I must be feeling better—I edited two chapters of Claw, did the Daiso run, vacuumed out all the master bathroom drawers and installed the new inserts, organized all of our stuff in there, made dinner, and modified a sleeve pattern and cut out the pieces for a new dress jacket (rust red twill, and this is going to be gorgeous).

Of course, I also had to do my daily loads of laundry due to the Incontinent Cat, listen to him scream at me despite the fact that I’d bathed him, changed out his bedding, given him fresh water and treats, and dabbed ointment on his ouchie pooper duper, wipe up a full glass of water that Jasmine knocked over in the library, and try to pay adequate attention to all the other cats. But that’s part and parcel of being staff to the J Crew.

Now I just have to do some TikTok videos, update my reader’s group on Facebook, make some other social media posts, and I’ll be done for the day, whee!

Although in looking up the spelling of the post title I found out that Granny Weatherwax died in The Shepherd’s Crown and also realized to my horror that I had never read the last Discworld novel. The Kindle version has been purchased and I’ll add the hardcover to my collection on payday.

But yeah, I’m definitely feeling a bit perkier, at least enough to do some ad work, tweak some promo images, and finish a quilt top that I’ve been picking at since 2008. I’m also feeling a craving to go and organize the master bathroom drawers but that will have to wait until tomorrow when I can get back to Daiso and pick up more drawer inserts.

I’m also not editing Shifter Woods: Claw because I’m trying to take weekends off from writing and give my brain a chance to rest and recharge, but I’ll be back at it tomorrow. With luck I’ll have it ready to send off to the editor and betas by the end of the week, whee!

I almost put my head down and took a nap on my desk. That’s a clue for Nic to close everything down and go to bed. In the meantime I’ll leave you with an unedited sneak peek at Shifter Woods: Claw.

Angela was back in the tumbled hillside near Sandia Crest, but this time she wasn’t running from anything. She wanted to be here, in a place that called to her heart. The air was deliciously warm and full of scents, an olfactory bouquet that fascinated her. She took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as her wolf broke the scents down for her. All kinds of plants, different soils, a trace of baking from a distant home, an even more distant creek, and the animal scents; raccoon, ringtail, deer, skunk, squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits, all the yummy little animals that were so much fun to chase.

And then there were the predators; bear, cougar, bobcat, fox, coyote. Her hackles rose at the threat.

No. They’re our neighbors. We share this territory.

With an effort she calmed herself. More deep breaths of the inviting summery air, so soft against her skin. And then a set of hands that were even warmer than the air came to rest on her shoulders.

You’re home, little wolf. You can run here.

She shook her head. Mom had told her never to shift, that it was dangerous, someone would catch her and she’d wind up in some government lab—or worse, dead.

That’s back at the human world. This is shifter territory. Let your wolf out.

Her wolf howled in her soul in agreement, a belling sound that was full of eagerness. She wanted to shift, to feel the fur on her skin and the wildness in her heart, run until no one could ever find her.

Run with me.

The words were laced with a sweetness that she couldn’t resist. Her wolf surged forward and the world changed, becoming flatter and sharper at the same time. She glanced behind her and saw a handsome white wolf. His tongue lolled out of his mouth in canine amusement.

Like what you see, little wolf?

She let her ears cant forward in appreciation, then dug her claws into the sandy dirt and darted off in a silent challenge.

The white wolf ran behind her, protecting her from anything that might come up behind them. She stretched her legs, increasing her speed until she was flying over the broken ground. He kept up with her easily, not tiring at all.

Slowly the ground began to slope upwards, climbing towards the peak of the mountain. She slowed down, judging the best places to jump from boulder to boulder, sprinting through the occasional clearings. Even the skitter of small mammals and lizards in the underbrush weren’t enough to make her stop. She hadn’t known that running could be so joyful, making her blood surge while at the same time her soul felt calm and joyous.

She reached a small natural amphitheater and paused there, panting softly. Jagged rocks interspersed with stands of spruce and fir formed the walls of the space, and the center was carpeted with soft grasses in shades of sage and gold. She trotted to the grassy spread and dropped to her haunches, relishing the feel of the grass under her paws. There was a power here, something old and protective that welcomed her.

The white wolf joined her, his musk enticing on the warm wind. He raised his muzzle, studying the natural walls around them. You’re a good runner.

Thank you. It felt natural to hear his words in her mind and to respond in the same way. So are you.

Alphas have to be fast. His profile was a handsome one, with a strong muzzle and sharp white teeth.

And then it shimmered for a moment, before disappearing. In its place was Matt’s profile, equally as handsome as he knelt next to her and studied the crest. She felt free to study his strong shoulders and chest, the slight round of his stomach with just a hint of softness blunting the outlines of the muscles, and the sprinkling of curly brown hair that formed a thick pelt across his pecs before dropping down his belly and into his groin. Don’t the kids call that dad bod? Whatever it was, it looked damned good on him. His skin was just tan enough to suggest that he spent a fair amount of time outside without clothes. And what she could see of his cock suggested that he was thick enough to show her a very good time.

