Due to a whole lot of editing and writing, my blog idea for today just didn’t happen. So, instead of leave you hanging, I decided to give you a sneak peak of my current WiP, the third book in my Southern Werewolf Chronicles. Please bear in mind WiP, stands for not finished, but getting there. If by any chance you have not picked up the first two books in this series, I sincerely hope, you like this taste of furry love. Enjoy!
Were Love Finds You
Being raised a true Southern Deb prepares you for a lot of crap, but being body jacked by your own inner bitch ain’t one of them! Mrs. Chaney, my third grade teacher, might whoop me for daring to use the word ain’t in a sentence, but under the circumstances, she can just bite me. After saving the love of my young life, I should be preparing for my wedding, the wedding of the century if you wanted my opinion. Instead, I was skulking around inside my own skull watching my furry skanky half run around like a heathen wearing my body. Good Lord, just yesterday she took me shopping for shoes at Wal-Mart. I’m surprised my head hadn’t exploded right then and there! Luckily, for me and my subconscious, I have an advanced degree in denial.
Of course, that wouldn’t save me from further degradation, if I didn’t figure a way out of this slice of hell. This, excuse the dead on expletive, bitch had stolen my life and nothing short of exorcism would stop me from getting it back. That didn’t necessarily mean I wouldn’t accept some Papal assistance if it was offered. Hell, give me a voodoo witch doctor with a chicken fetish for all I cared. Anything, as long as it got me out of this fix.
When I reluctantly agreed to give control of my body to my wolf self to save my fiancé, Nicholi, I never thought that she could really take control. Of course, my being totally ignorant of the whole Maegunous — or werewolf, for those not in the know — situation probably aided that screwed up assumption. See, until a year ago, I didn’t even know what I was. Sure, the once a month fur fest after a European one night stand sorta clued me in, but I had no idea of all the crap that went along with it. Nicholi, the one night stand in question, showing back up into my life clued me in on some of those. We had that entire Moonlighting thing going on for a while until a group of monster hunters showed up to toss us into each other’s loving arms. The day was saved, and I kindly allowed Nicholi to think he’d come up with the idea of marrying me all on his lonesome. Aren’t I just the most gracious person alive? Don’t answer that. My ego was too fragile to handle the truth at the moment.
That all should have spelled happily ever after, but my life had always been a soap opera. He had to go home to handle tribe business because he was Paxium of the European Tribes, or packs, of the Maegunous. That translated to high muckety muck in some circles. Werewolf ones apparently. Anyway, some buttwipes decided to kidnap him. Long story short. He’s safe, and I’d ended up trapped in my own ID. Great way to spend the month before the biggest day of my life.
Normally, I avoided prolonged flashbacks like a pitcher of unsweet iced-tea, but my current whereabouts had given me nothing but time to think. Sometimes, that’s a bad thing. Sure, I had my share of plotting my wolf’s horrific demise. A dull Lady Bic may have been involved sans shaving creaming. Gorilla Duct Tape could have entered into the picture, as well, followed by a rusty pair of catfish skinners. Those covered the first few days. After that, I went straight into remembering the last issue of Elle. My photographic fashion sense gave me a couple hours of false comfort. Then, it was back to murderous intent. That was four days ago. Murderous intent had become bored out of my skull real quick. Which was funny, because I was too freaking trapped in my skull to get out.
When had I morphed into some whining little snot? Probably, somewhere in my formative years when Big Daddy was spoiling me rotten and letting me have my way whenever I batted my eyelashes. That didn’t excuse the condition. It just explained my one flaw. You look for others though and things could get nasty. So, let’s not go there.
The worst part of this whole thing. Ms. Beoytch had more or less installed a flat screen in my, her?, head, so I could see what she was doing with my body. That was what hurt the most. I could see what the bitch was up to! Not one bit of it was a lick of good, let me tell you.
Now, that I’ve caught you up, how about helping me get out of this mess. Short of breaking down this fourth wall any further than it already is, I don’t see that happening, so sit back and get ready for the ride of your life. Things are definitely about to get hairy. Excuse the pun, but my biographer thinks he’s funny. Since he works for free, I’m stroking his ego and not telling him what a dufus is.
One more thing before I go, for continuity reasons, this chapter of my life story takes place before the events of Bite Marks Book One. Whatever that means. I so wish this guy would stop putting words in my mouth. It’s beginning to really cheese me off.