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Storm Lords:
THE FIRE WITHIN
By
Marie Harte
© copyright November 2005, Marie Harte
Cover art by Kat Richards, © copyright November 2005
ISBN 1-58608-759-2
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
Prince Darius, the first born of the Royal Four, leaned over the stone wall and narrowed his eyes at the enemy. With outstretched hands he summoned elemental magic to his call. Using anger to stoke his internal fire even higher, he directed it through his flaming fingertips, sending a fiery storm of destruction upon the encroaching Netharat.
Glancing to the side, he saw Arim, Tanselm's legendary sorcerer, enter the turret and duck as a wraith blast scorched the stone archway above his head. Arim frowned and with a wave of his hand changed the Netharat attacking the castle gate into bodies of solid rock.
Another wraith blast caused Darius to drop to the ground to avoid bursting into blue flame, an icy retribution only the Netharat could withstand.
“Damn it, Darius.” Arim turned to the prince. “The shields will hold. Go and gather your brothers in my chamber, now!”
Darius opened his mouth to argue, but the red fury darkening Arim’s eyes told him he’d pushed as hard as the sorcerer would tolerate. Though it grated him to withdraw, he left Arim and the other spellcasters to fetch his brothers.
He found Marcus, Cadmus and Aerolus manning the eastern turret. Muttered spells and intent stares, stabbing hands and sweeping arms commanded the elements to do his brothers’ bidding, raining deluges of water, rumbling the earth, and blasting powerful winds upon the enemy steadily approaching the castle’s defensive perimeter. He watched them battle, impressed despite his familiarity with such sights.
"Cease your attacks and come with me,” he called to his brothers, torching one wraith bent on bridging the now frozen moat surrounding the castle. The creature shrieked and flailed trying to douse the flames. “Arim orders us to his chamber.”
“But--” Cadmus tried to protest.
“No buts.” Darius looked out over the castle wall and cursed as he spotted the dimensional gateway through which the enemy had entered. Far in the distance, the gateway looked like a molten pool of fire against the pale blue sky. Unfortunately, cascading down from that pool onto the ground came another wave of Netharat, a foul river of corruption staining the very land they touched.
“We have to go,” Aerolus agreed, his voice calm in contrast to the chaos surrounding them.
As one the four brothers raced through the castle to Arim’s chamber deep in the heart of their home. The moment they approached the hardy oak door, it swung open, allowing the brothers entry into a room teeming with magic.
Like the steady droning of bees, a subtle hum vibrated within the stone walls, making the air crackle with energy. A narrow bed lay along one wall while a nearby desk filled with parchment and quills graced the adjoining wall. Tables and flat workstations filled the rest of the spacious room. On every surface except the bed lay glass pitchers and clay bowls filled with the sorcerer’s spell castings.
“It took you long enough.” Darius nearly jumped as Queen Ravyn closed the door with a wave of her hand, stepping out from its shadow. She narrowed her eyes, lingering on Cadmus. “When Arim gives an order, you obey.”
Tall and stately, with the catlike eyes and dark black hair she’d passed to all her sons, Queen Ravyn watched the Royal Four like a bird of prey about to swoop. Her understated power seemed to thrive in Arim’s chamber, her cheeks flushed and her eyes blazing as she studied her sons.
“Mother,” Darius said, his body taut with the effort to contain the powerful energy seething around him. He noticed his brothers looking equally uneasy. “Shouldn’t you be in your tower under guard?”
She scoffed and motioned him and his brothers further into the room. “You do take after your father, don’t you?” She smiled sadly, a grim reminder of his father’s recent passing. “I am just as strong as Faustus was, Darius. I may not command the winds, but there’s more to my strength than elemental magic.” Her eyes narrowed. “And not one word about my frail state of mind. I just lost my husband, but I’m not an invalid. And I’ve power enough to stop these invaders from taking my crown.”
