Title: Storm Crazy Bonus Edition (Storm Crazy and Cry Me a River)(Books 1&2)
Author: Livia Quinn
Genre: Southern Paranormal Cozy Mystery
Publisher: Campbell Hill Publishing
Welcome to Destiny, or I should say Middle Earth…
Jack Lang, sheriff, ex-Navy pilot. To say Destiny was not what I expected would be like saying Wolverine’s fingernails were long enough for a manicure. I’d been looking for Mayberry, a quaint little safe town to raise my daughter. Not That ship sailed when I met Tempest Pomeroy, who turned out to be a storm witch with a djinni brother and an ex who was… hell, I don’t know what he is. But I wasn’t sure I could stay. I had a teenage daughter to consider.
Tempe Pomeroy, Tempestaerie, mail lady, and as Jack likes to say, trouble magnet. Isn’t it just like a man to exit a relationship when he finds out a woman’s got a few little secrets? Jack’s finally investigating my little brother’s disappearance but time is running out and our relationship’s gone from attraction to suspicion, support to friendship, romance to oh-my-god-get-away-from-me revulsion.
Jack’s an ex-Navy pilot. He says he wants to know “everything”. He may stick around, help me save my brother and discover the whereabouts of my parents, but I doubt he’ll still want to take me to the Mardi Gras ball, once he knows “everything”. He’ll probably take the first jet out of Middle Earth…there’s a lot of everything…
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The chatter around us quieted suddenly. Montana and Jack looked over my shoulder.
Montana hissed behind me, a sound I’d never heard from her. “Mother of all the gods! Who is that?”
We turned as the elder at the door called out, “Conor de Sept-Flambe, Knight of his Majesty’s realm.”
Jack stiffened and muttered, “Which Majesty?”
“What realm?” I wondered aloud.
“Where’d he get those damn swords?” breathed Montana behind me. Leave it to a warrior goddess to appreciate and hone in on the most obvious feature of the newcomer’s costume.
The—it seemed lacking somehow to call him a man though he appeared to be, but I could see why both of them had reacted to the stranger.
He wore a beautiful black and red mask, which was slightly reptilian in design, strapped around his shoulder length black hair. He was shirtless and radiated danger with intricate red and black tattoos that resembled bat wings across his shoulders and triceps. He didn’t need a costume t-shirt with abs painted on it. The ridges of his torso indicated strength and discipline. Matching leather strips banded his bulging biceps and matched the jagged hemmed samurai pants floating about his muscular calves.
“Looks like someone left their video game on too long,” said Jack.
The Knight Flambe did indeed look like he’d walked straight from the Martial Arts/Samurai Assassin video game into the Grand Ball. His boots were exquisitely tooled silver and bronze, with a belt of the same metals, which glimmered flat against his lower abdomen. When he turned to hand his invitation to the elder there was a collective murmur and Jack made a low guttural sound.
Two long deadly looking gold and silver swords crisscrossed his back and seemed to shoot fire with each movement down their jagged twisting length. As he listened to the announcement, the knight’s hands, girded at the wrist in pewter, bronze and gold to the elbows, fisted and relaxed, making the tendons flex from elbow to chest. Whew!
Montana stood like a statue of a Valkyrie, her hands clenching and unclenching, piercing cobalt eyes locked on the figure dressed in precious metals, leather and a lot of bronzed skin. Menori reacted restlessly to the dark knight.
So did Jack. It was as if they were meeting as equals on some arena of war—not as I’d described him and Dylan—like dogs fighting over their Poodle. This was something elemental, as if they knew each other at their core. It lasted mere seconds but it was as if time during those few seconds amplified, expanded to push away all other sounds and only those of us who saw, felt, and understood, well, I didn’t understand except to know that something of impetus had passed between them.
Party sounds filtered in again from the other room and the Knight Flambe’ took three deliberate steps off the platform, glancing toward Montana and away. His sharp predatory gaze met each attendee briefly, making each person acknowledge his presence, like he was studying them one by one and simultaneously erasing himself from their minds. I shook my head. We’d had our share of supernaturals, but this powerful looking ‘soldier’, a sexy sword-wielding samurai warrior… it was a first.
The newcomer bowed and walked deliberately through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea for the Israelites, to give him and his swords an unencumbered path to the bar. Montana devoured him with her eyes. She had not moved since he walked in the door. Interesting.
“Reckon that’s a costume? Or is he some kind of knight in shining armor?” I asked.
Jack said, “He doesn’t seem the type.”
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Love happens…when you least expect it. So does the weather. So magic in one form or another, and storms, are at the heart of most Livia Quinn books. A DC native who lives on the bayou in Louisiana, Livia has stored up a wealth of quirky stories from her jobs as a mail lady, sales person, plant manager and small business owner that she’s anxious to share with her readers.
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