by Livia Quinn
There was no mistaking River's reaction this time. He set the glass down slowly, staring into the liquid like it was an Oracle. His head dropped to his chest then after a moment he straightened and faced Jack. "When did she find out?"
Jack leaned his back against the bar and crossed his arms. "Well, there's the thing. She doesn't know yet. I just sensed it this morning myself. She's been having some, like you said, erratic variations in her power and her emotions have been in flux." Jack ran his fingers through his hair. "I know a bit about human female hormones but I'm worried. I've heard Tempestaerie pregnancies can be dicey."
River said, "The unpredictable energy surges, erratic emotions, but more importantly," his gaze locked on Jack, "the odd interest from males of various species." He shook his head and lowered it into his hands. "Efrit, not this, too."
River's words were muttered under his breath but Jack heard them and tensed. "What do you mean, 'not this, too'?"
River ignored him, staring down at his hands but he asked, "Has anyone approached her or tried anything? Have you noticed any males in particular acting strangely?"
Jack thought about their lunch at Gatorz, the stares of the various male diners. He'd bristled at the time but hadn't known any of this. "You're right. I've had to break up fights between Tempe and Dick Randall before, but he's been downright solicitous this morning. I witnessed it myself later.”
"Well, as a dragon and her mate you'd be one of the first to detect her condition so it's early yet." River narrowed his eyes on Jack. "So, have you thought about what you're going to do about the big lie, you know, the infamous Paramortal parent rule?" he asked through clenched teeth.
Jack frowned. The big lie? Then it dawned on him what River meant. "Oh, shit." The blood drained from his head and he sat down on the nearest stool, his legs no longer supporting him. "Is it... absolutely necessary?"
River shrugged and slugged another shot. "Ask my parents," he said bitterly. He was referring to how Dutch and Phoebe had separated from their children and left them feeling abandoned.
"No." The first time Jack was confronted with the possibility, when it was only a theory, he'd glibly said he'd do anything to protect his child, thinking of Jordie, but now… he wanted to grab Tempe and Jordie and fly to some remote island. Maybe his parents would know of a viable location, being in the global disaster business.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. He shouldn't have been surprised about her condition but he'd forgotten about the image he'd seen the day he and Tempe mated, of her and a tiny redheaded cherub dancing in the shallow waves of the Isle. It had been as real as River's presence beside him.
Jack's phoenix dragon and her Tempestaerie had joined in the sky over the lake in a cataclysm of light and fire, and created a new life. He should have paid more attention to that vision but at the time he'd been so freaking blissful, basking in the afterglow of the power that hurled through them.
The long years spent serving in the Middle East, being separated from Jordie had been agony for Jack and he honestly didn't know if he could bear that again. There had to be another way.
He shook himself, realizing River was glaring at him. "You'd do it wouldn't you?"
"What?" He shrugged. "I don't know, River. Tempe might reject the whole idea." Tempe and River had felt alone, isolated and unloved. "And you know how I feel about being away from Jordie, but when it comes down to your children's safety..." Jack suddenly had a better appreciation for Dutch and Phoebe's dilemma, how they must have felt with limited choices. This new twist threw Jack off-balance. He was going to have to talk to Tempe, but not yet. He'd take the coward's way out, handle the next months' revelations like he would incoming missiles during a mission, on the fly.
"It's a wonder Paramortals don't become extinct," Jack muttered.
River twisted the glass in front of him, lost in his memories. "Maybe they should be."
Jack focused on Tempe's brother, on the rigid tension in every line of his being, thinking they'd underestimated the depth of River's resentment. "Look, River…"
River cut him off. "Answer a question for me." Catching him off guard, Jack nodded.
"Have you seen any new supernaturals in town, Paramortal or variant?"
Jack resisted the urge to pull out his notepad. "You have a particular supernatural in mind?"
"A redheaded warrior carrying a head separator." Seeing Jack's blank look, he said, "It's a big blade that can lop off someone's head with a one strike. And she knows how to use it. She'll be hard to miss." River's words held a grudging respect. "There's magic in her, maybe fae magic."
