Through Time-Whiplash (23 page)

~ Epilogue ~

TOO LATE, JAZZ realized she could have avoided the deep plunge into the frigid swirling stream. She could have hovered before she broke water.

However, suddenly she found herself caught up in a human moment.

As the rushing stream pulled her along, she found herself tossed and flung about. She hit a few smooth, algae-covered rocks as the raging river took her downstream.

The current was strong, and she was temporarily confused; however, as the water’s force began to ebb and she felt the current’s pull lighten up, she realized she could jump shift out of the river and find some dry land.

She swam for a few moments as she tried to regain her senses and saw a grassy slope up ahead. With something of an effort, she jump shifted, landed on her butt, and stayed there as she recovered from the experience.

She knew that she had, somewhere in her new mind, the skill to blink her clothes and shoes dry, but just as she tried concentrating on this, something else caught her attention.

She cocked her head as she watched the water in the middle of the narrow river begin to part. “Huh,” she said out loud.

She froze in place for a fraction of a minute as she watched a red, horny, glaring thing that looked much like a prehistoric creature rise partially out of the river. Then she saw the little arms and then the talons—it was an oversized prehistoric raptor!

Its pin-like eyes took a sweeping gaze of the surroundings. Those eyes were cold, and suddenly its gaze was directly on her. It was as though it smelled her presence. It was as though she could hear its tiny brain say ‘food’, just as she watched it take a flying leap.

It was no more than ten feet from her.

She didn’t wait for more; she jump shifted.

However, in her panic, she did not calculate where she was jumping to, and she hit a tree with a force that left her on her butt.

At her back, she could hear its thunderous clumping over brush and small trees, so she jump shifted again. It still came at her. She wasn’t getting far enough away!

Okay, she told herself, hover—hover high!

She was pleased with herself when she accomplished this and found that she was well out of its reach. Then a swooshing sound through the tree tops caught her attention.

The next thing she knew, she was dangling in the air, flying, held in the talons of what looked like a prehistoric and a hairless vulture the size of a Cessna plane!

“
So not good
,” she told no one in particular.

*** *** ***

Jazmine’s story continues in
Through Time-Slamming
. Read on for a preview …

The next part of Jazmine’s story

will be available in June. Until then,

here’s a sneak preview of

Through Time-Slamming (unedited)

~ One ~

Many things might bubble up in one’s mind while dangling from the talons of a prehistoric and flesh-eating, pterodactyl-like creature. Oddly enough, what came to Jazmine Decker’s mind as she looked down at what appeared to be a lush green landscape was
The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper
.”

This quote by Eden Phillpotss was one her mother had been fond of; hearing it in her head, in her mother’s voice, helped Jazz center her concentration on the fact that she was now quite capable of saving herself.

She might be in the talons of a giant flying beast, but her Trevor had taught her the skills to escape.

How quickly the scenery was changing! She would have to make a decision fast.
Yup, time to leave.

She shifted out of the sharp talons, and just before she landed in the thick of the green mass below, she hovered. As she did, she patted herself on the back. Her smugness, however, ended abruptly when an anaconda slithered through the air to come face to face with her.

Screaming was her first reaction. In fact, the entire jungle vibrated with the scream that came out of her mouth.

Her next and instinctive reaction was to lift off and hover higher—much higher off the ground. “Never going to touch that land down there again,” she told herself right out loud, and then once again she attempted to mind-link with Trevor.

Nothing.

Jazz remembered the pendant around her neck.
It had to work
. It had worked in the year 1816, so why wouldn’t it work now?

Hovering well above the huge anaconda, who had given up on her and had curled into a coil ready to spring, she took the pendant in her hand and murmured the ancient spell that had been handed down from mother to daughter. She waited, and then a swirl of black mist opened up onto a bright yellow aura, but as suddenly as it had arrived, it was gone.

She thought she heard the queen’s voice whisper just before the aura vanished, “…be patient.”

She couldn’t be sure; she frowned with frustration. “What is the good in having this charm if you can’t get through to help me?” She shook her head and sighed. She was going to have to shift again and again, until she could find a place to set down and shield herself.

However, suddenly a strong swish of wind blasted over her, and once again she found herself dangling from a determined pterodactyl’s talons.

She swung in the wind for a moment while she tried to get herself together and decide where to jump shift to.

And then she saw them.

Three hungry, reaching, oh, she thought, pterodactyl babies with wide-open mouths as large and toothy as a Great White Shark’s!

Jazmine Decker screamed with total abandon.

According to prophesy, Ravena is the only one who can rescue a powerful sorcerer trapped in another dimension—but the prophesy doesn’t promise she’ll survive the experience. Read her story in

Hungry Moon: Quicksilver

~ Prelude ~

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

—William Shakespeare,
Hamlet

1575, Scottish Highlands, where many honored their clans and chose to follow the old ways

Quinn MacValdane had a great deal of weight on his shoulders, but those shoulders were huge and certainly capable of carrying the burden. The weight, however, was unlike any other he had ever lifted, and he was tired of constantly having to deal with it. He just wasn’t ready to get married!

He was more than six months away from turning thirty and tired of the nagging as his birthday drew closer. He had to get out and away from it!

Mayhap he just needed a tussle with the pretty tavern wench, Sarah, to loosen up his nerves? Och but he liked her full breasts. The notion of her naked body under him made him smile, and he felt his dick spring up, ready for action.

A crackle of twigs made him look around and hold his lantern up.

He had heard the rumors but had shrugged them off. He wasn’t concerned—why should he be?

