Sunday's WIP

More of:  Werewolf's Tail & A Druid Sword

This may be the last tidbit I'll share of this WIP. After this, I would be giving away too many spoilers.

Upcoming Events:  I have received edits for Dreams of the Forgotten from the editor. I have yet to share the cover on the blog, so look for that and maybe an excerpt.  I also have a new release coming in six days, I think.  All in all, it will be a very busy week with a giveaway!!


This is the unedited first draft which is always crappy but I hope you enjoy it anyway.  Cheers!!

© 2013, Lexi Ander

Jude had had enough of the man's vile hatred. He drew a quietly sobbing Tasha into his arms, soothing back her pixy hair. He'd find another way to locate the mates and help the werewolves. There had to be shamans, people, out there who cared. Weren't they supposed to be healers or spiritual people? It was crock of shit if anyone asked Jude right at that moment.

"Come on Tasha, we'll find another way."

As Diego would say, "Pendejo."

The shaman snorted and sneered. "What? You're going to save the werewolves?"

"Yes!" Jude snapped with barely controlled fury. "With or without a shaman's help."

The prick grabbed a rod on the table nearest to him and charged at Jude. Swinging Tasha behind him onto the floor, he grasped the handle of the sword from the wicker basket. Electricity jumped from the sword to Jude as he drew the blade.

The sword met and shattered the wooden rod. It was mere inches before it would've slammed into Jude's head. He'd had more than enough bile from the pompous asshole. Jude's body hummed and something within broke free in a warm rush. He kicked Red in the chest with the hard sole of his biker boot.

The prick staggered back into a table. The scrape of steel on wood filled the air as the man grasped a sword from the surface. Jude's body grew warn, then hot. Energy zipped thought him. Jude's veins burned with liquid fire. His breath huffed white clouds, chilled as if he breathed the air of the coldest winter night. Jude staggered. his limbs at once weighty and the next moment light as air. His head spun and a band tightened around his chest stealing his breath.

The pendejo laughed gleefully and swung the sword in a wide arc over his head and gave a war whoop that echoed about the room. The walls shimmered and ghost's images of Pic warriors dressed only in their protective tattoos of blue wode for battle. The phantoms smashed their weapons together filling the room with clatter and roaring voices.

"When I'm done with you, boy, I will finished what the White Witch has started and put the werewolves out of their misery." Red grinned, the white of his eyes swallowed by black, glistening blue fangs in a harsh smile.

Jude swayed from dizziness, nausea gripped his belly, but he refused to fall to whatever strange illness gripped him. And he refused to allow another to threaten his family.

"Over my dead body," Jude replied through gritted teeth.

He met the crazed man in a ringing clash of swords. Each parry and thrust because easier, his mind supplying memories of technique and form. Jude had never wielded a sword in his entire life but with every swing of his arm his knowledge grew until his body moved with unbroken action.

He fought.

As he battled the shaman in a flurry of sword play, the ghost warriors attacked, drawing Jude's blood. A force within his mind burned and flexed. He pushed a wave of energy out. It rippled through the room dissolving the illusion of ghost. The man screamed as if Jude had ripped something away from him.

He pressed his attack, pushing the red head back. The heckling light had left the man's countenance. Instead the prick watched Jude with a keen assessing gaze. He tested Jude's defenses and reflexes, Jude's strength, and finally Jude's mind.

The mental onslaught snapped Jude's head back and he lost his grip on the sword before the fell to his knees. Jude slammed up hastily constructed shields that were smashed with barely a touch. Over and over Jude defended as the shaman walked around him clucking his tongue at Jude with each defeat. If living with Diego had taught Jude anything it was there was always a way over an obstacle and more than one way to win a fight.

To use any means necessary.

When the smug ass pendejo passed in front of Jude again, he launched his body into the hombre, aiming his shoulder into the man's gonads. The mental attack stopped freeing Jude's mind. Red crumpled to the floor, hunched into a ball around his center. Jude rolled the man over and straddled his chest, trapping the arms under his knees.

Heaving for breath, Jude fisted a hand in the man's red hair. Raising the prick's head slightly Jude knocked the man's head into the dark wood of the floor. He pressed the palm of the other hand against the man's throat and waited for the dazed look to pass from the shaman's eyes and focus on Jude.

Jude squeezed the shaman's throat, cutting off most of the airway--but not all. "They. Are. Mine. So long as I live, none will harm them. Not even a crazy assed shaman like you."