Moonstone Shifter (Demon Lord Book 8)

by Morgan Blayde

  She smiled at him. “There’s my little man. Having fun?”

  He shrugged.

  Selene nuzzled an ear.

  I slanted Colt a look. “That job I sent you and Julie out on?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He pivoted on the couch, looking straight at me, creating space between us. “We portalled into Gemma’s house in Henderson and looked around. No one was there.”

  “Find anything interesting?” I asked.

  “No, not really.” A sneaky smile twitched his lips. “Just a couple bodies wrapped in plastic, stashed in a garage freezer. It was hard to tell who they’d been since they’d been skinned and the skins were gone.”

  “Ah-ha!” I said. “Clues. Don’t let on to Gemma—if we see her—that we know she’s a skin-walker. We’ll play a little cat and mouse ourselves.”

  “It’s always helpful to know where a threat is coming from,” the Old Man said. “Sorry, but I’m going to have to chase everyone out now. I’ve a wedding to get ready for.”

  I stared sadly at him. “Poor bastard. You’re taking it so well. If there’s anything I can do to help…don’t ask. You’ve had this coming for a long time. You want some advice, hurry up and get really drunk. I’ve found in life, that it helps most things.”

  I stood and hurried toward the door before the Old Man threw any lightning my way. Colt and Selene followed me out into the hall.

  “What now?” Selene asked.

  “I’m going to follow my own advice. I need some alcohol to get the taste of ashes out of my mouth.” We strolled toward the elevators. I glanced down at Colt. “Where’s Julia?”

  “Hanging out with the bridesmaids. Do you need her?” Colt asked.

  “No, just make sure you two stick as close to Zahra as you can. The skin-walker’s going to be coming to get her. We can’t let that happen.”

  “Zahra’s with Kat and Josh,” Colt said. “I’m going to let her know I’m back.”

  I nodded. “I can always rely on you.”

  His face heated with embarrassment, but he smiled and skipped ahead, running for the elevators. One arrived as we caught up. We stepped on together and Colt pushed for Kat’s floor and the lobby.

  “I wonder if the Tiki Heaven has been reopened. It can’t still be a crime scene, can it?”

  Selene hung on my arm, smiling. “It’s fine.”

  Colt got off.

  Selene and I rode down to the lobby. My demon clan guards were in sight, acting natural in their human disguises. I swung around through the corner of the lobby, passing the front desk, and continued on to the bar. There was no police tape. The door wasn’t locked. I held it open for Selene. She went in and I followed, letting her lead me to a quiet booth. The bar was half full, the TV on. Local news commentators showed images of the plasma damage to the downtown strip.

  The scene changed. A reporter spoke breathlessly into a microphone, telling us what we could all see. Hazmat teams were checking the area. There was speculation that a kind of dirty nuke might have been set off, or possible an EM pulse weapon. Fortunately, no one mentioned dragons.

  Selene lifted a hand. A bottle of Captain Morgan rum materialized in her grip. Several glasses faded in on the table. She poured us both drinks and set the bottle down. Smiling, she lifted her glass to make a toast. “Here’s to bloody vengeance, and endless, tortured screams. We will punish those that brought harm to our human minions. Their sacrifice will not be in vain.”

  I lifted my glass and drained it. “Damn straight.”

  As she poured me another, I looked back at the TV above the bar. Martha Madcow, a well-known national media personality was being asked by another major media personality to speculate on what all this meant. Staring into the camera, she said, “Obviously, this is the President’s fault. It’s his job to keep the borders secure, a job he has failed. I think impeachment might be appropriate about now.”

  By the time I finished a couple more drinks, the story had moved on to an annual festival in China where 10,000 dogs were expected to be tortured to death and served in a variety of dishes. Sautéed poodle steak, pup-ka-bobs, hotdogs actually made from dog, and Pekingese stir-fry.

  A representative of an American animal rights group was asked for his opinion. “Obviously the President’s fault,” he said. “The man’s so busy colluding with Russia, he can’t take a stand on behalf of our four-footed friends. He’s got innocent, canine blood on his small hands!”

