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4 Horsemen Publications, Inc. - Jm Paquette

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143 pages

English

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Hannah’s thirst is growing...

When Hannah van Kreeosk fled her father’s castle, she thought that finding a willing meal would be the worst of her problems. A natural born vampire, she never expected an attack that would leave her wounded and in need of protection. The handsome Rory Tallerin proves a tempting way to spend her time while she recovers.

Dark Secrets: Unfortunately, Hannah’s past isn’t far behind her, and not everyone in Rory’s band of survivors is what they appear. Between running from goblins and hiding from her father’s dedicated magician, the last thing Hannah needs is another knife in her back. As her desire for Rory grows, Hannah learns that the conflict in her heart may prove to be the more troubling wound.

A Tempting Elf: When forced to choose between the overwhelming demands of her body and the foolishly sentimental desire in her heart, Hannah must discover her true nature.

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Romance fantastique

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Romance Fantasy

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Romance policière

Fantasy

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historical

Romance fantasy

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Publié par	4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.
Date de parution	26 octobre 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781644500057
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	4 Mo

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Table o f Contents
To Phil C hamberlin,
for the Elev ator Game*
Ackno wledgments
1
2
3
4
The Elf
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
The Man
24
The Dwarf
25
T he Warrior
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Other books by J M Paquette

4 Horsemen
Publicat ions, Inc.
Klaude n’s Ring
Copyright © 2019-2020 JM Paquette. All rights r eserved.

4 Horsemen Publicatio ns, Inc.
1497 Main St. S uite 169
Dunedin, FL 34698
4horsemenpublicat ions.com
info@4horsemenpublicat ions.com
Cover & Typesetting by Battle Goddess Pro ductions
All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain per mission.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used ficti tiously.
E-Book: 978-1-644 50-005-7
Print: 978-1-644 50-093-4
Audio: 978-1-644 50-027-9
Hardcover: 978-1-644 50-408-6

To Phil C hamberlin,
for the Elev ator Game*
*The Elevator Game states that if I do not write during the day, I cannot take the elevator the next day. My office is on the third floor, and I am very lazy. Writing beats the stair s any day!

Ackno wledgments
W riting a book seems like such an isolated undertaking, but so many others hover along the sidelines; this page is for them. I raise my metaphorical pen in salute to the greats who have come before, in whose words and worlds I have wandered through many a long night: J.R.R. Tolkien for the mythology, Stephen King for the audacity, Diana Gabaldon for the wittiness, Margaret Weiss and Tracy Hickman for the fantasy world, and all the others who have made me laugh and weep with their tales. I roll my d20 in honor of the roleplaying games that allowed me to create so very many characters (and to the DM who loved pool effects and gave my mage “Vampirism”). I raise my mug of tea (Thanks, Lisa!) to my fellow Ink Slingers, without whose steady encouragement I might never have actually finished Hannah’s story. I take my hat off to Nicole Dragonbeck, who not only creates amazing fantasy worlds, but translated my crazy crosshatches and chickenscratch marks into a delightful map. Thanking my family goes without saying—much appreciation to Remi (who gave Ev a bath while I was busy writing at night), to Ev (for making me put the laptop down and come play), to Freyja and Nebi (for making me get up and stretch while taking them outside), and to Greyhame (who always keeps my feet warm when he isn’t yowling). And of course, I have to thank Erika Lance for being the superhero to my Nobbits, but I wanted to make her wait until the very last line. She knows why.

