by Livia Quinn
His broad black tattooed shoulders led as his long strides moved closer, the flared pants hugging his powerful thighs, flowing around his calves, the swords catching the light overhead, making them flash with dazzling fire. He came to a stop inches from her and the air seemed to leave the room, the sounds of feet shifting, voices, and laughter dying as he planted his feet in front of her.
The crowd waited. She waited. Not a muscle, pore or eyelash flickered while the room held its collective breath in expectation. The Knight’s arms rose, stretching the thick tattoos across his shoulders, giving the appearance of wings spreading, preparing to lift off.
The room inhaled as one. Flambé’s eyes dropped; he brought one hand to his torso, and bowed. For a matter of seconds all she could see was his shiny black shoulder length hair and the leathery detail on the tattoos. The collective “ahhs” of the women in the room penetrated her awareness as he straightened again and spoke. “Lass, may I hav’ this dance?”
Dancing was as much a part of a Dinnshencha as her sword. So of course, she’d danced with him. And danced, and danced. If that’s what you’d call their connection, their movements, his leading her while the music played that minuet. She’d never danced a minuet before in her long life, just another indication of how bedazzled she’d been.
The minuet ended, followed by a waltz as she stayed in his arms. She wasn’t sure how that happened. So much about Conor fascinated her. The aura of danger, so like her own. His overwhelming strength. His secrets. And of course, the swords!
The beat changed to a rock song Montana recognized, Imagine Dragons’ “Battle Cry”.
“Did you request that song?” she asked him. His eyes behind the dark mask had sparkled and his lips widened in a grin to expose straight white teeth. Of course, Montana, what did you expect? Fangs?
He said, “I thought you might like that one. I didnae just shoot straight into the 21st century, ye ken? I lived through them all and each has its own music flavor.” Okay, he’d finally surprised her.
“Right now my favorite tis Little Dragon.” His lips had tilted up in a smile as his eyes glinted oddly. She couldn’t help herself, she’d smiled back.
The sighs of the women near her broke the spell and Montana frowned, his words striking a familiar chord. “Little dragon?”
The knight’s eyes brightened behind the mask. “Yes, Victoria… my brave wee dragon.”
Montana’s eyes had gone wide, shoulders rigid, and if he hadn’t held her wrists in his metal-clad iron grip, she’d have changed right there in the ballroom, in front of the humans. Her vision had gone red, then black tinged before she could see him again. He had the good sense to look wary.
“Let. Go.” He had power. No one should have been able to keep her from shifting.
A heartbeat later she was striding toward the back garden, the cobalt silk flying around her. A couple sitting on the concrete bench in the center of the courtyard scampered when she strode down the walkway. She knew she was a formidable sight. She usually didn’t get mad without changing. Right then, all that rage was bottled up with no where to go.
Heavy footsteps followed her into the outer yard and she heard the heavy doors close.
“Why are ye so mad, Victoria? When I saw you last—”
She whirled and it was a mark of his power that he didn’t even flinch at the sight of her anger, or feel threatened. Well, of course! He wasn’t just a Knight-man with fancy swords, he was an ancient awesome dragon. Montana… now was not the time to be admiring this smug creature.
She grit her teeth, “When last I saw you, you arrogant excuse for a savior, you left me locked in a house with the cops arriving, no way of disposing of that abuser’s giant foot. You’re not a Knight with any kind of honor, methinks.”
He blinked, and one black brow rose in an elegant arch. Montana thought he was smart enough to let her vent. He wasn’t. “I knew yooud handle it.” His accent seemed to get stronger when he let his guard down.
She’d nearly lost it. “How? How could you know I would handle it?”
He shrugged. “Warriors know.” She’d sputtered and raged.
“You left me with diminishing power and no way to escape. I had to change into a friggin’ mouse. Goddess, a mouse. I could have been stepped on, or worse. I almost got stuck mid-shift.” Why was she whining?
“Ah.” What did that mean? “I apologize. I haid to be gone me’self ye ken. Any longer and I would’nae have been unable to fly away unseen. I couldnae risk being seen in my man form yet, Victoria.”
