When Conor de Sept Flambe’, the Dark Knight, aka my Scottish black dragon walked into the Mardi Gras ball in Cry Me a River, book two of my Destiny Paramortals series, I didn’t know he would become one of my favorite characters. Besides being tall, dark, dangerous and luscious, he’s loves rock music and has a tender side with the ladies. Here are a few snips of Conor so you can see why we all love him.
He has a sense of humor
From Eve of Chaos
A small stream of fire sizzled from his nostrils and his irises swirled. The head disappeared from view behind the roof of the home and Montana felt a pang of disappointment, then he returned with two tiny scraps of fabric—well, they looked tiny in his massive jaws. He opened his mouth just enough to allow the material to float down to her and she recognized. . . her lingerie. You never knew where your panties were going to end up when you shifted.
His eyes drifted down as he said, “I know your secret, Victoria.” Who would have thought a forty-foot dragon with a head the size of a house could wink or raise his…non-existent brow?
“Better cover yourself, Lass. The coppers are coming.”
He’s tender (and his accent, sigh)
From Blood Moon
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 her 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 organ.
He’s mysterious, deadly, beautiful and built like a god
From Cry Me a River
The elder at the door called out, “Conor de Sept Flambé, 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 strange
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. There were intricate red and black tattoos that resembled bat wings across his shoulders and triceps. He definitely didn’t need a costume t-shirt with abs painted on it. The ridges of his torso were well defined and 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 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.”
He’s a romantic and sweet in an old world kinda way
From Take these Broken Wings
“. . . Now I’m yours, heart, body and soul.”
He peered down at me sweetly, “I wrote that me’self, ye ken? For you.”
I’d been about to try to stop his descent into gushy love talk when the depth of his feelings hit me like a tide. Waves of love washed through me, wrenching my resistance loose from the crusted depths of the long held, self-imposed restraints on my emotions. Tears clogged my throat as I gripped his hands. He continued to hum to me until he sensed the storm had calmed then he made sweet, slow, tender love to me under the sinking moon.
He loves his family
From Blood Moon
It was worse than he thought. “Wee yin, do you wish me to change?” Sometimes in dire emergencies it was better to communicate as dragons but Cinder stopped mid-stride, tilting her head briefly, dejected, then shifted. As soon as she hit the ground he was beside her, heard her whimper as she buried her head in his chest.
“Cinder.” He stroked her hair cupping her neck so that she would feel his strength. Anger rose in him swiftly, “Who hurt ye?”
Her muffled voice came from under her hair, “No one.” She raised her head, and the sight of tears on her young face made him feel helpless. “Oh, Conor. I failed.”
He’s a music lover
From Eve of Chaos
The Knight’s arms rose gracefully, stretching the thick tattoos across his shoulders, giving the appearance of wings spreading, preparing to lift off.
The room inhaled as one. Flambé’s eyes dropped; he brought one hand to his torso and bowed. For a matter of seconds all she could see was his shiny black shoulder length hair and the leathery detail on the tattoos. The collective “ahhs” of the women in the room penetrated her awareness as he straightened again and spoke. “Lass, may I hav’ this dance?”
Turned out, the Knight was quite the rock music fan, his favorite, Imagine Dragons.
He’s cute when he’s mad
From Eve of Chaos
Montana whispered, “I want to ride your dragon.”
His chin dropped, both eyes flashed then reduced to gold slits, as they’d done in his dragon form, but the heat receded when he got her true meaning. He grumbled, “This is not a carnival, and I am not your carousel horsey.”
Montana waved her hand. “Well, don’t get all offended like. I’ve just been daydreaming about seeing Destiny from the back of a magnificent fire-breathing dragon such as yourself, but…” she shrugged, “…I’m sure you’re not the only dragon in the sky.”
His eyes blazed.
He loves babies (even weird dragon babies)
From Blame it on the Moon
I sat on the bottom of the ocean holding Vivie as she cried in her sleep, the larger dragon’s carbuncle aimed in my direction, flashing furiously. Suddenly, I understood. Vivie’s short spurts of language, communicating in emotions with Freddie; the only words she’d learned while drifting the waters in Storm Lake, were those she’d gathered from watching and listening to the natives and repeating the sounds.
She was just a bairn. I reached for the only language I thought might reach her mother before I ended up Vouivre food. Je viens dans la paix—I come in peace, I thought. Did she believe me? Time was passing. I needed to find a solution, a peaceful one. An expedient one before I drowned.
The young cub pushed against my claws and the growls emitting from her mother’s teeth inspired me. To soothe Vivie on the flight south I’d sung the words to a lullaby my own mither sang to me when I was a bairn.
He’s a good friend
From Take these Broken Wings
I spotted Dylan running along the road to the levee where’d I’d seen him several times since his healing had gone awry. The wolf probably liked the view of the moon from the high point at Grande Colline. I swooped down to nab him behind the scruff of his neck, turned my head and deposited him on my back.
It had become a game with us. He ran, I chased, and then he happily rode high on my nape until I wore him out. It was hard work trying to maintain your balance on a live dragon while wind gusts tried to send you plummeting to your death. I cut the ride short to find out what was disturbing the wolf and landed near a lone Cypress to wait while he drank from the river and took a quick swim to cool himself off.
The wolf shook his fur and slunk over to lay beside me, leaning against my tail as we watched the moon start its ascent, a white ball against a dusky blue gray sky.
“Yer woman is worried about yoo,” I said. The wolf’s head whipped around toward me, tilting as if this was news to him.
He’s gorgeous (Oh, sorry I mentioned that, but it bears repeating. . .)
And Faeries love him:
From Blame it on the Moon
I heard the chorus of excited fairies before I made it to the entry threshold.
“It’s a dwagon.”
“A weel dwagon,” two seemingly young voices screamed.
“He’s beautiful.” That was a low-pitched sultry sounding faerie that sent my hackles up.
“Mr. Dwagon, can I touch your scales…”
“Can you bwiev fire?” Finally, a male voice.
The excitement went on until finally, stranded outside the monstrous front doors until I could get someone’s attention, I yelled, “Can I get a word in with Petre and Arabella, please? We’re in a time crunch here.”
Note: Conor doesn’t appear in book 1 of the Destiny Paramortals as our hero Jack Lang is virtually in the dark about Destiny’s true nature and the danger they were in wasn’t apparent until book 2. These little shocks unfold as the series progresses. (Understatement.
Find all the Destiny Paramortals books on your favorite retailer here:
Or on my Amazon series page:
Reading order of the Paramortals books:
Cry Me a River
Eve of Chaos
Blame it on the Moon
Take these Broken Wings
Destiny’s Child, Book 7 coming early 2019
About Livia Quinn
Livia Quinn is a DC native who was dragged to the wilds of Louisiana where she fell in love with the rich culture and well… okay, not the weather, but both have inspired her settings and characters. She’s logged many stories from her jobs as mail lady, plant manager, professional singer, business owner and salesperson and loves to share them with her readers. She’s written thirteen books in her contemporary romance and paranormal series with several more to come in 2018. Sign up for her newsletter or follow her or follow on in your preferred way
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