[PRE-ORDER - LATE JUNE 2026] SIGNED PRINT: Titan Mage Havoc and the Frigid Flame HARDBACK (Foil Stamped Faux Leather Painted Edges Special Edition)

 

Enjoy a sample from TITAN MAGE HAVOC AND THE FRIGID FLAME 

She had not come to go unnoticed.

Technically, no one in The Lady and Octopus had. It was match week for the Arcane Index Titan Mage Academy, where students would choose their partners for the remainder of their schooling, and the tavern district was the place to go after hours. The place to be seen. The place where adventuring scholars blew off steam at the end of their battling days—and often, came to other blows. Or got up to … other steam.

Rion had already seen plenty of that this week.

Tonight, his goal was her.

Sanja Grimes sat in the top three of his class of titan mages, with a matter magic coefficient of 4.5 and gravity coefficient of 2.7!

A matter-dominant partner was an unconventional pairing choice for a gravity mage like himself, but unconventional thinking was why he held the top spot in their class. He’d long been imagining the clever tactics they could use to surprise opponents, who usually expected melee mages to pair with energy snipers.

And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined … other clever things they could get up to.

Sanja Grimes was everything he liked.

She loomed in the shadiest corner of the tavern in a black leather jacket hugged tight to her bountiful chest, tight black pants that cupped a magnificent ass, raven hair cropped in an efficient battle-friendly cut, and sharp dark lipstick that threatened to suck his entire being straight toward her tantalizing mouth. The only other color on her person was the slash of lime green across the front of her hair, matching a similar slash on her titan.

She was the kind of person who valued her titan that much.

He flexed the mage tattoo on his right bicep, a stylized replica of his own titan’s knightly head.

She was perfect.

Problem was, she was also face-deep in a book.

“You still haven’t talked to her?”

A subtle creak of rubber on wood flooring drew his attention to the side. A slight, pale man rolled up in a button down-shirt with the geometric approximation of a tie that marked him an Arcane Index engineering student. The Index demanded professionality, but it also recognized the risks professional accessories presented in situations involving machinery, so solved the problem by mageworking one into the threads.

Sevas never took off the engineering symbol.

The effort of the day’s maintenance had returned him to his wheelchair for the evening, and he delivered two drinks from a customized tray hinged to one side. Sevas always looked like he’d benefit from a good whiskey, but today he clonked a beer bottle by Rion’s arm next to something that looked like an arcane accident floating in fruit punch.

“That’s the pinkest drink I’ve ever seen,” Rion prodded. “Are the fruit bits glowing?”

“I like flavors. And is a catalyst inside the umbrella.” Sevas lifted the cocktail umbrella to reveal a tiny, honeycomb-shaped light beneath its canopy: “Light from within creates the illusion of glowing.”

“You mean ‘There is a catalyst inside the umbrella,’” Rion corrected.

“I know how your language works. I’m just too tired to humor its inefficiencies.”

“And yet you’ll say things like ‘humor its inefficiencies’?” Rion chuckled.

“That is called ‘being facetious,’” Sevas retorted, pointedly abandoning his consonant-heavy accent; he was close to fluent in Ender, but treated all language as a nuisance he had to put up with to deal with, ugh, people. “Anyway, don’t change the subject. We came all the way out here so you could ask her to join us. So do it.”

“It’s not the right time.”

“Why not?”

“She’s reading.”

“Do you mean to say the great Orion Havoc is being thwarted by a book?” Sevas squinted across the room. “And not even a challenging book, but a smutty adventure romance?”

“Sevas, which of us has been on zero dates, and which of us has a nightstand full of women’s calling cards?”

“Fair point, but I don’t see how you expect not talking to her to somehow result in a partnership.”

“It’s about timing; I’ve interrupted enough book girls to know that’s the first way to piss them off.”

“They still went back to the dorm with you.”

