the other Alpha’s chair, which put him directly across from the fourth Alpha and the head of Security. With his position centered, he could divide his attention across the four directions, with Sofia being his lodestar. He wouldn’t, couldn’t veer his focus from her no matter how many angles he was trying to keep track of. Not only was she his mate, the female he was compelled to protect at any cost, but he’d sworn a promise to her.
He would not be every other person in her life. By some miracle, she trusted him. She had opened her heart to him, trusting that he would not betray her. The evidence? Burned pure in her silvery gray eyes whenever she looked at him. She might have been on her own all those years, amassing emotional injuries, but she’d endured. Courageously she had given him her scarred and sacred heart.
Him. A wolf-man practically rogue himself. A lone wolf who had spurned his pack in order to stay true to his own heart. A heart which recognized itself in the woman it claimed as its life mate. Who, for the love of Luna, was now standing up for him, risking herself without a thought. Instinctively facing their shared enemy. For him.
She humbled him with her devotion, with her concern for someone like him. He didn’t feel worthy of her, not until she shook his very soul with her gaze. When she looked at him, he felt like the greatest wolf alive, like he could do anything. For her, he could. The proof stood along the wall holding his collar and chains. He would have worn them for her.
But not now. Not when his beautiful mate threw away the very thing she’d always wanted in order to protect him. He’d honor the generosity of her great heart, and would not call her back. He would stand to defend her. To defend them.
So much for going down quietly. So much for going down at all.
In a move that left no question of his dominance, he dug his fingers into the shoulders of the Alpha seated in front of him, forcing the man deeper into his chair so he couldn’t escape. For all the display, German knew where the real threat came from: Bryce. The wolf-man standing at the other side of the table. The wolf who was ultimately in control of those chains.
Amber eyes stared back without lowering.
If German wasn’t so worried about Sofia, he’d appreciate his opponent. During their cub-hood, Bryce had nearly been his equal, had forced German to dig deeper, to fight harder, to plot cannier. In Bryce, German could have had a friend.
If the wolf didn’t stand on the polar opposite side of German’s beliefs. Where German believed with all his soul that their wild wolves should be nurtured, Bryce believed with as much fervor that their wolves should be tamed.
Older and at an impasse, they’d parted. German to nourish his wolf, and Bryce to uphold the New Order. As he was now prepared to do. German watched, his spine radiating so much heat as to liquefy his bones, to turn his muscles into rivers of lava. Ever the wary predator, he caught Bryce’s brief glimpse to the head of the table, where he looked to the real power in the room. He looked to Kyrenn.
Before he’d been mated, German would have followed that look, he would have turned to see what his mother would do. Just as his red wolf had done, German would have turned his back on the other three, on the Alphas who didn’t matter.
But he was mated, and for inexplicable reasons, he’d been forewarned by the very woman Bryce was looking to for direction. A trickle of unease wormed its way to his stomach, tightening it. Had he misread his mother’s change of heart? He thought she’d been warning him, but was there something he’d missed?
Sofia trotted toward him, cutting a graceful path down the center of the table, as mesmerizing as a wolf loping along a river’s uneven edge. She was breathtaking, her red fur lifted along her back like the razor peaks of a mountain chain. Wild. Untamed. There was a reason he attributed the natural world to the red wolf when he gazed upon her. His Sofia didn’t belong here any more than he did.
So, they would leave. But not with their tails tucked.
As if she harkened to his resolve, the red wolf trained her intimidating gaze on his mother. Protecting his flank. Beautiful wolf. Didn’t she know he’d rather have her a hundred miles from this scene? What if she wound up being the one imprisoned in those chains?
Well. Blood would fly now, wouldn’t it? Her capture would not be tolerated. It was one thing for him to bear the punishment for his life of disobedience, but it was abhorrent for his mate to do so.
The thought of the red wolf in chains turned his veins to ice, cooling the blood burning through him. With a calculating eye, he faced the wolf-man across from him, trusting that Sofia watched the other wolf at the head of the table, the one who mattered.
“Do not do this, Bryce.” German raised his palm, indicating the men lined up along the wall. “It’s truly not necessary.”