“Stop calling me that. My name is Montana. The name in my—” Oh, gods, she was about to explain the brand name of her lingerie to a dragon.
“Montana is no name for a warrior like you.”
She’d gawked at him, “And Victoria is?”
“Aye. It means victorious.” His eyes had flared with appreciation, and then he began to pace.
She stood there watching him because he was simply too fine not to. His long strides, even in such a small area, were so forceful, so decisive. This Knight— “Are you really a Knight?”
He spun. So fast her eyes didn’t catch them his swords were out and crisscrossed in front of her head, one tip at either ear. Her eyes went wide. One quick flick of his wrists and she would be a headless Dinnshencha.
She narrowed her gaze on those dark eyes. “All that told me is that you’re fast.” Her eyes drifted down across his ridged abs, stopping just below his belt. His followed… to where a short-sword tip was introducing itself to his dragonly parts.
He gave her a nod and the swords withdrew. “Even with diminished power you are awesome, my wee dragon.” He flipped the giant swords over his head and before she could move, they sheathed themselves behind his shoulders.
“Smooth,” she breathed.
“Mayhap I can make up for my lack of manners. You will lose your Dinnshencha powers tomorrow. I could show you a few of my moves.”
“Oh, that’s a new one,” Montana snickered, but when she looked at him, his gaze was thoughtful. He was entirely serious. “How do I know you can show me anything worth my tim—”
She felt the prick on her breast before she even saw him move. This time there’d been no chance to react. He’d been blindingly, invisibly fast. He must have been toying with her before. She looked down to see that he had made several slits in the ruffles of her dress, set one fine spaghetti strap free and barely nicked the skin between her breasts.
Then, eyes swirling like they had at the Bentsons’, he whipped the mask off his head and leaned toward her, the silky black strands drifting over her chest as his tongue flicked out and licked the droplet from her skin. Heat scorched through her blood.
She’d gone hot and wet at the sight. “You were toying with me,” she said, eyes narrowed.
“Merely measuring your strength. You didn’t even realize when you went up against the hackit Fae that your strength was waning. It ’tis even less now. You must allow me to hone yer skills.”
He’d said you must, but he’d made it sound like she had a choice. Would he walk away if she turned him down?
“Why are you here?”
“We shall discuss it later, after you let me instruct you in the deadly arts.”
Well, what could a woman of war say to that? To a Dinnshencha, offering to “hone her skills” was better than sex. Well, almost.
Montana tamped down the thrill and tied one last time to reduce him to quivering apologies. “I had the worst case of indigestion after eating that thing’s foot.”
“I’ll try to have better aim next time, eh?” was all he said as he’d offered his arm and led her back to the ballroom. He may have intimidated the men but the women sure as hell were drawn to him.
What if he was using some kind of strong glamour that affected even her? She’d have to watch herself.
She’d gone back to the dance floor with him because she loved to dance. He’d chosen a certain repertoire for the band and as other revelers k
ept to the edges of the floor, he taught Montana some new “dance moves” choreographed to everything from pop to heavy metal. He’d said using contemporary music gave a current exigency to the training. By the time they’d left to continue elsewhere, she knew his moves by heart.
Chapter 5
Tempe couldn’t begin to know what Dylan was thinking. His usual dark aura was the color of an overcast sky. Dylan could be very intimidating with his dark scowls and taciturn personality, but Tempe knew Dylan too well to be afraid of him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. Stepping back to check the bike out, he raised those dark brows. “Stealing bikes now, are we?” He set his legs in a wide stance, then the subtleties of her appearance finally made it through his worries about Kat, and he placed both fists on his hips. “What happened? I thought you went to the ball. Where’s Lang?” He glanced toward the entrance of the park as if expecting to see Jack drive up any minute.
Tempe didn’t look at him but pretended to stare into the woods. “Probably with his ex-wife and daughter. You can pick up your bike at my house later,” she said referring to Harmony Plantation, hers and River’s money sucking monstrosity of a DIY home-remodeling project. She started to make the circle with the bike but his big strong hand locked onto her wrist, stopping her.
