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The End: Atavistic Were Finale

INTRO: Over the past next two weeks, we’re experimented with story telling. Marcella started a story. Viki added the middle and now I have to complete it.  We had not talked about our plans or compared notes on the characters or plotline.  I pick up from the end of part II.  To write the story in order, click the names above.

 

“And if I decide to help you, what’s in it for me?”

“Anguish. Pain. A few pot shots I imagine. You will not be welcome by many.” He swore a flicker of anguish flashed across her face before the steel returned. “But you will also find redemption, an end to the loneliness buried so deep in your bones it shows in the stiffness of your back, the tic that flares across your knuckles as you struggle to keep your claws inside, the howl you swallow in every breath.

The amber of her eyes  deepened to burnished gold, and that gaze drilled in so deep he was sure she could see inside him, knew what he was.  And it thrilled him, like being let out of a cage. Desire tightened his skin against his bones, pooled in the small of his back.

Her nostrils flared. She picked it up. Her lower lip trembled. The musk of her scent deepened, her body responding to his. The sexual tension had grown thick, smoky, filled his lungs, stifled his ability to think. He couldn’t stop the small growl from the back of his throat. He wanted to know her, have her know him.

She raised a perfect eyebrow. “Your scent is familiar, like it was built into my DNA.”

“It was. I’m Dire wolf. Canus Dirus. Early Pleistocene. We competed for food.”

“That explains the hunger I feel around you.”

“Does it?”

She bit her lip to halt a grin. Plump, soft, kissable lips. Damn. He needed to get his head back into the game. “So, what’s the secret? I’ve admitted that I’m one of you.”

“Only when we are all found. Only then. Time is of the essence. Will you take the job?” Sadness softened her eyes, had her back rigid, like she would collapse if her body loosened.

With a low snarl, he let the claws from one hand emerge. Pain ripped through knuckles, it had been years since he allowed them out. Breathing through the burn, which was as liberating as it was hurtful, he traced one nail down the side of the throat, tapping the jugular. “What’s your name? You’re real name?”

“Alina.” Alone.

“Yes, Alina. I’ll take the job.”

 

Thoughts?  Was this a fun way to organize a blog. What could we do to improve it.  What do you think the secret is?

Story Part 2: Atavistic Were

Here is part two of Atavistic Were:

INTRO: These next two weeks, we’re experimenting. Marcella started a story. My fellow authors are going to further the story and then finally complete it. But no pressure. 😀 We have not talked about our plans or compared notes on the characters or plotline. This should be a surprise for all of us.

Starting from the ending of Part One (click here to read part 1):

“I don’t want your pity.”

“What do you want?”

“It is possible, if unlikely, that I am not the only legend walking around and taking on fur with the moon phases. If other prides have cast out their misfits and those misfits have survived, I’d like you to help me find them.”

Samuel scratched his injured cheek with the tip of his pen. How the hell was he supposed to search for mutant weres? This job screamed danger. Most likely mutants didn’t want to be found and would do anything to protect their secrets. And he had one of his own he kept a tight lid on.

“You really think they want to be found?” he said.

“They will be needing protection. They also will want what I need.”

“And that is…”

Her amber eyes flashed. “I’m asking you to find others like me. What I do with the information is my business.”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, but why ask me?”

A rough laugh escaped her red lips. “Because, Mr. Samuel Talbridge, you’re one of us.”

Fear shot through his gut down to his toes. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? I’ve been tailing you for months.” Her smile revealed her incisors, curved and seductive. “Several moon phases, actually.”

The sexual pull he felt for this stranger started innocently enough, a slight tingle in his stomach, a strange lurch in his heart. Her gaze latched onto his, but he wouldn’t back down. He had a thing for big cats, the coil of power ready to be unleashed at any moment, the deadly cat and mouse game they loved to play. Shit. He reined in where his sexual fantasy was heading. Right into the gutter, and that meant, he was losing control of the conversation. Taking a deep breath, he briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them, he meant her steely eyes with his staunch determination.

“And if I decide to help you, what’s in it for me?”

