QSFer Elaine White has a new MM YA paranormal romance out: The Death of Rowan Copry.
Fourteen years ago, Storm Tera failed to save the world. Born a prophecy child, foretold to save magic, he went into war untrained, unprepared and lost everything. Ever since, he’s been in self-exile, turning his back on magic as it grows and festers inside of him, unused and unwanted.
Then a young witch makes an offer he can’t refuse: to go back in time and undo the mistakes that led to his failure. They have one chance to rewrite the past, to save everyone he lost, and ultimately…to save magic.
Storm is about to play a game of cat and mouse with time and the Fates. Necromancy is in his blood, but if he can’t find a way to prevent the death of Rowan Copry, he can say goodbye to magic, and life as he knows it, forever.
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Excerpt
August 1, 2040
Waking in a bed of tangled sheets, coated in sweat, was nothing new for Storm. Every night of the last fourteen years had been predictable, from the racing heartbeat and the slow-fading memories, to the shaking of his right hand every time he reached for a cigarette. He took his first puff, raked a hand through his hair, and swung his legs out from under the thin sheet.
Storm walked into the bathroom and started the shower. Eyeing the mirror, the inevitable awaited: black smoke as dark as his magic swirled in his eyes, tempting him to delve into the darkest of powers, a birthright no one had bothered to teach him. If he’d known how to wield forbidden magic, he wouldn’t have spent his adult life having night sweats and nightmares, all because the Fates were bickering bitches.
The thin line along his top lip suggested he was dehydrated. His tawny skin showed paler than usual, meaning he could add anaemia or vitamin deficiencies to his worries. That was all part of living in the West of Scotland, he supposed: sea air and lack of sunshine. Pushing aside the long fringe of his raven hair, he wondered if the time had come to move somewhere new, less conducive to invisibility. If he wasn’t careful, he’d fade for real.
Ignoring the temptation to test his untapped abilities, Storm showered to wash off the shakes, sweat, and lingering memories of the worst night of his life. He dressed in the invisibility of a white T-shirt, black jeans, and a black leather jacket, the same thing everyone else wore in this neck of the woods who came here to disappear. There was a reason he lived above a biker bar, miles from the nearest town, deep in the heart of the woodlands. The storms were turbulent here by the sea, and most witches knew better than to settle where magic was at its wildest.
Storm was safer living far from other magic users, friends and enemies alike. He’d come here to escape the world of magic, laws and backstabbing, and the politics of guardians, gods, and elements. Running didn’t exorcise his demons. He took them everywhere he went. If anyone was desperate enough to seek him out, they knew where to find him. The wind could tell them if they had the sense to listen.
He didn’t bother with keys or a wallet as he left the apartment and descended the steps. Wards carved into the wooden door frame kept everyone out. His bar tab was paid at the end of every month, when he got his pathetic human salary from the docks, and Storm kept strict control of his vices and exit strategies.
Magic coursed through his veins like a torrent of the most volatile cyclone. Nothing calmed the raging heat and hate beneath his skin like working on the docks, unloading the fishing boats. The movement, the lack of a routine, and never knowing what tomorrow would bring was the unpredictability his soul craved, the freedom and life of a drifter, with no job, boss, or family to tie him down.
On solid ground, with nothing but compacted earth and weeds beneath his black boots, he stopped. Storm tipped his head to the sky and basked in what the world could tell him. Rain was coming; not an unfamiliar warning in this area, promising not to be heavy or dangerous. He mentally pushed the warning aside and moved on to the next. The wind wanted him to know magic was in the air, someone powerful approaching from the west. He’d suspect someone was passing through, coming for his help, but the wind seemed unsure. When Storm stuck his tongue out, the first drop of rain brought little clarity. Something was coming. A deeply buried instinct screamed Beware! Nosy. Too curious. Whoever was on their way, the rain thought they should mind their own business.
Around Halloween, curious kids would drift through town in hopes of seeing the crackpot Storm Tera: prophesied Chosen One, mage of the elements and earth. Too early in the year for that, he wondered what was hunting him and why they made the wind nervous.
Storm mused over what was coming, wondering if they would be brave enough to approach or if he’d get to keep his peace for another day. Hopefully, the latter.
He went into the bar beneath his apartment, ignoring the stale air and sticky floor to focus on the familiar hints of hops and cigar smoke. The latter came from the old man in the corner, a permanent fixture since Storm moved here three years ago.
He smiled, remembering the first time the man had spoken to an invisible companion. Storm had tapped into his powers, wondering if a spirit, demon or creature was toying with the man, but there had been nothing.
Storm caught the bartender’s eye. He gave a nod of greeting and took the centre stool at the bar like always. No one spoke to him; they never did. The bartender tended to flirt late at night when Storm was leaving. He’d get that look in his big blue eyes, tip his head in curiosity and wait for Storm to make the first move. He never did, never would.
How could he explain the nightmares that plagued him each night? No ordinary person, those who lacked even the simplest magical gifts, would understand the black mist clouding his eyes whenever he felt too strongly, all because he didn’t know how to suppress the darkness in his veins.
Settled in his stool, Storm tapped out a cigarette and used Ithen’s old lighter for his second smoke of the night. At barely after midnight, he’d only left the bar a few hours ago but no one would remark on his return. They never did.
A glass of scotch appeared along with a tentative smile. When he didn’t react, except to lift his glass and take a drink, the bartender moved on, knowing better than to hover.
A lesson he wished the rest of the world would learn.
Author Bio
Elaine White is the author of multi-genre MM romance, celebrating ‘love is love’ and offering diversity in both genre and character within her stories.
Growing up in a small town and fighting cancer in her early teens taught her that life is short and dreams should be pursued. She lives vicariously through her independent, and often hellion characters, exploring all possibilities within the romantic universe.
The Winner of two Watty Awards – Collector’s Dream (An Unpredictable Life) and Hidden Gem (Faithfully) – and an Honourable Mention in 2016’s Rainbow Awards (A Royal Craving) Elaine is a self-professed geek, reading addict, and a romantic at heart.
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