A Writer’s Brain is a Scary Place
Welcome to my world. It’s a spooky, but never dull place, where shape-shifting duals, manitou, shamans and ghosts share the world uneasily with “normies” and powerful witch families are both revered and feared. A place where the government may be out to get you, especially if you’re a paranormal “Different.” A place where the fabric of your life, even your identity, may be yanked out from under your feet at any time.
I wouldn’t want to live in this world, but it’s a great place to visit through writing.
One of the odd things about being a writer is that the worlds we create become almost as convincing to us as reality. The Duals and Donovans universe exists as a shadow behind my daily life. I’m writing my third book set in this world. (Lions’ Pride is the first. Foxes’ Den is due out from Samhain in September of 2010, and the third is currently in progress.) Sometimes the adventures of my imaginary beings intrude on my real life at awkward time. At my rather dull day job, for instance. You try solving an accounting conundrum when half your brain is in northern Québec fighting evil sorcerers with a hot cougar shaman or trying to figure out exactly what powers the mixed-species child of the Lions’ Pride main characters is likely to have. Not a distraction I can explain easily to my boss…but I wouldn’t go back to living in only one world at a time.
Want to see why I like this imaginary world? Here’s a slightly naughty taste. Rafe, a police officer, has been sucked into the home of lion dual Jude and his witch wife Elissa by magic that’s either gone awry—or hasn’t. Rafe denies his own dual heritage to keep his job as a cop, but his neatly ordered life is about to become far more interesting:
The dual pushed between Rafe and the woman.
Good. The big guy could probably beat the crap out of him, even if he didn’t bother to go lionside, but at least he could fight back against that. The woman, on the other hand, pulsed with magical energies. Against magic, he was screwed unless he wanted to hurt her, and he didn’t.
He took a swift punch to the ribs, somehow managed, still breathing shallowly, to duck under a side kick aimed for his head. Great. Wasn’t it enough the guy could turn into a lion without him being a fucking black belt, too?
Rafe shook his head, hoping to shake off the effects not only of the punch, but of the weird-ass journey, the whole weird-ass evening.
No such simple luck.
Instead, a secret door opened in his brain, as if one minute he stared at a blank featureless wall, the next minute at a treasure trove he’d never known existed.
You’re a predator. You know what to do. Go for the center of mass to take him down, then go for the throat. From a crouch, he sprang forward, his muscles remembering things his conscious mind had never known.
He crashed into the dual, who staggered back and hit the floor hard with Rafe on top of him. Rafe went for the throat, but instead of grabbing or punching, he instinctively slashed with his fingers, which ached to sprout claws trapped by Drozz. The big guy laughed, grabbed Rafe’s flailing hands, then got his feet under him and bucked up to throw Rafe off.
Rafe twined his legs around the other guy’s, trying to dredge up high school wrestling, since the crazy instincts that guided him seemed to think he was a big cat, not, for all practical purposes, a human. The other man twisted. Rafe twisted with him and found himself riding the other man’s hips.
Rafe became acutely aware the man under him was naked and handsome and well-hung and smelled of sex and snow and feline.
They might be engaged in an all-out effort to hurt each other, but their dicks either didn’t know this or didn’t care. Despite his recent orgasm, Rafe was getting hard again, blood rushing to his cock, and damned if the dual wasn’t swelling against him.
Maybe if he just kissed the guy, he could take advantage of the resulting confusion, in one sense of the word or another.
Either it would work—though whether more like a porn film or a slapstick comedy he couldn’t say—or it would give the guy one more reason to beat the crap out of him.
Just as he was thinking that, he was flipped over, the strong, solid body pressing into him, controlling him utterly.
The smell of man and woman and animal—pure sex and pure adrenaline—filled his nostrils. Unable to resist its lure, he took a deep breath.
A heady, fiery mix of desire and danger surged through him and he was electrified by the image of being bent over the table, fucked hard like the woman was earlier, while she watched, or helped…
Or maybe doing the same to the guy.
His body thought either sounded like a great idea.
When they were done, they could take turns making the pretty redhead scream.
The other man took advantage of his brief distraction to get his hands around Rafe’s throat.
“Stop!” the woman commanded, and it was a command, because the air shimmered around her and grew thick, and suddenly Rafe couldn’t move. Luckily, the other guy couldn’t either.
The woman stepped forward.