  Selene looked at me. “Surely, the end of the world is near.”

  “Yeah, and somehow, I don’t think I’m going to get the credit I deserve for that.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  “I smiled as the Old Man began his

  slow descent into hell—uh, marriage.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  I went to get the Old Man. It was time. The final mile. Worse-than-death awaited him. Guards stood outside his door this time.

  I wonder if Kinsey put them there so he can’t run away.

  They used magical glasses and a scrying crystal on a silver chain to make sure I was really me. For the next few hours, such precautions were going to be common as we took no one at face value. And yet, the skin-walker had magic, too. She would be employing her skills to defeat our countermeasures.

  The only real advantage we had was that she didn’t know we were onto her Gemma impersonation. If we missed taking out that persona—and she had other skins to shift into—our advantage would be lost. It was one of the reasons our clan’s techno-geeks were in their own little monitor room, with access to hundreds of micro-cams scattered strategically throughout the hotel. Magic, technology, and our people’s warrior instincts and reflexes were going to have to be enough.

  I was passed into the suite. The main room was empty. I saw someone through the hazy curtains, out on the balcony so I strolled that way, further mulling the situation.

  The other major advantage we had was that we knew the skin-walker’s obsession with the Eyes of Bastet. We knew she’d be angling ever closer to Zahra, our little blue lotus flower. Kat and Josh had taken a liking to her. I wasn’t sure they’d give her back when the wedding ended. As the Alphas of the cat world, their claim to the little were-kitty was a hell of a lot stronger than mine. I’d only kidnapped the girl from the Old West, bringing her into the future.

  My inner dragon said: She’s ours; possession is ten-tenths law by dragon custom.

  Yeah, but if we can’t pry her away from Josh and Kat, we don’t have possession.

  Oh.

  I paused beside the whipping curtain. The sliding doors were open so voices reached me easily. In defiance of wedding tradition, the Old Man and Kinsey were having a private moment. I didn’t want to intrude, though we did have a wedding to wrap up. And a skin-walker to skin. The Old Man reined in his usually explosive voice to a reasonable murmur. “There are machinations within machinations here. Kur is probably burning both ends of the candle, ready to flow with every result that comes his way. While using Caine against the Silver Clan, Kur would also be served by my son’s death.”

  Talking about me?

  Kinsey leaned against the Old Man, his arms around her. She said, “Kur hasn’t actually made it an order, but he suggested that with Caine out of the way, and my knife in your heart during the honeymoon, I’d be in position to inherit the demon clan and all its wealth.”

  The Old Man said, “Kur wouldn’t order a royal marriage dissolved by murder. That’s a dangerous president. Kur has too many wives he doesn’t get along with. Right, Caine?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “Time to go, Old Man.”

  Separating from the groom, Kinsey turned toward me. “I’m glad you weren’t killed today.”

  I grinned. “Thanks, Mom.”

  An edge came into her voice. “Because I want that pleasure.” She stayed there as the Old Man came in.

  I asked, “Kinsey? How did you let the skin-walker get away from you outside the bar? I thought you had her for sure.”

  “
Dragons are built for power. There are many weaker things with a great deal more speed. If there’s a next time, I’ll trust more to my lightning than my wings.”

  “Good plan,” I said.

  The Old Man took my arm and turned me from the balcony. Walking on, I heard the heavy beats of dragon wings and knew the balcony was empty.

  I nodded approval at the Old Man’s midnight-blue tux, white shirt, and the deep-blue bowtie. His dress shoes were polished within an inch of their lives. There was no sign of nervousness. As always, the Old Man was a tranquil sea.

  I stared up into his face. “So, when she dropped onto your balcony for a tête–à–tête, how did you know that wasn’t the skin-walker going for your powerful hide?”

  “First thing I did was grab and kiss her. The lips tell all.”

  “And just when did you get so experienced?”

  “Just because you kiss-and-tell, don’t assume the rest of us are equally flawed.”

