glared at the locked
door. “You’ve spoiled my dinner for the evening. I’ll have to
satisfy my appetite with you.”
“ You can try,” she
taunted.
Claw-tipped fingers reached
for her throat. She slapped the reaching hands aside and slammed a
hard right to Von Rohm’s face. The German aristocrat staggered. The
Pulptress followed with a sweeping kick to his rock hard jaw, which
dropped her foe to one knee.
Von Rohm shook his head.
His dirt crusted fingers brushed the hair from his eyes. “You are
skilled, but those skills will not avail you.”
“ You’re tough. I’ll give you
that. Most thugs would be down for the count now.” She moved in,
feinting a blow with her right hand, diverting Von Rohm’s attention
from the hard kick that landed flush on his jaw.
“ Enough of this,” he jumped
to his feet. Von Rohm rushed toward her throwing wild powerful
blows.
The Pulptress blocked his
initial attack. Von Rohm’s face wrinkled into a fearsome snarl. The
breeze from his open hands fanned her face. A glancing swat struck
her shoulder. Although the blow barely touched her, it was the
hardest punch she’d ever felt, she stumbled back, her left arm
numb.
Von Rohm’s scaly hands
closed around her throat and squeezed. The Pulptress clawed at the
back of his hands opening wide deep furrows in the cold skin. Her
probing fingers sought out Von Rohm’s eyes. The forefinger sank
into the socket to the first joint.
A powerful blow cuffed her
jaw. Stars exploded behind her eyes. Von Rohm howled in pain as he
rolled from her body, clutching his wounded face. His right eye
dangled from the raw angry socket, bouncing against his cheek, held
only by a thick ropy cord.
“ You’ve hurt me. Few have
accomplished that feat,” Spittle flew from his gaping
mouth.
“ I guess I’m in good company
then.” She massaged her aching throat.
“ Witness my power,” he
bellowed. The cord tightened, drawing the orb back into place. The
deep scratches sealed over and healed in seconds.
“ Maybe so, Fella.” The old
man in the bathrobe appeared on the porch, a double barreled
twelve-gauge shotgun pressed against his shoulder. “Let’s see if
you can handle this.”
An ear splitting roar set
her ears to ringing. Smoke curled from the twin barrels. The force
of the blast lifted Von Rohm from the porch and sent him sprawling
in the dirt.
“ That’ll settle your hash,
you freak.” Nervous fingers hit the release. The shotgun came apart
at the hinged center. Empty casings sailed over his head. He
quickly jammed two shells in the barrels. “Are you okay, Lady?” His
eyes settled on The Pulptress.
“ I’ll heal.” She nodded.
“You saved my bacon, but you need to get inside, this isn’t over
with.”
A low moan came from Von
Rohm. “You’ll suffer for this indignity. I’ll grind your bones to
paste.” The words slurred and distorted. A claw tipped hand reached
out and fisted in the winter grass. He pushed himself up on his
knees. “You’ll both die a very painful death.”
Clear fluid leaked from a
gaping facial wound. The right side of Von Rohm’s jaw hung from his
face. Shattered teeth fell from his ruined jaw. He gained his feet
slowly, swaying on unsteady legs.
Before her eyes, the
mandible reformed. An internal force pushed the pellets from his
wounded face. They fell to the ground like tiny
raindrops.
The Pulptress raced toward
the disfigured nobleman. Her fists pounded his rapidly healing
face, opening the newly healed wounds. Von Rohm’s hands came up to
shield his face from the hurricane of blows.
Perspiration beaded her
forehead, despite the cold temperature. Von Rohm backed away from
her fury. A desperate backhanded slap caught her flush on the jaw.
The Pulptress landed hard on her back ten feet away. The breath
exploded from her lungs on impact.
She rolled to her stomach,
struggling to fill her empty lungs with air. Eyes blinked wildly in
an effort to clear her blurred vision. A dark figure
door. “You’ve spoiled my dinner for the evening. I’ll have to
satisfy my appetite with you.”
