The stolen luck, p.1
The Stolen Luck, page 1
The Stolen Luck
By Shawna Reppert
How far will a good man go to save his home and loved ones?
Lord James Dupree must recover his family’s stolen Luck, the elven talisman that has protected the Dupree lands for generations. Without the talisman, the Dupree vineyards are failing and creditors are closing in. The Luck is his only hope of saving his home and his family from poverty and ruin.
Despite his abhorrence of slavery, James wins an elven slave in a game of cards. The slave, Loren, provides the only chance to enter the Lands Between and recover the stolen Luck. Despite James’s assurances and best intentions, Loren does not trust his new master and James finds it all too easy to slip into the role of slave master when Loren defies him.
As the two work together through hardship and danger, James finds himself falling in love with Loren. And when a hidden enemy moves against them, he must choose between his responsibility to his family and his own soul.
78,000 words
Dear Reader,
The month of May always brings, for me, the promise of new beginnings. I realize that it’s actually nearly the end of spring, but for some reason, I love the idea of May and that it means summer is coming and the fun is really about to begin!
This month, very fitting for my excitement about new beginnings, we have three debut authors with stories releasing. Brighton Walsh joins Carina Press with her charming contemporary romance Plus One, where lifelong friends find deep-seated feelings growing into something more than friendship. Meanwhile, debut author Shawna Reppert has crafted a unique and captivating fantasy romance world in her male/male romance The Stolen Luck. Joining these two authors with a debut is S.G. Wong with the first Lola Starke novel, Die on Your Feet. Not only is this an unusual mix of mystery, paranormal and noir, but this book also has a striking cover that captured my imagination from the first look.
Although not a debut author, Tamara Morgan joins Carina Press with the first in a new contemporary romance series. In The Rebound Girl, an outgoing plastic surgeon gets more than she bargained for when she offers to be the rebound girl for a sexy kindergarten teacher getting over his recent breakup.
Along with new beginnings also come bittersweet goodbyes, and this month we wrap up Jax Garren’s fantastic science-fiction trilogy Tales of the Underlight. This series has kept us all on the edges of our seats with both the sexual tension between Hauk and Jolie and the fight to take out the Order of Ananke. Don’t miss the final installment, How Beauty Loved the Beast.
Following up on her award-winning erotic novella, The Theory of Attraction, Delphine Dryden brings back sexy geeks and sizzling sexual tension in The Seduction Hypothesis.
As well, we have exciting offerings from a variety of other veteran Carina Press authors this month. Jeffe Kennedy’s Ruby takes us to a contemporary world of BDSM and a sexy Cajun chef during the sensuality of New Orleans’s Mardi Gras. And last month saw the release of Volume 1 of our Love Letters anthologies. This month, discover four hot stories with a military twist in Love Letters Volume 2: Duty to Please.
Sandy James, Shawna Thomas, Cathy Pegau and Stacy Gail all return to previously established worlds in their respective books. In Sandy James’s The Brazen Amazon, the Air Amazon is sent to protect computer wizard Zach from a rogue goddess who wants to use him to destroy the world. Journey of Dominion, book two of The Triune Stones series from Shawna Thomas, continues the story of Sara, trained from birth for one purpose: to reunite three ancient stones to restore balance to the lands.
Female/female romance Deep Deception by Cathy Pegau follows the harrowing story of a beautiful agent and the woman she has no choice but to trust...until the secrets they’re each keeping threaten to get them both killed. And the plan for a demonic apocalypse is at last uncovered by a maimed member of the Nephilim and a scarred young woman who’s been to hell and back in Stacy Gail’s Wounded Angel, book three of The Earth Angels.
Last but certainly not least, Dee J. Adams brings us the next installment in her high-octane Adrenaline Highs series with romantic suspense Living Dangerously. If you’re new to Dee’s books, you can easily start here, or go back to the beginning with Dangerous Race.
This month, start a new series, revisit a favorite world or discover a new-to-you author with our May releases. And don’t forget to check out our catalog for backlist from these and other authors in all your preferred genres.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
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Dedication
For my sister Ann, who long ago introduced me to the world of fantasy through Tolkien’s books.
Acknowledgements
Much gratitude to writing mentor Eric M. Witchey; to my critique group, especially Dale Ivan Smith, without whose words of encouragement at a crucial time this novel would not exist; to Alanna for her support and encouragement, to Dale and Mary Jo Mosby for the hospitality of their coastal haven during the final revision process; and finally to the wineries of Oregon for technical advice and inspiration.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One
Lord James Dupree’s stomach roiled as he watched the overdressed merchant across from him shuffle the deck. It might have been the greasy stew he’d just consumed or the inferior wine he had just sampled. Or it might be because he was about to break his most fundamental rule in gambling: never wager more than you can afford to lose.