Darius blinked at the reprimand. He glanced at his brothers to see what they made of the “gentle” queen and saw them equally confused. Indeed, his mother certainly appeared more warrior than royal lady. Her green eyes were lit with an inner fierceness; her stance was both battle-ready and aggressive.
Gone were her royal robes of blue and the seal of power draped around her throat. She wore a long-sleeved red tunic and black trousers, very similar to the garb Arim had been wearing.
As if his thoughts had conjured the sorcerer, Arim suddenly appeared in a corner of the room, bringing a rush of energy into the already intense area.
“Quickly, we have little time.”
“Time for what?” Marcus asked, looking as irritated by Arim’s vague orders as Darius felt.
Ravyn frowned but Arim shook his head. “No, Ravyn, they need to know before it’s too late.”
Darius and his brothers stared in surprise. Never had Arim spoken so informally with their mother. Always before it had been “Queen Ravyn” or “Honorable Lady.”
“The Netharat attack this day with one purpose and one purpose only: to kill the Royal Four and thus destroy the royal line.”
“All the more reason to meet them in opposition. The Storm Lords do not bow to anyone,” Darius said, sure of his brothers’ support. That anyone could think to destroy the peace and beauty of their land.... The familiar rage built, and heat festered inside him begging for release.
“No,” his mother interjected. “We cannot risk you four now.” She glanced at Arim, then continued. “Word arrived this morning that’s changed everything. The other kingdoms have weakened.”
“What do you mean?” Marcus asked, his clear blue eyes clouding with suspicion.
“Before the sunrise this morning, your uncles passed into the Light, along with your aunts and cousins.” Ravyn’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “We are all that remain of the Storm Lords.”
Darius stared at her in shock. Tanselm had always been protected by the Tetrarch--four identical brothers of royal blood. For one thousand years peace and tranquility reigned over a prosperous land filled with precious life-giving soil and ever-spawning wildlife. That now evil should retake what the original Storm Lords had once fought so hard to obtain was unthinkable.
As his home, the western territory, was under attack, the other three territories lay even more vulnerable to a Netharat onslaught. It just didn’t seem possible that the power of the Storm Lords could have let such a thing happen.
“It’s true,” Arim stated quietly, his voice vibrant with authority. He gazed at each of them. “Your father was poisoned, like the other monarchs, by an evil the Djinn concocted. If we don’t get you four out of here, you will certainly die, killing the rest of us as surely as we stand here talking.”
Cadmus ran a hand through his thick black hair. “The shields would never let the Djinn enter Tanselm.”
“I didn’t say the Djinn entered our world, only that they are in league with the Netharat.”
“But they ally with no one. They never have,” Marcus protested.
“Until now.” Arim spoke with confidence, his eyes grim, the dark black irises swallowed by a fierce red anger. “I don’t know how ’Sin Garu is doing it, but he’s amassed the Netharat and the Djinn to do his bidding. He’s penetrated our shields just enough to allow his wraiths to create a dimension portal and killed not one but all of the Tetrarch. If not for you four and your mother, Tanselm’s shields would have completely fallen by now.”
“And you, Arim,” Ravyn said softly. “Your power is perhaps the strongest of us all.”
Darius stared suspiciously from his mother to the sorcerer. Her tone was unnervingly loving.
She smiled and placed a hand on Arim’s arm, earning an unwilling growl from Darius and a glare from Marcus and Cadmus. But what she said next stunned Darius into quiet. She stared into Arim’s face. “My brother forgets himself.”
Darius’ jaw dropped. He had to force himself to blink, then turned to see if his brothers heard what he had. They too looked stunned, even Aerolus who rarely showed his emotions.
“Your brother!” Darius stared from the royal sorcerer to his mother. “You said you had no family save Father and us. What, by the Light’s form, is going on?” Confusion turned his frustration into temper, and he had to fight to keep from breaking something.
