Blame It on the Moon: An urban fantasy romance (Destiny Paramortals Book 4)

by Livia Quinn

  That irritated me. I mean, I was Jordie’s frickin’ father. That was what was in my heart. But in my head, and as a lawman I respected her protective instincts. Montana was like a social worker on mega steroids. “Oh.” I yelled, so she’d hear me over her tromping feet, “Remember, she still doesn’t know about…you know.” Shaking her head, she kept walking.

  Time went very slowly while I waited. I kept watch on Freddie while she was gone. When she was done she brought me a sealed packet with the vial inside. “Is she okay?” I asked.

  “She hates you.” Montana grinned, and I cringed. “She thinks you still think it’s a tattoo, but she’ll get over it. What are you hoping to find? Or should I say not hoping to find?”

  “I don’t know. Ever since we found out she’s going to be a…”

  “Go on. Say it out loud, Jack. It’ll get easier every time.”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Ever since we found out she’s a Paramortal, I’ve been thinking about all the crap Georgeanne put us through. I can’t explain it. If she got it from Georgeanne, which I assume, because,” I spread my hands out to my sides—“Moi!—then I want to know what’s in her background. I want confirmation, and I need to know what Jordie can expect.” I swallowed hard.

  Montana said, “Jack, anyone can look at the two of you and see Jordie’s the spitting image of you, everything about her.”

  “But she’s a Paramortal and I’m not.”

  Montana looked off.

  “What? Did you think I’d reject Jordie if I found out she wasn’t my daughter? That’s not the only reason for the blood test. I want to know if there’s something weird about Georgeanne’s DNA. Remember how the medical examiner spotted certain traits in the Nucklavee’s specimen?”

  Montana chuckled. “Before he got up and walked out of the morgue? I’ll never forget the night you announced that ‘it was as if the dead body got up and walked away.’ Little did you know…”

  “Yeah. Anyway, I was handed a free ticket when G attacked me a while ago, and I’m using it. I appreciate your help.” I took the packet from her and started back toward my cruiser.

  “I have to meet Ryan at Fritz’. There was some kind of altercation over there. Georgeanne’s loose, and Fritz might be dead.”

  She cocked her head to one side and scanned the backyard and swamp. “I’ll be here. As soon as Conor gets back we’re going to get Vivie out of the Forge.”

  I stopped long enough to inquire, ”How are you feeling, Montana? Any sign of your Dinnshencha gaining strength?”

  She smiled. “As Conor would say, ‘A wee bit.’ According to Aurora we’re probably looking at a few hours yet before we have any real power—storm brewing, shifting, pervert killing—that kind of stuff. But we’ll manage.” She looked over my shoulder and frowned. Then her eyes went wide.

  “Mother of the Gods…” Montana said, and then her sword was in her hand.

  I whirled around in time to see Ridge stepping out of a black van along with a tall blonde woman in army fatigues. “Steady, Montana, it’s my friend, Ridge Romano.” But that wasn’t what had triggered Montana’s battle mode.

  Three soldiers unlike any I’d seen on the battlefield strode around the side of the house like something out of a Sci-Fi war video. From the top of their strangely helmeted heads to their odd footwear, we had no trouble classifying them as war ready.

  Then Montana said something that shocked me, and I’d come to believe that was no longer possible. “At least one of them is not human.”

  My gaze traveled back to the group as they approached. Who was she talking about?

  There was one in classic Army camo who looked the most normal, and the most likely to be human besides Ridge, though he was a giant, as tall as Conor, who should have shook the ground marching toward us in his huge boots, toting a high powered machine gun.

  Next to him was a gray man, who was draped in something resembling Spanish moss, a natural material that would allow him to blend in. Appropriately, his steps, in the skin-tight tan footwear were light. A helmet covered his face, but I got the impression from the way he tracked everything that he had the same interactive readouts I’d had in my pilot’s helmet, giving him heat and motion sensing at a blink. A sniper rifle poked out from between the layers of his wraith-like shroud. My money was on him. He was downright spooky.