“ You can try,” she
taunted.
Claw-tipped fingers reached
for her throat. She slapped the reaching hands aside and slammed a
hard right to Von Rohm’s face. The German aristocrat staggered. The
Pulptress followed with a sweeping kick to his rock hard jaw, which
dropped her foe to one knee.
Von Rohm shook his head.
His dirt crusted fingers brushed the hair from his eyes. “You are
skilled, but those skills will not avail you.”
“ You’re tough. I’ll give you
that. Most thugs would be down for the count now.” She moved in,
feinting a blow with her right hand, diverting Von Rohm’s attention
from the hard kick that landed flush on his jaw.
“ Enough of this,” he jumped
to his feet. Von Rohm rushed toward her throwing wild powerful
blows.
The Pulptress blocked his
initial attack. Von Rohm’s face wrinkled into a fearsome snarl. The
breeze from his open hands fanned her face. A glancing swat struck
her shoulder. Although the blow barely touched her, it was the
hardest punch she’d ever felt, she stumbled back, her left arm
numb.
Von Rohm’s scaly hands
closed around her throat and squeezed. The Pulptress clawed at the
back of his hands opening wide deep furrows in the cold skin. Her
probing fingers sought out Von Rohm’s eyes. The forefinger sank
into the socket to the first joint.
A powerful blow cuffed her
jaw. Stars exploded behind her eyes. Von Rohm howled in pain as he
rolled from her body, clutching his wounded face. His right eye
dangled from the raw angry socket, bouncing against his cheek, held
only by a thick ropy cord.
“ You’ve hurt me. Few have
accomplished that feat,” Spittle flew from his gaping
mouth.
“ I guess I’m in good company
then.” She massaged her aching throat.
“ Witness my power,” he
bellowed. The cord tightened, drawing the orb back into place. The
deep scratches sealed over and healed in seconds.
“ Maybe so, Fella.” The old
man in the bathrobe appeared on the porch, a double barreled
twelve-gauge shotgun pressed against his shoulder. “Let’s see if
you can handle this.”
An ear splitting roar set
her ears to ringing. Smoke curled from the twin barrels. The force
of the blast lifted Von Rohm from the porch and sent him sprawling
in the dirt.
“ That’ll settle your hash,
you freak.” Nervous fingers hit the release. The shotgun came apart
at the hinged center. Empty casings sailed over his head. He
quickly jammed two shells in the barrels. “Are you okay, Lady?” His
eyes settled on The Pulptress.
“ I’ll heal.” She nodded.
“You saved my bacon, but you need to get inside, this isn’t over
with.”
A low moan came from Von
Rohm. “You’ll suffer for this indignity. I’ll grind your bones to
paste.” The words slurred and distorted. A claw tipped hand reached
out and fisted in the winter grass. He pushed himself up on his
knees. “You’ll both die a very painful death.”
Clear fluid leaked from a
gaping facial wound. The right side of Von Rohm’s jaw hung from his
face. Shattered teeth fell from his ruined jaw. He gained his feet
slowly, swaying on unsteady legs.
Before her eyes, the
mandible reformed. An internal force pushed the pellets from his
wounded face. They fell to the ground like tiny
raindrops.
The Pulptress raced toward
the disfigured nobleman. Her fists pounded his rapidly healing
face, opening the newly healed wounds. Von Rohm’s hands came up to
shield his face from the hurricane of blows.
Perspiration beaded her
forehead, despite the cold temperature. Von Rohm backed away from
her fury. A desperate backhanded slap caught her flush on the jaw.
The Pulptress landed hard on her back ten feet away. The breath
exploded from her lungs on impact.
She rolled to her stomach,
struggling to fill her empty lungs with air. Eyes blinked wildly in
an effort to clear her blurred vision. A dark figure
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