“I’m sorry, Darius, but I’m trying to tell you what I can in the brief time we have left.” His mother walked to him and reached up to stroke his cheek. “Because of the real possibility you and your brothers might die if you stay here, you have to leave Tanselm. At least if something happens to me or Arim, you four hold the power necessary to save our land.”
“But only if you succeed in the task ahead,” Arim added.
Darius stared at the sorcerer, unable to resist comparing the large man to his mother. Both possessed dark hair and golden skin, not uncommon throughout the kingdom. But upon closer scrutiny, he saw the same high cheekbones, the same strong, piercing stare from almond shaped eyes, facial similarities that until now he’d never noticed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell all of you sooner,” his mother said, nodding toward Arim. “But my past is complicated, and I always thought there’d be more time. You four are our only hope. You must go and find the future.”
“The future?” Cadmus asked, incredulous, his eyes passing from Ravyn to Arim in alarm. “There may be no future for Tanselm, Mother. How can you ask us to leave in this time of crisis? To desert our people and you?”
“She isn’t asking you,” Arim said in a forbidding tone. “She’s telling you to go. Your mother and I have foreseen the need for this passage for quite some time. We know you better than you know yourselves.”
Darius’ eyes narrowed. “Foreseen the need? You knew the Netharat would come.” Arim did not respond. “You’re sending us to another world to find a weapon with which to fight, aren’t you?” Arim was a commanding sorcerer, never cowardly or without a plan. “Something powerful no doubt.”
Cadmus shook his head. “We have plenty of magic here in Tanselm. Why should we leave it for another world? And it may not even be open. ’Sin Garu has blocked all other passages to energized planes.”
“He does not know of this world’s existence,” Arim answered, “thanks to your mother’s keen spellcasting. The importance of this plane cannot be denied. It is there you’ll find the key to Tanselm’s future.”
“What is it then?” Darius asked, his voice laced with frustration. “This isn’t the time for cryptic riddles, Uncle.” Arim’s expression grew darker but Darius blundered on, uncaring. “Tell us what to seek and we shall find it.”
“Women,” his mother answered succinctly, her lips pursed. “Had you four listened to me years ago and sought wives, you might already have averted this near-catastrophe.”
“Or suffered the same fate as the slain in the other kingdoms.” Arim spoke quietly as he scattered dark ash on the floor.
“Perhaps,” she agreed, tiredly. “But all the same, we are running out of time. You must find your affai, and quickly.”
“Our affai?” Marcus blinked, his shock mirroring Darius’ own. “You want us to seek brides? Now?”
At least Darius wasn’t the only one having a hard time believing any of this to be real. The kingdom was in danger of falling, their people perilously close to annihilation, and Arim and his mother wanted them to find brides?
“With the four corners of Tanselm empty, each of you will need to fill the void left behind by your uncles and father.” Arim crossed his muscular arms over his chest, his stance unmoving. He seemed ageless, his eyes bright and his skin translucent amidst the magical lights flickering in the room. “Your father earned the kingship because he and your mother were blessed with you four identical sons, mirror images of the power and grace of the Storm Lords.
“Now each of you must find a bride, a woman of courage and faith, a woman able to face the challenges Tanselm presents. One of you will father four identical sons to continue the future of our people. Unless you find your affai, life in Tanselm as we know it will end.”
Darius cursed and shook his head. “We can’t find heart mates in another plane, Arim. What promise do we have that this other realm possesses the magic we have? No, we must stay and find a bride from one of our own, to ensure the continued line of strength for the Storm Lords.”
His brothers nodded, all but Aerolus who stood still, watching everyone carefully.
His mother’s eyes burned, both with tears and anger. “Then you should have found a bride here years ago, when The Season was ripe. But no. All four of you avoided betrothal like the plague.” She laughed bitterly. “And now a plague infests our world. The time has come. I know the possibilities that await you in this foreign world.”
