Sea Breeze: Phantom Queen Book 8 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries)

by Shayne Silvers

  “Quinn, is this you—” James yelled, excitement bubbling in his voice, only to be cut off as one of Scylla’s tentacles wrapped around his torso. I watched in horror as it coiled, tightening as if in slow motion, unsure of its captive. In seconds, I knew, she’d draw back, returning to her spit of rock with her single, solitary victim. Would she gobble him up in one bite, or tear him into several pieces? In that instant, I pictured the Neverlander torn to shreds by those hungry mouths, the blood licked clean by those panting tongues. I couldn’t let that happen.

  I leapt for him, my hands haloed by green flames, and clawed at the tentacle like some demented harpy. Thick and rubbery, the limb resisted even as I gouged into its pink flesh, charring it black wherever the flames touched. James screamed as the arm tightened, reflexively drawing back from the source of pain. Suddenly, Obelius was there beside me, hacking away with his sword. The tentacle loosened and flailed, spurting scalding hot, black blood that rained like ink over us all. James fell to the deck, clutching his ribs. Obelius roared and thrust his sword into the air, reveling in his victory over at least one monster, today. Which is probably why he didn’t see the second tentacle, thick as a tree trunk, flying at him. The others ducked, but I only had time to push the Leastrogynian out of the way. Which meant I caught the full force of the blow, myself.

  The tentacle hit me around the middle and took me high into the air, so high I could see the entire Crow Boat from above, no bigger than a playing card; the eyes of the crows flashed emerald green and seemed to track me as I was flung skyward. I hit the side of the cliff, hard, my head snapping backwards into the stone with a sickening crunch. Next, the sea. It met me like an abusive lover, crushing me in its embrace the instant I landed. I bobbed to the surface seconds later, dazed, guzzling salt water, and saw the Crow Boat speeding away into the distance. I could just make out Obelius being held back by his crew before another wave overtook me; he wanted to leap overboard and rescue me. Silly Vegiant. I wanted to laugh, but instead I slid beneath the water, too weak to fight its pull. That leaden sensation I’d experienced on the beach was back, though compounded by the head wound and my general exhaustion; I couldn’t even fight my way to the surface. And so I sunk.

  So, this was how it was going to end. I’d either drown, or be plucked out of the water by Scylla and devoured—the fact that it made so little difference to me told me how fatigued I truly was. I drifted, unable to do anything but stare down into the depths of the sea. My lungs burned from the lack of oxygen, and yet I refused to open my mouth. Something in the back of my mind told me that once I did that, it would all be over. And so I began to black out, my vision fading until all I could see was a shadow moving through the gloom...except the shape seemed to be moving towards me, emerging from the ocean floor like the spread of an ink stain.

  My vision tunneled. And yet, for just a second, I could have sworn I saw a single eye open amidst all that darkness, flashing iridescent like a fish leaping in the sunlight. Then again, it was entirely possible it was just my mind playing tricks on me.

  It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Though it might very well be the last.

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  Turn the page to read a sample of OBSIDIAN SON - Nate Temple Book 1 - or BUY ONLINE. Nate Temple is a billionaire wizard from St. Louis. He rides a bloodthirsty unicorn and drinks with the Four Horsemen. He even cow-tipped the Minotaur. Once…

  (Note: Nate’s books 1-6 happen prior to UNCHAINED, but crossover from then on, the two series taking place in the same universe but also able to standalone if you prefer)

  Full chronology of all books in the Temple Verse shown on the ‘Books in the Temple Verse’ page.

  TRY: OBSIDIAN SON (NATE TEMPLE #1)

  There was no room for emotion in a hate crime. I had to be cold. Heartless. This was just another victim. Nothing more. No face, no name.

  Frosted blades of grass crunched under my feet, sounding to my ears alone like the symbolic glass that one shattered under a napkin at a Jewish wedding. The noise would have threatened to give away my stealthy advance as I stalked through the moonlit field, but I was no novice and had planned accordingly. Being a wizard, I was able to muffle all sensory evidence with a fine cloud of magic—no sounds, and no smells. Nifty. But if I made the spell much stronger, the anomaly would be too obvious to my prey.