He was a sorcerer with supreme powers and had naught to fear from the beast.

Thus, he proceeded into the woods to take the shortcut to the town tavern. He grinned and hummed to himself, much like a boy at the thought of a few drinks with his friends and then a bit of fun with Sarah. She was a lovely, full-bodied woman …

He heard something again.

His hearing had always been extraordinary, and it told him now that something moved stealthily through the woods at his back and was eating up distance between them.

Once again, he held up his lantern and looked around—not afraid, but wary, very wary, for he knew that something evil was at his back.

He touched the silver-tipped sword that was tucked at his belt. If something rabid was out there, it was time to put an end to it! And, bloody damn, he was just the man to do it. He would enact his shield, protect himself from getting bitten, and finish the beast once and for all. The shield would protect him from the dangers of a rabid bite.

Everything in the forest seemed to go still.

Nothing seemed to move. Even the crickets had ceased their chatter.

Warily he started forward again.

His mother’s face flashed in his mind.

If only she would stop her nagging at him. Lately it was always the subject at the dinner table.

She was a dear heart, but he wasn’t in love, and he wasn’t ready to tie himself down to one woman.

She wanted grandchildren, something to fill the void and still the grief of his father’s passing. She wanted him to carry on the line.

He liked being single … he liked women …

He had told her to leave him be.

He was the only son, she enjoyed reminding him. She wanted to keep Valdane in a direct line. If he didn’t have a son, the castle and the estate would go to his father’s brother. What she didn’t realize was
he didn’t care
. He loved his good uncle—why shouldn’t the estate go to him?

These thoughts were once again interrupted, and Quinn MacValdane knew the creature was not only at his back, it had had gained ground.

The first
thing that assailed him was the odor. Musky, and because his sense of smell was as good as his hearing, the scent of fresh sweet blood filtered through to him. It was dripping saliva mixed with blood.

The second
thing that assailed him was the sound of the beast, the low, unthinking wild growl. The sound was primal as the creature trumpeted hungrily with mindless rage.

The third
thing was the sure knowledge that this was something sinister, something otherworldly: more, so much more than a rabid beast—more than the ‘werewolf’ he had actually expected to appear.

It was near, and it was exploding with Dark Magic.

This beast was frothing at the mouth and mad.

He would not be able to outrun it, and he wasn’t sure his shield would hold against its Dark Magic. What was this? What kind of werewolf had magic?

He felt its power vibrate in the air. He had been just a teen when the male members of his family had hunted and killed a werewolf years ago. This was so much more.

Quinn MacValdane did the only thing he could do: he enacted a spell that enswathed him with a protective shield.

It should have been enough
.

He set down his lantern and withdrew his silver-tipped sword.

His shield should have worked like a coat of armor, but he had been right—this was more, so much more than a werewolf. This creature wielded Dark Magic and had stalked him with purpose.

It stood a foot taller than Quinn’s six feet. It clawed the air, its amber eyes burning with bloodlust. It was drooling saliva and blood from its recent kill, and it roared with fury.

Quinn looked into its eyes and knew he was looking into the eyes of madness. It swiped at him, but its claws bounced off his shield.

Infuriated, it went down on all fours, and Quinn heard the voice, its voice, in his head as it began reciting an ancient Gaelic spell.

And then he knew.

It was tearing apart his shield with its magic.

He looked up and noted the moon was in its full glory as the feral creature attacked with a ferociousness he believed would kill him.

He picked his spot and began maneuvering it in a circle. It kept its head low and stared at his sword, which seemed to deter it.

Quinn couldn’t get over its size … huge and pulsating with power.

He studied it, trying to get its measure, its weakness. Its fur was ragged, spotted with what smelled and looked like blood.

Fangs, sharp fangs snapped as it snarled. Violence governed its purpose, and that purpose was to tear, maim, kill—and something else. Usurp. It wanted his magic. He could hear its thoughts in his head. What kind of werewolf was this?

Devour … take … take
Quinn’s magic.
Damn, how did it know his name? How the bloody hell could it know his name? Who was this? Weres lost all memory of themselves, their loved ones—it was part of their curse. This one was a thinking, magical beast.

He could detect nothing of the human in it. And yet, somehow, it seemed familiar, must be familiar if it knew his name?

This thing looked to be unmistakably insane, and yet, Quinn fancied he saw purpose in its amber-lit eyes.

Would his white magic work against the beast?

Once again it attempted to slash at him. Quinn jumped out of the way, knowing he had to call on darker magic to protect himself.

He needed a ward, but he had no time to create one. He had but one chance for survival.

The silver-edged short sword he was never without
.

And then the werewolf sprang into action, and Quinn sneered as he shouted, “Well then, beast—come and get it if ye be a mind to!” He plunged his sword just at the right moment directly in the center of its beating heart.

But even as the were roared and suffered excruciating pain, even as it started to fall, even as death began to take it, its jaws locked down on Quinn’s shoulder and bit—
bit hard
—and Quinn’s fate was sealed.

He was able to punch and beat the creature off, and he watched as it fell to the ground, rolled over onto its back, and began the transformation back into man.

Quinn saw at once it was Whelan MacPoole, clan leader of the neighboring estate.
Husband to his mother’s sister
.

They had never been friends throughout their family’s history. He should have known. He should have suspected. The signs had been there all along, if only he’d noticed.

Quinn bent, pulled his silver-tipped sword from the man’s heart, and stood to look up at the stars before closing his eyes.

He had been bitten.