by Livia Quinn
“Yeah, well, Jack seems to think it’s his bitchy wife—ex-wife.”
“I see—” Dylan’s words were cut short by a nightmarish roar from deep in the bayou. The sound pierced the quiet Sunday morning, silencing nature, causing menori to stir and eliciting a growl from Dylan.
When it ended, Tempe said, “That wasn’t Kat, was it?” Dylan’s form wavered. “Dylan. Can you change?”
He grimaced. She had her answer. “I’m going to drop you at Harmony and check that out.”
Tempe shook her head. “No, just let me borrow your bike. I want to go by Montana’s. And this could be important. Bella and I were sitting by the Forge yesterday morning and sensed something, a darkness, an evil presence. She said I should tell you about it. With everything that’s happened, it slipped my mind.”
Now was not the time to whine about him not telling her the full scope of his duties to the Paramortal community. She’d just found out that he wasn’t only working as an investigator for the postal service, but also looking into some missing Fae, and who knew what else.
Dylan nodded, “It’s okay. I’m here now. Let me do a little Finrir style investigating.”
“Be careful, Dylan.”
“Aww, you do care,” he teased.
She started to slap him but another scream rent the morning and he said, “I’d better go. Come on, I’ll get the bike out for you.”
As Dylan drove off, Tempe tied her gown up again, and keeping her eyes on the shadowy woods and bayou, started pedaling toward Montana’s. The conversation with Dylan had also reminded her that someone had to bring Jack up to speed today on what to expect during the next twenty-four hours.
By the time Tempe got back to Montana’s she was worried. Maybe she should have knocked earlier and made sure she was okay, but hey, Dinnshencha warrioress. She did feel a little like a stalker waiting outside until Montana’s company left. While she waited, her mind traveled back doggedly to Jack. What was he doing? Had he given in and let his ex-wife stay? Had she tried to seduce him? Would she even have to?
Come on, Temp, believe in yourself a bit, will you? She remembered their lovemaking, the fireworks, the literal storm in their bed. And Jack hadn’t seemed to be turned off. Even Dylan said to give him the benefit of the doubt. But that woman had had a powerful aura, unfortunately Tempe could only see it, not make sense it. What could she still do, she wondered. She commanded menori to scope out Montana’s house, just a simple reconnaissance.
Menori’s connection was weak though so Tempe recalled her, but she knew when menori returned that Montana’s visitor was gone. She pulled the front door open, not worried about startling her friend with her acute senses. What she saw in Montana’s living room set her on her heels.
Chapter 6
“After the ball was over… my sweetheart my love, my own…” Montana’s lovely alto filled the room.
Zeus’ lacy drawers! Tempe gawked. Was this due to the approach of the Para-moon? Where was her friend Montana, the Amazon warrior? Things were getting weirder by the hour. Hadn’t she used words earlier like restrained, dispassionate, unflappable, unemotional, to describe Montana, when the woman before her was downright… happy. Radiant, blissful, beaming, on cloud nine… those descriptions would be more accurate.
Still in the tiers of royal silk, her blue-black hair tumbled around her shoulders as she moved. Then Tempe realized Montana’s steps weren’t dream-like but precise, choreographed. She’d never seen Montana in a dress until last night, much less a backless one that exposed the blue Dinnshencha birth mark high on her left shoulder. She looked feminine, sexy. It wasn’t that she usually looked masculine… more like the promise of deadly force. Whatever had brought about this change, it was of some consequence.
“After the ball—” Montana caught sight of her on the last spin. “Well, are you just going to stand out there and stare or come in and tell me why you’ve been roaming the streets all night?”
Tempe looked around the room. It was nine o’clock in the morning and there were wine glasses on the counter. The usually meticulous house showed signs of a party— sheets dragged from the bedroom and stretched across the floor in front of the fire— or a fight. A chair and stool were upended, the painting over the couch canted at an odd angle, the bed when she looked through the bedroom door, covered by only the bottom sheet.
“You… like to dance?” Well, duh, Tempe.