Amber eyes slid back to hold his. “I have my orders.”
So he did. And Bryce had ever been the one for following orders. “Doesn’t mean you can’t, just this once, ignore them. We’ll go in peace.”
Bryce’s eyes narrowed, as if he were actually considering German’s proposal. Huh. Maybe the wolf had grown less rigid in his maturity. “Remove your hand from our Alpha.” Or…maybe not.
German stepped back, hands in the air, fingers aimed for the vaulted ceiling.
“Farther back.”
German fought the twitch of his lips. Bryce remembered well their days of play. He knew how quick German could be. Sofia’s tail lifted, her ears laying back, ready to act now that he’d ceded his advantage to the other wolf-man.
“Your mate, too. Get her off the table or—
They growled in stereo, cutting off the threat. “Or you’ll what?”
Bryce looked from one head of the table to the other.
“Undecided, or is there a tennis match going on I’m not aware of?” Tennis his ass. He and Sofia were in the middle of a showdown and they weren’t the players. Pawns. They were pawns, he realized, his mother’s intentions sparking clear. She’d truly wanted no part in his punishment this time.
Imagine that. Maybe his mother was growing soft in her maturity, too. Gift horses and their mouths and all that.
The Alpha he had in his clutches hissed his opinion. “Just let them go, for Luna’s sake.” With the man’s back facing him, German couldn’t catch his expression. Not that he needed it. The man wafted the pungent scent of fear. Those sitting close to the Alpha leaned back or to the side, their bodies subtly shifting away from the nervous wolf-man. As though his cowardice were a thing to catch. Or they were like rats on a sinking ship.
If only. The New Order had its fans who wouldn’t be quick to abandon the idea just because a figurehead lost his balls in the soup. “Leave us be, and we’ll do the same.” He meant it, too, even though the urge for revenge rode him hard. Finally, he challenged the Alphas. The victory might be small, but it was no less sweet. His wolf wanted the other man flat on his back on the floor. Decisions, decisions.
But he was being funny, reveling in the rift in leadership. What he really wanted was Sofia off the property and heading wherever it was she wanted to go. If she said Siberia, he’d purchase tickets, no questions asked. No kidding. She’d trusted him and he owed it to her to make sure he didn’t harm that trust any more than he had already.
“Red?” He didn’t take his eyes off Bryce or his attention from the feuding Alphas. The thugs with their chains remained along the wall like obedient soldiers. “Ready to go?”
Sofia’s vault off the table conjured gasps, but the attention lasted only until her paws hit the carpet. After that, it was as if she had never existed, as if German had never threatened an Alpha. The greater drama was still unfolding, and like a riveting play, the audience sat enrapt, forgetting the rest of the world existed beyond their seats.
German and Sofia slipped out of the room.
~S.C. Dane
~Final Installment coming Saturday, May 3,
2014.
April 26, 2014
Wolf-Love, Installment No. 48 #freestory #wolf-shifter
Wolf-Love
Installment No. 48
It was the sight of the chains that did it. Pushed her beyond the point where she couldn’t control her transition. Like an over-full glass with the liquid held along the rim with only surface tension, her wolf hovered. Waiting for that one moment, that last drop, to spill over. Hello, Little Red Riding Hood. In an overwhelming burn, her bones rearranged themselves, her muscles turning into something resembling lava. An eternity of seconds later, she was eye level with the table, peering up to see the rims of plates, the underbellies of goblets. Looking down, she could see the twin rows of feet in the shadows beneath the long table. But it was the voice that arrested her attention as it crawled across her fur like a lover’s caress. Exactly like her lover’s caress.
German.
“Hey, Red. That was really good.” His pride was evident in his smile, in the shine of his green eyes as he gazed down at her. Or maybe he was silently laughing? Possible, since the tablecloth was covering the top of her head and her ears like a linen bonnet. She glided out from under the table. Yeah, she glided. How else do you move with four legs? Going horizontal gives a body a level of slinky, a grace that two legs just can’t pull off. She buried her muzzle into German’s chest, curled between his legs because he’d squatted to her level.
