(edited version of opening)    
    Chapter 1
    Ronat Castle, Central Scotland, 2005
    
    Were the Gods on permanent vacation? Whatever mystery was supposed to be illuminated from the drawing of the willow branch in the book Time Guardian Cochise studied where he leaned back upon a wooden bench was lost to the cutting sensation caused by the wood chewing into his shoulders. Nothing but background static in a chaotic world like his ludicrous life story that played over and over again. Time to steer my life back on course. To make Grandfather proud. To honor him. In studying time-travel piloting, a run-away Sioux rarely got a chance to hone his grandfather's shamanic legacy. Now to focus more and try to grasp everything he should have learned from Grandfather. Shamanism had finally made life's miserable existence tolerable in gifting him the ability to shape shift. Even when working for the enemy.
    A lump rammed into his craw.
    Opportunity still ranked him unimportant among time guardians as a cadet. And he remained a pawn of white men. But nothing in life was free. Or so Grandfather loved to chant. Cochise fingered a slick page. 
    The fortress's siren emitted three droning blasts. 
    More bad guys arriving at the stone circle. Opportunity knocking. He jumped to his feet. 
    Dangerous invaders from the future bent on changing Earth history were just what a bored Lakota needed. He scanned the courtyard for the other members of the Death Squad.
    The castle's wooden door burst open. Six kilted Ring Masters charged into the courtyard. Their black loafers clicked a rattling drumbeat. All wielded their golden nidium claymore hilts like sleek brass rapiers sheathed where they hung at their waists. 
    Just the young head Ring Master, Scotty, leading the kilts to the standing stones. Without glancing a poor Lakota's direction. Joy. If the rest of the Death Squad arrived, he could get in on the fun. 
    Ronat Castle's wooden door swung into the courtyard and pounded against the doorway's surrounding stucco masonry. 
    Joey. 
    The blond six-foot-four Aussie strode into the sunlight in his faded olive camouflage, holding a field radio. 
    The recent addition to Death Squad was clueless about the imminent rumble. "Hey." Cochise's shout carried on the wind.
    The man slid his blue gaze from the receiver to Cochise. 
    Not another screw-every-last-one-of-you-non-white-bastards look. The Aussie needed his lily-white ass shredded.
    The book's pages whispered as a breeze flitted through them. He ignored the shushing wind and focused on the Australian.
    "You threatening me?" Joey asked emotionlessly.
    More than he could ever dream. He sucked in a breath. 
    A tingling in his chest pulled Cochise down into a crouch. Before he blinked, he placed an ebony paw upon the hard pavement. Joey's never looked so tasty.
    The Aussie's eyes widened as he halted in awe. 
    Why not the first time you see a man metamorphose into a panther?    
    The man's heart thrashed where he stood, twenty paces away. 
    Cochise swallowed a laugh. There was nothing like heightened panther senses. The ability to smell, hear, and get closer to Grandmother Earth proved intoxicating. 
    "Leave him alone, Cochise," Zulu yelled from somewhere out of view.
    The African Dane might be logical, but there was no place in this world for people who shot a person down because of his ancestry. However, Joey's shocked expression was enough payment for his disrespect. Cochise smacked his lips and turned to the high stone perimeter wall. 
    The straight edge begged for walking. He could climb over. Pace the top. Or just dart through the castle's toothy portcullis. After a week of hanging human, a cat needed to stretch his legs. He raced to the closest wall, pounced up to hook the edge with his curled claws, and grated the stone with his hind nails, kicking himself over.     
    Too easy. When his pads hit the ground, he saw the visitor walking toward him with six tartaned Ring Masters. 
    A freaking Riverdance reject. No man should wear a white poet's shirt unlaced to his navel. The wind would have blown the billowing shirt away save for the fact Riverdance had tucked the tails into his tight black leather pants. 
    What a girl. Harmless. Save for the sword at his hip. It wasn't every day the less-desirable little Indian got to see his boss wear a tutu.     