  Dressed in a fitted rough-textured fabric similar to neoprene from head to foot, the third guy’s uniform looked like some kind of hi-tech true camouflage that varied with the light from yellow gray to dark olive. His eyes were covered with a large set of goggles, probably interactive as well, and his weapon wasn’t one I recognized. It didn’t appear to be a gun or sword, just a long tube.

  These two took my measure quietly while the bigger one marched up to Montana—showing me he wasn’t the smartest bullet in the clip—and said, “You can call me Tank, little lady.”

  That brought a smile from gray man, a headshake from green man, and a growl from my companion. I nearly choked.

  Chapter 19

  Montana

  Forget the bras, burn the men.

  “You can call me Tank, little lady.” I felt my eyes spring wide with incredulity. Little lady? And another tiny appearance by my Dinnshencha when what I really would have liked was an explosion of power, to show the butthead what this little lady could do to trim him down to size.

  It was not my nature to accept someone else’s idea of whether danger was present or not. I knew danger when I saw it, and this group of mercenaries rivaled any I’d seen in the last three hundred years, especially the one dressed in the weird green morphing “skin”.

  Jack walked around me, ignoring my attempt to protect him, and shook hands with the handsome raven headed man I’d seen on the covers of some romance books in the drugstore. “Ridge, this is Montana. She’ll put the sword up in a minute, won’t you, Montana?”

  I took another couple seconds to assess his friend and the other soldiers and when I got no sense of aggression aimed at me, even though I’d drawn my sword, I sheathed it and shook the man’s hand. Nodding at the overgrown idiot next to him I asked, “Where’d you get the redneck caveman?”

  The others laughed. I saw the change in Tank’s expression the second he took in my t-shirt which read, Forget the bras, burn the men. Interesting, not fear, but appreciation. Goddess.

  Ridge said, “You nailed him in under five seconds. Tank can be a bit un-PC but you can count on him when things get tough.” He pointed to the man who resembled a ghost. I didn’t like not being able to see his eyes. “The strange looking guy in Mesh is Smoke. His specialty is infiltrating, and he’s a hell of a sniper. To his right is Slade.”

  Jack asked, “What kind of material is that Slade’s wearing?”

  Ridge said, “Its color shifts with the light creating an affect similar to a Stealth bomber. I call it dragon cloth because it resembles the reptilian scales and tough hide of the dragon—not as good as a real dragon’s of course.”

  Tank looked at Slade sideways and made a sound that would pass for a chuckle if one could envision an amused Appalachian mountain. Smoke and Ridge remained impassive.

  Had Ridge actually met a dragon? My head jerked to Slade, and I found his head turned toward me. His eyes seemed to glitter straight through the goggles, or maybe that was just me. “Is that thing you’re carrying a gun?”

  When Slade spoke, his voice sounded like it should have belonged to Tank and though he spoke normally, I could imagine it building like the rumble of a volcano. “It’s a fire hose.”

  Ridge described the injuries his men had suffered in some battle or other and how his MedBionics facilities had supplied them with new limbs and body parts.

  “Smoke was on a recon mission with the Marines. He lost all four of his limbs, several ribs and one eye to a suicide bomber, and spent two years in a VA hospital on life support until an aid got in touch with me.” Surprised, I studied the eerily quiet man in gray. My confidence in thes
e men was growing. “His doctors were too busy taking care of higher priority and easier to ‘fix’ soldiers so they could get their bonuses. Their loss.” He smiled and I understood why he was on the face of so many novels. The man was a hunk—not as hunky as my dragon but still…

  “He rescued me.” Smoke’s soft voice was like the wind before a firestorm and conveyed a profound regard for his—what was Ridge to them? Doctor? Boss?

  Ridge said, “If Smoke approves of his new bionics after a real world test, I’ll make them available to other soldiers, things like voice boxes, lungs, as well as new materials. His ribs are indestructible.”

  Doctor, I decided.

  Jack said, “My deputy Ryan called earlier. He said a soldier resembling Robocop walked in on our crime scene.” The shared looks and grins said it all. This was a close-knit team.

  Ridge smiled, too. “We refer to him as RC. He chose the ‘uniform’ to increase his intimidation factor. Tom’s bionics aren’t as flexible as the others, for now, and he’s a trifle slower so we’ll place him in more static environments, like riding with your deputy or guarding a location you designate.”