Her eyes glowed, a not so subtle reminder that Queen Ravyn had power in her own right. “Your affai await you. But there is more to your search than finding the one to birth the Royal Four. Each of you needs the strength and power that only your affai can give you. Only with their aid can we rebuild a land strong enough to withstand the evil that constantly threatens.”
“Then give us a Knowing Crystal,” Aerolus said, surprising Darius that he would agree to leave Tanselm in such crisis.
“They have all been destroyed,” Arim answered. “You will have to rely on your judgment, on your hearts. Love abounds everywhere and is in the least likely places.” His expression took on a strange cast, one Darius found curiously regretful. “I have faith you will find those you need to aid us in this cause. And there you will also find that the blood of your mother runs strong in you.”
He stared at all four of them, lingering on Darius last. “You must not fail us.” He began chanting, and the ash on the floor spread into a dark void staining the area beneath the brothers’ feet.
“Wait!” Events were unfolding far too quickly to suit Darius. He needed time to absorb what he’d been told, time to understand. His temper soared when he realized Arim continued to cast the spell, ignoring him. “Dammit, Sorcerer! I can’t leave with the Netharat breathing down our necks. At least give us time to throw them back through the gateway.”
“I agree,” Marcus said.
“And I,” Cadmus added.
Aerolus said nothing, merely stared at Arim.
In the midst of their rebellion, their mother suddenly smiled, a mysterious grin that made her look years younger. She lifted her hands and bolts of lightning crackled from her fingertips, a sight they’d never before seen from the gentle Queen of the West. “I will miss you all. Remember to look deep within yourselves to find your inner powers, beyond that which you think you know. And bring back our salvation.”
She smiled through tears and pressed her hands to her heart. “My love is with you. Don’t let us down. Find your affai.”
“No.” Darius turned to leave, shooting a firebolt at the oak door barring their exit. Rage suffused him that he would be denied the opportunity to avenge his father and the Storm Lords. He literally saw red, his anger growing by the second. “I’m not going--” he growled before the world faded to black.
When he next opened his eyes, he found himself staring at a strange sky overlooking a world not his own. The sky was still blue, the trees still green, yet everything felt flat, lacking the spark of magic that made Tanselm so rich. His senses felt dampened. The colors weren’t as bright, the smell of life muted, as if filtered by the heavy air around them. A low growl broke his study and he blinked at the dangerous beasts close approaching. Canine, he thought as he rolled to his feet and reached for the dagger he always kept at his side. Somewhat smaller than those at home, yet just as deadly in a pack. And as one in particular leaned closer to bare its teeth, he wondered if they would have been safer in Tanselm fighting the Netharat.
STORM LORDS BOOK TWO
BELOW THE SURFACE
By
Marie Harte
© copyright March 2006, Marie Harte
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright March 2006
ISBN 1-58608-863-7
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Prologue
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 splendor 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 revitalizing 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 gray 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 defenses 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. 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 be soon be his.
Chapter One
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Marcus Storm stared in disbelief at the memorandum sitting in the center of his obsessively clean, disturbingly organized 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.”
He stared at her, and she could feel his gaze in the depths of her being. Just one look from him and her insides turned to mush. It had been like that from the beginning. The raven-haired, blue-eyed jerk was of the tall, dark and mouthwatering variety. He roused in her a combination of lust and dislike she had yet to reconcile, even after six months of working with him.
Correction, she mentally adjusted, as he looked at her like some kind of bug he’d like to squash. She’d worked near him for five months. Only recently had she been assigned to work with him. And her boss, Jonas Chase, knew she planned a just revenge for his complicity in partnering her with the conceited project manager.
Jonas had thought it would be funny, the Amazon versus Casanova. She still wasn’t laughing.
“Ms. Sheridan,” Storm bit out her name like an epithet. “You’re telling me I have to get rid of half my staff in order to keep Craiger-Mim profitable?” “Yes. But by ‘cut’ I mean reassign them to other campaigns.” She could see he planned to remain firm against her proposal, and only her desire to resolve the situation enabled her to say her next words with a straight face.
