Altered Destiny
Authors: Shawna Thomas
Altered Destiny
By Shawna Thomas
Selia has run her family’s tavern since she was fifteen and can hunt and fight the equal of any man. When she rescues a badly wounded man and nurses him back to health, she has no idea she’s about to change not only her life, but also the destinies of two peoples…
The battered warrior is Svistra—a race of bloodthirsty savages determined to destroy her homeland. Or so the stories claim. Jaden reveals a different truth: how his ancestors were driven into the barren northern mountains. Now they are strong and war parties are pushing south wanting their land back.
The son of a Svistra Commander, Jaden is looking for a way to bring peace to both humans and Svistrans. He tries to ignore his growing passion for Selia, but when she is captured he has to decide what he would be willing to sacrifice to save the woman he loves…
105,000 words
Dear Reader,
What do you get when you cross summer with lots of beach time, and long hours of traveling? An executive editor who’s too busy to write the Dear Reader letter, but has time for reading. I find both the beach and the plane are excellent places to read, and thanks to plenty of time spent on both this summer (I went to Australia! And New Zealand!) I’m able to tell you with confidence: our fall lineup of books is outstanding.
We kick off the fall season with seven romantic suspense titles, during our Romantic Suspense celebration the first week of September. We’re pleased to offer novella
Fatal Destiny
by Marie Force as a free download to get you started with the romantic suspense offerings. Also in September, fans of Eleri Stone’s sexy, hot paranormal romance debut novel,
Mercy,
can look forward to her follow-up story,
Redemption,
set in the same world of the Lost City Shifters.
Looking to dive into a new erotic romance? We have a sizzling trilogy for you. In October, look for Christine D’Abo’s Long Shot trilogy featuring three siblings who share ownership of a coffee shop, and each of whom discover steamy passion within the walls of a local sex club. Christine’s trilogy kicks off with
Double Shot.
In addition to a variety of frontlist titles in historical, paranormal, contemporary, steampunk and erotic romance, we’re also pleased to present two authors releasing backlist titles with us. In October, we’ll re-release four science fiction romance titles from the backlist of CJ Barry, and in November four Western romance titles from the backlist of Susan Edwards.
Also in November, we’re thrilled to offer our first two chick lit titles from three debut authors,
Liar’s Guide to True Love
by Wendy Chen and
Unscripted
by Natalie Aaron and Marla Schwartz. I hope you’ll check out these fun, sometimes laugh-out-loud novels.
Whether you’re on the beach, on a plane, or sitting in your favorite recliner at home, Carina Press can offer you a diverting read to take you away on your next great adventure this fall!
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. 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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To my love, my life, my husband, C. Guzman.
No author ever writes a book alone. We rely on friends, critique partners, and readers to act as a sounding board for ideas, give honest feedback, necessary criticism and hopefully praise. I have been blessed with a circle of such people.
I’d like to thank Crystal for being an awesome friend, reader, and for her unfailing support and love. Thanks also goes to Michelle, Heather, Nichelle, Jason, and everyone else who took the time to read and critique this manuscript in its infant stages. You’re all awesome and I couldn’t have done it without you.
Thank you to Carina, for believing in Selia and Jaden’s story. Last but not least, thank you, Rhonda. This book would not be what it is without you!
Flushed with the glow of sunset earth seems like a ripe fruit ready to be harvested by night.
Fireflies, Rabindranath Tagore
Moments like these were rare, not to mention brief. Selia ignored the escalating noise in the tavern behind her. From the doorway, the King’s road shone under the pale moonlight and the stars glimmered in a velvet sky, for once, free of clouds. A loud curse shattered her reverie. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. No one, certainly not the Inlanders, soldiers, or even locals frequenting her establishment, seemed to appreciate a peaceful night sky. It was the price of having a tavern on the last crossroads before the Wastes.
The trick was to stop the argument before bandied words led to fists. She shut the door. A few steps into the tavern, Selia slammed her knife into a table hard enough to rattle the mugs of ale. “That’s enough.”
In the murky room, halos of light from the lanterns bracketed against the walls exaggerated the patrons’ features and occasionally highlighted the scarred tables. Most of the customers met her gaze. A few didn’t.
