Sunday, July 8, 2012

Blind Heat game and Giveaway Part 6 (adult)


Welcome to a some cool fun for a hot Sunday. To celebrate the release of Blind Heat, the second book in my Pantherian Passions series, I've set up a little game related to the story.

Our hero, Marcus St. Germaine has a habit he hasn't been able to kick. At the start of Blind Heat he gives into temptation and this time it gets him into trouble. I'll be sharing the first chapter in blog posts throughout the day. At the end of each post, I'll show you a picture and tell you the name of the blog where it's hidden. Simply email Master Bond ( the kinky French Chef from The Dungeon Gourmet) lemarquis.debond on telling him where you found the picture. For every correct answer you send in, you'll get your name in the hat. The prize is your choice of my backlist:

The Tiger's Tale (First book in the Pantherian Passions Series)
The Dungeon Gourmet
Snatch Me

I'll announce the winner Monday morning on the Words, Women, Wisdom blog.
 Happy Hunting and good luck. I'll be checking back throughout the day, so if you have questions, leave them in the comments and I'll be along shortly with an answer.

Blind Heat: Excerpt 6

 Fortunately, medical labs came equipped with all the items he needed to keep from sprinkling his DNA everywhere, or leaving fingerprints. He started with a pair of latex gloves from the dispenser by the sink. He hesitated. There were cameras in the hall. More searching yielded scrubs and a lab coat, a medical mask and a paperclip. He pulled a little green cap over his hair and kept his head down when he stepped back into the hall.

He tuned back into the guard, the voice faint but just discernible. “That’s it, baby, touch yourself. Push those pretty fingers deep into your pussy. Let me hear how much you love fingering yourself.”

Marcus tried not to look, but the image was there in his mind unbidden, those slender fingers cupped over her sex, the languid look on her face, eyelids drooping. He heard every moan, imagined the slick, slurpy sound of female pussy tightening around thrusting fingers, the scent of her desire, the female tang against his tongue.

Marcus nearly moaned himself.

“Now stop,” the guard demanded.

Her eyes widened. Her whimper protested.

“I said stop.” His tone carried a faint trace of warning.

Marcus hauled his attention back on task. At the rate they were moving he could only count on them staying occupied another couple of minutes.

Marcus shuffled across the hall and dropped to his knees. As promised there was a concealed override. He slid the decorative cover back, inserted a paperclip into the spot and the door clicked open. He held his breath, waiting to see if opening the door might trigger any alarm.

If it had, the guy in the guardroom was oblivious. “If I was there, I’d rub that sweet honey from your pussy all over your nipples and lick it off.”

The paperclip slipped from Marcus’ fingers and pinged against the tile.

“Since I can’t do that I want to watch you do it. Such nice, big titties, I bet you can lick your own nipples.”

Marcus swiped at sweat on his brow with his sleeve, forced his mouth closed and clamped his teeth down on his aching tongue.

Move closer to the cam where I can see them. “Lovely, sugar. Lovely.”

They were lovely. Her nipples filled the screen, but they were a shade darker than the nail polish that had first caught his attention. “Speaking of attention…” he muttered. There were other places his needed to be. With a last, longing glance at nipples rolled between fingers and thumbs, sticky threads of liquid glistening between spread fingers when she dipped back in for more “honey”, Marcus slipped into the lab and closed the door.

A plaintive mew from the corner revealed the hybrid who’d called Marcus to her. The force of her personality had led him to believe she was bigger, close to his size. She was a small white domestic housecat—a long-hair with brilliant green eyes. She tried to get to her feet but a spasm of pain dropped her back into the straw on the floor of her cage. Her delicate frame strained to support a grotesquely distorted belly. He knew the source of her pain even before reading the chart attached to the cage. He should have known before now. That she’d managed to shield that from him, was a skill both admirable and alarming. He tugged a towel from the box they’d provided for her birthing, nudged the hybrid onto it, and wrapped her gently.

