The Elven Spymaster's Thief has been released on the world!
In a world full of elves, woodwose, gargoyles, and brownies among others, humans can’t help crossing paths with all of the magical species. Well, everyone except Avril. She manages to avoid all elves. Then one day, her master orders her to steal a dagger from the very elf she wishes to evade most, the elven spymaster of Eldarlan. Bound by her indenture, she has no choice but to obey. She plans a swift sneak-and-grab mission, but things go awry.
Illeron knows more than any elf should. The gathering, analyzing, and disseminating of information consumes his life to the point his brother suggests he needs a distraction. So, when a human woman breaks into his study to steal his dagger, he seizes the opportunity and offers her a bargain she can’t refuse. And a fate he never imagined.
The Elven Spymaster’s Thief is a light, fantasy romance novella full of banter, flirting, and fun romantic moments. It features an opposites-attract romance between a human girl and a smoldering elf lord with a bit of a culture clash thrown in for fun.
The moment my eyes fell on the dagger, I knew something was very wrong. The thing was ugly, roughly made, and hardly even functional. Why did my master send me into the den of the greatest mastermind in Eldarlan to steal a child’s toy? I squinted at it. It was not even an enchanted toy.
Still, I had my orders. My life and livelihood depended on fulfilling this mission. Grimore wouldn’t tolerate anything less than absolute success. Letting out the smallest of silent sighs, I approached the table. I ascertained that it hadn’t been boobytrapped either magically or otherwise using all of my observational skills.
Well, here I go, I thought. I reached across the table and lifted the small dagger from its display.
“Are you sure you want that one?”
I jumped. My heart threatened to leap from my chest. For one frantic moment, I feared I would die from fright. I whirled toward the voice. Anger replaced panic in an instant. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“No.” He was lean, but there was a substance to his frame, unlike most elves I had seen from afar. Muscle across the chest and shoulders gave his long lines a dangerous power that had nothing to do with magic. His piercing green eyes assessed me with a sharpness that made me want to flinch away. Unlike most of his kind, he had cropped his brown hair instead of letting it flow down his back. The tapered curls did nothing to hide the pointed tips of his ears. His clothing also had a simpler cut, but the fabric was no less fine. It hung in appealingly elegant lines, accentuating his feline-like movements as he stalked across the hardwood floor. “I was merely curious.”
“Whether or not you could shock my heart into stopping?” I backed up until my hips hit the edge of the table behind me. I still clutched the sheathed dagger to my chest. After all this, I had no intention of leaving without it.
“Human hearts are fragile, but I have never known one as young as yours to stop due to shock. Blade, curse, poison, draining, or ripping it from the chest, yes. Those can kill, but fright, no.” He held out his elegant hand. “Give me the blade.”
“No.” Unnerved by how unfailingly he stared into my eyes despite my bespelled cloak and the mask obscuring my features. Attraction warred with the fission of alarm.
“I could take it by force.”
“You will lose more than you gain in the process.”
His impassive features moved. An eyebrow rose slightly as though intrigued. “I am stronger than I look.”
I snorted. “So am I.” I slid my favorite blade from its hiding place without letting go of the useless one I was trying to steal. There was no way this thug of Whispier’s was going to relieve me of my prize, elf or not.
In an instant, before I could react, a long thin stiletto flicked into his fingers, and the cool edge of the blade rested against my throat. “I am faster.”
“That may be,” I admitted.
A twitch near his eye broke through his stoic mask. “But?”
I leaned slightly back from his blade, giving me the ability to swallow. His eyes narrowed as he watched the movement of my throat. I used the distraction wisely.
“Speed isn’t everything.” I pressed the edge of my deadly iron-laced blade to his gut, perfectly positioned to drive it straight up into his stomach at the slightest provocation.
To my surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched, and he stepped closer. “I doubt you will have time to follow through on that threat. A quick flick of my wrist, and you will be dead in seconds.”
I stared into the mysterious depths of his enigmatic spring green eyes. He was close enough that I could see the blue flecks near his pupil and the ring of silver around the iris’ outer edge. I could also feel him. His deep, even breaths fluttered against the mask, bringing the scents of trees, fresh air, and the promise of something inexplicable. A tingle of wild magic different from the comfortable brownie charms on my cloak invaded my head. A sleep spell! It whispered sweetly of warmth and comfort, tempting me to relax.
I closed my eyes. Abruptly the sensation ceased. I jabbed my knife into his gut, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to get him to back up ever so slightly.
“Your death will be more painful,” I growled as I opened my eyes to glare at him. The spell was still there, trying to invade my head again. However, now that I was aware of it, I could resist it.
“I will heal.” Something changed in his eyes.
“But you will suffer while you heal.” I frowned. What had changed in his eyes? Laughter? “You are laughing at me!” I shoved at his chest hard. He complied, but the way he did it—moving long enough after I pushed—made it clear he was doing it because he wished, not because I forced him to.
He tossed the blade in his hand. It disappeared into the air. The magic was so neat and tidy that the blade blinked out without a sound, flash of light, or puff of air. It was hard not to gape in wonder at the trick. And he knew it. His mouth quirked briefly. “You will stay.”
“I beg your pardon?” I glared at him. “I am going to take this and leave.”
“You will find that impossible.” He turned his back on me, clearly not caring in the least that I was still armed. Prowling over to the large desk before the great windows opposite the door I had entered, he started flipping through papers. “What is your name?”
“I don’t see how that has anything to do with the matter.” I knew about the tricks the elves and other fae played once they knew a person’s name. There was no way he was getting mine.
“Family name then, paranoid one.”
“Soleil,” I reluctantly offered.
“Ah, I thought so.” He straightened, a strange pen glowing in his hand. “You have a brother.”
“He is in my service.”
“He contracted himself into Whispier’s service.” I emphasized the name. Why would I deal with an underling when it was Whispier I wished to hurt for taking Solon from me? “I don’t know who you are.”
This time his eyes lightened. “Do you want to free him?”