“It’s no secret you’re the ‘eighth wonder’ when it comes to marketing and financial strategies,” she grudgingly conceded. “But my forte is logistics. Trust me when I say that Mr. Conklin won’t agree to your present numbers for Craiger-Mim. Much as I like the company and respect their services, Conklin won’t keep them as a client unless we can show a generous profit.
“The work we’ve been doing for them demands recompense, and though I’m sorry about their losses, we can’t afford to be nice simply because you slept with their head of advertising.”
There. She’d said what everyone on the floor had been talking about for days.
His answer, delivered with icy composure, unnerved her. “Listening to rumors, Ms. Sheridan?” He stood up from behind his desk and rounded to face her. Despite her own formidable height, he stood at least five inches taller, putting him at an intimidating six foot four.
“I would have thought a woman who has an extraordinarily friendly relationship with her boss, who wears the most provocative clothing,” he paused dramatically as he ran his gaze over her body with a searing intensity, “and who consistently manages to rank at the head of the logistics department in Tomanna Consulting, would be loathe to put two and two together in the off-chance she might get five.”
She stared at him, openmouthed. Had he just inferred she’d made her way to the top of the logistics branch using her body?
He smiled, a shark’s grin that blurred her vision with fury.
She closed the distance between them, seething. “You want to accuse me of something, do it in plain English.” She stood so close she had to tilt her head back to see him, and when she did she felt his breath fan her face.
His eyes seemed to darken as he stared down at her, their dark, ocean-blue color flooding with navy. “You might want to watch your step,” he threatened in a curiously deep voice. She saw him swallow, was close enough to see his chest swell with an indignant breath.
And then it happened like it always did. Her loins flooded with longing, her nipples tightened and her entire body ached--for him. Damn, damn, damn. Arguments with Marcus Storm always managed to arouse her.
But for the first time, she saw an answering response spark his eyes.
“Well, well,” he murmured and stepped so close his chest brushed her breasts. “It appears I was wrong to ignore the rumors about you.”
“Look, Storm. I--”
“Davis mentioned you’ve a redhead’s temper and the passion to match. And since he supposedly screwed your brains out last weekend, I assume he’d know.”
Speechless, she stared at him, unable to think of anything but punching the arrogance off his full lips. And just wait until she got a hold of that lying, scheming Davis...
“Now, now,” he tsked, grabbing and holding her clenched fists by her sides. “Violence isn’t the answer. Let’s try this instead.”
He covered her mouth with his own, an aggressive mating of the lips and tongue that belied his cool exterior. His lips turned hard, and the iron ridge that prodded her stomach only made him that much more tempting.
What he’d said, what she’d said, faded from her mind as all-consuming lust flooded her. Apparently he felt it as well, for he growled low in his throat and crushed her against him, the corded strength hidden under his designer suit evident in the ease with which he held her fast.
His lips slanted over hers, his tongue plunging and dipping, making her lightheaded and wet with need. His steely erection burned against her abdomen, rubbing with no pretense but to seek relief. She throbbed, wanting to feel that ridge stroking, sliding deep within her folds.
Then he did the unthinkable. He stopped.
Stepping back from her, he returned to his desk and sat with aplomb, as if their coming together hadn’t happened. Aware she still shook with desire but unable to stop it, she stared in disbelief at his rigid control.
“Apparently Davis was right.”
She blinked, feeling perilously close to tears. That she had to blink to keep the tears from falling brought her to her senses. She’d be damned if this jerk would make her cry in an office she had more right to than he ever would. She’d worked twice as hard and come twice as far in her career as any man at this company.
Screw Davis, and screw Marcus Storm. Mentally composing herself, she decided to take off the kid gloves. Two could play at his game, and she planned on winning.