  Jack said, “Is your headgear fitted with interactive software for detecting motion and heat?”

  Ridge explained to the soldiers that Jack had been an F-18 pilot in the Navy and thereafter transpired a conversation about technical military minutia I could have cared less about, but if it helped the men bond, who was I to interrupt?

  The blonde unpacking the cargo van caught my attention. Ridge noticed and called, “Lola!”

  Lola waved over her head and said, “Busy here.”

  Tank shook his head. “That’s Lola for ‘ya. Always busy with her equipment.” Lola was bent over, out of sight inside the cargo doors of one of the vans Ridge and his men had arrived in.

  “Lola operates the equipment in the van. I brought along a surprise. If we need it, she will be in charge of deployment,” Ridge explained.

  Jack said, “I like surprises… when they’re aimed at the opposition.” To Tank he directed a question about his big gun.

  I sighed.

  The redneck puffed up like a big bullfrog, proud to give the rundown on his toy, which apparently impressed Jack, too. Anticipating his questions, Tank threw him the gun and I saw Jack tense and prepare to catch the weight of it by setting his feet.

  “It’s lighter than I thought,” he said to Tank, who launched into more minutias.

  “2100 rpms and rapid burst; this baby is nearly accurate enough for a sniper.” That drew a soft snicker from Smoke. Jack sighted down the barrel and shook his head. Tank went on, “Three modes at voice command—single, burst and spray.” He smiled a happy, deadly grin.

  Ah, there was the attitude I could relate to. Maybe he’d turn out to be competent at this task at least. With a gun like that, surely anyone could be. I rejoined the conversation when I heard him talking about taking out a flock of blackbirds, and rolled my eyes.

  Jack said, “Can’t wait to see it in action against some shmoo.”

  Tank’s eyes crinkled and he grinned comically. “Shmoo? Is that one of the bad guys?”

  Jack said, “They aren’t nearly as funny as their name, and they don’t come in ones, more like flocks of goofus—”

  Once again the big man interrupted with a guffaw, but he stopped when I glared at him. I said, “Goofus are no laughing matter. The smallest, the shmoo weighs about five hundred pounds. It might even be able to eat you, not that it would be interested. They spew a poisonous liquid and look similar to flying pterodactyls.”

  The Tank and Smoke looked at one another as I continued. “The next size up, and the biggest one I’ve seen in person, is the squonk which is possibly five times larger, and they can fly backwards.”

  Tank swallowed and his eyes gleamed. Jack said, “That’s a big gun, Tank, but I’m not even sure its bullets can penetrate these creatures’ hides. “ He turned to Ridge, “We’ve got a situation that has to be dealt with soon, Ridge.”

  Vivie chose that moment to throw a tantrum, thrashing around, tossing water and a log against a nearby Cypress. In the blink of an eye, Tank had raised his weapon and aimed. Okay, that was good. Then I heard Freddie shout, “No!” and saw him leap into Tank’s line of sight.

  “Put the gun down, caveman.” I said calmly, thinking a little humor might penetrate his thick macho skull.

  “She’s a friendly, Tank,” said Jack, looking over at Ridge who nodded.

  Tank swung the gun onto his shoulder effortlessly and asked, “Is that another goofus?” He glanced over at Slade, eyes narrowed. What was it between these two?

  Jack watched them saying, “She’s a Vouivre. At least, we think it’s a she. She was displaced to the Storm Lake tributaries through a crack in the ocean bottom caused during the Gulf oil disaster. The short of it is that we have an operation to remove her and take her back to the Gulf. Then…”

  Tank shook his head in disbelief. “How are you going to move several tons of deadweight without getting a crane. That thing’s got to weigh—” His eyes widened as a dark shadow enveloped the landscape and the answer to his question flapped its wings overhead.

  Slade reacted with lightning reflexes, the flat of his huge hand pushing Tank’s gun aside to keep him from throwing down on our dragon. Slade was the only one whose mouth didn’t drop open. Except for Lola, who wasn’t even looking.