Jim, a local farmer, raised his mug. “Sorry, Selia. Feeling the cups.”
Oberl twisted his mouth into a grin echoing Jim’s sentiment.
“No fighting in my tavern. Oberl, if
I
catch you cheating, you’re out on your ass.” She glanced around the room. The locals were easier; they knew her. Selia’s gaze settled on a large man with a matted, black beard and small dark eyes sitting against the wall by the door.
It was the Inlanders she had to worry about.
The man wiped his mouth with a sleeve, spat onto the wooden floor and sneered in Jim’s general direction. “Where I come from we call that pole-cocked.”
There was always one who couldn’t mind his business.
Without looking away from the Inlander, she reached for a second knife strapped to her waist.
His eyes widened as the steel pierced the wall above his head.
“Well, sir, where I came from, and where you are, they call that smart.” She pried her knife out of the table and held it ready.
The man swallowed, glanced over her shoulder toward Oren, the barkeep—who Selia guessed was staring a hole in the man’s head about now—then back at her. After a moment, he hunched his shoulders. “Reckon I see your point.”
She fixed a smile on her face that would fall short of her eyes. “I like a smart man.” Then she turned to Oren. “Give ’em a drink on the house.”
Oren nodded his massive head, his dark eyes still on the Inlander. Selia was tall for a woman but Oren still towered over her; he dwarfed most everyone, for that matter. He had never intentionally hurt any creature, but the Inlanders didn’t know that, and she doubted any of the locals would tell them.
Once behind the counter, she returned the knife to a sheath on her belt. Five years before, when her mother, Brynn, had died, she’d inherited the bar, Oren, and the locals. Quite a handful for a fifteen year-old. They were a peculiar bunch; had to be, to live in the Outskirts.
Oren smiled his lopsided grin. “You put another hole in the wall.”
“Yes, I did.”
“It’s gonna look like a woodpecker’s been at it ’fore too long.” He handed her a fresh cup of ale for the Inlander with the newly acquired smarts. Oren’s brown eyes shone. “I like woodpeckers.”
Selia focused on the amber liquid to hide a smile. “Me too.”
She delivered the ale, winked at the Inlander as she removed her knife from the scarred wall and returned behind the bar. Absently tossing the knife and catching it by its handle, she glanced down at the accounts she’d been studying before the wind blew the door open, but her eye kept drifting to the barkeep. The lamplight coaxed golden tones from his nondescript brown hair as he refilled another mug.
A few years before, Thom, the blacksmith, convinced Oren to work for him, claiming he was wasted behind a bar. To Thom’s surprise, Selia let him go. The blacksmith had been thrilled until Oren saw a baby bird fall from the smithy’s rafters and nearly set the place on fire attempting to return it.
Selia closed the ledger and shoved it on a shelf under the counter.
By twos and threes the tavern emptied, the locals to head home and the travelers to camp out behind her barn. It had been a relatively quiet night: bad for business, but nice on occasion. A handful of the locals still sat by the large fireplace, nodding and murmuring with half-closed eyes. They would most likely be there come morning. The village women knew she ran a clean tavern. It had taken some time, a few broken noses and bruised bollocks, but Selia had gotten the message through to the men as well. She would never take up her mother’s trade.
Leaning against the counter next to Oren, Selia considered turning in early when the door blew open to let in a cold wind and around twenty cloaked figures. The sharp scent of rancid sweat and the musk of unwashed bodies followed. They paused just inside the door with a familiar watchfulness.
Soldiers.
A small company. Their cloaks bore a silver medallion engraved with Asild’s standard of a bear but with the addition of a gold crown.
From the castle at Newhaven.
Their sword hilts caught and reflected the tavern’s dusky light. One of them threw off his hood and raked a hand through sweat-dampened hair as his clear, green eyes surveyed the room. After a few moments, his gaze settled on Oren.
He stepped over to the counter. “We’ll have supper.” The clang of coin accompanied his words as he carelessly dropped a month’s worth of revenue on the wooden surface. “A place to sleep.” His gaze slowly roamed Selia’s body. “And any diversion you might care to provide.”