Or, again, it could be because he’d dusted off his youthful card-sharping for this one night for something very much against his own morals and his northlands upbringing—trying to acquire a slave, an elven slave at that.
Rough-hewn timbers supported the low ceiling of the common room of the Blue Boar. A few cobwebs hung in the corner, ragged and torn from a desultory attempt at cleaning. The walls had been whitewashed too long ago and were now grayed with soot from a poorly drafting fireplace.
He leaned his arms on the table, feeling through his shirt the roughness of the scarred wood.
“What was your name, again?” asked the midlands merchant sitting across from him.
The man, who had introduced himself as Alain, wore a fur-trimmed blue cloak over his red silk shirt and blue brocade vest. His body was less elegant than his clothing—bloated like a day-dead toad.
James hadn’t given one when he asked to join the game, and the merchant knew it. “James Northlands.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said the self-described playwright on James’s left.
The minstrel across from him laughed. “You’ll drink to anything.”
Both dressed as colorfully as the merchant, if not as richly. Their well-worn clothes had been the cutting edge of fashion a few years ago. Both were lean, almost too thin. Clearly neither had found raging success in his avowed field and neither could afford to lose what they gambled away so blithely.
The merchant filled wine cups all around. “What brings you to our fair town, James Northlands?”
“Business. For my master. Looking at some timber down south that he might want to buy. It’s been a long, lonely journey. Kind of you to let me join you.”
Alain laughed. “And if you can come away with a bit of our gold, all the better, yes.”
He smiled in answer, and raised his cup. He carefully did not look at the elf with the iron slave collar who stood in the shadows behind Alain’s chair, still as a stag downwind of a hunter, his eyes hooded and face carefully expressionless.
The iron had given him pause when he first saw it. It seemed to contradict the evidence of the oddly slanted eyes, the ears not quit e like a human’s. After all, he had only seen elves in old paintings and tapestries, and everyone knew that iron burned elves’ skin like acid. But then he had seen the flash of silver in the firelight. Silver along the top edge of the collar and, he’d wager, lining it as well. No reason to waste such luxury on a slave—unless the iron collar would kill him without it.
He raised his cup to the merchant and sipped, fighting not to grimace at the offense to the art of the vine, a homemade concoction of various wild berries and inferior, overripe grapes—a nose reminiscent of spoiled blackberries combined with the musty undertones of wine badly corked, and a finish like grape juice left too long in the sun.
He drank to be sociable, and because the others would want to get the stranger tipsy. He knew how to seem to drink more than he was drinking, and to seem more drunk than he was.
Strange that habits of a misspent youth would help him regain his family’s heritage.
In his eavesdropping he had already pegged Alain as one of those men who loved gambling the way a drunkard loved strong drink. He knew how to manipulate this sort of gambler to his own advantage.
But it wasn’t foolproof, and even with card-counting, he still took a risk. Though his estate had suffered since the Luck had been stolen, the Duprees were not quite destitute yet. But he had traveled quite a distance and depleted much of the coin he’d brought with him. He had just enough money on him to make it home comfortably, if he didn’t lose it all tonight.
The minstrel dealt the hand. James studied the faces around the table before calling for another card. He had to win this first round to have a large enough stake to continue.
His old skills did not fail him, for this hand at least.
He lost the second hand. Intentionally. It wouldn’t do to seem too lucky, too early on. He had practice in losing from months traveling as James Northlands. Information flowed freely when ale flowed freely, but more freely still when the other was winning.
He didn’t seek information tonight. He now knew who had murdered his father and stolen the Dupree Luck, and why the thief and the Luck both seemed to have disappeared from the world entirely.
The elf was the key to regaining the Luck. If he could win the elf away from his master.
As the evening continued, he won only slightly more than he lost, but always the bigger pots.
He lost a hand he had planned on winning and began to sweat. The thrill of chance felt less thrilling now that so many depended on him. Should he forsake his plan?
No. Only the Luck would preserve the vineyards, save his mother and daughter from poverty and protect the families that served his family for generations from an uncertain future. He needed the Luck. Therefore he needed the elf.