To hold her so he could rub his face into her ruff. She felt the pull of air through her fur as he breathed in her scent. God, she loved that. What she didn’t love was someone trying to take this intimacy away from her. She’d waited a long time for this kind of acceptance and she’d be damned if she was going to let it get snatched from her possessive, little…paws.
Her lip lifted off her fangs as a growl traveled through her, tickling her entire body. God, she loved that, too. She felt its latent power in her skin, the warning of bad things coming down the pike. Delivered by her personally.
She pulled from her mate’s embrace. In one fluid motion she rose to her hind legs, placing her paws on either side of what would have been her dinner plate before the meal was interrupted. There. Now she could see what the hell was going on. German’s thighs hovered at her back as he stood behind her.
“Sofe, wha—” She leapt onto the table, heading straight for the man who instigated this fiasco. Who had intended all along to arrest her mate. Hence the thugs and their chains. She kept them in her periphery as she picked her way through the obstacle course of floral arrangements and dinnerware. With a precision that astonished her, she missed everything, her paws landing on bare patches of table cloth like she was dancing down a stone cobbled garden path.
Lovely. The expression on her prey’s face was even lovelier. Funny. She hadn’t thought of the Alpha as prey until she’d shifted. He’d been a target before, now her intentions elevated. She was stalking him down the length of the table.
German muttered, Shit.
The wolf-people she might have called family before this leaned back in their chairs, as though to give the S.S. Sofia a wide berth. They folded back in behind her like a wake, their bodies rolling inward in one long stream. Except for the guy who had stood moments before the color guard had entered. Him she pierced with a hateful stare as she slinked passed. First things first. Too bad severing the head from this beast wouldn’t render it harmless. There were too many independent parts. Oh. The logic of this New Order German bitched about was evident.
Taking one out didn’t end the threat. Brilliant. In a disgustingly human sort of way. Yeah, Sofia liked her wolf brain a lot. What she didn’t like was the confidence trying to wiggle its feigned self back onto this Alpha’s mug. Alpha her ass. You could only fake confidence so far. The body gave off its own tells with scent and the oh-so-subtle hold of the spine. A clue she’d picked up on early in her life. Sofia’s lip lifted off her sharp teeth in a feral snarl as her tongue pushed against her incisors. She was salivating for the kill.
Oh! Oh. The thought excited her while simultaneously flooding her with calm. The wolf she faced had threatened her mate. Yeah, he was a big boy who could hold his own, but she hadn’t missed his surrender. German had only become upset when she did. He didn’t care they intended to chain him like a dog, he cared about what was happening to her.
Which meant he wasn’t surprised with the Alphas’ intentions of caging him. That he’d expected it. Which went a long way in explaining his turn of heart about coming back to this place. He was going to roll over for her sake.
Well, screw that. She loved her gray wolf when he threw his face to the sky to sing his love for the pack.
This was not his pack. Couldn’t be. German was so full of life, of wildness. Even on two legs, he moved like the predator he was. These wolf-people in their fancy clothes, with their ostentatious manor? Ugh. Yuck. And come to fuck on. Really? This was so not what she had in mind when she envisioned her future family.
Treachery? Lies? She could get that back in Maine. Heck, she could get that anywhere.
But not here, dammit. And not aimed at her gray wolf, thank you very much. See? She had manners. She halted two feet from her target, her head lower than her shoulders as she stared at the man seated in front of her. As if her body was harmonized with her feelings, her lip once again lifted off her teeth in a menacing snarl.
“Rogue, back off.” Blah, blah, blah. Which is what he might as well have said, because his command was as sharp as a new pencil—still in the box with its blunt headed friends. She’d come across this type before: authority figures in title only. What had she done then? Oh, yeah.
Once she’d grown up and was free of their custody, she’d done what anyone, wolf or not, would have done when told what to do by somebody who didn’t matter. She gave him the once over, her eyes traveling the length of the wolf-man from his groomed hair, to his manicured fingertips, down to his napkin covered lap. When her gaze returned to his face, she snuffed the wolf equivalent of a scornful snort. Then turned her back on him, walking away as if he didn’t matter. As if he were no threat at all.
~S.C. Dane
~Installment No. 49 coming Tuesday, April 30, 2014.