  We could have been on the moon for all the sound that accompanied Conor’s soft landing. For a few minutes he just stood there, facing Ridge’s soldiers—the big showoff—and taking part in a time-honored male tradition…the pissing contest.

  And seriously? It was no contest. Forty-foot fire breathing dragon on one side, three little gun wielding soldiers on the other. Dragon—three, soldiers—zip.

  Chapter 20

  Jack

  I am dragon. I will pause while you behold my awesomeness.

  “Gawddang!” was all Tank could say. With a glance at Tank, Montana walked over and stood beside Conor, as if to say, you mess with me, you mess with my dragon.

  Tank looked at Slade. “Dang, Slade. He makes your dragon cloth look like cheesecloth.” Slade didn’t seem to find that very funny and raised his fire hose a tad in Tank’s direction. Tank shrugged and mumbled, “Just sayin’! Maybe you should negotiate your ‘look’ with Ridge.”

  I introduced our dragon. “Meet the Dragon Knight, Conor de Sept Flambé.”

  “Flambé,” muttered Slade. Guess a fire man would key in on that.

  “Conor, meet Tank, Smoke, Slade, and Lola. My friend Ridge,” I pointed in his direction next, “brought them to help us out.”

  Conor’s dragon brow rose and he looked at me as if to say, You’re kidding right? You’ve got me, what do you need them for?

  I said, “Don’t forget we won’t have you to defend the airways and take down goofus while you’re relocating Vivie.”

  Conor grunted, sat on his haunches like a four-story tall puppy, and then changed. As he morphed into his knight form, for the first time since I’d seen him do it, the swords that were normally sheathed were extended in a defensive stance between the couple and our new arrivals.

  I sighed and cut my eyes at him. He shrugged and sheathed his swords with a flip of his armored wrists creating awed sighs from at least one of the soldiers.

  I faced our new friends and gave them a quick primer on the dynamics of the power down and a sketchy timeline. “Beyond that, I guess you could say, prepare to be surprised and react accordingly. Right now the only sure beings with power except for Conor, are the bad guys, but in a few hours, I hope our Paramortals will regain some of their abilities.”

  Smoke asked in that silky quiet whisper, which still managed to make an impact, “What about the fairie?”

  The way he put it—the fairie—I got the feeling he was acquainted with some. “The good Fae—they call themselves Bright Fae—will be guarding the Forge and leylines around the lake as well as Harmony. I can’t
tell you there are no bad fairies. Far as I know there’s bad everything. Anyone or anything that’s attacking humans, or any of our citizens, is fair game.”

  Tank’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. “So when do we hit the streets and start shooting goofus?” He grinned.

  I said, “You don’t, until I can create a diversion and an explanation to the citizens for why they have to go to the Civil Defense shelter downtown. That will get everyone off the street where they will be safe and none the wiser. We’re shorthanded in the police department. Since Destiny’s police chief and most of his employees were thrown out six months ago, my S.O. has been covering the city proper as well.”

  Ridge said, “I can help with that. Some of our equipment can cause targeted interference in transmissions of anything electronic. You could have your officers announce weather on the way—that’s what the lake is known for after all. Get them to the shelter, then RC and our men can patrol the streets.”

  I glanced at my watch. It was 1 p.m. We had to move on this. Timing was key. I turned to Conor. “How long do you think it will take to get that elemental to the coast, and get back?”

  Conor said, “I should be back by three or before. If you see any squonk or shmoo before then, that contraption Tank’s carrying should get them down. Then, they must be burned or beheaded.” He glanced at Montana who nodded.

  Slade said, “I’ve got that covered.”

  Freddie called from the bank. “Uh, Mr. Flambé, can we give Vivie some privacy so she can ready herself for the trip home?”

  I said, “Freddie is communicating with the Vouivre. He’s got a point. Ridge, is there somewhere you guys can go and do some discreet recon until I can work out the diversion and get things handled here? Will your radar spot a flock of goofus?”

  Ridge said, “Yes, we’ll be able to give you advance notice of any incoming with our equipment. I own a warehouse near the airport on the other side of the fairgrounds. Tank and Slade can set up there while Lola, Smoke and I canvas the town. How important is it to keep everyone in the dark?”