“Surprised?” Montana resumed her sliding, twirling and humming. She closed her eyes, extending her arms elegantly. “Dancing is how my people celebrate, although normally it’s outside under the moon after a great battle.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Tempe said, grinning. “Tonight should make for some extraordinary moon dancing.” Montana was definitely not right today, but then who was? The flush of her skin, the singing, the clever sparkle in her eyes instead of her normally cool inscrutable expression.
“You met someone,” Tempe said but Montana ignored her. She extended one leg and executed a perfect three-sixty on the other, making spirals with her arms.
Tempe walked around trying to see her face. “Hello. I’d like to speak to Montana. Whoever has taken over her body, please let her out.”
“After the ball was over…” Montana started humming again, “my sweetheart, my Knight…”
Tempe paused. She’d been about to sit on the barstool when something caught her eye. She plucked a toothpick from the empty plate of cheese and raised a pair of lacy neon blue panties to Montana’s eye level. “Hmm.”
“Give me those,” Montana growled, but the growl was at odds with the smile she couldn’t seem to suppress. She waltzed into the kitchen and returned with two cups of coffee. Tempe saw what was surely the mark of a whisker burn on Montana’s neck.
“The place is trashed.” Tempe looked around at the disarray. “What did you do here, anyway? I thought I heard swords earlier. Don’t get me wrong. If you’re happy, I’m happy for you.” Maybe Montana had midnight liaisons all the time. Tempe took a sip of her coffee, looked into the cup as if it held tea leaves and could divine answers.
“I had the best night of my life.” Montana’s deep blue irises bored into Tempe’s. “Magnificent. Raging, and it’s been a long life.” She swooped down, grabbed the sheet and twirled letting it billow and flare with her spins. Tempe couldn’t get over the change in Montana. She’d been at the ball the night before. Montana had had no escort and as far as Tempe knew she didn’t date.
This would all not seem so implausible if Montana were human, or any other type of non-human other than what she was. Tempe would have been less surprised if she’d found out she was asexual. With such a strong drive to protect women from abuse, it seemed Montana would have a life-long antipathy toward the opposite sex, at least in personal relationships. She and Rafe, her EMT partner, though, seemed to get along great. She was just realizing how much she didn’t know about her friend.
“You sure are mellow.”
“Shut up.” While she watched Montana dance across the floor with that satisfied smile, Tempe ran back over the events of the night before…
The ball had been a grand pageant of gowns, costumes, food and music. Formal, invitation only, it had gone on late into the night. Aurora and Jane had been doing readings. There’d been the regular Krewe business, announcements, long boring introductions, and then…
“The Dark Knight!” Tempe turned wide eyes on Montana. She grinned like a Cheshire cat.
“Zeus’ blue nuggets, Montana. You didn’t.”
“Oh, but I did,” she said and her laughter sent her off into more spins and slashes. “I learned more about fighting last night than I have in two hundred years.” Her hands hit the chimes hanging from the ceiling between the kitchen and great room and she ran her fingers back and forth across them, making them jangle.
“So, you’re saying what I heard was just… training?” Her voice rose indicating her skepticism.
Montana chuffed, “No. Not merel
y—it was lethal, battle tested, strategic sword fighting. That dra—Knight is a brilliant teacher. I’ve never seen a warrior move like he does.” Montana was excited, her eyes a brilliant blue.
“And—”
“And… that’s it.” Montana’s head tilted, peering over at Tempe. “It couldn’t possibly beat your night.” Montana frowned. “What did you do? Sleep on the ground in that gown? The dress-up police are going to have your head.”
When Tempe’s face fell, Montana stopped swaying.
Oops, Tempe had forgotten whom she was dealing with. She looked down at her dress and immediately wondered if she could keep this to herself. Then Montana’s Dinnshencha kicked in, her eyes turning to ice blue frost. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
“No, well, not physically. I mean,” Tempe sighed, “it’s a long story.”
“I’ll kill him.” The words were soft and deadly.
“No, no. It’s nothing like that, exactly.”
“Well, exactly what then?” Now she was all Dinchennsha, hands on her hips. The beautiful feminine dress no longer suited her demeanor. She was fearsome.