He turned away from the rows of gleaming eyes watching from other cages. Ignored the snuffles and thumps against the bars to gain his attention. He couldn’t save them all, but he could not leave parahuman infants in the hands of experimenters. He projected calm and visualized simple images of a safe place, which he hoped the mother could understand. She offered no resistance when he gave her head a reassuring pat and gathered her in his arms. Her eyes met his and locked his gaze, communicating both trust and uncanny intelligence.

Getting out wasn’t as complex as getting in, but more risky. He couldn’t take her down through the water. He chose the stairs again, though slower, he preferred them to being closed in the elevator. He never could separate far enough from his feline nature to be comfortable in an electronically controlled box. Hella, he decided as he bounded down the last set of stairs. The little hybrid had been a number in the lab, but he would give her a new name for her new life. Hella meant light, hope—there was little enough of that in her life up to now.

She mewed softly, her breath coming in short pants.

Just hold those kittens off a little longer. His thought fell on a semi-deaf mind, but there was no way to explain. Her mind existed in a reality without the boundaries of hours and minutes. And while those things she had no conception of impacted her life, she had no framework to comprehend a simple phrase like, Give me ten minutes, sweetheart and it will all be better.

He moved from the stairwell back into the basement. Depressing the button to raise the loading dock door didn’t sound any alarms. Security rarely tracked people exiting buildings. Marcus jumped from the dock into the parking lot, and his knees buckled— a sign of just how far his energy had been depleted.

He tried to reconnect with the guard but it was like seeing through fog, black silhouettes, distant and fuzzy, thoughts inaudible behind the buzz of pain in his body and Hella’s. He struggled back to his feet and limped across the parking lot into the woods. Once out of range of any outdoor cameras he stripped out of his clothes, bundled them around the cat for added warmth and forced his body into another shift. It was like trying to drive up a snow-covered hill, lose momentum and you slide back down. His energy shifted up and about a third of the way there plummeted earthward, leaving him naked, shivering, on his knees in the snow. He put a hand to the bundle containing Hella, nestled at the base of a tree. Her tiny pink tongue gave his finger an encouraging lick. Was he that pathetic that a laboring mother felt pity for him?

Pride swelled in his chest, pushed him past his own misery and back onto his feet. Before the cold gnawing at his bones could steal his power he snapped to the shifting plain and reappeared as a leopard. A slightly drunk leopard. Shifting so many times in such a short span had thrown off his sense of balance, destabilized his mind-body connection.

It took three tries to gather the corners of the towel in such a way that he could carry Hella in a sling with the towel between his teeth as if he were a feline version of the stork.

A stretch of woodland at the fringe of a public park was all that lay between him and his truck now. Hopefully there’d be enough energy restored by then to allow him to shift one last time and drive Hella to safety. Dawn light was slowly peeling back the cover of night. He needed the speed of four legs, the power of haunches that allowed him to leap streams, fallen logs, bound between rocks and hills. He managed a staggering lope.

He had just started across the trail winding between him and the pond when the sound of someone coming down the trail froze him in place. That he wouldn’t have been aware of that approach from the time he stepped out of the lab so stunned him, that he went still at the shock of it, costing precious time. He mentally sent Hella a warning, tucked her into a somewhat sheltered spot in the shadow of a bush and flattened himself in a patch of light and shadow pooled at the path’s edge. A leap to denser cover would likely have ended in a graceless belly flop that would attract the attention he sought to avoid. He went motionless, his caution telegraphing the seriousness of the danger so that Hella remained still and silent as well. The soft swoosh of shoes in snow grew in volume and a slender runner appeared at the bend in the trail.

He closed his eyes to thin slits, worried some light reflection of the liquid surface might give him away. His black and white coloring should mingle with the snow-patched ground, render him invisible. It didn’t.


White kittens at Nostos Studios

This one is hidden at

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