"You've met her? Get a name?" Jack asked. River shook his head and tossed back another shot of liquor and Jack reacted like a cop and a future brother-in-law, "Shouldn't you go easy on that stuff?"
"It doesn't help," was River's terse response.
Jack could see from River's demeanor that the liquor wasn't affecting him, but he was all twisted up about something, or someone. "Did this fae threaten you?"
"Not exactly." River's dark eyes bored into Jack's. "She's here to kill a dragonhunter."
Jack held his surprise in check, frowning at the djinn. Now he was sure something was up with Tempe's brother. "I'm curious, River. Did you plan to tell me about this dragonhunter? Didn't you think Conor and I might want to take proactive measures?"
River didn't answer and Jack's irritation waned as he took in Tempe's brother's expression. "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but you're not alone." River's eyes closed and his jaw seized up. His hand shook like he was about to blow, and Jack could only imagine the havoc that would cause. "All you have to do is say the word, and I'll have your six."
Jack waited but River remained stubbornly silent. He sensed River holding back, but he'd done all he could. Jamming his hat on his head, he said, "One last thing. Could you at least contact Tempe through the mindlink? Pretend that you're fine?"
"Our mindlink is broken," River said dully, lifting his drink.
"Why don't I believe that?" Jack said as he turned on his heel, leaving River behind and left the island.
Conor might know about this female warrior, and perhaps by now, about a dragonhunter. Ryan and Dylan had helped Jack take one out earlier in the year. It was Jack's introduction to the downside of being a dragon, and he realized it was past time he educated himself before it was too late.
He shifted and unlocked his unit, then took a moment to open the glove compartment. Reaching in, he retrieved a black velvet ring box. The ring inside sparkled like rainbows of light, arcing across the ceiling and dash. The jeweler said it was the cut of the diamonds and the angle of the settings that made it so brilliant. He'd wanted something special for Tempe.
He couldn't wait to see her face. Getting married may not be the avenue all supernaturals took, but he was a traditional guy, er, dragon and even his own parents had stamped their relationship with the official human seal. Jack didn't think it had been just for appearances in the community or to have a record so they'd look like mere mortals.
Jack had become a regular encyclopedia of paranormal beings in the last year including his own family. But of all the shocks he'd received, the fact that his Navy Admiral father and his sweet mother had turned out to be Paramortals was the biggest. Of course, discovering he was a dragon, his ex was a variant, and his daughter was a Paramortal, weren't exactly low on the list. Jordie's nature was yet to be determined but Tempe assured him she could handle it. He hoped to God she was right.
All this stopped being the center of Jack's concerns after he discovered being supernatural wasn't the worst that could happen to a person. He got a bigger buzz out of flying as a dragon than he ever had flying his F-18, now that he'd figured out the mechanics of it.
He glanced at his watch. He should visit Petre and Arabella. The king and queen of faerie folk had ears everywhere. A fae toting a medieval head-splitter, who knew that was even a thing?
He shook his head, put the car in drive, and cont
acted dispatch.
Chapter 9
She busted loose like a Cat 5 hurricane.
River watched as Tempe's mate retrieved his weapon from the guard at the entrance and walked out. Jack apparently didn't know that dragons were the only species that didn't have to check their weapons as part of the concessions the Paramortals agreed to when the dragon clans joined the Collecte. River snorted, thinking Tempe needed to catch Jack up on the rules and regs. But then who was he to criticize the dragon's lack of knowledge? River was starting to think there was a lot he didn't know about his own family.
This hole he was in kept getting deeper and deeper. If Jack hadn't come by to tell him about Tempe, would he have gone to him or Conor and given them a heads up about the dragonhunter? Probably not.
With the control the enthrallment gave Styx, it was getting harder to think, or to care. Because of it, he couldn't give Conor or Jack details about Styx, but if Jack followed up on his information, eventually it would lead them to him. River was less than worthless in that regard—worse, he was the grenade thrown into their camp, and Styx held the pin.
