Moonstone Shifter (Demon Lord Book 8)

by Morgan Blayde

  I shot a kick into the sloth’s groin area, unable to tell if I was hitting anything important. “Colt!” As I called his name, I dodged aside, sliding over the table to land in Izumi’s lap.

  “On it!” he piped.

  Red-copper light flashed. Massive jags of energy crawled over the sloth, setting its fur on fire. Pockets of flesh were blown off the monster.

  It wheeled away from the electrical discharges, kicking through the table.

  Izumi and I were slammed to the side, into the floor.

  The Sloth plunged over the railing and vanished, dropping to the lower floor where curses and shrieks went up.

  I rolled off Izumi and yelled at her. “Go back to the hotel. The beast is after you. I can’t fight it and protect you at the same time.”

  “But you need me!”

  I stood. “That’s why I want you safe. Don’t argue. Please.”

  Her face went all cross and grumpy, but she said, “Fine.”

  My face went all cross and grumpy as I watched Colt leap the balcony railing, following the beast down.

  “Fuck!” I jumped to the railing, balanced there a heartbeat, then jumped for distance, aiming at the giant sloth.

  Colt drifted slowly, having partially deflected gravity. Moving at high velocity, I passed him, plunging into fur. My right arm hooked its neck. I slid to its back, landing well away from those deadly teeth. It let me do this, taking the time to pat out little fires on its body.

  I concentrated my shadow magic and golden dragon magic together in my free hand, creating a sword so I could carve out its liver.

  The monster stalled, blocked by several of King’s vampire bodyguards. They held guns, firing. I also spotted the swift approach of the silvery-clad fey. They held drawn swords, ready for action.

  The patrons at the bar had enough sense to run away, spreading panic as they went.

  Cause that always helps.

  Hating my weight on it—or maybe just my existence—the sloth lurched sideways. This got it away from the gunfire, and had the added benefit of crushing me under its weight, over and over as it rolled toward the dance floor. On the fourth roll, I lost my grip and the beast went on without me. The fey pursued, getting in the way of the vampire guards so they couldn’t shoot.

  Colt tossed a stream of red-copper lightning. The intertwined jags actually arced around the fey to miss them completely, then got back on track for the monster. The lightning picked up the sloth and slammed it through the air. The monster slid into the crowd, and became a trampled rug as the skin was abandoned.

  Much smaller now, the skin-walker was using a new form. I looked for someone who moved like they were hurt, who might smell of smoke from being set on fire. Then again, they might have left the injuries behind when returning to their natural form. There was a lot I didn’t know, having little experience with this type of witch.

  One guy caught my eye, a jock in a numbered football jacket. He was tall, thin, and blonde; the Hollywood quarterback type. He limped, keeping his back to me.

  Bingo!

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “My fault?!? See if I try and help you again.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  Formed from memory, I had a wide selection of shadow-magic patterns on different body parts so they could be activated one at a time, not en mass. The sword in my hand was born of my two souls—a black core wreathed in golden jags of lightning. Holding the weapon so the point skimmed low above the floor, I ran at the limping jock, determined not to let him get away. By him, I meant her. The skin-walker was a her. The outside was just illusion,

  Colt held his fire, as did the vampire guards. Too many innocents were in the way, or they didn’t know who to aim at.

  I might be the only one who’s ID the witch.

  The music cut off sharply. This made the screams and shouted questions of the crowd more distinct. It also made it easier to hear running steps behind me, my back-up.

  The crowd—charged by men with guns and swords—were doing their best to get to the exits, sweeping my skin-walker jock along. I kept losing him as the crowd swirled, ever shifting. From their perspective, this probably looked like a low-grade terrorist attack where the bad guys use hammers and stuff. The lightning blasts on the sloth could easily have been interpreted as bomb vest malfunctions. No matter how it looked, I needed to bring down this skin-walker before she skinned again.

  I reached the edge of the dance floor where the tables began, and saw the jock—what was left of him: his jacket and skinned off face. Now abandoned, the face had eye-holes and no expression. The objects smelled smoky, but the scent was fading.

