The League of Illusion: Legacy
Read The League of Illusion: Legacy Online
Authors: Vivi Anna
The League of Illusion: Legacy
By Vivi Anna
London, 1851
Former thief Jovan Davenport is the black sheep in a family of powerful sorcerers. But when his dying father—head of the League of Illusion—reaches out for help, Jovan has no choice but to accept. He must find his missing brother Sebastian and stop the power-hungry Hawthorne family from taking control of the council. If only they’d appointed someone other than Skylar Vanguard to help him in his quest.
Skylar, a druid and accomplished tracker, has spent three years trying to forget her past, especially Jovan Davenport. Once in love, she left Jovan when she discovered his betrayal. She wants nothing to do with him or his family, but must obey the council’s will by accompanying Jovan and reporting back on his progress.
Forced to work alongside each other, neither of them expects their passion to return so quickly. But as the conspiracy deepens in a steam-powered world of dirigibles and mechanical golems, will their secrets stand in the way of their mission…and their love?
45,000 words
Dear Reader,
I love the month of December when it comes to releases at Carina Press. This is our third year of publishing our special holiday collections, and I’m fortunate to be the one to edit the collections. It’s become our tradition to do three separate anthologies and this year we chose to do contemporary romance, science-fiction romance and erotic contemporary romance collections.
Each of these three collections is amazing in its own right (not that I’m biased or anything), showcasing the talent of the contributing authors. In our contemporary romance collection,
Romancing the Holiday,
Jaci Burton wraps up her Kent Brothers trilogy with the story fans have been waiting for: it’s finally time to see Brody and Tori’s combustible attraction on page and cheer them to their happily-ever-after in
The Best Thing.
We’ll Be Home for Christmas
by HelenKay Dimon returns readers to Holloway, West Virginia, as she gives us Spence’s story. Lila is more than a match for the delicious Spence and sparks fly when they go toe-to-toe. Last, but certainly not least, is newcomer to the collection, Christi Barth, with her delightful friends-to-lovers novella
Ask Her at Christmas.
And if you haven’t already checked out Christi’s full-length novel,
Planning for Love,
now’s a great time to treat yourself to this funny, emotional, captivating book.
Heating up the pages, and I do mean heating up, are the three novellas in
Red Hot Holiday,
the erotic contemporary romance collection. If you’re looking for stories that are going to make what goes on under the mistletoe even more interesting, you’ll want to read this collection.
I Need You for Christmas
by Leah Braemel features a strong-willed, career-driven Mountie—and the sculptor who molds her to his will in the bedroom. In
by K.A. Mitchell, Jonah discovers his lover, Evan, may be the one who can deliver the BDSM wishes on Jonah’s naughty list. And Anne Calhoun brings to the collection a stunningly powerful erotic romance that’s both deeply erotic and deeply emotional, with
Breath on Embers.
A Galactic Holiday
is the third of our holiday collections, showcasing three science-fiction romance novellas with incredible world building and incredible characters. In
How the Glitch Saved Christmas,
author Stacy Gail takes us to our future, with bod-mods, enhancements, tech, artificial intelligence…and a growing love between two rival detectives investigating the case of the...
appearing
gifts. Traveling off world, Anna Hackett’s
Winter Fusion
delivers a story that’s also of two rivals. Rival negotiators Brinn and Savan must come to an agreement on behalf of their respective planets during the cold of Yule, and amidst the danger of a force that wants to stop their negotiations.
Galileo’s Holiday
by Sasha Summers takes us into deep space. Riley’s tugger has just been destroyed, but will she still have reason to be thankful as her relationship with Leo gives her a future to look forward to?
In addition to these nine incredible holiday novellas, four fantastic novels release in December, each one the first book in a new seriesfrom the respective authors. For fans of Regency romance, Wendy Soliman kicks off her Forster series with
Compromising the Marquess,
in which the enterprising heroine supports her family by writing for a scandal sheet, placing her on a collision course with a marquess. In her steampunk romance
The League of Illusion: Legacy
, Vivi Anna begins a dangerous journey for three brothers. Each will find love while two brothers battle deception, jealousy and ruthless rivals to find and rescue the third.
Fan favorite Dana Marie Bell’s new series, The Nephilim, begins with
All for You.
He’s not just the guy next door, he’s the angel next door. And it’s just become his job to protect her—while trying not to fall in love, or into bed.
