I love this story even if it has been a bit of a pain in the buttocks. I wanted to write a short story, maybe about thirty thousand words; however, I had too many secondary characters and I had to go back and rewrite.
I’m back on track now and I thought I’d give you a bit of information on the main characters. The hero and heroine are both Santir shapeshifters. Mace, the hero has golden hair. So when he changes to animal form he’d look something like this beautiful leopard. Santir are larger and more heavily muscled than leopards, but look very similar.
Here’s a small-unedited-snippet.
God’s, he was beautiful. He seemed taller than she had thought he would be. She hadn’t really been able to judge his height from the vids.
He made the small ship seem almost claustrophobic with his broad shoulders and muscular form. Her eyes skimmed over him, noting every line, every angle. She frowned as she noticed his hair. It was shorter, just past his shoulders. Irrationally, that change angered her even more. That hair had inspired some vivid fantasies.
All of those observations raced through her along with a rush of conflicting emotions. Joy and eagerness warred with anger and betrayal. She wanted to run to him and she wanted to hurt him. Held immobile by the inner struggle, she could merely stare at him.
Mace had no such hesitation. He stalked over to her, closing the distance in a few long strides. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her out of the chair, enveloping her in his scent and warmth. It felt wonderful to have his body pressed against hers, safe and comforting, yet exciting at the same time. She nestled closer, inhaling, drawing his scent deep into her. A moment later reality crashed into her mind. He’d left her. She struggled, pushing at him. When his arms loosened, she stumbled away from him.
She held up a hand. Even as she did it, the absurdity of that move struck her. If he came after her, she wouldn’t be able to stop him with a mere hand. A stunner might do it—if she could bring herself to pull the trigger.
“Honie,” Mace breathed her name as he took a step toward her.
“You left me!” Tears fell from her eyes and Honie dashed the wet streaks from her cheeks, furious at herself for showing such a weakness.
“I’ma…” The soothing timbre of Mace’s voice curled into her.
“Don’t you come near me, you tamaurg,” Honie growled, backing away from him until she bumped into the console of the control panel. She felt totally justified calling him a bastard. The man had nerve calling her “darling” after what he’d done. She knew that her anger wouldn’t be much of defense against constant contact with him. Even with fury pounding through her, he posed a huge temptation. “Sorry son of Setarin whore, how can you look at me as if you expect me to walk into your arms after what you did?”