1
W ell, this isn’t the worst thing that could happen , Hannah thought when the first goblin smashed through the front door of her litt le smithy.
Aside from losing her head or getting speared through the heart, Hannah had little to fear from the invader. It wasn’t like it could kill her. There were few who could.
Then again , she decided, seeing four more goblins piling through the splintered door with weapons raised, perhaps today isn’t the best day to test those odds. It had been a late night, after all, and she hadn’t memorized more than the basic spells tha t morning.
She reacted to the intrusion almost instinctively, her right hand throwing the hammer she held to smash the first creature in the face. The impact earned her a squeal of outraged pain, and the goblin fell to the side. Her left hand dropped the tongs, took a second to get a firm grip on the half-molded pot resting on the anvil, and gritting her teeth as the hot metal seared her skin, she flung the item at the next goblin as it entered, catching it center mass. The hot metal smoked as it connected with the leather chest plate the creature wore. This goblin shrieked too, but more in surprise than real pain, and it swiped the pot aside, pig-like eyes narrowing as it charged forward. Hannah saw that the one behind it had a bow nocked and decided it was time to reconsider the situation from safer ground. Ducking behind the anvil, she heard the slap of several arrows as they snapped against the hardened iron side. Not one to linger when the enemy knew where she was, Hannah rolled away, squeezing her small frame into the little space between the water tub and the belly of the forge, the heat baking through the metal and warming her face. She couldn’t stay there very long before things got way too hot, eve n for her.
She knew she would survive. She always did. Her vampiric body could recover from almost anything as long as she had fresh blood. Still, knowing she would survive and finding a way out of this place before her skin began to blister were two very differe nt things.
Escape. Run . Survive.
That seemed simp le enough.
The goblins lingered in the customer area of the shop, on the other side of the wooden beam that served as a counter, but moving carefully around the small shelf that held the pots and pans that kept her in business, hovering beneath the walls that held the few weapons that drew in the travelers. She could hear the creatures breathing out there, their hearts beating with the excitement of the hunt, and if she took a moment to concentrate, she knew she could get a rough sense of their thoughts.
Why bother? They were goblins. Their desires weren’t a mystery. Every goblin Hannah had ever met had only been interested in slaughter.
Of course, she admitted ruefully, the ones she had seen were fighting for their lives in her father’s arena, or fighting her for their life when she got really desperate for blood. There is a chance that my exposure is somewhat limited. Maybe there are some peace-loving goblins far away from here, she considered, only interested in family and good meals and whatever else mortals cherished. Even so, those kind souls didn’t matter now, as their relations were certainly entertaining entirely violent intentions toward the small blacksmith of Talperin.
What are they even d oing here?
Hannah forced herself to focus. She could worry about the goblins’ intentions after she was safely away from them.
Or standing over their corpses. E ither way.
Hannah was fairly sure these goblins didn’t realize that the red-haired girl cowering near her forge was a magic user, and not just any magic user, but one trained by Kelvin Malbrek, one of the greatest wizards her people had seen in centuries. Then again, Hannah’s magical aptitude had nothing to do with Malbrek. She had been a terrible student, lacking focus and, more importantly according to her father’s magician, respect, but power she had. Klauden van Sherinak, to whom she had been promised since before she was born, had taken her aside to teach her the words to unlock the power within. She could see his face now, a hand running through his blonde hair, ink-stained fingers settling against his chin, could hear the heavy sigh of her exasperated friend, “Just two spells, chaivin! Surely your brain can memorize these f ew lines.”
Hannah smiled as she recalled Klauden’s name for her. Chaivin , a word in the old tongue meaning fiery, though whether he meant the endearment as a reference to her hair or her temperament, Hannah was never certain. She wondered what he would make of her now, trapped in her own shop with barely enough magic ready to protect herself from mer e goblins.
Hannah racked her brain for the simple spells she had memorized that morning. They weren’t battle spells. Wh y would I need anything offensive for a day at the forge? The closest thing to a battle she’d had since her arrival in this village several months before was the occasional struggle with her meals, and even that wasn’t really a fight. Men were always willing to spend a few quiet moments with her, eager to nuzzle in closer to her heart-shaped face, her bright eyes, her pale skin. Sometimes, she didn’t even need a spell to daze them at all. Some just let her feed on them, staring at her with hungry eyes as she cut them, and she knew what they imagined was happening, saw it as she drank their blood and gained their memories. Sometimes she wanted to bite them instead, to make them pay for such thoughts, but she never did. Hannah did not leave fledglings in her wake. She was too careful for that.
All her care seemed a waste now. If she had to face these goblins as the vampire she truly was, her place as simple blacksmith in this village would be gone. She would have to start all over again somewhere else. Finding this smithy had been a stroke of great luck. The wounded blacksmith had been wandering in the woods when she found him. The smell of his blood was too much, and after days spent wandering in the wilds, she was desperate. She bled him dry, absorbing his knowledge of fire and steel as she drank his life, and when she arrived in Talperin the next day, it was too easy to talk her way into using h is smithy.
Apparently, the villagers never really liked the last blacksmith. Hannah was charming, if a bit strange, and she charged less for her work. They