Charmed I'm Sure Read Online Free

the Thompson.
    â€œWell that was very disappointing.” Her voice was light and reflective. “What are you?”
    â€œI could ask you the same question.” I was walking toward her now; I didn’t want to alarm or rush her while I picked up my compound bow and slung it over my shoulders. The first buggane I’d encountered had finally quieted, but it was still twitching where the pike had it pinned against the ground.
    I meant what I said by the way. I knew she was some kind of forest nymph, but bored immortals will sleep with just about anything at least once, and the Fae are a family tree with many branches.
    â€œYou could,” she agreed sweetly. She had moved so that she was facing me now, and it was no accident that her spine was arched to make her breasts protrude prominently, that her jutting right nipple was clearly illumined in moonlight, that a hip was cocked to make the curve of one buttock visible. Her face was indeed beautiful, flawless and aglow with youth and eternal mystery. “But I asked you first. Would you like to trade information with me?”
    I laughed. “I’d rather trade kisses with an open flame.”
    â€œPerhaps I can arrange that.” Her voice wasn’t quite as playful anymore. I wasn’t showing any sign of being affected by her voice or beauty, and she was not pleased. She began to casually slide a magazine into the Thompson, a box magazine rather than one of the drum-shaped ones so prominent in old gangster movies. She was holding the Tommy Gun upright and taking her time, and why not? My own bullets could hurt her but not harm her, not really.
    Â So I stopped, aimed, and emptied the Ruger, concentrating my fire at the Thompson. Normally I would never go for a shot like that, but her weapon presented a clear target. Even though my bullets couldn’t hurt her, their impact still tore the machine gun out of her hands. I charged her then, dropping the Ruger and pulling the hawthorn stake from its make-do sheath in my jacket. I lost a precious second, then another as I tore the stake free; a small irregularity in the wood’s surface had caught on the fabric of my jacket’s interior lining and caused it to bunch.
    Those seconds cost me. I’m fast, but so was she, and the clearing was large.
    She wasted no time on surprise or shock. Her body was already shifting, lifting, taking to the air in an explosion of white feathers that covered her retreat in much the same way that an ink cloud covers the escape of a squid. It took me completely by surprise. I had never heard of any folktale or fable suggesting any ability like this, but supernatural creatures evolve just like everything else. Perhaps her human mass was greater than that of the shape she was changing to, and that extra matter had to go somewhere.
    I hurled myself through the obscuring storm of feathers blind, leaping forward and slashing the hawthorn stake through the air, but I missed her. As the feathers around my face settled and drifted to the ground, I could see a form veering up and toward the cover of the nearest trees: a large swan.
    Cursing, I dropped the stake and slid my compound bow off my shoulders. Given a few seconds I could have put an arrow through her heart or her head, but I didn’t have a few seconds. I pointed my toes at the direction she was headed and fell forward into my stance while snagging an arrow with my middle and index fingers—no time for string walking or sighting down the juncture of the razor-sharp fins of the arrow tip, no time for anything but instinctive aiming. I nocked the arrow while I was still pointing my chin in front of her moving body and drew in one fluid motion—the only thing I managed to do flawlessly—anchoring the back end of the arrow to a high point on my cheekbone before releasing.
    The carbon arrow sliced through the leaves of several tree branches and hit the swan somewhere around its right haunch. She