“Get off the bike,” he said, in a firm voice but with none of his usual surliness.
She couldn’t read his expression but he made it sound like it was her only option. She didn’t have the energy to fight him. Tempe slipped off the seat and turned toward the road. He didn’t let go, pulling her back around. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift and you can tell me about it.” She nodded but didn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear to see pity in his eyes. Or any hint of I told you so.
He opened his rear door and placed the bike inside. “Get in.” Tempe rolled her eyes and pretended not to listen as she untied the makeshift rope from around her dress and let it fall in messy crinkled glory to the ground.
“You look beautiful, Tempe, even in bare feet, and that wrinkled dress,” he said. “Pick it up.”
She didn’t know what to say. She wished their relationship were different, wished they had less baggage. Maybe one day.
“Where to? Back to Jack’s?” That black brow lifted as if he wouldn’t mind a challenge about now.
“You’d take me there, wouldn’t you?” She smiled at him. “Why? Curiosity? Needing a good fight?”
Dylan studied her for several seconds. He shrugged and rolled his shoulders. He’d been more bothered by what had happened with Kat than he was letting on. Tempe asked, “What was going on back there, anyway? And since when does Katerina’s lion roar? I thought all she could do was purr.”
Dylan blew out a breath. “She wasn’t…” he scratched his ear, “…herself tonight.” Meaning, Dylan knew her well enough to compare against other nights? Well. How long had that been going on?
“I haven’t noticed anything. She was fine…” when was that exactly… “the night Dutch followed me, and she seemed okay Friday when we stormed the cabin and rescued River.”
“Since last night. Her moods have been erratic. I tried to get her to tell me what happened before she came to Destiny. You know she’s hiding something… bad. In the middle of makin—um, afterwards, I looked over at her and I swear she was getting ready to bite me, and her fangs were shaped more like a vampire’s. She wasn’t so much offended at my questions, as defensive and then she clammed up on me. When the phone rang and she saw the caller ID, she… got upset.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I don’t know. Her power certainly didn’t seem as if it’s taken a hit since the Para-moon’s approach. If anything, it seems like it increased.” He slowed and pulled over near the bayou. “Have you noticed any changes in your power yet?”
“Well, it’s so new, I’m not sure I could tell.”
Dylan’s eyes moved over her features, her hair, her eyes, “That won’t be a problem, believe me.”
“Kat’s were-lion was different, the roar and… you didn’t see her, Dylan. She looked like a full grown male lion, with a mane and everything.”
Dylan’s look was distant as his mind ticked off the possibilities. “That’s not normal for Paramortals during the power down, not blooded ones anyway. It has to have something to do with her past.”
“She just showed up here six months ago. Do we know she’s a Paramortal?” Tempe asked.
Dylan was thoughtful. “Yes. Remember, Aurora settled that when she moved here last year under such mysterious circumstances. Maybe she’s a mixed species.”
That brought up a whole new set of questions for Aurora.
“When was the last Para-moon, Dylan? Aurora said they don’t happen very often.”
“It was roughly four hundred years ago. Aurora said this one would be different because of the ‘aspects’ and Luna’s path and position. “We won’t know exactly how it will affect each of us until the eclipse tonight. I suspect things could get a little dicey.”
“Ya think? Jack’s going to love that.”
Dylan cocked his head to the side. “Tell me what happened with Jack. Didn’t you two go to the Mardi Gras ball? I heard you were seen in a silver limo driving away from Harmony.” He raised an inquiring brow. “What went wrong?” That question came with a bit of a growl. Tempe couldn’t help it. She got a little lift from the idea that Dylan would be a bit protective of her.
“Someone from his past showed up,” she said. “Zeus’ blazing bolts.” She remembered what Aurora had predicted and grabbed Dylan’s forearm. “That’s what Aurora meant. The evil—”
“Huh? Go back to the beginning, Tempe.”