And this month we’re thrilled to introduce debut author Alison Packard with her debut contemporary romance title,
Love in the Afternoon.
When I grabbed Alison’s book from the slush pile to put on my eReader for the weekend, I had no idea I was in for such an amazing story. Though I’m not one to watch soap operas, Alison sucked me into the world of soaps and made me fall in love with Kayla and Sean. Soap opera stars, maybe, but characters you root for, relate to and want to turn the pages faster for so you can see them fall in love, definitely. If you’re a fan of Shannon Stacey, Victoria Dahl and Jill Shalvis, be sure to give this new author a try.
I hope you find time to pamper yourself during the crazy holiday season. And if that pampering takes the form of a great Carina Press December release, even better!
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
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Dedication
For my BFFs, you know who you are
Acknowledgements
No book just magically comes together; it is an accumulation of lots of ideas and work from lots of people. I want to thank Angie and Deb for loving this story and wanting to go on this journey with me and giving me a chance to tell my story my way. And thanks to my CaRWA peeps who continually love and support and inspire me every day. A big extra thanks goes out to Victoria Chatham who fixed all my historical blunders and gave me excellent counsel.
Contents
Chapter One
The crowd gathered around the young dockworker preparing to toss the dice was an eclectic mixture of London’s wealthiest and poorest. Gentlemen and lords dressed in top hats and long coattails knocked elbows with scrawny porters and dirty street sweepers in the dark alley behind Black’s card house.
Although a frequent guest of Black’s, Jovan didn’t come to play
vingt-et-un
or whist but to go out back and watch the dice game of hazard. A game of complete luck and one he’d consistently won at years ago. Now he just watched, an atonement of such for his sins. Of which he had plenty.
There was five pounds—a whole month’s wages for most—lying in the dirt and he hoped the scruffy boy would pocket it but suspected the game was rigged.
The boy squeezed the dice, then, flicking his wrist, tossed them against the brick wall. He needed a nine to win. One die rolled and settled on the four, the other rolled a little farther. Concentrating on it, Jovan saw it was heading to a six. With his right hand pressed tight against his leg, he moved his index finger ever so slightly, and under his breath he muttered,
“Volvo.”
The die did one extra flip and settled on the number five.
“Nicks!” a few of the grizzled men cheered. The others didn’t look as happy to see the boy win.
The portly gentleman smoking a cigar on Jovan’s left patted him on the back and said under his breath, “That’s a bit of luck there for that boy. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s magic in the air.”
Jovan smiled at the man who knew full well there was indeed magic in the air. Lord Effington was one of a very small number of people in London who knew of the existence of sorcerers and magic.
“Your brother would not approve.”
“My brother would disapprove of everything. I don’t think he’s smiled in ten years.”
As the boy reached for his money, another hand, a rather large and dirty one, slapped the top of his before he could gather his winnings. The crowd looked up into the flushed square face of a hard man named Ruddy, named so because his skin was always flushed with anger.
“You’re a cheat.”
The boy cowered away, too small and fearful to fight for what was rightfully his.
Jovan stepped forward. “How did this boy cheat? The dice weren’t loaded, were they? They are your dice, after all.”
The others in the crowd looked at Ruddy warily. He was known to call out cheaters and beat them until they confessed to the crime they may have committed or not.
“You helped him.” He pointed at Jovan. “I saw your…finger move.”
“My finger? Truly?” Jovan smiled at the other gamers. They all laughed. “So are you saying I moved the dice with my finger from all the way over here? Without even touching it?”
“Now isn’t there a rule that says that if someone calls another a cheat and his allegations are found false, that someone must pay double his initial bet?” Jovan spun around the crowd, engaging them. “Am I right?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” some in the crowd answered.
He turned to the big man. “So that means you owe this boy another two quid.”
Instead of answering, Ruddy rushed at him with his ham-hands swinging at Jovan’s face. But Jovan was smaller and quicker than the lumbering giant. In anticipation of the attack, Jovan spun his walking stick into a defensive stance. As Ruddy swung with his left, Jovan’s stick found the soft vulnerable spot under his arm. Pivoting on his right foot, Jovan sprung around and whacked the thug across the back of the neck, sending him sprawling into the dirt.
