Always looking for interesting images to spark my muse. This is one I added this morning to my “Eyecatching” board on Pinterest.
Love that intense look. He might do well in my Vampyre Falls shapeshifter series. I’ll have to ponder more on that. He has a good look for Donovan, the third brother. Currently working on his story, “Raw Moan.” Donovan’s story is currently a work in progress.
The pack had found some measure of rhythm over that last year or so. Rainna, who was skilled as a nurse and they’d discovered had a healing touch, now assisted Morganna, the faerie healer, in serving the medical needs of the community. Petra, Carson’s mate, hunted on occasion, but usually handled the organizational and financial matters for the family. Rainna and Petra together managed to keep the house running quite efficiently and got along very well, considering Rainna was human and Petra was shifter by virtue of an experimental operation that had tied her to the pack in an altogether unforeseeable and monstrous way by government machinations. One might say Carson and Petra’s mating was certainly fate.
Donovan, in wolf form, scented human–government assassin. But there was a more prevalent scent of blood than he would have expected. He also scented death. He proceeded with caution knowing never to trust the tricky nature of an assassin. The site that met him as he rounded some thick undergrowth startled him and almost dropped him back on his haunches.
It was a she–white as snow, covered in blood. Her fangs were bared as she stared down at the corpse of the government tracker. She nudged the body with her muzzle, then seemed satisfied. And then suddenly, right there, she shifted to human form. Her scent wafted over Donovan. And something about it got beneath his skin, bore into him and without consciously calling for it, he shifted to human form as well.
But still he hovered at the perimeter of the small clearing where carnage was scattered across the ground. The woman knelt there, her oddly colored long hair tangled and covering her face. She knelt on one knee, the other leg curled beneath her, hunched over, clutching her knee. Her hair, so pale a platinum it looked like a dense fog, yet jet black intermixed with the white. She looked like a ghost and Donovan had to wonder if he was seeing things and if there was some conjurer of magic nearby.
Cautiously, he stepped into the clearing. For long moments, she didn’t move. Within several feet of her, she finally lifted her head. Her face was spattered with blood and Donovan could now see a wound in her side leaking a far too steady stream of blood.
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