  Paused, I scanned the crowd for anyone limping. How many pieces of skin and clothing changes can she be walking around with to make these quick changes anyway?

  The vampire guards joined me, looking down at the items I’d found. One of them picked up the jacket for a closer inspection. As his hand touched it, his regular suit faded off and he seemed to be wearing a complete wardrobe change for down to sneakers and torn jeans. He dropped the jacket and his regular clothes returned.

  “There’s a spell on the jacket to finish the disguise so she doesn’t have to haul a complete suitcase around while changing identities.” It was similar to the tricks my own clan used to pass for human in public.

  “Freakin’ weird,” the vamp guard said.

  I decided to focus them a little more. “Skin-walker’s in the crowd. You might have some skinned bodies lying around. Check the restrooms and private spaces later. Right now, we’re looking for someone limping, who might be trying to hide it by moving slow.”

  They nodded their understanding.

  All we could really do was follow the herd, like sheepdogs sniffing for wolf.

  And then Thaddeus King arrived in our midst in a blur of vampire speed. When he stopped moving, the details of an expensive money-green suit could be seen. He wore it well; tall, thin, thirtyish, with broad shoulders. A hematite ring glinted gray on his hand, the same color as his slicked-back hair. His presence drew his men to him.

  He said, “Put away the guns. Stop scaring the customers. It’s no wonder they’re panicking. And get those idiot-elves to put away their swords. If word gets out we attack our patrons, we’ll be out of business in a week.”

  I stared at him. “You’re just letting the walker get away?”

  “Knowing you, it’s one of your enemies who’s only here because you are. If you stay away, I’m sure my life will be much easier.”

  Colt walked up to me. “This is a bust, Dad. We should have brought Zahra with us. She could have used the Eyes of Bast to find the walker fast.”

  I thought for a second that Colt was being incautious, letting information slip out in public. Then I realized he was doing it on purpose. After all, we wanted word of the relic out there. With the relic to go after directly, the walker might abandon the cat-and-mouse games with my women.

  I gave Colt a stern look. “We’re not supposed to talk about the Eyes, remember? We don’t want everyone to know what we have.”

  Colt widened his eyes dramatically and touched a hand to his lips. “Oh, sorry.”

  The air went ice cold. Izumi came up between Colt and me. “You found the Eyes of Bastet and you didn’t tell me?”

  I hissed at her. “Sshhh, if I want the world to know I’ll produce an infomercial.” I swung my gaze to King. “I, ah, can rely on your discretion in not letting this get out?”

  The calculation in his eyes vanished, replaced by affable charm as he smiled toothily. “Why, my dear friend, you know I have your best interests at heart.”

  You are such a liar.

  I smiled back. “Good to know.”

  King said, “You are perhaps planning to put this item up for auction, soon? I know a number of master vampires that would appreciate an opportunity to bid.”

  I decided to let slip a little more, confident that news would be all over the city, if not the country, by dawn. “As you know
, we have the Old Man’s wedding tomorrow. That’s got my whole focus right now. Until that’s over, I’m keeping Zahra close, and under massive guard.”

  The vampire leaned closer, lowering his voice. “This woman is essential to using the Eyes?”

  I hesitated. “I’ve probably said too much.” I knew he’d take my non-denial as a yes.

  He pulled back. “You’re right. I shouldn’t pry. It’s just such an interesting subject. I feel relieved to finally know just what brought you my city. The Eyes of Bastet, such a prize!”

  “Well I also had to destroy the dimensional access of the Villagers so they can’t meddle in my business anymore. Most people don’t survive such interference.” Having delivered my unsubtle threat, I held out hands to Colt and Izumi. “Come on guys. Let’s go back to the hotel. Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day.”

  * * *

  Morning came around and I needed a very hot shower. Half the night had been spent fine-tuning Izumi’s lady parts. She no longer had reason to doubt my sexual interest. I’d burned up a lot of energy—and magic; I’d had to keep my body heated against her cold magic. In the throes of passion, she’d lost control in several ways. Her bedroom had drifts of snow and frosted walls. Icicles hung from the ceiling.

