by Cherry Adair
Enhanced Edition
Backcover Copy
SHE HATES USING MAGIC. . .
Ever since the death of her parents, Sara Temple has rejected her magical gifts. Then, in a moment of extreme danger, she unknowingly sends out a telepathic cry for help—to the one man she is convinced she never wants to see again.
HE’S A POWERFUL WIZARD. . .
Jackson Slater thought he was done forever with his ex-fiancée, but when he hears her desperate plea, he teleports halfway around the world to aid her in a situation where magic has gone suddenly, brutally wrong.
THEY’VE BEEN CHOSEN TO SAVE THE WORLD. . .
But while Sara and Jack remain convinced they are completely mismatched, the Wizard Council feels otherwise. A dark force is killing some of the world’s most influential wizards, and the ex-lovers have just proved their abilities are mysteriously amplified when they work together. But with the fate of the world at stake, will the violent emotions still simmering between them drive them further apart . . . or bring them back into each other’s arms?
New York Times bestselling author Cherry Adair comes to Adair Digital Press with a sexy paranormal romantic suspense, DARK PRISM Enhanced (Formerly Black Magic), that challenges two ex-lovers to save the world and find love again.
There’s a razor thin line between love and hate, light and dark, and for wizards, interior designer Sara Temple and geologist and Aequitas warrior Jackson Slater, the past and the present collide. Called into service by the Wizard Council to investigate a strange and deadly disease infecting wizards and stealing their powers, Jack and Sara find that both the answer and the problem may lie along the same magical leyline.
Cherry Adair has garnered numerous awards for her innovative action-adventure novels, which include White Heat, Hot Ice, On Thin Ice, Out of Sight, In Too Deep, Hide and Seek, and Kiss and Tell, as well as her thrilling Edge trilogy: Edge of Danger, Edge of Fear, and Edge of Darkness. A favorite of reviewers and fans alike, she lives in the Pacific Northwest
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LODESTONE SERIES - Enhanced
Hush - Book 1
Afterglow - Book 2
STARK BROTHERS - Enhanced
Hush - Stark Brothers Book 1
Gideon - Book 2
T-FLAC/PSI - Enhanced
Edge of Danger
Edge of Fear
Edge of Darkness
T-FLAC/WRIGHT FAMILY - Enhanced
Kiss and Tell
Hide and Seek
In Too Deep
Out of Sight
On Thin Ice
T-FLAC/BLACK ROSE - Enhanced
Hot Ice
White Heat
Ice Cold
NIGHT TRILOGY - Enhanced
Night Fall
Night Secrets
Night Shadow
Cherry Adairs’ Writers’ Bible
Available Exclusively on Cherry Adair’s Online Bookstore
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Message From Cherry
To all my readers who always ask for. . . more - here is the Enhanced Edition of Dark Prism - with lots more. Lol I hope you enjoy Jackson's and Sara’s story as much this time around as when you first read it. And if you’re reading their story for the first time – Enjoy.
I loved revisiting Jackson and Sara to bring you this secret files version, with all the extras I know you’ll love. The bonus sections for Dark Prism are packed with special features including: Character Backgrounds, Interviews, Behind the Writing, and so much more! All now yours in this unique edition.
Thank you for being with me on this journey, and for bringing my characters into your lives and loving them as much as I do. Action and adventure, love and romance, they make the world go around.
I love hearing from readers, so come and find me on Facebook, Twitter or through my website and eBook Store.
If you enjoyed Jackson and Sara’s story, please consider writing an honest review for Dark Prism - Enhanced Edition.
Chapter One
Jackson? Get your ass in here.”
Shit. Another minute and he’d’ve been upstairs. Sixteen-year-old Jackson Slater paused just inside the door to his father’s study, fingers shoved into the back pockets of his jeans. “What’s up?”