“Yeah, but only after I started reading the books so I could talk about them. Book girls are next level. It takes more than all this to entice them.” He gestured to indicate himself.

Rion wasn’t vain about his appearance, but puberty had knocked him from fat kid to a dark slab of a man. That bulk added the illusion of years to his age and made it impossible to hide in a crowd, so women noticed him whether he wanted it or not, and often licked their lips when they did it. (Not that he minded.)

“You could simply choose a partner who’s not a book girl.”

“Are you kidding? I know what kind of books those girls read.” A randy grin slipped onto Rion’s face, and Sevas gave a long-suffering sigh.

“Have you read that book?” He nodded toward Sanja.

“Yes.”

“Then what’s the problem? You’re fully equipped for victory; just do it so I can go home and sleep.”

“You wanted to come out with me.”

“I wanted a Ketaloi Sunset, and now I have it.” He took a sip, then indicated Sanja again. “Now, back to the matter at hand.”

“I have a plan, man. I’m going to wait until she closes her book and goes for another drink, and then I’ll offer—”

“Looks like you might have to change your plan.”

Sevas gestured to Sanja’s corner. She’d attracted the attention of another man, who currently strode toward her, shoulders flung back in a cool swagger, oozing arrogant confidence. Rion knew the man. The too-rich, too-impractical, glamorous blonde hair was hard to mistake—but none of this had stopped him from trading second and third place with Sanja on the battle boards.

“I believe Angel Face has similar goals.” Sevas unclipped the retention strap on his shoulder holster. “Shall I be your wingman?”

***

She had not come to go unnoticed, and she saw she hadn’t been.

She’d seen Rion enter—hard to miss with that muscular bulk and ever-present companion. Seen him claim a table not too close to her corner, but not so far away that he couldn’t observe her, even if he spent most of his time joshing with his cantankerous engineer.

Sanja allowed herself a small half-smile. She liked Sevas, if not in that way, but like acknowledged like, and people from the shadows of Endpoint City knew each other whether they’d spoken or not. They knew the darknesses people outside the slums could never understand.

And she liked Rion for accepting him, despite that.

It boded well for her.

Orion Havoc had a reputation. Gravity coefficient of 5.1, top of the academic battle board, top of the after-hours dueling boards and, beyond that, the kind of man women routinely asked to walk them home from taverns. Often it was for traditional after-tavern activities—Rion had a reputation there, too—but just as often it was for the other side of his reputation.

The side that once defended a girl from a creep and unashamedly broke his entire face.

Women sought the taverns Rion frequented because they knew they’d be safe from whatever lurked in the shadows.

And Sanja Grimes had plenty of shadows.

One fell over her now. She knew its shape and movement: a well-built, presumptuous strut. She pointedly turned to her next page.

“I’m sure you’ve already broken several hearts this week, but I hope you’ll afford me a crumb of optimism.”

He spoke with the dashing rumble of a man whose optimism was rarely disappointed, especially when it came to women.

She raised the cover of her book. “For once, I’m glad to disappoint.”

“You’ve already chosen a partner?”

“No, but I have my candidates.”

“From the way you’re talking, I assume I’m not one of them?”

Sanja leaned back into her chair with the casual grace of someone who knew where her knife was, should she need it. He was smart enough to take a hint.

He was also stubborn enough to ignore it—and suddenly his shadow loomed closer, firm hands clutched on either armrest and body arched over hers like a lover angling to kiss her throat. Or a predator positioning to tear it out.

She only knew that because she knew him.

Nepherik Damian Oldershaw had a noble name, if a fallen one, and the bearing to go with it. He wore his family’s misfortunes in the most dashing of ways—a proud, upright stride tempered with rough, adventure-worn clothing, and a roguish blonde cut and stubble that wouldn’t have put him out of place as a hero in the kind of novel she was reading.

Except that, like most nobles—fallen or not—he was good at keeping up appearances. He nestled tenderly toward her ear.