Selia clenched her jaw and forced a smile. It was a lot of coin. “It’s a mite late for supper, but I’ll see what I can do.” She nodded to Oren.
The barkeep disappeared through the door into the kitchen.
“Your men can camp out back. There are a few travelers out there now but still plenty of room. The trees keep most of the wind at bay. And as for diversion—” she hardened her tone, “—I hear squirrel hunting at night is mighty challenging.”
The man’s face didn’t change expression, but his eyes narrowed. “We’ve been challenged enough of late. My name is Nathan. I command this company.” The corner of his mouth turned up.
“I’m Selia. I own this tavern.”
“So I gathered. There’s room in your barn for our horses.”
It wasn’t a question. She shrugged and filled up fresh containers with ale from the barrel sitting on one side of the counter. “It’s unlocked and only one stall is occupied. Help yourself.”
The commander nodded to a group of his men, who promptly disappeared into the night. The rest unhooked their cloaks and settled around the tables scattered about the room. Oren stepped out of the kitchen, his arms loaded with stacked bowls and a big pot of stew, a loaf of bread tucked under each arm. The soldiers didn’t seem to mind the presentation and took the food as fast as Oren could lay it on the tables. With a glance in Selia’s direction, he returned to the kitchen for more.
Nathan leaned against the wall, his eyes hooded but watchful.
“Commander,” Selia called.
“Yes?”
“You’ve overpaid. I don’t charge this much for dinner. I’ll lodge your horses for the cost of feed only. The field is free.”
The commander walked back toward the bar, picked up a silver coin and tapped it against the counter. His green eyes studied her as he rubbed the stubble thick on his jaw. “An honest woman? Out here?”
Selia met Nathan’s gaze. He was maybe a hand’s span taller than her, with the broad shoulders and thick wrists of a man used to wielding a sword and the attitude of one who excelled at it.
“I’ve heard…well, never mind.” He scooped up half of the coin and returned it to a bag at his waist. “But I will tell you this. If you value your horse, it isn’t wise to leave your barn unlocked.”
“Are Svistra coming south to steal horses now?”
If he heard it, he ignored the sarcasm in her voice. “If that’s all they do, consider yourself lucky.” He inclined his head, accepting a bowl from Oren. “They’re not this far south yet, but be on your guard anyway.”
Not this far south yet? Yet?
Here we go again
. Every so often, rumors of a Svistra sighting would spook even the locals, and business fell. She shook her head. That’s all she needed.
She surveyed the full room. From the rate the soldiers wolfed down the stew, Selia wondered when they’d eaten last.
She caught Oren’s eye, cocked her head toward the door and patted her stomach. He smiled, and she slipped into the kitchen. The scent of savory spices wafted from a pot on the stove, replacing the stale stench of the soldiers and making her stomach growl. She grabbed a bowl and scooped up the last of the stew.
Bless Oren for saving some.
They’d planned to use the remaining stew for tomorrow’s dinner, but she wouldn’t complain. Soldiers were her most reliable source of coin, and meat was abundant in the woods if you knew how to trap it. This night’s business would give her some breathing room. She could pay off her debt and have a little to spare.
She lifted the lid of the barrel by the back door. There was plenty of water left, and Oren would top it up in the morning. For an instant she stared at the moon’s image in the water—round and pitted like an oatcake. The priests of the dark god told stories about the dawn of time, before even the Ancients roamed the world, when Ari, the sun god, captured the moon for his bride in a feat of daring.
And here you are, in my barrel.
She dropped the lid and sat on the single step. Across the small yard, soldiers closed the barn’s door and hurried back into the tavern.
The bear ensign on the soldiers’ uniforms belonged to the kingdom of Asild and King Leisle, her liege. Once or twice she’d seen soldiers with a snake twined along a golden medallion, from King Josiam and the southern kingdom of Darmis. The king of Eldon, beyond the Sulat Mountains to the west, didn’t often send his soldiers as far as the Outskirts, at least not in uniform.
Selia finished the last of her stew; she didn’t like leaving Oren alone for long.
“So whaddya hear?” the local Jim ventured when the soldiers finished their meal.