  The bedding had become wet where my dragon heat had kept me alive during her multiple orgasms. Cuddling in the afterglow, the wet sheets had hardened knife-like ridges of ice. Sleeping on them had challenged the toughness of my skin.

  Leaving Izumi to pleasant dreams, I went in search of the clothes I’d worn here. I’d take a shower in my room, where I had fresh clothing waiting. I also needed to get my phone from the Mustang where I’d left it.

  Today, Imari was calling the shots. She’d be running the security, heightening it for the wedding, screening the caterers and the delivery people. Our clan had enemies. Anyone—not just the skin-walker—could strike in the confusion. Therefore, confusion needed to be kept to a bare minimum. Imari had given me that speech several times this week. I expected it at least once more today.

  Not finding my clothing in the frigid wilderness of the bedroom, I went on out into the rest of the suite. The guards were watching the big screen TV, having worked out the mysteries of the plastic remote control. They stood at attention as I entered the room. “Chill guys. Say, if my clothes turn up, could you have them sent to my room?”

  “As you command.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  I paused. “Hey, can I get one of you guys to throw a glamour on me—something to wear—so I don’t have to walk the hotel halls naked?”

  They looked at each other. One nodded to the other. He looked back at me. “Of, course!” He lifted a hand, made a number of mystic passes, and rattled off a few lines of Elven. There was a brief shimmer of blue-white star-points in the air around me. They faded. I looked down at myself. I still felt naked, but I saw a black suit, shoes, and blood red shirt. The shirt gaped open at the collar.

  “Thanks.” I moved toward the hallway door. One of the guards hurried to get ahead of me. He opened it, calling to the outer guards. “The lord is departing.”

  The outer guards bowed low as I passed, a greater display of respect from Izumi’s people than I normally received. A lot of them considered themselves more hers to command than mine, having been loaned to Izumi by her mother, the Queen of the Winter Court. They’d never been discourteous, exactly, just cold and distant. This sincere respect was suspicious.

  I turned back to them. “Okay, guys, why the change of heart over Izumi’s outsider love interest?”

  The guards straightened and looked at one another, unsure of who would explain. The one on the left lost the staring contest. He said, “You proved devotion to our mistress in snatching her out of last night’s trap. And because you have sated her, our princess’ mood will be most pleasant in the days to come, and lastly…” He fell silent.

  The other guard jumped in. “We have learned the potency of your seed, seeing the one called Colt. If the fey are given such an heir, Princess Izumi can hold her head high with pride. She will be able to smile, bathed in the delight of her mother and all the Winter Court.”

  Always comes back to kids. The fey have a special love for children since ages of magic-use has diminished their population, distorting Elven DNA until half the time, what they spawn is only fit for the darkness of the Shadow and Nightmare Courts. It’s why they have a reputation for stealing human children. Not all love is healthy. The dark fey love children, gaining power by consuming their innocence, and sometimes their flesh.

  I nodded my understanding and continued on my way. “Got it. Thanks.”

  Outside my door, my female guards were back on duty, coats open to speed up their draws if they needed their guns. Ash-blonde Jada—of the Desert Eagle, and small breasts—was as crisp as ever. Even her mint green tie looked freshly pressed. The brunette Leah, with tits of thunder, still wore her signature smell of gardenias and lavender.

  Both wore black suits and sunglasses. Something about the sunglasses tugged at my magical dragon senses. My inner dragon roused, staring out through my eyes.

  He said: Magical items. They’ve been enspelled. Probably meant to see through the skin-walker’s disguise if she shows up again. I doubt they’d prove effective.

  Imari’s work. My First Sword was upping her game.

  Getting closer I called out. “Good morning, ladies. Did you miss me?”

  Eyes hidden by magical shades, they gave me a once over and frowned. Jada pulled her Desert Eagle semi-automatic, holding it in a two-handed grip. “He’s glowing blue!”