Once down, Jovan stepped on the man’s back and tapped his cheek with the brass-embossed tip of his cane. “You’re going to stay down, aren’t you, Ruddy?”
The giant nodded slowly.
“Good man.” Jovan gestured to the wide-eyed boy. “Gather your winnings, son, but I would play dice somewhere else from now on.”
The boy scrambled for the money just as Jovan’s valet came out the back door of the card house.
“Message for you, sir.” His man handed him an envelope. It was sealed with the Davenport sigil, a crossed pair of broadswords.
Jovan opened it and read the note inside.
“Good news, I hope,” Lord Effington said.
“It’s from my father.”
Lord Effington knew not to press for more. Like many in good society, he knew that Jovan and his father didn’t speak often, and when they did, it usually meant Jovan was in some sort of trouble.
* * *
His feet leaden, Jovan swallowed down the bile rising in his throat and stepped across the threshold of his father’s private chambers. The sweet smell of cigar smoke wafted to his nose, overpowering the delicate scent of lilies that were in vases in every dark corner.
His gaze swept the inner room, taking in the low banking fire in the hearth and the family portrait on the wall above the mantel. Painted by some French impressionist when he was a boy, it was one of the only paintings of the entire family—and one of the only times he’d seen his late mother smile.
His father’s mahogany desk stood nearby. Today, no papers littered its usually disorganized surface, just the inkwell and his fountain pen. The high leather-backed chair was empty.
Tramping down the nerves that tingled over his spine, nerves he always seemed to possess on such visits to his father’s home, Jovan pulled at one sleeve of his navy jacket and moved across the den to his father’s bedroom. Given the nature of his illness, he was bedridden. But Blake Davenport was such an imposing man, an impressive figure no matter the circumstances, Jovan never would’ve thought mere sickness would overwhelm him enough to force him to it.
For as long as Jovan could remember, Blake had been like stone, formidable and stoic, the strongest person he knew. He ruled his household with a firm hand and even firmer resolve, much like how he governed the League of Illusion.
The do/p>="-1">Tor to Blake’s room was ajar. Taking in a deep breath, Jovan pushed it open and walked through. The scent of cigar tobacco hit him square in the face and made his nose wrinkle.
“Jovan, my boy. I was wondering when you were going to show up.” Blake’s usual booming voice had lost some of its vigor but it still managed to make Jovan flinch. “I thought Rhys and I would have to smoke all of these ourselves.”
Jovan nodded to his older brother sitting rigidly in the solid ornate wooden chair next to Blake’s kingly sized canopied bed. It had been over eight months since he’d last seen Rhys. He hadn’t changed much. It still looked like he had a stick up his arse, and from the way he regarded Jovan, he was totally laying the blame squarely on his shoulders, as usual.
Pulling up another heavy chair, Jovan sat on his father’s other side. “You ordered me home because you were ill.” His knee brushed the mahogany handle of the bed warmer that was under the covers heating his father’s bed.
Blake puffed on his cigar, ashes flaking onto his brocade smoking jacket. “I am.”
“Then why are you smoking?”
“Why the hell not? It’s one of life’s small joys that I can still indulge in. Your mother’s gone so there goes any enjoyment I would’ve gotten from being confined to this bed.”
Their mother, Madeline, had died over ten years ago, when Jovan turned fifteen. Blake had never remarried, which some in proper society found unusual, but Blake didn’t care much for what society thought. The Davenports had always hovered on the edges of it. They had ample money to be included and even revered but some of their customs weren’t to others’ liking.
“So, where’s mine?”
Rhys flipped open the cherry wood box, plucked one thick cigar out, cut the tip and tossed it over the bed. Jovan put it in his mouth and swiveled it around between his lips to moisten it, savoring the rich flavor. Rhys pitched him the box of matches.
Jovan snapped his fingers. “
Accendo.
”
The tip of his cigar smoldered to life. Taking a puff, he blew out the smoke in tiny rings.
With an angry sigh, Rhys set the small box down on the side table with a distinctive click.
Jovan blew more smoke rings in his brother’s direction.
“Magic waster,” Rhys muttered under his breath.
Jovan grinned around his cigar. “You’re just jealous.”
The loathing in Rhys’s eyes made Jovan’s jaw clench. His brother had been looking at him like that for a long time, ever since Jovan’s magical ability had surpassed his some years ago.
