Marie Harte - Below the Surface

In one particular pocket of darkness between the planes of existence, sorcerer ‘Sin Garu slid a pale, long-fingered hand through his hair and wondered, not for the first time, how he’d allowed one measly Storm Lord, the Prince of Fire, and his affai to escape.

The Storm Lords, four brothers, identical in appearance, similar in elemental magic with a smattering of psychic ability and not a one of them a match for his own dark magic. Yet here he sat, while Darius, Prince of Fire, fucked his bride like a rutting bull in the heavenly splendour of Tanselm.

‘Sin Garu had been close to decimating the Storm Lord line for good, his effort to regain his rightful place as overking of Tanselm almost within reach. Yet instead of sitting atop the gilded throne in the heart of his homeland, he wasted his time in the shadows. Always in the shadows .

Instead of a council of Dark Lords, of elders and liaison rogues at his disposal, he had to make use of the reviled, the denigrated and most pathetic monsters of the dark. My distinguished Netharat army , he thought with bitter amusement.

Glancing over his shoulder at a quivering mass of bloodied wraith, he shook his head. “How foolish of me to trust you to get it right for once.” He stared in disdain at Mirego, his once most-valued wraith, and waved a hand in the air while muttering a small spell under his breath. Burning Mirego to ash hadn’t cured him of his rage, but revitalising the wraith to endure more torture was doing the trick.

The wraith’s white eyes streaked with red, then putrid green. Its lumpy yellow skull turned both black and grey with bruises, and its waxy flesh was reduced to pits of skin covering hollows of pain and bloodied engorgement. Mirego tried to scream around the internal dark fire created by ‘Sin Garu’s sorcery, but couldn’t. The sorcerer’s unbridled power sapped the last fetid breath the wraith would ever give.

‘Sin Garu gazed dispassionately at the rotting creature he’d spent so much time training and cursed Darius Storm and his chosen bride to everlasting torture in the black realms of hell.

“My lord?” a hesitant voice echoed.

“What?”

The wraith hobbled clumsily into the stone-walled room and bowed low, not meeting his gaze.

“My lord, the others are waiting for further instruction. The River Prince has had no apparent contact with Arim as of yet, and the woman is at it again, this time with fire.”

‘Sin Garu’s mind filled with curiosity, dismissing Darius Storm and his bitch, Samantha. Instead his thoughts turned to brother number two—Marcus, the River Prince, and the odd woman who seemed to possess all manner of magic in an otherwise mundane world.

“Tell me her name again,” he ordered, pleased when the wraith kept his bow low, his eyes firmly trained on the ground.

“Tessa Sheridan. I’ve placed a scrying bowl on the table, my lord.” The wraith pointed a shaky talon in the direction of the bowl.

“Very well.” ‘Sin Garu strode to the table, working to contain his excitement. He might have failed with the first royal prince, but there were three more royals, three more brothers providing him potential to destroy the Storm Lords and their incestuous Tetrarch.

Why men should be deemed fit to rule due to a chance of birth astounded him. When the Dark Lords had ruled Tanselm, leadership fell to those who would win it by battle and then only through the death rite.

The Storm Lords, however, believed in an incredible hand of destiny, that one of a quadruplet of royals could birth the next Tetrarch, or Royal Four, providing a continual line of rule by one family.

No chances to overthrow the system, no way to win the kingship by means of war or trickery. Only by obliterating the entire kingdom of Tanselm, its four territories and its defending spellcasters, could ‘Sin Garu wrest control of his homeland.

He only needed to kill one Storm Lord to confuse and disrupt the others. A hole in Tanselm’s defences would truly serve to open the way. But it would be even better to kill one of the Royal Four affai . Destroying a man’s heart and hope was imminently more satisfying than simply killing him.

The sorcerer smiled, pleased that this time he’d been more thorough with his enemy. “Well done, dark one,” he addressed his prostrate messenger. “Now go before I forget my mood and bring some light into this place.”

He chuckled at the look of horror on the wraith’s face and leaned over the scrying bowl, intent on seeing her again.

Reaching into his pocket for a strand of her dark red hair, he dropped it into the shallow bowl and stirred it with one elongated nail.

An image of Tessa Sheridan shimmered on the dark water. A wide smile, a straight, haughty nose and sparkling, light blue eyes stared through him at something pleasing her in her magicless little world.

“Despite your lack of magic, you can harness powers even my kind cannot,” he remarked, stroking her cheek through the water, blurring it as he slashed her image in two. “Such a waste of beauty and brains on a Storm Lord.” He sneered, anger brewing in his belly.

“That still remains to be seen, my lord,” a dark, seductive voice answered. “I’ve just left them. And the River Prince is not happy with her—at all. I’m not sure she really is his affai .”

‘Sin Garu blinked up at the face of human perfection frowning thoughtfully back at him. “ I’m sure of it. Keep me apprised of everything that happens there, and don’t displease me, Djinn.” He intentionally gave his informant a glimpse of blade-sharp teeth and powerful, dark blue eyes that could freeze one’s soul with a glance.

The Djinn barely masked a shudder and bowed low. Leaving with a hasty “By your leave,” the informant exited the shadows, returning to Tessa’s world in the blink of an eye.

‘Sin Garu turned a speculative look back on Tessa, then added one of Marcus’ hairs to the bowl. He paid his spies in the Light Bringers’ WesternKingdom well for results, and a piece of Marcus’ hair was worth its weight in gold. A picture of Marcus appeared, showing him as popular with Seattle’s xiantope idiots as he was with Tanselm’s despicable royals and commoners. No matter. ‘Sin Garu stared with loathing as the images of Tessa and Marcus merged to become one. Immediately freezing the water, he erased the present and recalled his plans already set in motion.

Now might belong to Marcus Storm and his brothers, but tomorrow, and Tanselm, would soon be his.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Marcus Storm stared in disbelief at the memorandum sitting in the centre of his obsessively clean, disturbingly organised desk. His dark blue eyes flew over the page, widening with each word read.

Tessa Sheridan fought the urge to grin and tamped down the glee she knew shone in her eyes. Just seeing the frown gracing that strong, uncomfortably handsome face made her want to crow with victory. Finally. She’d gotten a rise out of ‘Cool Blue’, as half the women in the firm referred to the unconscionable playboy.

He glanced up from her latest memo with icy disdain. “You can’t believe I’ll simply accept these cutbacks?”

Much as she would have liked irritating him for the sheer hell of it, the cutback proposal she’d slaved over for a solid week was necessary if they wanted to keep his newest client profitable.

“Excuse me, Mr. Storm,” she said with exaggerated politeness. “But if Craiger-Mim Incorporated is to have a future with our firm, i.e., turn us a profit, we have to rid ourselves of some unnecessary costs which unfortunately, with Craiger’s downsized budget, can no longer be considered practical.”