  Leah was a second slower in drawing, but to be fair, her larger tits did get in the way. She pulled an all-black Walther-PPKS hand gun, pointing it at me. The PPKS looked dainty with its rounded top to reduce glare, and its tapered muzzle, but the 9mm rounds it fired would do appropriate damage.

  I stopped and lifted my hands. “It’s me guys. I just left Izumi’s, my clothes missing in action. Her guards threw a glamour on me to hide my assets. You can relax.”

  They didn’t. They didn’t seem to buy my story, either. Their faces were flinty and grim. The guns didn’t waver in the slightest. I didn’t like being on the receiving end of the weapons, but I couldn’t fault their professionalism.

  “Look,” I said. The color of the magic seen by the glasses is silver-blue, right? That’s fey winter court magic. If I were a skin-walker, the glasses would show black or a sour green for the death magic of a witch.”

  From the side of her mouth, Jada spoke to her partner. “What do you think?”

  “If he’s right—and likely he is—it’s only a visual illusion. We ought to be able to touch bare skin where we see clothes.” Leah licked her lips in anticipation. “You keep that cannon of yours on him while I check him out.”

  “Why do you get to feel him up?”

  “It was my idea.” Leah kept her gun pointing at me as she edged around, taking a position just behind my left shoulder. “Don’t even twitch.” She moved closer, crouched low, and pressed the muzzle of her PPKS into my back.

  I sighed, admiring the depths of my patience.

  Her left hand slid along my ribs, across my abs, and probed their chiseled perfection, dropping to the hair at the base of my dick. Her hand glided lower, finding my cock semi-soft, but hardening with the attention received. Her hand enclosed me—barely. She played with my length, gasping as I grew and grew.

  “Well?” Jada called. “Can’t you tell?”

  “Gimme a minute, will ya?”

  “You need that long?” Jada asked.

  “Mmmmm. Long. It’s a, uh, hard job. Gotta do it right.”

  “Ah, for the love of little green apples!” Jada sighed, rolled her eyes, and put her gun away. “Stop molesting the boss and let him go inside.”

  “Fine. And I do mean fine.” Leah released me, straightened, and pulled the muzzle out of my back. She holstered her PPKS, and slapped me on the ass. “Sorry about tha
t. Just doing my job.”

  She didn’t sound sorry at all. I let it all go because it hadn’t exactly been unpleasant, and I figured Leah would fight much harder, knowing exactly what it was she protected for the sake women everywhere.

  Only my monster was put out when the attention vanished. His voice echoed in my head: Hey, what gives? We’re not done!

  TWENTY-SIX

  “This damn perfection is such a burden.”

  —Caine Deathwalker’s cock

  Jada opened the door. I went in.

  My right nut said: I didn’t get a squeeze.

  My left nut said: And I have so much to give!

  I sighed. One of these days I really am going to get my head examined.

  My Monster said: I just did that! It was great—far as it went.

  I growled. All of you, shut the fuck up. I’m trying to pass for sane here.

  Several more demon guards were in the sitting area, watching the sports channel. Zero-T was with them. He’d probably claimed to have business with me to get close to my First Sword. Inari was in my kitchenette, stealing one of my beers. Naked, a trace of orange flame skittering around her obsidian flesh, she twisted off the cap and took a long swing. Though a dedicated nudist, she meant nothing sexual by it, having the same indifference to clothing that many shape-shifters develop. I wondered if she ever hung with them.

  She saw me watching her. “What?”

  “Beer for breakfast?” I had no problem with early alcohol consumption, but I had to give her grief about it. I stage whispered, “You’re not an alcoholic, are you?”

  “My metabolism won’t let me get drunk. Burns the alcohol off instantly. You know that.”

  I did actually. She’d once defended the clan house by challenging the horde leaders to a drinking contest, putting them all under the table.

  Beat by a girl. How embarrassing.

  “Listen,” I said, “before last-minute wedding preparations absorb everyone’s energy, I need you, Zahra, Colt, and Selene for a quick conference in the Old Man’s suite.”