Through Time-Whiplash Read Online Free PDF Page A

yank her out of the Seelie prince’s hold and sent her flying off and away.
    She couldn’t see through the blackness and felt as though she couldn’t breathe. She struggled not to pass out as her lungs seemed to be collapsing.
    Dying ? Was she dying? She felt as though she were dying.
    And then, just as she began to lose consciousness, she felt strong arms surround her and heard an Irishman’s rough brogue declare, “Well, bless me, where did ye coom from, lass? And not that I be complaining, but whatever is that ye be wearing?”
     

 
     
    ~ Two ~
     
    JAZZ LOOKED UP into the rugged face of a burly stranger who leered back at her. The second thing she noticed was that he was wearing an old-fashioned style of clothing. His form of dress made him look as though he belonged in the eighteenth century.
    She frowned as she tried to take it all in. Where was she?
    He shook her and said, “Are ye daft, lass?”
    He looked like a blacksmith … how odd, but he had that look about him. They appeared to be standing outside an old-fashioned stable, she thought, so a blacksmith was what he must be. She gave him a tentative smile and said, “Ah … um …”
    “Aye, daft it is.” He laughed and gave her rump a hearty pat.
    She backed away from him and put up a finger. “Hey!” Deciding it was time to vamoose, she took a quick glance around and saw they were in a village of sorts.
    Huh, she thought, it looked like the restoration village she had taken her seniors to just yesterday.
    It was no longer afternoon—the sun seemed to be setting—and she glanced down the sandy street wondering how she had gotten there …
    A ruckus caught her attention, and she saw a tavern across the sandy avenue. Two men with their arms about each other’s shoulders went in to the cheers of other men.
    Where was she? What was this place?
    No sense. It made absolutely no sense.
    “I don’t know what ye be wearing, but no matter—we’ll soon have it off ye, darlin’ …” said the burly man, who then reached for her top.
    She slapped his hand away. She didn’t need to know where she was to know she was in a bit of trouble and needed to get away—and fast.
    He laughed. “Frisky lass, aren’t ye? Well, there be no one about to bother or interrupt us, so give over, do,” he said on a slur as he grabbed hold of her and pulled her roughly into his leather-vested chest.
    Although Jazz possessed several very different Fios powers, each unique in its own way, super-strength was not amongst them. Even so, she had a few tricks up her sleeve.
    She didn’t know where she was, she didn’t know how she got there, but she knew what and who she was. She waited for the opportunity to break away from him.
    Thinking perhaps she was hoping for too much, she decided the situation needed a bit of manipulation. She went into action.
    Relaxing, she pretended to faint, hoping it would trick him into easing up on his hold.
    It worked too well—he almost dropped her.
    She, however, steadied herself and, before he knew what she was doing, stomped heavily with the heel of her booted foot, planted it right smack onto his foot, and dug in.
    He yelped and bent over in pain, and she took that opportunity to kick him, a good solid kick right in the shins! He shouted out with rage and agony, and she slammed her now aching foot into his crotch.
    That was the final blow. He couldn’t move, but he sure could howl!
    She didn’t stick around but zoomed into super speed and was gone in a whirl of dust.
    Speed, she had speed but no idea where she was speeding to, and within a short span of time she slammed into a hard, tall body. Very hard, very tall, and also unmoving.
    Two hands held her shoulders.
    Breathe , she told herself, breathe , as she tried to shake free from the grip that held her in place.
    A familiar and, she decided, a very welcome voice said, “What the devil were you thinking?”
    * * *
    This rebuke incensed her. “What was I thinking? Me? Thinking?