  We reached the hall door and went out. The guards fell in behind us as we circled toward the back of the hotel and the great escalator. We gathered more and more of our people as we went along. The ride down to the main floor passed in silence. We stepped off the escalator and headed to the ballroom where all the preparations were set. Security at the door had already intercepted several reporters, beating them to the ground, smashing their cameras. Going past, I kicked one of them in the head. “I know I asked you guys to leave us alone. You just couldn’t listen.”

  “I’ll sue!” one of them whined.

  I looked at one of our people. “See they get a complete mind wipe and dump them out in the desert.” It’s not like they serve a useful purpose in life.

  “Sure, boss.”

  The Old Man and I went in. The place was crowded, except for a little stage between two corners where the silver dragons stood in human form, glittering in silver-cloth robes of office.

  Dhirrusses, the male silver, stood off to the side, guarding a little table where a gilt-edged scroll had been unfurled beside an antique box with a quill pen and a bottle of golden ink. This was the official record that would be signed, sealed, and transferred back to the Dragon World in confirmation of the wedding ceremony.

  The female wore a silver stole with a gold fringe, a Silver Clansman, in direct service to the Golden Court of the emperor. She waited at the mid-point of the stage. I wasn’t sure what a dragon-demon ceremony should entail, but the Old Man had assured me that he’d pressed for brevity. Of course, what’s brief to a dragon and brief to a demon are worlds apart.

  There were flashes as a professional photographer discretely set about his work.

  The room grew quiet as the Old Man and I approached the raised platform, stopping at its front edge.

  Winging from numerous hidden speakers, cello, harpsichord, and duel violins wove a somber tapestry, Pachelbel Canon in D, a 1680’s composition I was familiar with.

  I thought grunge metal might have been the way to go, but no one had asked me.

  We turned back to watch the path to the door. The doors were open, the way clear. If Imari had everything timed out well… Yeah, there was Julia and Zahra, leading the way in pink chiffon dresses, scattering golden rose petals signifying dragon royalty.

  Cameras flashed, our photographer doing his job, along with several clan members with handheld phones.

  The flower girls peeled off, joining Kat and Josh.

  Covertly, I scanned for Gemma, seeing no trace of her.

  Skin-walker might wait until the reception when there’s more crowd movement.

  The bridesmaids floated in wearing garnet silk with black lace trim. They tromped over the fallen rose petals, coming up to the stage, moving away from us.

  Next came Cousin Kinsey—I hoped—in an off the shoulder bridal gown, a sheer white veil over her head, draped across her face. She carried a bouquet of white silk flowers. The white and purple lighting turned the wedding dress into something you might expect to see in Fairy, possibly even Narnia. Or Candyland, made from frosting. She was escorted by Uncle Drake who had the job of giving her away.

  Poor man, losing a tax deduction this way.

  They came slowly toward the stage. There seemed to be a glitch in the music. Instead of the Wedding March, some pastoral piece played.

  “What the fuck?” I muttered.

  The Old Man murmured down at me. “J. S. Bach’s Sheep May Safely Graze. It’s usually reserved for funerals.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “Ah, highly appropriate then.”

  “I am about to hit you,” he said.

  I knew this wasn’t true, or he would have done so already.

  The song played on. Someone had decided that it would have been more disruptive to squelch the song and restart, than to just carry on.

  The Old Man whispered. “Never tell Kinsey the name of that song, or I will seriously tie your joystick into a granny knot.”

  My cock winced.

  I looked up into the Old Man’s smiling face, his white teeth bright against dark blue lips, contrasted by his azure face. Electrical fire brightened the whites of his eyes. Somehow, even the light glinting off his polished head looked threatening.

  He meant it.

  “Not from me. Word of honor,” I said.

  As the bride reached us, he left me, joining her at the front of the stage. Talla spoke to Drake. He replied in dragon, and walked off to the side.

  The giving away of the daughter.

  Together, Lauphram and Kinsey stepped up onto the platform, facing Talla.

  The music changed to Bette Midler’s Wind Beneath my Wings. I felt queasy, but managed not to violently hurl. Over by the official scroll, Dhirrusses tapped his foot in time to the beat. Apparently, he’d found one thing about the wedding he liked.

