away the dirty work—me—it was a sure bet that the death train had already left the station. No delaying it. No turning it around and sending it home. Heaven forbid she represented The Seven.
You might have noticed I didn’t know much about what was going on. I did know one thing, though. This feud would run its course and one vampire, maybe more, would depart life.
I could make sure I didn’t end up that one dead vampire by not declaring Sanctuary for Sparky. I didn’t know why Soyla attacked Sparky or how many other Centurions or Primaries he faced. No way to gauge my odds for survival if I took the incredibly stupid road. Maybe I should restate that last sentence so you understand my thought process. No way to gauge odds, if any existed, for my living to next Friday.
You’ll recall I said earlier that a sane vampire avoids engagements without the associated 411? Declaring Sanctuary without the names and number of Primaries and Centurions would represent one of the greatest in a long line of stupid decisions for me. I refused to be manipulated by Sparky or Soyla. No way.
I heard myself say “I, Gaius, Prince of the Teutoberg Tribe declare Sparcius Germanicus in Sanctuary.”
I dub myself: Sir Knucklehead.
Soyla smiled. Don’t know what I expected out of her so a smile seemed as reasonable a response as any. Except. The smile looked neither surprised as, “I never thought you’d actually bite and now I’m in big trouble because I’ve threatened Gaius Teutoberg,” or hungry as, “I can’t wait to rip out your heart and use it to start the fire over which I will sauté your eyes.” No, that smile came across more like the automatic sort you see between married people who say, “Love you,” and “Love you too.” Automatic. Expected.
I didn’t know what to think about the automatic part, but expected made me uneasy. Either way, I saw no need to worry about my stress level. With Sparky’s bloody stump of an arm lying beside me and a gorgeous Hungarian warrior-woman who tended toward psychotic standing mostly naked in front of me? I thought the blood pressure cuff might already be pegged.
But I’d think about all that later. The fuzz creeping into my brain told me it was quittin’ time at Tara. Soyla needed to attack or she needed to leave. Otherwise, we’d both get loopy…and if the standoff went long enough, we’d melt away. And I knew I was losing it because as I tried to concentrate on Soyla standing in the mostly-darkness and silhouetted by the lights and spires of Wiesbaden below, I could have sworn she wasn’t wearing pants.
Soyla moved her hand and I tensed for the attack. But she blew me a kiss, curtsied, and sprinted her bare, but painted fanny toward the Wiesbaden High School football stadium and into the darkness. It took a couple of sicky-feeling minutes for the smell to recede.
As my head began to clear this one preeminent thought pushed all others aside. Oh I’d think about Sarah Arias and our freaky talk, and I’d analyze Sparky and his knife trick. Soyla and the Blood Feud? Icing on the cake. Yeah, I’d do the mental wire brush on that one until only the clean, shining truth remained. Later.
As I stood there in the adrenaline-kick of a deadly battle come and gone and with my heart still beating, one thing, and only one thing demanded my full attention. Do you know how crazy-sexy it would have been if Soyla had used skin-tone paint instead of black? A voice spoke up in the back of my mind.
“Pig.”
I couldn’t tell for sure if that voice came to me sounding like my dear wife Nellie. But a guy who hears voices in his head seldom controls who speaks with them. Trust me. And that time? Almost certain it didn’t come from my Nellie. I ran through my mental contact list and the card it stopped on gave me chills. Sarah Arias.
How’d she get between my ears?
Another entry in the list
You might have noticed I didn’t know much about what was going on. I did know one thing, though. This feud would run its course and one vampire, maybe more, would depart life.
I could make sure I didn’t end up that one dead vampire by not declaring Sanctuary for Sparky. I didn’t know why Soyla attacked Sparky or how many other Centurions or Primaries he faced. No way to gauge my odds for survival if I took the incredibly stupid road. Maybe I should restate that last sentence so you understand my thought process. No way to gauge odds, if any existed, for my living to next Friday.
You’ll recall I said earlier that a sane vampire avoids engagements without the associated 411? Declaring Sanctuary without the names and number of Primaries and Centurions would represent one of the greatest in a long line of stupid decisions for me. I refused to be manipulated by Sparky or Soyla. No way.
I heard myself say “I, Gaius, Prince of the Teutoberg Tribe declare Sparcius Germanicus in Sanctuary.”
I dub myself: Sir Knucklehead.
Soyla smiled. Don’t know what I expected out of her so a smile seemed as reasonable a response as any. Except. The smile looked neither surprised as, “I never thought you’d actually bite and now I’m in big trouble because I’ve threatened Gaius Teutoberg,” or hungry as, “I can’t wait to rip out your heart and use it to start the fire over which I will sauté your eyes.” No, that smile came across more like the automatic sort you see between married people who say, “Love you,” and “Love you too.” Automatic. Expected.
I didn’t know what to think about the automatic part, but expected made me uneasy. Either way, I saw no need to worry about my stress level. With Sparky’s bloody stump of an arm lying beside me and a gorgeous Hungarian warrior-woman who tended toward psychotic standing mostly naked in front of me? I thought the blood pressure cuff might already be pegged.
But I’d think about all that later. The fuzz creeping into my brain told me it was quittin’ time at Tara. Soyla needed to attack or she needed to leave. Otherwise, we’d both get loopy…and if the standoff went long enough, we’d melt away. And I knew I was losing it because as I tried to concentrate on Soyla standing in the mostly-darkness and silhouetted by the lights and spires of Wiesbaden below, I could have sworn she wasn’t wearing pants.
Soyla moved her hand and I tensed for the attack. But she blew me a kiss, curtsied, and sprinted her bare, but painted fanny toward the Wiesbaden High School football stadium and into the darkness. It took a couple of sicky-feeling minutes for the smell to recede.
As my head began to clear this one preeminent thought pushed all others aside. Oh I’d think about Sarah Arias and our freaky talk, and I’d analyze Sparky and his knife trick. Soyla and the Blood Feud? Icing on the cake. Yeah, I’d do the mental wire brush on that one until only the clean, shining truth remained. Later.
As I stood there in the adrenaline-kick of a deadly battle come and gone and with my heart still beating, one thing, and only one thing demanded my full attention. Do you know how crazy-sexy it would have been if Soyla had used skin-tone paint instead of black? A voice spoke up in the back of my mind.
“Pig.”
I couldn’t tell for sure if that voice came to me sounding like my dear wife Nellie. But a guy who hears voices in his head seldom controls who speaks with them. Trust me. And that time? Almost certain it didn’t come from my Nellie. I ran through my mental contact list and the card it stopped on gave me chills. Sarah Arias.
How’d she get between my ears?
Another entry in the list
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