Suddenly she changed as well, rolling onto her hip to sit more comfortably on the grasses. The fact that they were both naked seemed perfectly natural. The temperature was comfortable and the sun felt good on her shoulders. In fact, what she really wanted to do was lie on her back and let the fresh air wash away the memory of Bryce.

Matt chuckled. “So do it. You can do anything you like here, angel.”

She did, letting the grasses rub pleasantly against her shoulder blades. “Oh, this is so nice. I missed this place so much.”

“I bet. But you’re back now, and that’s all that matters.” He gazed down at her, dark blue eyes flickering a bit. “God, you’re beautiful.”

She let out a little snort. “Maybe twenty years ago. Now I’m old. I have to dye my hair to hide the grey and I’m getting wrinkles.”

He said a word that made her giggle. “You’re beautiful, angel. And you’ll still be beautiful when you’re a hundred.”

“Do shifters live that long?”

“Yup.” He stretched out next to her, propping his head on his hand. “I’m the youngest in the family at forty-seven and my pop is still going strong at a hundred and twenty-nine.”

She tried to wrap her head around the idea of living over a century. “Do we age? I mean, do our knees give out and we lose our teeth?”

He shook his head the best he could with it resting on his hand. “Nope. We get a little grey, yeah, and we develop a couple of lines here and there, but that’s about it. You’re about as old as you’re ever going to look.”

She liked that. She didn’t really mind the grey in her hair or the fine lines fanning out from her eyes. It was just the constant barrage from assorted media that made her feel like she should crawl into a hole and pull the dirt in after her. “I’m half human. Does that mean I won’t live as long?”

“I’m not sure—I don’t know a lot of halflings. But you’ll definitely live longer than the average human, and you’ll look a hell of a lot better, too.” He reached out with his free hand and traced a path from her temple around her ear. “So you don’t have to dye your hair if you don’t want to. I bet you’d look spectacular with a couple of silver streaks here and there.”

She gazed at the sparkling strands of grey at his own temples. Maybe I’d have one of those hairband streaks, or a big white blaze. “I’ll think about it.”

His fingers trailed down to her cheek, tickling a bit as it stroked, then traced the outline of her mouth. The simple movement felt so good, turning on nerves that she’d thought were dead. “I wanted to kiss you so badly when I found you.”

She wished he had, waking her like Sleeping Beauty. “You can kiss me now, if you like.”

He smiled before leaning down, brushing his mouth over hers with astounding delicacy. Even so her nerves sang again at the touch, eager for more. She let out a soft sound, not quite a whimper.

He pulled back far enough so that she could look him in the eyes. “Don’t worry, little wolf. You’ll get everything you want.”

Then he was kissing her again, mixing that same delicacy with a hunger that matched her own. When she opened her lips to him she tasted salt and orange with a hint of something sharp before his tongue slid between her lips. It was a wonder, feeling him play with her in a deliberate tease before pulling back to lick at her lips and the roof of her mouth. In her experience most men—most human men—thought the goal of French kissing was to try and lick their partner’s tonsils before getting on to the main event.

But Matt was a shifter. He toyed with her for long, lovely minutes, clearly relishing her taste as their tongues darting and danced together. The act was intimate and playful, sending more pleasure singing through her body before it grounded out in her nipples and the flesh between her thighs.

She could have spent the afternoon in his arms doing nothing but being kissed into oblivion, and she knew he would have given her exactly that. But her breasts began to ache and she couldn’t stop herself from rubbing her thighs together.

Their mouths separated and she felt the warm gust of his breath over her lips. “I want to touch you, angel. Can I do that?”

Her answer was a groaned, “God, yes.”

As you may know, Bob, I mentally cast my characters with actors because I’m a very visual writer and I see scenes in my head when I’m writing. In fact, I usually create headshots of whoever I cast and add them in Scrivener so that I can look at them on the right side of the screen when I’m writing. And I think I may have stumbled over the problem of why finishing Shifter Woods: Claw has been so difficult.

The people I mentally cast as Matt and Angela have the perfect chemistry for the story, and I admire them both as actors. Problem is, I’m not attracted to the male actor at all. I love his work, I love his interaction with the actress I cast as Angela, I have no problem with the man whatsoever—he just doesn’t do it for me.

So picture me sitting there and scrolling through pictures of actors in their forties, trying to find the ideal Matt. Which turned out to be kind of a struggle because most of what Hollywood considers to be pretty leaves me utterly cold. I needed someone who was American, mid-forties, could pull off being the head of a Search and Rescue group and a wolf shifter, could do grumpy yet sexy, and was hot in my unique opinion.

After literally an hour of searching, I finally found someone who works. And no, I’m not going to name him because it doesn’t matter who I see in my head when I write—the reader will pick their own favorite actor, which is how it should be. But suddenly the story has taken on a much deeper appeal and editing this should be hella easier.