The log fire in the hearth cast flickering shadows on the walls of the dimly lit room, which was littered with untidy stacks of books and old newspapers. It smelled strongly of scotch fumes. Great. The old man had been boozing it up again. His father sold newspaper advertising space during the day, and spent his nights drinking.
Everything in the room looked the same, but an unfamiliar, electrically charged vibe made the hairs on the back of Jack’s neck prickle.
Looking at his father was eerily like looking at himself in the mirror twenty-five years from now. Same dark hair, same piercing go-to-hell blue eyes, same strong jaw, but with deep lines of dissipation pulling downward around his father’s mouth. His father hadn’t smiled in the ten years since Jack’s mom had died of lupus.
No excuse. He’d been a violent, unpredictable shit as long as his son remembered. Before the drinking had started. There was no reason for his father to be the way he was. Jack figured some people just chose to be goddamned unhappy and shitty all the time. His father was one of them.
“How was school?” Sitting in his worn leather easy chair beside the fire, his father beckoned him into the room. He sounded tense. Not surprising. Verbal communicating wasn’t his style. Give him a nice sturdy stick or a fist, and Jackson Slater Sr. was a happy guy.
Jack glanced at the bottle of scotch sitting within easy reach. Half empty. He could already predict what was coming. “Good,” he muttered cautiously, trying to remember any infraction, minor or major, from the last couple of days. He could think of several right off the bat. But it was unlikely his father knew or gave a shit that he’d had sex with smoking-hot Rachel Thomason in the backseat of her car after school that afternoon.
Jack slouched against the doorjamb, neither in nor out. He had a date with Rachel later. She’d taught him the nuances of French-kissing, and he was an avid student. Tonight he’d teach her a thing or two when they weren’t restricted by time and a gearshift.
“Come in,” his father said impatiently. “There’s something I have to give you.” Irritation laced his words.
Have to? Today was Jack’s birthday, but since his father wasn’t into gift-giving, it was unlikely he was talking about the car Jack wanted. And he was pretty damned sure his father hadn’t sent him the watch that had appeared hovering over his head in the early hours of that morning. Where it had come from, and why today, Jack had no idea. But it was a cool watch with a striated agate face and a gold bezel. He’d worn it to school.
“But first we have to talk,” his father added belligerently.
Crap. “No need for a lecture,” Jack said coolly. “I’m saving money for the car myself.” The odd jobs he’d been doing for a construction company after school not only added to his savings, they kept him the hell out of the house.
His father’s blue eyes flashed a warning. “This isn’t about a damn car. Sit.”
Jack crossed the room to flop in the opposite chair. He might look relaxed, but he sure as hell wasn’t. Sitting meant he was pinned and might not be able to move fast enough to block anything Dickwad threw at him. He braced himself to deliver some serious whoop-ass if his father made a wrong move.
Jack’s wizard skills weren’t as honed as his father’s, but he was working at them. Cold
had been the Slater family’s power to call for seven generations. For years, Jack had considered it a wussy power. His friends and fellow wizards had kick-ass superpowers, like Chad’s ability to become amphibious, or Edelstein’s ability to Mindwipe. But those were skills he could, and would, learn over time.
Still, once he’d mastered conjuring a hailstorm, he’d advanced to materializing razor-sharp shards of ice. Now Jack had an arsenal of cold powers that was just as serious as the superpowers of his friends.
This better not take long—he didn’t want to keep Rach waiting. Bring it on, old man. Jack shifted his center of gravity, ready to move. Fast. “Things to do, places to go,” he told his father, glancing at the broad-banded agate face of his watch before looking up to meet his father’s icy gaze. And fuck you too.
His father cleared his throat. Uh-oh. Throat-clearing indicated his father wasn’t happy—and high stress for Jackson Slater Sr. equaled pain for Jack.
He was taller than his father by almost a foot now. Taller, and stronger. If the son of a bitch came at him, Jack would take him down. Hard. He was through having his father’s point of view shoved down his throat. Never again. Today he was sixteen. A man. No one was ever—ever—going to use him as a punching bag again.