  I knew the consequences for my dark deed tonight. If caught, jail time or possibly even a gruesome, painful death. But if I succeeded, the look of fear and surprise in my victim’s eyes before his world collapsed around him, was well worth the risk. I simply couldn’t help myself; I had to take him down.

  I knew the cops had been keeping tabs on my car, but I was confident that they hadn’t followed me. I hadn’t seen a tail on my way here, but seeing as how they frowned on this kind of thing I had taken a circuitous route just in case. I was safe. I hoped.

  Then my phone chirped at me as I received a text.

  My body’s fight-or-flight syndrome instantly kicked in, my heart threatening to explode in one final act of pulmonary paroxysm. “Motherf—” I hissed instinctively, practically jumping out of my skin. I had forgotten to silence it. Stupid, stupid, stupid! My body remained tense as I swept my gaze over the field, sure that I had been made. My breathing finally began to slow, my pulse returning to normal, as I noticed no changes in my surroundings. Hopefully, my magic had silenced the sound and my resulting outburst. I glanced down at the phone to scan the text and then typed back a quick and angry response before I switched the cursed phone to vibrate.

  Now, where were we…

  I continued on, the lining of my coat constricting my breathing. Or maybe it was because I was leaning forward in anticipation. Breathe, I chided myself. He doesn’t know you’re here. All this risk for a book. It had better be worth it.

  I’m taller than most, and not abnormally handsome, but I knew how to play the genetic cards I had been dealt. I had shaggy, dirty blonde hair, and my frame was thick with well-earned muscle, yet still lean. I had once been told that my eyes were like twin emeralds pitted against the golden-brown tufts of my hair—a face like a jewelry box. Of course, that was two bottles of wine into a date, so I could have been a little foggy on her quote. Still, I liked to imagine that was how everyone saw me.

  But tonight, all that was masked by magic.

  I grinned broadly as the outline of the hairy hulk finally came into view. He was blessedly alone—no nearby sentries to give me away. That was always a risk when performing this ancient right-of-passage. I tried to keep the grin on my face from dissolving into a maniacal cackle.

  My skin danced with energy, both natural and unnatural, as I manipulated the threads of magic floating all around me. My victim stood just ahead, oblivious of the world of hurt that I was about to unleash. Even with his millennia of experience, he didn’t stand a chance. I had done this so many times that the routine of it was my only enemy. I lost count of how many times I had been told not to do it again; those who knew declared it cruel, evil, and sadistic. But what fun wasn’t? Regardless, that wasn’t enough to stop me from doing it again. And again. Call it an addiction if you will, but it was too much of a rush to ignore.

  The pungent smell of manure filled the air, latching onto my nostril hairs. I took another step, trying to calm my racing pulse. A glint of gold reflected in the silver moonlight, but the victim remained motionless, hopefully unaware or all was lost. I wouldn’t make it out alive if he knew I was here. Timing was everything.

  I carefully took the last two steps, a lifetime between each, watching the legendary monster’s ears, anxious and terrified that I would catch even so much as a twitch in my direction. Seeing n
othing, a fierce grin split my unshaven cheeks. My spell had worked! I raised my palms an inch away from their target, firmly planted my feet, and squared my shoulders. I took one silent, calming breath, and then heaved forward with every ounce of physical strength I could muster. As well as a teensy-weensy boost of magic. Enough to goose him good.

  “MOOO!!!” The sound tore through the cool October night like an unstoppable freight train. Thud-splat! The beast collapsed sideways into the frosty grass; straight into a steaming patty of cow shit, cow dung, or, if you really want to church it up, a Meadow Muffin. But to me, shit is, and always will be, shit.

  Cow tipping. It doesn’t get any better than that in Missouri.

  Especially when you’re tipping the Minotaur. Capital M.