“Could I have a glass of water?” Tempe’s voice came out in a high pitch. Maybe a diversion would back her down a tad. But after filling a used coffee cup with water and setting it on the counter with a little more force than necessary, sloshing liquid over the edge, Montana took a stance in exactly the same spot and said, “No stalling.”
Tempe sighed and started talking. “Okay, you saw us leave—”
“Aurora told me. I assumed Jack was upset.”
“Finding out your teenage daughter is about to become a freak of nature would tend to upset you, but by the time we got to his house,” Montana’s eyebrow rose, “he was asking questions and seemed to come to terms with it.” Tempe grinned, “What followed was pretty spectacular. There were even fireworks, literally, in the bedroom, and he didn’t panic. He was fine… until… um, his ex-wife showed up at the door.”
A warning growl surged up from Montana’s throat, her eyes taking on that frosty color again.
“Yeah, she threw her arms around him, while I stood there in his bathrobe, fresh from our lovemaking.”
Montana could feel Tempe’s heart crying as if it were her own. It was tough to maintain control once she got a whiff of any kind of wrong-doing aimed at a female, much less a dear friend. Her Dinnshencha was close to battle mode. “Why didn’t he send her away?” Montana asked softly, through clenched teeth.
Tempe seemed put off by Montana’s harsh reaction, “Okay, now, wait until I’m finished. I mean… she was a bitch, but it would have only made it worse for Jack—” Montana growled louder, “—if I’d stayed.”
“Montana?” Tempe’s voice held an odd emotion—fear?
“I need you to tell me what happened, Tempe.” Montana actually thought her reaction had been pretty low key. The Para-moon was responsible for that. As she’d discovered the previous day at Mrs. Bentson’s house, her power was rapidly diminishing. But if someone had hurt her friend—a certain sheriff someone—she was sure she’d have no trouble taking him out on her own. Even without her new moves.
A growl escaped before she could stuff it, and Tempe’s eyes widened, sparkling like exploding stars. Thunder rumbled across the concrete floor of the living room… Well, lookee here! Montana clamped down on her Dinnshencha, before it could react to a perceived attack—from her friend’s Tempestaerie, knowing as the more mature Paramortal, she might be the only one of them who could prevent disaster.
Paramortals couldn’t fight each other could they, she wondered. Wouldn’t the Oath prevent that? Had it just been a natural defensive instinct or was something else at work? Montana had been dancing on air (practicing, she told herself) when Tempe arrived and she’d missed her friend’s disheveled condition. Now she really looked at her. There was barely any color in her dull red hair. The streaks were gone.
Tempe said, “I—I think she caught him off guard.”
Oh, the ex, right, Montana thought. She paced to the wide window and looked out at the gray clouds moving low across the sky. Snow had begun to drift earthward.
Tempe threw up her hands, “I’m not sure what to do, Montana. What if—” Montana stepped toward Tempe carefully and when she didn’t get any hostile vibes, she hugged her. “I’ve seen how that man looks at you, Tempe. Let’s give him a chance to explain, but you know me, I have to keep tabs on the situation. I don’t have a choice.”
Tempe sighed deeply. “I know, but just check with me before you go lopping off his head or anything. Now the ex…” she smiled. “Have at it.”
Montana grinned, wondering if she’d imagined the friction between them. “Sorry, I don’t do women, even when they deserve it.”
Tempe’s chuckle was lighter as she wiped the coffee from the counter. “How exactly did you end up with the ‘Dark Knight’?” Tempe asked using the name they’d tagged him with after he’d been introduced. “And hey, Aurora was on target, wasn’t she? I mean, ‘sexy, dark, dangerous, stranger’?”
Montana’s head tipped to the side and her eyes drifted down lazily as she contemplated how much to tell Tempe. “She didn’t mention ‘sexy’. And don’t forget the ‘evil from your lover’s past’.”
Tempe rolled her eyes. “Come on… dish.”