He fought to keep his gaze on his card. He couldn’t telegraph his true interest, no matter how much the elf attracted the eye. James hadn’t tumbled another man since long before his marriage, but the slave was striking—long, flame-colored hair many a lady would kill for, and a fine-boned face, finer than James had seen before. The shirt the elf wore, too light for the season, was open to the waist, revealing a slight but smoothly muscled torso, a hairless chest.
Alain caught him looking once, smiled, and slid one hand along the inside of the slave’s thigh. The slave tensed, though his face remained carefully expressionless.
James’s stomach lurched. In the Northlands, they did not keep slaves, and taking pleasure with someone who was not willing was a crime, not a matter of commerce.
He had grounds to object. In a game for any real stakes, players kept their hands in plain sight at all times. But he was the stranger here. If the minstrel and playwright didn’t speak, he dared not.
Keeping his eyes on his hand proved difficult, and not just because of the elf’s inherent attractiveness. Slowly, he started his winning streak, losing just often enough to avoid discouraging his opponents, until all of Alain’s gold and all of his jeweled rings were either in James’s possession or in the pot.
The minstrel and the playwright folded and left the table. James sincerely hoped they had left themselves enough to survive on. Alain smiled. Now or never.
James raised the bid by the entire sum of his own winnings and all of his original stake. His heart hammered against his ribs.
“I’ve got nothing left to gamble,” Alain said. “Unless you’ll take a pledge? I swear I’m good for it.”
James shook his head. “I never take pledges. But I will wager all my stake against your slave.” He had to play the next moment very carefully; he could see the hesitation in Alain’s face. “Come now, I’m the one taking the biggest risk here, after all. The way I’ve been winning, odds are against me. Lady Fortune is ever fickle, and it’s about time she turned your way.”
Even without his card-counting the argument held about as much logic as a sieve did water, but James knew how gamblers’ minds worked. And Alain was more than slightly drunk. Alcohol fed the flames of reckless gambling like pitch fed fire.
The gambler glanced at his slave, who had gone a bit pale. While he doubted that the elf held any affection for his master, still the monster one knows is always safer than the one still in the shadows.
Sorry. But you’ll be better off with me. I won’t use you like he does. And when I have the Luck, you’ll go free. He dared not risk a reassuring glance. He must seem casual, almost disinterested, or he would push Alain in the wrong direction. He took another sip of the awful wine, which was, among its many other faults, too weak to warm the ball of ice forming in his gut.
“Agreed,” Alain said at last. “Call.”
Alain must have a good hand. James risked all on the belief that he had better. If he was right, he would have the elf he needed to regain all his family had lost. If he was wrong, he would have no way to get the Luck back and he wouldn’t even have the funds to cover his shelter this night.
Alain laid down his cards and smiled in anticipated triumph.
James sighed. “Ah, the Fair Lady’s court. Nearly unbeatable.” He smiled and spread his own cards. “Except, of course, by the Dark King’s.”
The merchant turned white as a lordling presented with breakfast the morning after his first weekend-long drinking binge. “Of course, you’ll be a gentleman and take a pledge. You know the elf can’t be replaced.”
“I know.” James smiled. “That is why I will not accept a pledge. Of course, you will be a gentleman and pay up.”
Alain’s face turned from white to red with anger.
“The Blue Boar has a reputation, you know,” James said. “I always ask around when I come into a town. Not the most elegant place, but safe and fair. I’m sure the innkeep wouldn’t want word to get out that a guest had been cheated at cards. Fairly sure he’d take measures to protect his reputation. Even if it meant upsetting one of the local merchants.”
Alain growled, grabbed the elf by the arm and swung him around the table. Startled and unbalanced, the slave crashed into a chair. James reached out instinctively to steady him. The elf flinched under his touch, and James stepped back.
Explanations would have to wait for a more private setting.
“Right, then.” He gathered up the coins and baubles on the table. “Will you send someone along with his things?”
Alain snorted. “He’s a slave. He doesn’t have things, he is a thing. I’ll be generous and let you have the clothes on his back and his collar. And this.” He reached under the table, brought up a coiled length of black iron chain. “Keeps him where he’s put when you can’t keep an eye on him. Oh, and this is yours, too.” He pulled an iron key from his pocket. “Fits the locks on the chain, and the one on the collar, as well. I’ve left him entire, but you can have that fixed quick enough if you like. He used to be a handful to manage, ’til I sent him to the gelder’s to watch for a day. Made it pretty clear what would happen if he didn’t get cooperative. Worked wonders on his attitude.”