  Razor-blade hooves tore at the frozen earth as the beast struggled to stand, grunts of rage vibrating the air. I raised my arms triumphantly. “Boo-yah! Temple 1, Minotaur 0!” I crowed. Then I very bravely prepared to protect myself. Some people just couldn’t take a joke. Cruel, evil, and sadistic cow tipping may be, but by hell, it was a rush. The legendary beast turned his gaze on me after gaining his feet, eyes ablaze as he unfolded to his full height on two tree-trunk-thick legs, hooves magically transforming into heavily-booted feet. The thick, gold ring dangling from his snotty snout quivered as the Minotaur panted, and his dense, corded muscle contracted over his human-like chest. As I stared up into those brown eyes, I actually felt sorry…for, well, myself.

  “I have killed greater men than you for less offense,” he growled.

  I swear to God his voice sounded like an angry James Earl Jones. Like Mufasa talking to Scar.

  “You have shit on your shoulder, Asterion.” I ignited a roiling ball of fire in my palm in order to see his eyes more clearly. By no means was it a defensive gesture on my part. It was just dark. But under the weight of his glare, even I couldn’t buy my reassuring lie. I hoped using a form of his ancient name would give me brownie points. Or maybe just not-worthy-of-killing points.

  The beast grunted, eyes tightening, and I sensed the barest hesitation. “Nate Temple…your name would look splendid on my already long list of slain idiots.” Asterion took a threatening step forward, and I thrust out my palm in warning, my roiling flame blue now.

  “You lost fair and square, Asterion. Yield or perish.” The beast’s shoulders sagged slightly. Then he finally nodded to himself in resignation, appraising me with the scrutiny of a worthy adversary. “Your time comes, Temple, but I will grant you this. You’ve got a pair of stones on you to rival Hercules.”

  I pointedly risked a glance down towards the myth’s own crown jewels. “Well, I sure won’t need a wheelbarrow any time soon, but I’m sure I’ll manage.”

  The Minotaur blinked once, and then bellowed out a deep, contagious, snorting laughter. Realizing I wasn’t about to become a murder statistic, I couldn’t help but join in. It felt good. It had been a while since I had allowed myself to experience genuine laughter.

  In the harsh moonlight, his bulk was even more intimidating as he towered head and shoulders above me. This was the beast that had fed upon human sacrifices for countless years while imprisoned in Daedalus’ Labyrinth in Greece. And all of that protein had not gone to waste, forming a heavily woven musculature over the beast’s body that made even Mr. Olympia look puny.

  From the neck up he was entirely bull, but the rest of his body more resembled a thickly-furred man. But, as shown moments ago, he could adapt his form to his environment, never appearing fully human, but able to make his entire form appear as a bull when necessary. For instance, how he had looked just before I tipped him. Maybe he had been scouting the field for heifers before I had so efficiently killed the mood.

  His bull face was also covered in thick, coarse hair—even sporting a long, wavy beard of sorts, and his eyes were the deepest brown I had ever seen. Cow shit brown. His snout jutted out, emphasizing the gold ring dangling from his glistening nostrils, catching a glint in the luminous glow of the moon. The metal was at least an inch thick, and etched with runes of a language long forgotten. Thick, aged ivory horns sprouted from each temple, long enough to skewer a wizard with little effort. He was nude except for a beaded necklace and a pair of distressed leather boots that were big enough to stomp a size twenty-five imprint in my face if he felt so inclined.

  I hoped our blossoming friendship wouldn’t end that way. I really did.

  Get your copy of OBSIDIAN SON online today!

  If you enjoyed the BLADE or UNDERWORLD movies, turn the page to read a sample of DEVIL’S DREAM—the first book in the new SHADE OF DEVIL series by Shayne Silvers.

  Or get the book ONLINE

  Before the now-infamous Count Dracula ever tasted his first drop of blood, Sorin Ambrogio owned the night. Humanity fearfully called him the Devil…

  TRY: DEVIL’S DREAM (SHADE OF DEVIL #1)

  God damned me.

  He—in his infinite, omnipotent wisdom—declared for all to hear…

  Let there be pain…

  In the exact center of this poor bastard’s soul.