BBT Formula for Love Book Cover Banner copyOn another note: I have two blog tours going on at once – through June 13! Chance to win Amazon GC’s…if you comment. For the list of blog stops visiting my website! http://www.vikilyn.com 

Love and Peace,

Viki

 

Story Part the First: Atavistic Were

INTRO: These next two weeks, we’re experimenting. I’ve started a story. My fellow authors are going to further the story and then finally complete it. But no pressure. 😀 We have not talked about our plans or compared notes on the characters or plotline. This should be a surprise for all of us.

“Ms. Smith? I’m Samuel Talbridge, the reporter you asked for.”
The woman pacing the faded, thread-bare carpet of motel room he’d been given a key to, glanced at him. The impression of pale, tawny hair, long, muscular legs, broad shoulders and a prominent jaw line made him hesitate in the open doorway. But it was the intensity in her amber eyes that whispered ‘danger’.
“Come in, Mr. Talbridge. Close the door,” she said in a rich, mellow alto. “Who do you write for?”
Forcing a smile to his face, he complied and then pulled his notepad from his pocket. Most reporters recorded interviews. He did, too, but he found the physical distraction of pen and notepad let him control the flow of information. Something about the woman studying him made him suspect he needed every advantage he could get. “I freelance. My stories are usually published by the local papers. A few have been picked up by the AP. If you have a story. I’d very much like to hear it. Even if Smith isn’t your real name.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Is that an impediment, my attempt to protect myself?”
“Not if your story warrants it.”
“It does. I am a were, Mr. Talbridge. A were alone. I’d like your . . .”
“What sort of were?”
“One of the big cats.”
His shoulders drooped. He’d been trying to crack the werewolf packs for three years.
‘Ms. Smith’ laughed. “Restrain a puppy, Mr. Talbridge, and it submits, going limp in your grasp, whimpering to urge you not to kill it. Restrain a kitten and it fights to its last ounce of strength against the indignity.”
“Cats are fragile,” he said.
“It pleases me to have you think so.”
In a flash he couldn’t see she spun, lashing out with one hand at his cheek. He felt the breeze of her hand pass. She’d missed.
Blood sprinkled his notepad.
He blinked. His cheek burned. His heart thudded hard against his ribcage as he touched a tentative fingertip to his face. Scratches. She’d whipped her claws across his face. A tremor of belated panic flooded his gut.
He met her cool, amber gaze. Her nostrils flared and her lips curled.
“I see your point,” he said.
“Four of them,” she corrected, lifting her bloodied nails for inspection.
“Right.” He pressed his handkerchief against his face. The burn turned to a throb, but when he pulled the cloth away and glanced at it, very little blood marred the white surface. He put it away to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. “So. You – uh – you’re a solo? Driven from your – what? Pack?”
“Pride,” she corrected, turning away to look out the window again.
“I thought cats were solitary ani–creatures.”
“And nocturnal?” she supplied. “We are. In the wild. But the press of modern civilization requires that we adapt. When hunting territories can be negotiated and worked out, there are advantages in numbers.”
“But you were thrown out. Why?”
“Atavistic manifestation of traits that once existed, but which do no longer.”
The bitter, derisive edge in her tone made him stare at her, trying to discern some hint of what her words meant from the lines of tension in her back. Atavistic?
She glanced over her shoulder at him, amber eyes glittering. “I’m a throwback.”
He leaned forward, curiosity piqued against his better judgment. “How far back?”
“Pleistocene.”
His brain scrambled for footing. What cat had lived so long ago? “Sabre-toothed?”
“Smilodon populator. Huge. Native to parts of the world I’ve never seen,” she said.
“How?”
She sighed, faced him, and shrugged. “I’m not a geneticist. I don’t know. Even those who proposed to study my DNA speak only in terms of hypothesis and conjecture. Am I a mutant to have become something that once existed in the world but which went extinct with the advent of the last ice age? Or is this some unlikely malfunction on the genome? One that brought fourth an ancient form in the modern world? No matter how you slice it, I’m a freak of nature. Something that can’t, shouldn’t exist.”
“But you do.”
“I do.”
“Alone.”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“What do you want?”
“It is possible, if unlikely, that I am not the only legend walking around and taking on fur with the moon phases. If other prides have cast out their misfits and those misfits have survived, I’d like you to help me find them.”

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