    The sheathed blade reeked of Ring Mastery. Somewhere in time, the Brothers must have abandoned the Sisterhood and gone solo. Smart pale asses. How did the Brothers deal with their devotion to soul mates? By the looks of Riverdance, maybe they'd gone homosexual.    
Good thing a shape-shifting Lakota didn't need anyone. Just duty and a little supernatural power. There was nothing like some god's favoritism to help a man find purpose in life. 
    A man. Sweat. Scars. And muscle. No freaking lacy shirt.
    The jangling leaves in the nearby trees whispered of freedom. 
    Every cat needed a good run to stretch his tight joints. He inhaled, licking his nose to identify scents. 
    Sweet pollen and musty earth on the wind set his heart racing like Peyote. He dug his claws into soft dirt. 
    Damn, the world smelled welcoming. Intrigue and danger tempted him to race, to tear away from the tiny world he hid inside. To freedom. Somewhere. Just beyond the tree line. He turned and padded toward the trees.
    "Cochise?" Scotty called.
    Back to prison. It wasn't bad enough Delta Force hunted him down back in the real world. No. This new brethren forced him to bend almost every moment. He stopped and peered over his shoulder. 
    Scotty waved him over. 
    Right. He unfurled his long tongue, sat his haunches on the hot hard trodden path, and waited, killing them with absolute feline defiance. 
    Scotty scowled in his colorful red-and-blue tartan.
    Gods, to throw his head back. Laugh. In cat form, the gesture turned into a yawn. No sense in wasting energy.
    The huddle approached until Cochise could hear all the hearts pounding with intrigue. All but one steady heartbeat. The only way to learn who held the fearless heart was to cull the men from the pack one by one. Not with so many eyes watching. Rules hung over his head like a lumbering dark cloud in the clear blue sky. Chasing down the guilty party meant risking loss of his ability to shape shift.
    "Cochise," Scotty called. "Didn't you hear me, lad? We've got to rumble."
    No problem. The man should have just shouted it was time to kick pale ass. Cochise sucked in cool air to shape shift. 
    The tingling in his chest shot his shoulders up till he towered before Riverdance's amber eyes. "I love to rumble."
    "Come on. There's trouble brewing." Scotty's green-and-orange tartan whirled toward the gateway.
    Every man followed.
    "There's little time," Riverdance bellowed. "If the Flarion binds his heart with her"-
    "A Druidess?" Cochise interrupted. If a Flarion got hold of a Sister, Gods, what could happen? Forget Delta Force. Those deep-space-trash chumps couldn't beat the Death Squad.
    Riverdance's amber gaze met Cochise's. "Are you certain he's sufficiently trained, Scotty?" 
    Insult me and get it over with.
    "He's the one. You won't have any problems. If you do, just let me at him." Scotty shot him a shut-it-up stare.
    Always tiresome threats. He smacked his lips, scanning the clear sky for some blessed god's omen permitting him to shape-shift and shred them all.
    "Don your good boots, Hero," Riverdance ordered Cochise. 
    The jerk didn't just call him hero. He slid his gaze to the man's writhing black hair. His neck was so tanned he could have been an Injun save for his Scottish burr. 
    "You ready to shine?" Riverdance asked him.
    Enough crap. "Let's get something straight." He snaked his arms across his chest. "You don't call me hero and I won't call you Riverdance."
    The Ring Masters burst out laughing. 
    All but Riverdance who seemed oblivious to the insult. Shouldn't the Gael know his People's cultural history?
    "Uh, Arthur," Scotty intervened. "That's a reference to a popular fad in Irish dancing. Meaning your clothes."
The tall leathered sissy blinked slowly, met Cochise's gaze, and nodded. "Cochise then." 
    Respect? Strange reaction from a pale ass.
    Scotty shot Cochise a serious brown gaze. "This is Arthur, a Gaelic Judge from the future. A catastrophe's upon us, lad. Blow the stink out your nose and pay attention."