  And that merciless smiting woke me from a dead sleep and thrust me into a body devoid of every sensation but blinding agony.

  I tried to scream but my throat felt as dry as dust, only permitting me to emit a rasping, whistling hiss that brought on yet more pain. My skin burned and throbbed while my bones creaked and groaned with each full-body tremor. My claws sunk into a hard surface beneath me and I was distantly surprised they hadn’t simply shattered upon contact.

  My memory was an immolated ruin—each fragment of thought merely an elusive fleck of ash or ember that danced through my fog of despair as I struggled to catch one and hold onto it long enough to recall what had brought me to this bleak existence. How I had become this poor, wretched, shell of a man. I couldn’t even remember my own name; it was all I could do to simply survive this profound horror.

  After what seemed an eternity, the initial pain began to slowly ebb, but I quickly realized that it had only triggered a cascade of smaller, more numerous tortures—like ripples caused by a boulder thrown into a pond.

  I couldn’t find the strength to even attempt to open my crusted eyes, and my abdomen was a solid knot of gnawing hunger so overwhelming that I felt like I was being pulled down into the earth by a lead weight. My fingers tingled and burned so fiercely that I wondered if the skin had been peeled away while I slept. Since they were twitching involuntarily, at least I knew that the muscles and tendons were still attached.

  I held onto that sliver of joy, that beacon of hope.

  I stubbornly gritted my teeth, but even that slight movement made the skin over my face stretch tight enough to almost tear. I willed myself to relax as I tried to process why I was in so much pain, where I was, how I had gotten here, and…who I even was? A singular thought finally struck me like an echo of the faintest of whispers, giving me something to latch onto.

  Hunger.

  I let out a crackling gasp of relief at finally grasping an independent answer of some kind, but I was unable to draw enough moisture onto my tongue to properly swallow. Understanding that I was hungry had seemed to alleviate a fraction of my pain. The answer to at least one question distracted me long enough to allow me to think. And despite my hunger, I felt something tantalizingly delicious slowly coursing down my throat, desperately attempting to alleviate my starvation.

  Even though my memory was still enshrouded in fog, I was entirely certain that it was incredibly dangerous for me to feel this hungry. This…thirsty. Dangerous for both myself and anyone nearby. I tried to remember why it was so dangerous but the reason eluded me. Instead, an answer to a different question emerged from my mind like a specter from the mist—and I felt myself begin to smile as a modicum of strength slowly took root deep within me.

  “Sorin…” I croaked. My voice echoed, letting me know that I was in an enclosed space of some kind. “My name is Sorin Ambrogio. And I need…” I trailed off uncertainly, unabl
e to finish my own thought.

  “Blood,” a man’s deep voice answered from only a few paces away. “You need more blood.”

  I hissed instinctively, snapping my eyes open for the first time since waking. I had completely forgotten to check my surroundings, too consumed with my own pain to bother with my other senses. I had been asleep so long that even the air seemed to burn my eyes like smoke, forcing me to blink rapidly. No, the air was filled with pungent, aromatic smoke, but not like the smoke from the fires in my—

  I shuddered involuntarily, blocking out the thought for some unknown reason.

  Beneath the pungent smoke, the air was musty and damp. Through it all, I smelled the delicious, coppery scent of hot, powerful blood.

  I had been resting atop a raised stone plinth—almost like a table—in a depthless, shadowy cavern. I appreciated the darkness because any light would have likely blinded me in my current state. I couldn’t see the man who had spoken, but the area was filled with silhouettes of what appeared to be tables, crates, and other shapes that could easily conceal him. I focused on my hearing and almost instantly noticed a seductively familiar, beating sound.

  A noise as delightful as a child’s first belly-laugh…

  A beautiful woman’s sigh as she locked eyes with you for the first time.

  The gentle crackling of a fireplace on a brisk, snowy night.

  Thump-thump.

  Thump-thump.

  Thump-thump.

  The sound became everything and my vision slowly began to sharpen, the room brightening into shades of gray. My pain didn’t disappear, but it was swiftly muted as I tracked the sound.