by Marie Harte
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 had 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 towards 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 energised 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 judgement, 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 realised 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 press
ed 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 colours 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.
Chapter Two
Samantha Brooks shifted a hunk of drenched hair out of her eyes and sneezed. She hadn’t been back through Seattle in months and now thought she should have postponed this trip until the weather warmed.
February usually brought snow, but on this unfortunate Thursday night—no, she amended as she checked her watch, make that way-early Friday morning—the weatherman had correctly predicted freezing rain. Too bad she hadn’t unpacked her heavy winter coat or even an umbrella.
Shivering in a thin leather jacket, not in the least waterproofed, she sighed and stared at the blazing neon sign of Seattle’s newest nightspot, Outpour.
“Catchy title,” she murmured and banged on the front door. Checking her watch, she noted the hour had passed closing time, almost four a.m. Damn, she’d wanted to see the club in full swing but her flight had landed later than expected, there’d been that haggling over the location of her luggage, then the rental car agency had lost her reservation and she’d had to fight for their very last car, a compact beer can on wheels. Well, she was here now. Maybe she could plan a workup of what the club was like after-hours, get a fresh feel for the place without bodies before she started her improvement assessment for Gerry.
A rivulet of water managed to sneak under the collar of her jacket, sending a frisson of cold down her spine.
She knocked harder. Surely the staff remained behind to clean up. She thought she heard music. After standing another minute in slushy rain, she pushed on the door, surprised when it opened.
Once inside she felt instantly warmer and wandered down a darkened hall to the low hum of music and the dim glow of lights.
Stripping out of her sodden jacket, she carried it to the nearest bar, looking for a hint of anyone present.
“Hello?”
Her only answer was the muted thrum of Prodigy pulsing through surround sound speakers. Someone had been cleaning, she noted, seeing the massive trash bins staged at various points in the overlarge room. The smell of stale beer lingered in the air, mixed with a hint of citrus cleanser that made the stench almost pleasant.
Chrome tables and matching chairs with neon coloured cushions littered the main floor that surrounded the dance area. Throughout the room several higher platforms housed booths and tables, designed, she imagined, to hint at exclusivity.
Staring around her, she spied a second bar across the room. She gathered her jacket and approached the barstand, looking behind it in hopes of finding someone to talk to. This area appeared recently cleaned, the countertops shining and devoid of debris. Leaving her sopping jacket and satchel on a barstool obscured by the bar, she resumed her study of the area.
Someone had to still be here. She wandered around looking for signs of life and noticed a door reading ‘employees only’ cracked open. Much as she longed to go to her hotel and deal with this later, she needed to find out who had left the doors unlocked and the floor untended.
She entered cautiously, feeling like the dim-witted victim in a horror movie who searches an abandoned warehouse only to find death in the arms of a deranged serial killer. Samantha despised those films for portraying the victims as so hopelessly stupid. But as she descended step after step, she wondered at her own intelligence.
Maybe I should just come back tomorrow. Her footsteps sounded like thunder on the cold concrete of the basement floor, and she hesitated as she reached the end of the stairwell light’s perimeter.
“Hello? Is anyone here?” She flicked the light switch at the bottom of the stairs, not surprised when nothing happened. “Damn.” Gerry could deal with the absent employee tomorrow. There was no way she was going to tramp around a dark basement, especially one that felt this eerie. She couldn’t be sure if her imagination ran wild, but she swore she could feel someone, or something, watching her from the dark.
“I’m outta here.” She turned around and put one foot on the steps when the stairway light flickered and died. Goosebumps crawled over her skin, making her shiver with more than just cold.
Reaching for the railing, she had ascended the second step when a hand settled hard over her shoulder, pulling her back into a large body.
She shrieked and flailed, trying to free herself from the strong arms suddenly caging her to a steely male frame.
“Hold,” a deep voice sounded near her ear.