    Why did the Great Spirit send me to this end of the God-forsaken planet? Unfortunately, he knew all too well the earth wasn't rid of gods. 
    Cochise heard an earful by the time they paced Ring Master Hall's white marble floor. The warm sunshine pouring through the windowed ceiling couldn't drive away any man's chill in the room. The Flarions had breached the timeline again. And this time the futuristic invader was determined to bind his spirit to a Druidess. History wouldn't be safe if the time traveler succeeded. 
    Something reeked with the situation. "But doesn't she have a soul mate?" he asked.
    "She's a new spirit, unbound to any Brother in time." Riverdance answered near the huge flagstone fireplace. "If he woos her and claims her maidenhead, she might help him work the stone circles. We don't need that with a renegade god helping him."
    Probably Coyote, if you asked a Lakota. 
    "Which God is behind this?" Scotty trumpeted. 
    Riverdance met Scotty's gaze. "We don't know yet. There's a bit of a problem with a few gods. 'Tis under investigation." 
    Riverdance turned Cochise's direction and slowly strode toward him. 
    The man was menacing in an odd sort of way. He walked as if he carried an enormous amount of body mass. Like he supported the Universe's weight upon his shoulders.
    "You're the best cadet?" Riverdance questioned.
    Of course. Everyone else was deer scat since Odin left with his Druid wife. Only the Norwegian could compare to a Lakota. And he was lost to the timeline. "I think so."    
    "Rational." Riverdance nodded thoughtfully. "I think we'll work nicely together."
    Work with Riverdance? The man had shown him respect. And work was duty in a shape-shifting contract. Especially when the contract was the only one available to an outlaw. "I can take orders." At least until he proved himself the better man.
    "Let's go." Riverdance strode toward the door.
    By the time their car wound up the rocky road to the remote two-story Tudor house, Cochise shuddered while gripping the steering wheel. 
    Evil hung everywhere like an invisible entity tickling gooseflesh from his bare arms.     
    "Do you feel it?" Riverdance asked from the passenger's seat.
    So the man was a shaman too. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. He nodded, studying the yard beneath the trees. Where was the knockout Druid? The bad-medicine babe had to be somewhere. 
    Riverdance trained a spirit-chilling gaze upon him. A gaze unsurpassable by any other than his grandfather's gaze. The man wouldn't unseat him. Or bore through to his heart to find whatever he was searching for. No one would ever delve into his head again.
    Cochise focused on the blacktop, on the green grass fringing the road. He wouldn't think of anything else. Street. House. The hardness of the steering wheel.
    "I hope we're not too late," Riverdance muttered.

"Interesting characters, a fascinating plot, and a fantasy theme with some twists and turns that this reader never expected were all incorporated into SACRIFICIAL HEARTS. I enjoyed the suspense as Twila anticipates her brother’s whereabouts. The intensity surrounding Twila and everything she endures to locate Danny keeps the reader on the edge of their seat. Skhye Moncrief spins a different kind of romance: erratic with a blend of diverse characters. The way she interchanges Twila by being frustrated one minute then irritated the next makes her a believable character throughout the story. I could share in some of her sentiments when it came to her brother, not to mention learning how she could be a Druid in this entertaining adventurous ride."  ~Linda L., Fallen Angel Reviews

"Druids, magic, time travel. They’re all present in NAKED ON THE STAIRCASE. The title of this book intrigued me, but by the time I’d finished reading I understood why the author chose this intriguing title. The entity is a mystery being whose identity is not solved until the last few pages, but its very existence holds the story together. Naked on the Staircase is well written with intrigue, mystery, magic and time travel, ingredients that work well in a fantasy novel. The interaction between Aron and Cowboy was excellent and the background of the story was skillfully woven into the book. I enjoyed reading Naked on the Staircase and would like to read more of Skhye Moncrief’s novels." ~Orchid; LASR



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