“Now, why would the third in our class turn down a partnership with the second? One would think that would make for a perfect pairing.”

A subtle growl had slipped into his dashing purr. A challenge.

“I’m not always third, Ferik,” she dared. “Why would I partner with someone I can beat?”

“Because I’m the reason you’re here to begin with. Or need I remind you of … services rendered?”

The purr was gone now, all knowing snarl behind a cocksure glare—yet so hidden between their faces that someone whistled, egging on a kiss.

Sanja slipped a hand toward her jacket. “I like to think of that as contract work, if not formally contracted. And if we’re going to threaten each other, I’ll remind you the Index would take interest in the services you paid me to render.”

Ferik smirked. “And risk your titan, too?”

He had her there. But she wouldn’t let him know that.

“There are other ways of getting titan cores. A girl from the Shadows knows them—”

“Bit rude to interrupt a lady when she’s reading.”

Sanja’s tongue tangled in her mouth. Ferik twisted up from her, all devilish smiles, and met a half-grin just as jaunty, just as challenging.

No, more so. Orion Havoc could only ever be more.

Nepherik Oldershaw was no small man, but Havoc cast a shadow over even him. Rion kept his arms crossed over his broad chest—which Ferik met by resting his arms loose and akimbo. Ready to react. All eyes in the tavern sneakily shifted toward them.

“Bit rude to interrupt a conversation you weren’t invited to,” Ferik sneered.

“Must not have been a very good one if your partner keeps trying to go back to her book.” Rion craned his neck to meet Sanja’s eyes. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—it’s a good book—but if a guy’s going to ask a woman to partner with him, he at least needs to be more interesting than Beeflord Assgetter Rides Again, and that’s not even that high a bar to jump.”

“Come off it,” Ferik scoffed. “We both know you’re here for the same reason as I—”

“And more qualified for it, too, given the way I kicked your ass in last week’s finals.”

Playful whoops and taunts burst around them, the tournament match still fresh on everyone’s minds. It had been a worthy fight—Ferik was still second, after all—but he’d also still lost, to a final blow so epic she’d seen at least three people reenact it when Rion stepped into the tavern tonight. A few others did it now, straining the smirk on Ferik’s face.

Rion turned to Sanja, the theatrics of his victory bristling behind him.

“What do you say?” he entreated. “Not gonna lie, a lot of mages have asked to pair up with me, but your fighting style meshes well with mine, and you also kick his ass a lot. I figure we match—”

Ferik punched for Rion’s face so fast his knuckles blurred. Rion blocked the blow with a thick plank of an arm and an equal blur, and eager grins flared across both men’s faces—the issuing and acceptance of a challenge.

“Boys!” the bartender bellowed across the room, then slapped his hand on a sign reading FIGHTS SUBJECT TO A FEE OF 50 TETRAMARKS PLUS DAMAGES.

“I’ve got it.” Sevas produced a wallet from a wheelchair compartment.

Ferik flung another punch Rion’s way. Again Rion blocked, then dodged, then blocked again, never returning punches but always looking on with an invigorated gleam in his brown eyes.

There was a reason he wasn’t punching.

Rion moved little; Ferik moved lots, and soon the latter began to slow.

Still, one of the tenets of being a competent fighter was knowing one’s limits and how to work around them, and one didn’t become second in class without knowing that.

Ferik threw another punch for Rion’s head, but when Rion raised his arms to block, he feinted and hooked another blow underneath, straight into the meat of Rion’s gut.

A startled gasp escaped Sanja’s lips—before she heard the blow stop with a solid thud. A recurrent powerlifting elective lent a certain huskiness to his muscle, and his flexed abs had absorbed the punch like it was little more than a surprise dodgerbie ball.

“What the fuck did you think would happen, man?” Rion laughed—and then clamped Ferik in a headlock. Ferik’s muscles bulged conspicuously under his jacket as he tried to wrench free, but Rion had him at an awkward angle and locked in twice as much muscle.