“Okay, yes, Jack took me to the ball. It was great. Better than great. “ She slapped her hands to her face and massaged her temples. “Zeus, I need to catch you up on everything that happened last night. Jane Fortune and Aurora were doing readings to raise money for Montana’s charity, and Montana talked me into getting mine done. Aurora said I would encounter quote, ‘evil from your lover’s past’.” Tempe paused to watch Dylan’s reaction. Nothing. “I thought she meant you, but she was talking about Jack!”
Tempe swept her hands through her hair, sending it flying. “Jack and I were…” well, this was awkward, “…at his house when the front door bell went off. It went on and on, at 3:15 in the morning! We were afraid it might be an emergency with Jordie, so he answered it.”
“Well, who was it?”
Tempe’s eyebrow hiked as she looked at Dylan. “Jack’s ex-wife, and man-slayer is too tame a word. She’s the kind of woman every man thinks he wants, and then begs to be rid of in the end. Anyway, he seemed shocked to see her, but she threw her arms around him and said, ‘Jackie, honey, I’m home’.” Tempe parroted Georgeanne’s words. “Let’s just say, he didn’t stop me from leaving.”
Dylan frowned, “Mm, I don’t know, Tempe. I’ll admit to some jealousy, undeserved jealousy, when I first met Jack but this doesn’t sound like him. Didn’t he say one of the reasons he wanted to find a normal place to raise Jordie was because of his disastrous marriage? He got full custody, remember. I’ve come to respect that human in the short time he’s been here. And there’s Aurora’s reading to consider. She referred to the woman from his past as ‘an evil’. Maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt when you see him. You said, ‘everything that happened’ at the ball. What else?”
“I don’t know if this has to do with the Para-moon but Mr. Jackson and Inez Messer showed up together.” Dylan’s brows rose. “Uh-huh. And Jane Fortune and Dickhead are apparently keeping company all of a sudden, but put that aside, it’s not the most important thing. Do you by any chance know a… Samurai Knight by the name of Conor de Sept Flambé?”
“A Samurai Knight?” His thick brows bunched. “Is there such a thing?”
Tempe threw up her hands, “I don’t know but it was the way he was dressed. I don’t know if that’s what he is, but when he was ann
ounced, Jack and Montana both reacted to him like they were fixin’ to get it on. He had these two shiny jagged looking swords on his back and, like… bat wings or something tattooed across his shoulders. And man, was he buff!” Dylan coughed a laugh. “Well, I’m just calling a Knight a spade, and get this… Montana completely dismissed Aurora’s prediction earlier that she was going to meet, and I quote, ‘a dark dangerous stranger’.”
“Hmm, Aurora’s good,” was all Dylan said.
“Is that all you have to say? What do you think he’s doing here? Does it have something to do with Chaos? Could he be Aretuu?” Jack would simply ignore that term for their enemies and call them ‘bad POPs’. It was actually a pretty appropriate nickname.
Dylan rubbed his chin, then shook his head. “My gut says, not Aretuu. Did he seem threatening? Did he try to manipulate anyone, question, confront or mingle?”
Tempe shook her head. “Not really. He just sort of… watched. Of course, Jack and I left early.”
Dylan laughed, “Good for Jack.”
“No, that wasn’t the reason. We would have stayed until at least the midnight celebration but um, something else happened.” Tempe took a deep breath. “Jack overheard Aurora telling me that Jordie is a new Paramortal. You might say he…”
“Freaked?” Dylan guessed eyebrows raised.
“A bit. He side-kicked the big oak tree outside the hall. It’ll never be the same.” She smiled.
“Well, he apparently got over it, right? I mean you two took the party to his place…”
“Yes, and it was quite a party.”
Tempe couldn’t strip the smile from her face even if it pained Dylan but he surprised her by saying, “You deserve good things, Tempe. And happiness. Hang in there until after Chaos and let’s give Jack a chance. Besides, we’re going to need him.”
Tempe nodded. “What can one human do against our enemies, Dylan, if it gets bad?”
“He won’t be alone. There will be others under the Oath who won’t lose power, those who aren’t blood bound. But this brings up a question, how did Jordie get to be a Paramortal? That would mean one of her parents is—”