One soldier burped loudly, turning toward Jim and the rest of the residents still huddled around the waning fire. “’Bout what?” he growled.
“’Bout anything.”
“W’all, I hear there’s a nosy mother-fu—”
The commander moved to stand over the man before Selia could reach for her bow under the counter. “Cole.” His voice had an edge. He turned toward Jim. “We’re on our way to track a band of Svistra who have been raiding the northern villages.”
For a moment, the only sound was the pop of the fire.
“’Round here?” Tass, Jim’s neighbor, asked.
She fingered her bow.
Damn, there goes my breathing room.
“Several days north, but I’d still urge you to be on your guard and keep your weapons close.” Nathan speared Selia with his gaze.
She placed both hands back on the counter. He couldn’t know about the bow. Could he? It wasn’t illegal to own weapons, but aiming an arrow at one of the king’s soldiers would be frowned upon.
“We don’t know where they are. That’s the problem,” Commander Nathan continued.
“Yeah, the only safe Svistra is a dead Svistra,” Cole added.
“A few days north?” Selia asked.
Green eyes turned in her direction. “You might want to keep your man close.”
Tass and Jim laughed. “Oren’s her brother,” Tass explained.
Nathan’s eyes narrowed.
She met his gaze. It was close enough to the truth.
“’Sides, Selia don’t need no man. She’s fair with a blade,” Jim boasted.
“That so?” One of the soldiers looked her up and down.
“Soldiers took to teaching her and Oren, but Oren’s better with his hands, you know what I mean? Selia’ll hit a bird with a knife at thirty paces.”
Damn farmer.
“That’s enough,” she snapped. Once Jim started, he didn’t know when to shut up.
Jim winked and turned back to the soldiers. “Is it true that one Svistra can slaughter twenty men?”
“Maybe twenty o’ you,” a dark haired soldier said with a guffaw, bits of bread and ale flying from his mouth.
“They’re strong.” Nathan sounded grim.
Tass leaned forward, palms on knees. The fire’s flickering glow highlighted often mended, worn leggings and gnarled hands that had seen much labor. “I’ve heard they’re tall and skinny, with bones sticking out everywhere.”
Oren walked in carrying another large keg of ale. By midday tomorrow rumors of the Svistra would have spread through the village.
Damn.
Nathan scratched the stubble on his chin. “They don’t look much different than you and me.”
“Then how do you know when you’ve seen one?”
“You know.”
A cold wind whistled through the trees outside Selia’s bedroom and a few branches scratched at the wall as though they wanted in. Oren’s bed creaked downstairs. Neither she nor Oren had wanted Brynn’s old room, which now held an assortment of the smaller creatures Oren rescued and nursed back to health. He had offered to exchange rooms with Selia, but she’d argued he should have the big room because he was bigger. That made sense to Oren and he hadn’t asked again.
The real reason was that in the small upstairs room, she could glimpse the southern expanse of the North road. The traders often spoke of Darmis, the kingdom to the south. It was warm, sunny and flat, with fruit growing from every vine or tree. The air would be rich with the scent of fruit. Clean and fresh. It was the land in which her mother had lived before she came north. Selia’s grandparents had been from the land south even of Darmis, driven north by drought. Her family’s northern migration ended with her mother. She lived as far north as most humans dared. The Telige Mountains, home of the Svistra, loomed in the northern horizon. Only Eagle Rock, King Leisle’s last northern fortress, and miles of forest lay between it and the tavern.
Selia undressed and hung her clothing on the old wooden pegs nailed into the wall near the foot of her bed. The small room hadn’t changed in twenty years. A chest of drawers holding her meager supply of clothes, a bookshelf with the bar’s ledgers, a few books and her most prized possession: a small drawing of her mother done by a passing artist. Selia moved toward the flattened piece of parchment and studied for the thousandth time the curve of her mother’s cheek, the arch of her brow. Dark, with black flashing eyes, her mother had been beautiful. The small beads decorating her many braids chimed when she moved, creating a melody as she walked. Memory was a fickle thing, so she was glad to have the drawing. Her fingertip brushed her mother’s cheek.