Jovan couldn’t help the fact he was better at magic than Rhys. He also couldn’t help it that what little magic Rhys did possess, he squirreled away only to be used in dire circumstances and emergencies. The last time Jovan had seen his brother use magic was when they were children and Rhys used to scare him with complicated illusions involving spiders.
On the other hand, Jovan liked to use his magic whenever he could. Why have that kind of power and not use it? It made life so much easier. At least it did for him. Not every sorcerer was as lucky.
Jovan looked at his father. Magic hadn’t stopped the cancer from eating his insides out.
“I didn’t call you two herenctyou two so you could fight.” Blake sat up higher in his bed, a somber expression on his granite face. “I’ve had enough of it. It’s time the two of you put aside your differences and be brothers again.”
Rhys scoffed. “It’s going to take more than your illness to do something of that magnitude.”
“I’m not just ill, Rhys. I’m dying.”
Flinching, Jovan sat forward in his chair. “You must be mistaken.”
Blake pinned him with his steely gaze. “I wish I were, son. The cancer’s too far gone. The laudanum has done nothing for me but make me sleep. I have a matter of months at most.”
Jovan met Rhys’s gaze across the bed. He had the same sinking feeling pinching his face that Jovan felt in his stomach. Rhys dropped his gaze and ground out his cigar in the ashtray on the small side table.
“Have you gotten a second opinion?” Rhys asked.
“And a third and a fourth. There’s nothing that can be done.”
Jovan jumped to his feet and paced the room. “There has to be a spell or charm that will work.”
“I’ve tried everything, son, believe me. The League’s top healer, a Druid of high ranking, has been to see me many times. Even the elves sent over an elixir, but it didn’t work.”
Jovan whirled around, panic making his skin crawl. “Why didn’t you tell us before now?” He ran a hand through his unruly mess of tawny waves. “I didn’t even know you were that sick.” He glared at Rhys. “Did you know?”
Rhys wouldn’t meet Jovan’s gaze. He brushed at the cigar ash on his dark gray wool trousers. “I suspected.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’re so wrapped up in your own selfish endeavors that you wouldn’t have heard me anyway.”
“That’s a load of bull.”
Rhys smirked. “It’s just like when Mother passed. You were out of the country with Uncle Smith.”
“I didn’t know she was going to die.”
“Yeah, but you knew she was sick. You had to have suspected she didn’t have long. But you just had to take that trip to Paris, to gamble of all things.”
Anger swirled in Jovan’s gut. He wanted to jump the bed and wrap his hands around Rhys’s throat and squeeze. The man was a smug bastard—haughty and controlling. It had probably killed him when he realized he couldn’t control Jovan. That his baby brother was the one thing in his life that didn’t quite fit into his perfect preconceived mold of what his wealthy, proper family should look like.
Jovan was the odd man out and always had been. “I’m not going to apologize for living my life. Maybe if you did some living of your own, you wouldn’t already look like a man with one foot in the grave. Christ, when was the last time you even bedded a woman?”
Rhys rounded the bed, his hands fisted at his sides. “You selfish, spoiled ingrate. You’ve never thought about anyone but yourself. Even as a boy you were so self-serving. You’ll never change.”
Jovan readied himself for Rhys’s attack. His brother had an inch in height on him, with a longer arm reach, but Jovan was more muscular and wiry. And he had power simmering in him. He would never use magic directly on Rhys—to do that went against all their father had tried to instill ihadto instn his sons—but the energy reserves crackling under his skin like lightning was enough to give him an edge.
Ever since Rhys challenged him to a fight at a yuletide ball three years earlier, cutting his chin open, Jovan had wanted to pay him back. Even now the scar throbbed in memory of that night. Sure it hadn’t been one of Jovan’s finer moments—he’d more than likely been drunk and belligerent—but it still didn’t justify Rhys’s physical attack.
As boys they’d certainly had their fair share of altercations, wrestling and such, but as men that was the first and only time their argument had turned to violence. It still surprised him that it had been Rhys who resorted to it. His control had snapped like a twig. Not something often seen in his aloof, reserved brother.
Looking at Rhys’s face now, his slate-blue eyes digging into him, Jovan could sense his control fraying at its ends, ready to give at any moment. It wouldn’t take much for Rhys to lose it again. Jovan sure seemed to bring it out in him.