Darkness swirled at the edges of his vision when he thought about what Tempe was going through and the fact that he would be helpless to stop Styx from hurting her. He wanted to see her, wanted to use the mindlink, but it was too dangerous. Lang hadn't believed him but River was relying on Jack to protect his sister. He couldn't imagine his life without her, and he'd rather be dead than know he'd been responsible for any harm coming to her.
River had been four-years-old and Tempe, nine, when everything changed. Their family seemed to have a favored, bliss-filled life up to that point, just the four of them, with birthday and festival celebrations. There were the picnics and games where they learned about their supernatural affinities. They'd called up storms, played with lightning and thunder like human children played with dolls and basketballs. Then, right after River's fourth birthday party, Dutch disappeared and it all stopped.
River had been devastated and turned to their mother, Phoebe. But soon she found reasons to stay away, as well. Tempe didn't miss a beat. She was solid as a rock, taking over River's care. River hadn't realized at the time that his sister was a mere child herself, he'd just felt alone and confused. Gone was the mindlink they both enjoyed with their parents and taken for granted. Like Dutch, it had vanished without an explanation.
"Is Mommy mad at me?" River asked Tempe one afternoon when they were swimming in the Forge behind what was now their home.
With tears in her eyes, Tempe held him tight and explained, "Mommy's sad, that's all. But I swear by all of Zeus' mighty power, whatever you want or need, you will have it."
She'd been true to her word, and Zeus had nothing to do with it. Tempe was the one who fed him, got him ready for school and their friend Dylan the one who finally told him his daddy was dead, gone forever. If River had known what neglect was back then, he would have recognized it in their situation. As it was, he learned to expect his needs to be taken care of by his sister.
Their parents had never come to school functions. Instead, whispered inferences were bandied about within earshot as to why their parents left. Occasionally, a social services official would appear at their house and somehow Dylan or their mother would show up just in time. Tempe made sure he stayed on track in school then put him through college on her mail carrier pay and the scholarships he'd earned.
At fifteen Tempe began to experience flashes of power, exploding their toaster and nearly setting the kitchen of their mother's house on fire. Even then, he remembered Dylan, the tall mysterious man who'd later dated his sister, being around to fix, repair, and soothe his childhood concerns like an uncle or big brother.
But gradually Tempe's magic episodes came less and less until finally, she got control and seemed more like a human. By that time, twelve-year-old River knew the difference between them and what Paramortals called mere-mortals.
On his fourteenth birthday, River became a djinn and shortly after, he was let in on the secret that Dutch... was alive. It had made him angry, hearing the story their parents perpetuated to keep their enemies away until they took on their Paramortal powers. And angrier still that he must keep the truth from his big sister, who'd sacrificed so much for him.
When River was kidnapped, her powers started to emerge and then Dutch showed up. That did it. All the emotions and pain Tempe had buried while she made him her priority busted loose, like a Cat 5 hurricane.
All his life, there'd been this hollow place inside him, a longing for the close family bonds of their childhood. River couldn't help but wonder if their lives would have been different if Tempe hadn't resisted her power for so long. For years, River blamed himself, as most children do for their parents' defection, but later, and he only admitted this to himself recently, he blamed Tempe. If not for her, their family would have been reunited years ago.
During the Chaos, Phoebe and Tempe reconciled and joined forces to save the town while River was off in the ether with Dutch and a magic healer. He apparently owed his sister for that, too, he thought bitterly. Dutch'd told him the wild story of how Jack and Tempe rescued him after he'd been poisoned. She saved him from the brink of death as only she could, what with each of them being a unique mix of Tempestaerie and Djinn.
Tempe wanted to resume their relationship like he'd never been kidnapped, but he couldn't take the risk. She didn't understand. She looked at him like he'd changed—like he was hiding something. He was, but until he could get out of this bind, it was better for all of them if he kept his distance.
