Bones and Bagger (Waldlust Series Book 1) by Ted Minkinow Read Free Book Online

brain instantly switched to the alternate command post.  Whose wouldn’t have?  Do you have any idea what Hungarian warrior-women were wearing a thousand years ago? 
    Sometimes it’s better to cut your losses and ignore the sexy getups before you’re regretting it for the rest of your life.  Hear my testimonial and learn.  I’ve paid the price for squeezing my brain into the head that has the least space by spending the last several centuries running from her.
    Oh there’ve been communications.  At a distance.  A sniper with a 10x scope can’t match a vampire’s vision.  During those times with Soyla standing within sight, well her indescribably wicked displays would melt the poles at the raunchiest strip club. And that’s all I’ll say.  OK, maybe one more thing: I do have to admit that I fully intended to give in to each of her schemes.  Like I said, I just couldn’t get past the smell.  She’s recently begun sexting me.  Hallelujah.
    Back to me getting my butt kicked by a chick.  Soyla had used my momentum against me.  She’d smacked me with something just hard enough to rattle my cage and alter my trajectory into a light pole.  Alter my trajectory is a code phrase for smashed my face into said light pole.  I could see the lights of Wiesbaden in the Rhine Valley below.  I didn’t pause to admire.
    My poor, aching face. Ground by Sparky, smashed by Soyla.  My good looks were getting a workout.  But thank heavens for small miracles.  Smashed face? Minor inconvenience.  I began cellular repair in the time it took my face to rebound off the pole.   Well, my face really didn’t rebound as much as it stopped in the divot it made in the metal.  The thing is, it hurt.  And hurting makes me mad.
    Soyla whizzed past me again.  I feigned injury.  Fell to my knees and covered my face.  I wasn’t sure she’d recognized me.  If she hadn’t, then she’d committed a cardinal sin in the vampire survival guide.  First gather the 411.  Perhaps Sparky’s scent masked mine.  Call it pride, but I don’t think I stink as bad as he does.  If Soyla were after Sparky and hadn’t first gathered the facts?  Just plain foolhardy. 
    Just like her.
    Unrefined arrogance.  And judging by the tsunami of stink pushing my way, Soyla was returning for another chance to plant my face into yet another manmade object.
    How do you cock every muscle in your body while maintaining the universal so-terrified-I-covered-my-eyes pose?  Not sure, but I managed to pull it off.  OK, I did peek through my fingers and saw Soyla flanking in from my right.  She wasn’t taking me completely for granted, but as I widened my ring and birdie fingers to get a better view, I could see Soyla scan to her left and right.  Guess she wanted to make sure my old spice wasn’t hiding more of our kind.  Smart thinking.  Big mistake.
    I sprung as she reached about fifty feet.  She sensed the movement and began ducking.  She was good alright, but you can’t dodge the bullet when the gun’s held to your head. I’ve tried, BTW.  I slammed into her, my head into her chest.  Insert smiley face here.  I heard the “OOF” of her departing breath and I think I heard a few ribs crack.  But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.  I was mad.  All of it didn’t have to do with Soyla, but Soyla would pay the entire tab if I had my way.
    With Soyla though, one seldom does.  She dropped the club, twisted, and pushed hard on my shoulders.  The effect reminded me of those cartoons where a gorilla squeezes a banana out of the peel; and the whole banana goes flying straight up in the air.
    I saw it all in slow motion.  Chest—both of them—check.  Thin, muscular waist—check.  Leather hot pants that looked painted on—check.  Bare feet—sexy…I mean—check.  I tried restraining her, but the tighter I gripped the faster she shot up. Like an insane rocket clearing a designer launching pad.  I watched as she flew out of my