March 14 I’ll be celebrating the release of the second in my cat shifter stories, Pretty Kitty, at Total-e-bound.
You can buy it here: http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?P_ID=1126
I’m fascinated with cats – have three of my own – and with the legend of cat shifters. Take a look and taste my newest release:
It has been 5000 years since man domesticated the cat. The first cat made tame was the African Wildcat. In Egypt cats were so popular that the Pharoah declared all cats "demigods." This means that they weren't gods equal to the Pharoah's status, but they certainly were more valuable than the average person.
Cat become the favorite domestic animal because of its features and habits, very specific, different from the features of other domestic animals: meowing resembling the crying of the child during the heat, changes of pupils of the eyes depending on the power of light, soft, noiseless step etc.
Werecats come originally from there native countries with humans having the supernatural ability to transform like a gift given by nature. The ability to still transform today is simply a hereditary power but this does not happen every generation, it can skip several generations at a time.
However the 'Gene' to transform lives within every family member of the werecat family chain, but may not always be active at birth but can be activated, when the person will believe that they may be able to have and use this power within there lives. For those in the modern world, finding a mate is primary because the need to reproduce is important. Mating is a driving force between werecats.
But for Aisha McClellan and Max Rogan this might not be quite so easy.
Aisha McClellan has more trouble than she knows what to do with. A born cat-shifter, part human, part leopard, at the age of eighteen when she was just coming into her first heat, a rogue member of the pack attacked her and traumatized her, leaving her unable to shift. Cast out by her pack, she makes a half-life for herself on the outskirts of both human and shifter societies, moving from city to city, seeking some kind of attachment. She’s been in San Antonio for about six months now and has taken to hanging out at The Litter Box, a bar where cat shifters go to relax. Several times she’s allowed herself to go home with someone she’s met there, but it’s always a disaster, and after that she’s careful to avoid them. Her best friend is the bartender, Max Rogan. One night when she’s drinking too much he coaxes her story out of her. He is appalled at how she’s had to live and what’s happened to her.
When her dance partner slid his hands up her rib cage and brushed his thumbs against her breasts she’d had enough and jerked away from him. He grabbed her arms, tightening his hold on her, anger in every line of his body. Taking a deep breath she broke his hold on her, she pushed her way off the dance floor and made her way back to the bar. She had to laugh when she got back to her bar stool. Someone—Max, of course—had put a crudely lettered Reserved sign next to her drink. Ignoring the dirty looks from the customers forced to stand, she hitched up onto the stool again and waved at Max, filling an order at the end of the bar.
He smiled and winked at her. God, that wink was so utterly sexy. If anyone could kick start her pheromones it would be him, but she had as much chance at that as she had of winning the lottery. Since she’d found out about The Litter Box she’d taken to hanging out here several nights a week. Hoping to find that one person who could help her get past her trauma. Make the act of sex so arousing that she lost herself in the climax and finally, finally came into full heat and shifted.
She’d tried, god knows. She’d probably fucked half the clientele of the shifter bar. But they all left her cold. Incomplete. Most of them didn’t even care that the orgasms she had were faked. Assholes. Why did she even bother again and again. It always ended the same way. Afterwards she couldn’t even stand to talk to them.
Only Max had been a constant. Sexy as sin Max Rogan who had become her best friend. The only person who knew her sad, pathetic story. The one who always kept a watchful eye on her. The one she could always count on.
The man who never saw her as anything but Aisha, vodka stinger on the rocks.
The one she really, really wanted more than any of the others.
She stirred the ice cubes in her drink with her finger then licked off the moisture. For a brief moment she wondered what it would be like licking Max’s cock and a totally unfamiliar surge of lust rolled through her. She squirmed on the seat trying to satisfy the sudden craving in her pussy. Where had that come from?
Quickly she downed the rest of her drink and tapped her glass on the bar for a refill. She ignored the scowl on Max’s face and just gave him her biggest smile, pointing to her empty glass. What the hell. Drinking seemed to be her only pleasure these days.