Montana plopped into the chair across from Tempe. “He asked me to dance,” Montana said. “A minuet.” She shook her head. “And then… he had the band play some rock songs. Apparently, he’s quite the music lover. I think rock is his favorite, for training at least.” Montana knew the smile was back on her face. She couldn’t seem to help herself. “He called me… Victoria.”
She kept the rest to herself for now, holding it close, not because she didn’t trust Tempe but… she guessed she just wanted to savor it a while longer. She did trust Tempe, but there was the little matter of the almost throw-down earlier. She’d have to ask Aurora about it, or perhaps Conor. He’d been around a while. A while, ha. “He told me he’d lived through all of the centuries of music he’d requested. I figured one of them at least, went back to 300 BC.”
“Wow.” Tempe’s eyes were orbs of dimming blue gray. Her head angled to the side. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what is your real name? I’ve never heard of anyone except states and western characters on movies called Montana, and certainly not any ‘POPs’.”
“This is confidential. If you tell anyone…” Montana teased, but closed her eyes, jaw muscles working, and sneered, “Branislava.”
She shook her head when Tempe squealed, “You’re kidding. How…”
“Don’t even say it. I got sick of being called the innocuous, ‘Bran’, or even worse, ‘Brannie’, and one hapless male had the stupidity to call me ‘Slave’. Well, “who’s sorry now?” she sang.
“But ‘Montana’… how did that fix things?” Tempe asked.
“Having a name that was imbued with meaning, my sense of who I was and needed to be, just felt right.”
“Well, what does it mean? Is it like wild west speak for kicking ass?”
Montana snickered, “You’re not far off. Remember that movie about twenty years ago with the blonde actress? Sharon…”
“Oh, the Quick and the Dead. Yeah! I can see that. Sharon Stone with black hair, only instead of two fast guns on your hips, you carry needles, and a sword, but the attitude fits.” Tempe smiled. If Montana were the star of her own movie it would probably be Part II, Quicker and Deadlier with her catch phrase, This is gonna suck, Wife-beater. Sharon Stone’s character had nothing on Montana.
“Conor…” Montana caught Tempe’s look. “…Flambé said Victoria suited me better.”
“Really?” Tempe asked.
Montana looked toward the front door as someone knocked and they heard a familiar voice.
Chapter 7
Jack didn’t know what kind of reception he’d get when he found Tempe. He could only imagine what she’d felt, her conclusions she’d reached at
the scene she’d witnessed. It had been shocking to say the least, especially when it interrupted the best sex of his life, lovemaking so extraordinary that he was unprepared to describe it in words even now.
Shocked was an inadequate word, in comparison to how he’d felt when he’d opened his front door to see Georgeanne on the porch. His vision had grayed out around the edges and for a minute he’d actually feared he was going to pass out, something he’d never done in his days as a Navy pilot even under the pressure of all those G forces. In the back of his mind maybe he’d been worried that Tempe would be left to deal with her. He couldn’t believe he’d had even that much of a grasp on his situation when the witch had locked her wirey arms around his neck, and hadn’t allowed him to push her away.
He’d placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed gently, that is to say, he deliberately, carefully—non-violently with herculean effort—set her away from him, outside, on the porch. He’d felt violence rise though. She wasn’t going to violate his and Jordie’s space ever again. He thought of Tempe once more, but before he could look for her, he had to get rid of Georgeanne. He called a cab—huh, the cab, to take her wherever she wanted to go, preferably the other side of the world. She’d find out soon enough there were no accommodations in Destiny. Yes! Finally a perk. He didn’t care where she wound up.
As the cab pulled away from the curb, Jack began searching the house. His fears had been justified. Tempe was gone. But how? Guilt slammed into him. She must have taken off on foot and he still couldn’t go after her. Not yet. He had to get to Jordie.
Fear snaked through him, the hair on his skin standing up as a new thought struck him. She could have told the driver to drive to his parents’. He’d raced to his car and driven to their house resisting the urge to flip on the sirens, though he had used his flashing lights, then, in the driveway, he’d settled in to wait.
“Daddy, what are you doing out here? Why didn’t you come in?”
