by Marie Harte
A Total-E-Bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
Below the Surface
ISBN #978-0-85715-281-7
©Copyright Marie Harte 2010
Cover Art by April Martinez ©Copyright September 2010
Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
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The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2010 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way
, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom
.
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.
The Storm Lords
BELOW THE SURFACE
Marie Harte
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Publisher’s Clearinghouse: Publishers Clearing House LLC
Russell Crowe: Crowe, Russell INDIVIDUAL
Gladiator: Paramount Pictures
The Price is Right: Price Productions, Inc. FremantleMedia Operations
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 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 bo
wl. He paid his spies in the Light Bringers’ Western Kingdom 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.
Chapter One
“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.”
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 own 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 rumours, 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 colour 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 rumours 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 pretence 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.
“Rumours, Marcus?” she said, leaning down towards 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 hi
s 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 rumours. 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 centre of every Tomanna Consulting man’s fantasy.
Instead, he’d focused on the tedious work he did for Tomanna, unwilling to face the realisation 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?