  I smelled the soft scent of fresh blood, and Selene was by my side, taking my arm. Her crimson dress was brighter than those of the bridesmaids, but Kinsey in white remained the star, drawing all eyes to her.

  Talla droned long, serpentine vowels and slippery consonants, making pronouncements in the dragon tongue.

  Selene stared at the happy couple and sighed with longing. She whispered, “Have you ever thought that maybe we should formalize things by getting—”

  “Hell, no.” I said it fast, with conviction and a little fear. My fear increased as she tightened her grip and I began to lose feeling in my arm.

  She murmured. “Don’t you think Colt deserves to have his father’s name?”

  “We’ll write in on the birth certificate. He’ll have my name, and a father. That’s all that’s important, right?”

  Selene growled softly beneath her breath. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “Not unless you get me very drunk first.”

  Talla shot me a glare that said: Shut up, half-dragon scum!

  I shushed Selene and whispered. “We’re trying to have a wedding here.”

  Time dragged out across an eternity of torture. Finally, Talla paused her words on an upward lilt, staring at the Old Man.

  He took that as his cue. “With my heart and will, through every joy and sorrow, I, Lauphram the First, one-time king of Atlantis, take Kinsey as my wife, my companion in life’s journey, and my eternal love.”

  Talla droned on a little more, then fell silent, staring at Kinsey this time.

  Cousin Kinsey’s voice slashed the air like a rapier. “I, Kinsey, one-time daughter of the Dragon World, betrayed by Emperor Kur, do in obedience—and loving desire—take unto myself this demon as lord husband, companion, lover, and father of my children. And I promise never to kill him, unless it proves necessary.”

  What the hell kind of vow is that?

  Selene murmured. “Ah, she wrote her own vows.”

  Talla droned on a minute more, a sour expression on her face. She probably hadn’t liked the disparagement of Emperor Kur.

  Tough.

  Talla finished, nodding at Dhirrusses. He scribbled on the official scroll as she
joined him. No one invited bride and groom to kiss. They did anyway. Cameras flashed. The crowd broke out in cheers and applause. And that’s when someone blew a great big hole in the ceiling and an attack force of fuzzed-out were-cats dropped squalling into the room, fangs bared, claws slashing, growls shivering the air as tails lashed.

  “Party time!” Selene said.

  In the hydrangeas, the Pillars of Heaven solidified, flashing red afterimages suggesting a few too many spatial dimensions. The chiming tones slid higher. A wash of crimson light pressed in from all sides. Gravity fluctuated. The floor rocked.

  My dragon eyes adjusted, filtering the glare. I could see again.

  On the podium, the bride and groom drew apart. “Now that’s a kiss,” the Old Man said.

  THIRTY-THREE

  “In the end, all we really have is what we

  clench in our fists as creditors swarm.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  Minus the original walls and ceiling, unmoored, the hotel ballroom landed in the arms of Selene’s Red Moon Castle. The air was cold, dusty, and dry. Gravity was a little less than normal. Beyond the Pillars of Heaven lay an expanse of black stone with gray mortar, a possible staging area for troops. None were present. The courtyard held the ballroom easily, and still had room for a football field. The great expanse ended on three sides, the walls soaring too high for sight, vanishing into darkness. About five hundred feet up, Octagonal windows of red stained-glass glowed. The courtyard’s fourth side held grandstands bracketing a raised platform with twin, high-backed thrones cobbled together from gold-banded, jewel-encrusted mastodon tusks.

  “I decorated for this moment,” Selene said. “You can praise me if you want.”

  By which, she meant I’d better, if I knew what was good for me. “Well done.” I actually meant it. When flaunting wealth, you can never be too tasteless or crass.

  Beyond the thrones and bleachers, I saw a stretch of broken ground that was cut off by a forest of matte-black thorns. An eternally red sky hung over it.

  The shift of location and the discharging magical energies stalled out the were-cat attack. The big cats crowded together, rubbing sides, rumbling in their throats as they stared at a reality they’d not prepared for. My own guys had been warned. The demons shed human form and brought out weapons, those not bursting into incandescent threat with their elemental magics. A couple of stone demons raised massive fists, ready to bludgeon the cats into submission.