“Rumors, Marcus?” she said, leaning down toward him. She licked her lips and his eyes narrowed. “Well, if you want the truth, Davis isn’t the only one getting nailed. I’m off to lunch with Judy Hardenmeier, Conklin’s right hand. Those cutbacks I proposed,” she paused and dipped lower, satisfied when his gaze followed the rise and fall of her breasts exposed by her gaping shirt.
She waited until his eyes returned to hers before she lowered the boom. “They’re as good as done. So prepare for a lot of overtime, stud. You’ll soon be juggling three jobs for the price of one.”
* * * *
Marcus called himself five kinds of fool as he watched Tessa Sheridan’s perfect ass saunter out his door. Not being able to control his libido was not an excuse to bring the woman near to tears. Oh yes, she’d recovered more than admirably, but he’d seen the bright sheen in her eyes after his cutting remark about Davis, who was, by all accounts, a chauvinistic asshole. But hell, he’d been a hair’s breadth from fucking her on his desk.
He sat still and focused on his breathing, on an image of his mother, on anything to relax the burning ache in his groin. Tessa somehow always managed to stir him, though until now, he’d been able to conceal his response.
Since Jonas Chase had thrust her into Marcus’ operation, things were quickly coming to a head.
Never before had Marcus acted so disrespectfully, so rudely to a woman. That he did so now, to a woman who had done nothing more than voice what his own secretary and half the floor thought true, was unforgivable. Shame flooded him until he wanted to sink through the floor.
He shouldn’t have pushed her, but he hadn’t expected her, of all people, to believe the stupid rumors. Tessa Sheridan had never acted anything but professionally and had a sterling reputation as the firm’s logistical expert.
She never failed to solve any problem she encountered. And she was the only woman he’d ever met who avoided him like the plague, at least until last month. Before then, he’d vaguely sensed her presence, too inundated with work and the situation at home to take notice of the bossy redhead at the center of every Tomanna Consulting man’s fantasy.
Instead, he’d focused on the tedious work he did for Tomanna, unwilling to face the realization that Tanselm, his precious homeland, seemed so far out of reach. Had it only been a year since he’d been there? A year since he’d poured himself into a prince’s duties in the Royal House? Since he’d immersed himself in elemental magic and the natural beauty of Tanselm’s rich lakes and streams?
If only ‘Sin Garu, that evil wretch of a sorcerer, had contented himself with the dark lands and left Tanselm alone. If only that scourge upon the living, the Netharat, could be killed as swiftly as they were created. If only, if only...
He glared at the door from behind his desk and watched with dark satisfaction when it banged shut. Then, floating an empty glass from a nearby sink to his desk, he waved his hand over it and watched it fill with water, as pure and clear as Tanselm’s deepest wells.
He sighed. That one of Tanselm’s great Storm Lords was now reduced to petty financial squabbles and immature spats with a woman didn’t bear dwelling upon. He tossed back his water and slammed his cup on the desk. He had more than a weekend’s worth of work due by ten Monday morning, and were it not for his mission to find a bride from this magic-forsaken land and return home to fight for his world, he’d quit this place and everyone in it.
Unfortunately, he had to admit this position placed him in an ideal circumstance to find a suitable bride for a man of his status. His brothers might be content searching for a heartmate in a bar, but Marcus had higher standards. Darius had gotten lucky with Samantha. It was doubtful Cadmus, assuming Darius’ role as a bartender, would find himself similarly blessed.
No, Marcus needed to wait it out in this mundane realm, servicing the rich and prosperous. Sooner or later he’d find a woman to serve as his affai, his intended bride. Until then, he’d continue to apply the persuasive strategies he’d learned as a boy, focusing on the here and now.
But much as he tried to ignore it, his heart still yearned. What he wouldn’t give to hear someone from the royal kingdom once again have need of the River Prince.
* * * *
Tessa slammed into her apartment, threw her keys at the hall table, and huffed into the nearest overstuffed chair, cursing Marcus Storm to everlasting celibate hell.
