Sup-per time and the livin’ is eee-zee… Oh. Wait. That’s summer time. Good thing I don’t have to sing for my supper. And in case you haven’t guessed, today’s THEME is **SUPPER**. Since MOONSTRUCK:BETRAYAL is the project open on my computer, I went there first and while these aren’t new words, I hope you’ll enjoy this peek at Rudy Tornjak, the hero of ROGUE MOON as he makes his entrance. Oh…not exactly safe for little eyes. Just sayin’…
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Arriving in the wake of Mardi Gras, something in New Orleans called to him. Her busy streets and old architecture soothed the restless pacing of his wolf.

The drunk tripped over a metal trashcan and the ensuing racket echoed. A dog barked, quickly silenced by a harsh command from his master. Closer, a woman moaned softly as a man grunted and Rudy’s ears picked up the slap of naked flesh coming together. His cock hardened at the sound. Perhaps he would seek out a woman. Or maybe he would drive into the bayous, shed his humanity, and hunt as his wolf wanted. He was not prey. He was predator. Always.

The man in the next apartment groaned and moments later, the bedsprings squeaked as he rolled off the woman. The sharp tang of cigarette smoke drifted from their open window followed shortly by snores. Hunting in the bayous sounded better and better.
Fingertips gripped the railing so tightly the metal groaned. His fingers. They felt detached, like they belonged to someone else. He closed his eyes and growled. A face glowed against the backs of his eyelids like the after image of a flash photo. He’d only glimpsed the woman in the crowd but she haunted him. His dreams. His days. And far too many of his nights.

Two weeks ago he’d caught sight of that face through the crowd on Bourbon Street. Her hair glowed like curling embers beneath the streetlights. Her face was that of an angel. Or a devil. A devil who kept his dick hard and his thoughts stirred.

“Hey, sugah. Watchu’ doin’ up there all by yer lonesome? You maybe want some comp’ny?”

Rudy stared down at the hooker. She stood, weaving, in the middle of the street. Any other night, he might have gone down, paid her price and taken her in the alley. But not now. Now, his cock ached for only one woman—the elusive waif he’d glimpsed deep within the French Quarter.

With luck, the drunk would stumble out of the alley and take care of her. If luck remained the fickle bitch he knew her to be, the woman would stand there yelling until Rudy was forced to deal with the noise. And it would not be in the manner the whore wished.
Her scent wafted up to him and killed the erection pushing against his jeans. The whore reeked of drugs, booze, and old sex—the complete opposite of the other scent. The one that eluded him when he ran in the bayous. The one that filled his heart with possibilities. The one that smelled of…prey.

With a snarl, he left the balcony. He would not finish that thought. He had no home, nor would he ever have one. He had no family left. No pack. Nor did he want one. Better to be alone. As he had always been. Rogue.

Between the face searing his memory and the scent branding his nose, Rudy wanted out. Away. He snagged a leather jacket on his way out the door. Taking the stairs three at a time, he all but leapt down the staircase to the first floor. He ripped open the door just in time to all but trip over the drunk as he stumbled along the sidewalk.

He snatched a wad of money from his front pocket and rammed it in the drunk’s mouth before turning him and shoving him into the whore’s arms. “Go fuck yourselves stupid.”

Too stunned to react, the two humans gaped as Rudy strode away, his legs eating up the sidewalk with a vengeance. His chest burned with a need to escape, to leave the trappings of society—of humanity here in the city. He wanted the scent of woods, of clean air, of…prey.

Rudek Tornjak wanted to hunt. He wanted to stalk then run his quarry to ground. He wanted to sink his teeth into the throat of his kill, letting the copper tang of fresh, hot blood wash down his throat. He wanted to howl of his prowess so every creature in the bayou knew the big bad had come for them. Loup garou gonna come eat them all up for his supper.
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Pssst Don’t tell, but I wouldn’t mind being Rudy’s supper. 😉 Readers, what are you fixing for supper tonight? Writers, any supper/dinner/food words to share? As always, take care of yourselves!