We’ve come to the mid-month Hump Day. Which means I had to tax my brain to come up with a new snippet. I fear the Twit folks who took over #1lineWed are running out of inspiration. Which happens. To all of us. On the other hand, #ThursdayThreads is still going strong. Today’s blened prompt is *AS A* and “We always could.” Here’s the scene that popped out using those two things as inspiration. Again, the scene doesn’t need a lot of explanation. Either I’m getting better, or I’m getting boring.
As a leaden sky dropped flakes of winter white, Meg leaned back against the man she’d tried so hard to resist. This was not the time. This was not the place. And this should not be the man. She’d grown up in her mother’s shadow. Alana North might be a fabulous actress but her taste in men ran to extremes. Six marriages, the first to Meg’s father, the very stiff-upper-lip British army officer. While Major General David Muir was stand-offish and cold, he was also a man who could be depended on. In her teens, she’d figured out that the poor man was baffled by a little girl who bounced from pink tutus and Hello Kitty to climbing trees and wanting a polo pony. She smiled at the memory. She’d turned out to be a pretty decent polo player, much to her father’s surprise.
Her five step-fathers included a drugged-out rocker and a movie mogul with many ex-wives, mistresses and a slew of messed-up kids. He was followed by a tortured-soul of a struggling actor, a Hollywood real estate czar, and the pool guy. She rolled mental eyes at the cliche and wondered how her own life had devolved into the same.
Frasier Kincaid. Enigma. Hot. Cold. Intense. Laid back. Man. Except he wasn’t. Not exactly. That’s what he’d said. “I’m not exactly human.” And she’d seen his wolf.
“What?” Kin’s question whispered across her ear.
“What what?” she countered.
“You are thinking so hard I can hear you in my head.”
“Oh.” She thought some more, decided he didn’t need to follow her down the rabbit hole of her early life. Instead, she picked a topic that she was curious about and figured she was entitled to some explanations.
“The change. How does it work?”
“It just does. My kind, we always could shift.” Which was a lie. Sometimes, having the gene wasn’t enough and a Wolf couldn’t shift. Sometimes they died trying. He’d been one of the lucky ones. A survivor. Until now. Without Meg, he wouldn’t survive.
And there you have it–a brief peek into Meg’s backstory. Progress. Writers, any words to share today? Readers, would you want to be a shifter? I’m kinda torn. Part of me could be a wolf. At least part of the time. I mean, I like my steak medium rare, but I’m too lazy to chase it down. 😉