River rubbed his eyes, trying to concentrate, but it was getting harder to remember how it was before, how he was before. He feared his soul, his memories and his will were on borrowed time. Soon there would be no trace in his mind of who he was or whom he'd loved.
Chapter 10
The friggin' red acrobat was coming at her again…
Conor's black dragon was as large as a construction excavator, but all forty tons landed as delicately as a sparrow in the pasture next to Montana's home. Next to him a red dragon sat down, smaller and sleeker, its scales glinting like embers on hot coals.
The black dragon eyed the smaller dragon for several long moments while it stood its ground. Finally, he shifted and the massive creature funneled down into the shape of a very large man dressed in black silks, metal boots and cuffs. Two giant glimmering swords were mounted on his shoulders just behind the life-like dragon wing tattoos. He was stunningly handsome with his raven hair and dark countenance, and no less intimidating than the dragon he'd been just minutes before. At his nod, the other dragon morphed into a tall female warrior, a flame-haired Amazon clad in red leather with a red and gold breastplate and a medieval-style blade that rivaled Montana's.
The young woman took one step and leapt toward Conor, circling his waist with her legs and winding her arms around his neck.
He chuckled and settled his big hands under her butt kissing her forehead. "Aw, lassie, ye've grown into a lovely dragon and we will soon know if your sword skills are up to snuff."
A voice from the front lawn said, "You think you can flaunt this warrior in my face and not expect me to challenge for you?" Both heads turned to see Montana, Conor's mate, standing regal and menacing, her giant Valkyrie sword, Mathilda, at the ready.
Conor flinched, "Branislava, love, it's not…"
The redhead slid down his length and fluidly drew the ancient sword from its sheath, "It's okay, Conor. Who's yer friend?" She smiled and her shining beauty seemed to make Montana grow taller before his eyes.
"Wait, let me—"
"Conor," the redhead interrupted. "You wanted to see my fighting skills. I sense this warrior goddess would be a worthy opponent. Well… Branislava?" She drew the name out with a hint of modest appreciation. "Glorious defender... let's see if your talents live up to your name."
Conor growled an order to both women. "No death blows, on m' heart," he said with his hand over the affected orga
n.
Montana smiled, but it was not friendly. "He's a softy. I'm not. Give it your best shot. Conor, music please."
The red clad woman's head whipped around to stare at him quizzically. He tilted his head and squinted at them thoughtfully. Finally acquiescing, he said, "How aboot, Hit me with your best shot? It has an excellent training beat." He started to sing in the baritone Montana adored while the younger woman stared, her mouth agog. His large metal clad foot began to tap out the rhythm. He nodded to the newcomer, "Weel, g'won then."
As Montana made her first move, his rich deep voice took up the beat, "Don't fight fair…that's okay, see if I care…" It continued as they parried, but the line, "You're a real good looker…" sent Montana's ire soaring and she took advantage of the red dragon's surprise attacking fiercely. The younger woman jumped back agilely then flipped over backwards, end over end and landed twenty feet away.
"You're fast." She declared, grinning at Montana and wiggled her hips as she set her feet in a wide fighting stance.
Conor continued, "A long history…" He repeated the phrase, "A long history…" trying to send Montana a message.
Montana harrumphed. She didn't care what kind of history they shared. And she didn't care if this purple-eyed witch was a dragon to boot. Montana reminded herself that, as needed, she could turn into a dragon as well. Of course, that was under special circumstances, which this didn't qualify as.
Here came the refrain again. "Hit me with your best shot..." The friggin' red acrobat was coming at her again, feet, hands and sword flying. She ducked just in time, hearing Conor suck in a breath at the narrow miss. Montana wondered if the girl hadn't pulled her stroke on purpose.
And that just made her mad.
At the words, "Fire away," she danced and twirled until Mathilda was lit with sunlight, the tip glowing. Conor's eyes widened with shock then awareness, as he divined her next move. Matilda was heavy and old and clunky but the sword's power was magic in her Mistress's hand.