Rion glanced to his engineer with a mischievous eyebrow. “Sev, the window?”

“Already on it.” Sevas might have been in a wheelchair for the evening, but he had enough mobility to open the nearest windowpane. A riot of laughs rose around the tavern as Rion dragged the stumbling Ferik over—and threw him out onto the sidewalk.

Sevas closed the window behind him, and then Rion returned to Sanja’s chair. Amused hoots and cheers followed his path—applause for the show—but as usual, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“I sincerely hope he was actually bothering you, and I didn’t just ruin a weird sexually-charged date,” he said with easy confidence that knew he was right—and probably not a little satisfaction that Ferik had started the fight. What better way to convince a potential partner than to show off one’s dependability?

“Your instincts were correct,” Sanja replied with her own jocular smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed the company of Nepherik Oldershaw.”

“If you’re looking for better company, we have a table.” He thumbed back to where Sevas had settled. “And a tab. Especially if you’re interested in taking me up on my offer. Ranking aside, I’ve got the best engineer in our class, not to mention various other perks.”

Sanja thought of several of those perks as her eyes traced his thick … everything—but that was also a mere fraction of why she’d come here tonight. The more significant fraction was embodied by the fact that he’d literally just thrown one of her biggest problems out a window.

And, presumably, would continue to do so.

“After a fight like that, how could I possibly turn you down?” Sanja clapped her book closed and stood—as Ferik bust back into the tavern.

The saloon-style doors crashed against the wall in his fury, and he strode toward Rion and Sanja with purpose masked in a dangerous smile.

Therein lay the difference between Orion Havoc and Nepherik Oldershaw. Rion was the kind of man who could get any woman he wanted. Ferik was the kind of man who expected to, and reacted poorly when he didn’t get his way. His grin looked jaunty, but Sanja had seen it before.

So too had Sevas, it seemed, for he promptly whipped a void pistol from his shoulder holster.

“Perhap you should reconsider what you’re about to do,” he snapped in that ferocious accent.

“It’s perhaps, Sev,” Rion said, still keeping a cautious, if challenging eye on Ferik.

“I only have one perhap for this man,” Sevas said darkly. “And no particular investment in his well-being.“

“Oh? Do I frighten you?” Ferik’s smile shaped into a cocky grin. “Do you really think I’m that dangerous?”

“I’ve known more dangerous men than you. You’re mostly an ass. But both problems have similar solutions.”

“You run your mouth a lot for someone who can’t even run.”

“I run my mouth the proper amount for someone who knows how to shoot.”

“Hey.” Normally Rion’s voice carried an undercurrent of levity, but now it came colder than Sanja had ever imagined it could be. “Challenge me all you want, but threaten my engineer and we’ll take this outside, right to the middle of the street.”

Sanja’s breath caught in her throat, less from the tension of the situation as that, while Ferik looked pissed and dangerous, Rion looked willing to break his face at the slightest suspicious twitch. Intentionally. For a member of his team.

A member who, for that matter, looked like he’d defend his friend with such lethal certainty that Rion wouldn’t have to lift a finger. She’d lived in the Shadows long enough to know that kind of face, too.

Yes, there were multiple perks to joining up with Rion.

Ferik’s cocky grin remained, but his posture oozed into a calculated shrug. “Gods, what an overreaction. I only came to issue a more formal challenge—a titan duel.”

“It won’t make any difference. She’s already decided to pair with me.”

“Do I take this to mean the great Orion Havoc isn’t interested in a fair fight? That you’ll only take me on when you have the clear physical and numeric advantage?”

Rion gave him a no-nonsense look. Smug superiority dripped from his opponent’s face—but then Rion’s eyes flicked between Ferik’s and Sanja’s, and his expression shifted from rigid to resolved. Eager, even.

“You know what? Fuck it. A duel sounds like the perfect way to cap off this evening.”