She immediately froze, her heart beating a mile a minute. Her breath caught as the arms around her loosened. A hand tugged at her wet hair, then trailed over her face and down her chest, lingering over her breasts.
Her face heated and she tried to yank herself from his grasp, terror gripping her hard, yet he continued to pat her down. His hands felt uncomfortably warm, stirring both fear and a curious ache in her loins that made absolutely no sense.
“Didn’t I tell you not to come back here?” the deep voice asked. “I’m not your plaything.” His hands returned to her breasts and tightened almost painfully. Odd, but his tight grip only excited her further.
As his words dawned, Samantha breathed deeply and sought some control over her off-kilter emotions. Okay, so the guy wasn’t some psycho killer. He thought he knew her.
“Look, there’s been some misunderstanding. I don’t know who you are, but the owner invited me here.”
His hands slowly left her body, grazing her nipples and shooting sparks through her already overloaded senses. She turned cautiously, ready to run at any moment. A sudden light lit the room and she blinked at the glare of flame in his hand. Odd, but she couldn’t see the source of flame. If she didn’t know better she’d swear his fingers were on fire. He cursed softly, breaking her stare on his hand and drawing her attention to his face. And all thoughts of nonexistent matches and lighters vanished.
Her eyes widened as they took in the dark-haired Adonis standing before her. Black hair grazed his shoulders, framing a face steeped in sensuality. Fathomless black eyes gazed at her, from her head to her toes, making her want to cover herself from his brazen inspection. Yet his study wasn’t the least bit leering. It was full of male speculation, and downright dangerous.
Samantha couldn’t help returning his study. The man had surprisingly arresting features, from his straight, aristocratic nose to his stubborn, squared jaw. And his body…tall and muscled, he could have appeared right at home in a muscle magazine.
“You aren’t Janet.” His voice oozed sex appeal, dark and husky, like the rumble of thunder that passed overhead.
“No, I’m not.” She took a small step back, needing to regain her senses. Adrenaline coursed through her system, as much from the fright he’d given her as from his luring attractiveness.
He sighed and lowered his lighter. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Obviously,” she muttered and sneezed. She saw his full lips quirk into a smile and her heart beat double-time.
“As you can tell, the lights are out due to the storm. Perhaps we should head upstairs, wher
e you can introduce yourself and explain what you were doing down here.” He nodded to the stairs behind her, his words clearly an order rather than a suggestion.
She didn’t care. Samantha wanted heat and more distance from the man rousing her sleeping libido. As she turned and quickly climbed the steps, she could feel his gaze on her back like a physical caress.
Shaking her head, she reminded herself that too little sleep and this weather had made a muck of her sensibility. Stiffening her spine as she entered the warm atmosphere of the club once more, she headed for her things behind the bar and turned once she had a firm grip on her satchel.
She hadn’t heard him move and gasped to find him standing right behind her. Had this guy never heard of personal space?
She swallowed audibly. Was it her, or did he seem even taller than the six-four she’d earlier estimated? “I’m Samantha Brooks, the assessor Gerry Barnham hired. I take it you work here.”
“Let’s see some ID, sweetheart.”
She clenched her jaw. When he crossed muscular arms over a massive chest and leaned against the back wall, unmoving, she removed her wallet, flashed him her driver’s licence and waited impatiently while he examined it.
Finally he nodded. Stuffing her wallet back into her bag, she turned to face him again, disturbed by his arrogance and his larger-than-life sex appeal. “And you are?”
“I bartend here for Gerry.”
Not a bouncer. That surprised her. With his stature he could easily intimidate those not playing by the rules. But if he was one of the bartenders…he had to be Darius Storm. Gerry had mentioned the amazing draw his newest employee had, bringing in more women than the club knew what to do with. Seeing him, she understood the attraction.
The man raked her up and down with an assessing gaze, his eyes returning to her face and roaming over her as if committing her features to memory. “I’m Darius.”