He leaned forward, bracing for a long lecture about … something. They rarely had a real conversation. It seemed to Jack that when they did, his father saved up every unused word, then strung them together in a monologue that could last hours. Jack felt a monologue coming and silently cursed.
“The Book has decreed that you have ownership of it from this day forward.”
Holy shit! Stunned, Jack sat up, his heart pounding. He’d only glimpsed the Aequitas Book of Answers once, the day his mother died. His father, drunk and destroyed, had looked for answers. Jack, standing nearby, had too—any kind of damned answers to explain why a terrific mother had to die, while the shitbag she was married to lived. He’d seen the Book, but only the rightful owner could retrieve it from its invisible psionic safe.
It had been in the family, passed from father to son, for thousands of years, a mark of their family’s leadership position within the wizard community. Being an Aequitas was far more important to his father than Jack himself had ever been. His father was a relatively young guy—forty-one—and Jack had always figured, if he’d thought about it at all, that he’d receive the Book when he was in his thirties or forties. “Isn’t that a bit … premature?” he asked cautiously.
“Not my decision.” His father cleared his throat. Twice. “The Book has spoken. Stand up.”
Jack rose, but kept ten feet of carpet between them. The fireplace poker—a favorite nonmagic weapon—was right by his father’s chair.
“Put out your hands, palms up, to receive it.”
He extended flattened palms, ready to yank them out of the way if Dickhead struck. The fine hairs on Jack’s body suddenly rose as magically charged air shifted and swirled around him in a current of cold air. Holy shit, it was strong. He braced his feet, holding his breath as he felt the power of the psionic safe hovering nearby. Waiting for him.
“What do I do?” he whispered. He felt it, but still couldn’t see anything. He had the odd sensation of being underwater as sounds muted, and his vision pinpointed down to his outstretched hands.
“Call it to you.”
Jack focused on bringing the invisible safe to him. His skin felt ice cold as if the psionic safe holding the Book hovered inches above his spread hands. He sucked in a breath that caught in his lungs as the safe instantly materialized. “Holy shit,” he breathed, awestruck by the strength of the magic emanating from the glowing cube.
A twenty-three-inch square, the safe was an intricately carved, clear block of ice with a slightly convex top. A faint, pulsing green light revealed that nothing was encased inside. Where was the book?
“Open it.”
Jack swallowed against the dryness in his throat as he mentally repeated the spell he’d learned from his father when he’d been a small kid. Jesus. Did he even remember all the correct words?
Apparently so.
A hingeless door in the front of the cube opened with a distinct pop as the seal broke. A plume of acid-green smoke, smelling strongly of ozone, spiraled from inside, then hovered like a drape over the safe as if to protect it.
The cube disappeared, and the book fell into his hands. Unprepared for the sudden weight, Jack dropped it. As he lunged to catch it, his father shimmered in front of him, face red with fury, breath reeking of scotch. Jack closed his fingers around the heavy, leather-bound book as it hovered inches off the floor.
“Clumsy idiot!” The poker swished upward, then slashed down. At the same instant, the Book jerked between Jack’s hands, partially blunting the blow. It still hurt like hell as the cold metal rod bit into the side of his hand. More concerned for the safety of the impossibly heavy tome, Jack barely felt the pain, although he was pretty sure his thumb was broken.
Gently lifting the Book, he straightened with it clutched firmly in both hands. Almost without thinking, he shot a powerful bolt of cold toward his father, who was yelling as he swung the poker again. The noise cut off abruptly. In his peripheral vision, Jack caught his father’s shocked expression as he was literally thrown back, then pinned in his chair by thick ice restraints across his chest, wrists, and ankles. His father cursed him as he struggled uselessly against his bonds.
Awed, Jack hefted the Book. Little sucker must weigh fifty pounds or more. Unlike the icy safe, the Book was almost alive in his hands. Warming to the touch. Vibrating. Its magical power jolted up Jack’s arms and traveled pleasantly through his body.