The minute she’d walked out his office door, she’d come up with several more satisfying rejoinders aimed at his shortcomings as a project manager, as a man, and as a human being in general.
Her little goad about the proposed cutbacks becoming a reality, in retrospect, wasn’t as gratifying as slurs on his character and his abilities as a lover would have been.
Her face heated, recalling his skillful mouth and persuasive tongue. Damn it all! She’d been having such a nice Friday too.
She smoldered as she sat in her favorite chair, waiting for the soft leather and deep cushions to soak away the tension. Resting her head back, she closed her eyes and after several deep, measuring breaths, slowly began to relax. Her parched throat demanded something cool to drink, but she felt too comfortable to get up.
Peace and quiet replaced the stress that had hounded her all week, and as weariness invaded her limbs, she began to drift into a light doze.
Without warning, something ice cold and wet nudged her hand, and she shot out of the chair in a shriek. Tumbling backward, she managed to land less than gracefully on the floor.
Her heart racing, she shoved her hair out of her eyes and stared around for the source of her surprise. Anxiety mounted until she noted the water bottle dripping with condensation to her immediate left, floating in the air!
“Not again,” she groaned, grudgingly accepting what her subconscious had ferreted from the refrigerator. Grabbing the bottle, she gingerly regained her feet and trudged to the couch. Telekinesis was such a pain in the ass. Literally, she thought as she rubbed her posterior.
At least her short bout with pyrokinesis hadn’t returned. Since Charles Johnson had left the company, she hadn’t experienced any more repeats of setting her sheets on fire. Now, however, an apparent telekinetic resided at Tomanna Consulting, either that or elderly Mrs. Morris next door had a sudden gift for moving things with her mind.
For as long as she could remember, Tessa had been gifted with strange and unexpected extrasensory perception. To this day she still wasn’t sure how she could do what she did, but concluded she possessed an unusual ability to ‘siphon’ the latent ESP from those gifted around her. Unfortunately, as she’d matured, her powers strengthened, as did the hit-or-miss control that accompanied them.
She wished she knew what triggered the siphoning. Johnson, the pyro, had been at the company for three months before her bouts with fire had started. And as soon as he’d transferred, her pyrokinesis had vanished.
Since no one had moved into her direct neighborhood within the last six months, her abilities had to come from someone at work, where she spent the majority of her time. She’d found, over the years, that close proximity to the ‘target’ helped her to control the powers, and at times, call upon them at will.
But with the amount of personnel changes, her target could be anyone. Hell, it could even be Marcus Storm.
Reminders of the arrogant Lothario made her body tingle. She’d known at first sight he’d be dangerous. Hell, he’d made her body sing on a whisper of breath.
Sensuality flooded her veins, washing her in the ecstatic sensations he’d stirred earlier. No doubt about it, he was a jerk. But for a few moments she’d forgotten his attitude and indulged in something very bad for her. And it had felt so very, very good.
Sighing, she took a large swig of water and realized how desperate she was to desire a man as cold as Marcus Storm. The foreplay with Storm and the nonexistent sex with Davis notwithstanding, she couldn’t recall the last meaningful, intimate interaction she’d had with a man. Could she be any more pathetic?
The phone rang, startling her out of her reverie.
She stared across the room at the telephone. Chances were she had not won Publisher’s Clearinghouse, so why answer? Why cap off a less than perfect day with more bad news?
“Tessa? You’d better pick up,” her brother’s deep voice persuaded over the answering machine. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you today, and I have a bad feeling trouble’s just around the corner.”
She let out a loud curse and crossed to the kitchen to grab the phone. When the clairvoyant in the family had a bad feeling, worse would surely follow.
“Lay it on me, Tom,” she muttered with feeling. “But be gentle. I’ve had a long day.”
“Sorry, Sis, but it’s about to get longer.”
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