Hundreds of Slaters had held it in their hands, just like this. Felt the heartbeat of its power flow through their veins. Felt the same surge of energy and strength that Jack felt now. How was it possible for something so small to exude so much power? he wondered, examining the intricately embossed leather cover, brown and cracked with age. The gilt-edged papyrus pages were warped with a thousand years of careful study, the gold-leaf text on the tooled cover flaking in places and hard to read.
Carefully supporting the weight on one hand, he attempted to flip open the cover. No go. He tried again. The Book was sealed shut. “How do I open it?” he demanded, not taking his eyes off the Book. When his father didn’t answer, Jack glanced up, narrow-eyed. “Tell me how to open it.”
“You can’t keep me pinned here forever,” his father snarled, livid. “You won’t take me by surprise again, you ungrateful little shit. I have powers you’ve never—” His eyes opened wide as a dagger of ice nicked the skin beneath his right eye. Jack kept it hovering there, a millimeter from his father’s eyeball. He got a bloodthirsty thrill from seeing a few red drops run down his father’s lean cheek.
“I’ll kill you for this,” his father snarled.
Not tonight, old man. “Answer the question.”
“The Book will answer when you have a valid question.”
Jack didn’t know what the hell a valid question was.
As suddenly as the Book and safe had made their appearance, he found himself empty-handed again. “Damn it!” His heart sank. What had he done wrong?
A glance at his father told him no help would come from that quarter. Bitterly disappointed, Jack turned to go.
“Release me from these damned restraints,” his father shouted. “I have to do my duty and tell you of your heritage.”
“No thanks. The subject was covered in school.”
“There are things you can’t learn at wizard school, Jackson. If you want access to the Book, you have to listen. It’s part and parcel of the transference.”
Damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t. Jack paused at the door, then half-turned to pin his father with a withering glance. “Make it fast, then.”
His father glowered at him. “If you want the Book and all that goes with it, sit your ass down and listen. There’s magic in the words of the ancient tale. They must be rep
eated in the same way they’ve been repeated for centuries as the Book passed from son to son. If you’re too damn busy to listen, then I wipe my hands of you.”
Jack didn’t bother keeping his dislike out of his voice. “Thought you already had.”
His father cocked his head. The ice dagger closely followed the movement. “The Book is no longer mine. Nothing I can do about that,” he said bitterly. “If you don’t listen to the tale, the Book will disintegrate within forty-eight hours. Think of that, Jackson, as you gallop off on your high horse. Hundreds of Slaters have drawn more power than you can even imagine from the pages of the Book. Willing to toss that away because you can’t be bothered to hear me out?”
Jack returned to his chair and sat down. “Fine, start talking, but make it quick.” He didn’t want to talk to his father, but he was riveted. Intrigued. Hell, excited, to finally hear the legend of the Aequitas Book of Answers.
“Millions of years ago—remove these restraints, Jackson. Remove them now, or you’ll curse the day you were born.”
“Unless what you have to say is relevant, can it. Keep on track. Myth. Aequitas Book of Answers. Go.”
His father’s eyes narrowed. Yeah, Jack thought with satisfaction, the worm has turned. He was now magically as strong as his father—maybe stronger. Jackson senior had just met his match. More important, his father had no choice. The Book decreed who and when, and the transference wasn’t up for negotiation. Jack thought it was hilarious that the Book had the answer to making his father toe the line. Sweet.
“The earth was populated by strange, enormous beasts,” his father continued, “and humans had yet to appear. There lived a giant, magical serpent named Ophidian. Ophidian drew his strength and rejuvenated his magical powers from the thousands of invisible leylines crisscrossing deep within the earth like arteries. He roamed the landmasses and oceans freely. The leylines’ power was generated by the inner movement of the planet itself and was inexhaustible, and Ophidian was immortal.”
