by Piper Rayne
I smile wide, the weight of the world lifting off of my shoulders. “I might be able to volunteer my time.”
“Great,” he says. “Let’s get these dogs to their new homes.”
This whole thing feels like a dream. Flying dogs across state borders is tricky, but a much simpler process than having to worry about shipping them by car. Delivering animals by car takes longer, requires more stops for potty breaks, and a lot of dogs have severe anxiety about being caged up for so long.
Travel by plane is totally different, though. It only takes us a few hours to get to Los Angeles, and another few hours to get to Seattle. Each take off and landing is as smooth as silk, and by the time their sedatives wear off, the dogs are on solid ground before they even realize what’s happened.
Several shelter owners and foster families meet us at the arrivals gate of the airport. It brings a tear to my eye to see so many of these deserving animals find loving homes. I’m immensely grateful that we were able to save them from a much harsher fate. There’s nothing but smiles and wagging tails to go around. By the end of the day, Asher and I successfully deliver almost every single dog from Shellbrook Animal Shelter.
As we say our final goodbyes to the last few families, Asher takes my hand. I give his fingers a squeeze.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “This is so unbelievable. You really didn’t have to do all this for me.”
“You’re right, I didn’t have to. But I wanted to. I’m just glad I got the chance to be of help to you.”
“When are you ever not a help to me?”
“I just wanted to show you how much I care. I know I’ve probably given off the impression that business matters more to me than you, but that’s not the case at all. Whatever’s important to you is important to me.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You’ve brought so much to my life. Opened my eyes to things I didn’t see before. I never thought I was a dog kind of guy until I met you. Scooter’s honestly such a joy. I think he reminds me that there’s a lot more to life than running some shiny casino.”
I shake my head. “But I can understand why your business means a lot to you, too. I’m sorry for being so distant lately, for not making time. I think I put my walls up because I just don’t know how to fit into your world.”
“Trust me. You fit. I’d much rather be around someone who’s made a difference than high rollers any day. What you do is amazing. You’re amazing.”
“I can argue the same for you.”
“How so?”
“You’ve accomplished a lot, too. You employ hundreds of people, you have a budding business. You’re pretty amazing, too.”
“Fine. I guess we’re both pretty great, huh?”
I get up on my toes and kiss his mouth, wrapping my arms around his neck to hug him tight. He reciprocates in kind, circling my waist with ease as we settle into something warm and familiar. Asher feels great, like a missing part of the puzzle that I’ve neglected for too long. Now that everything’s in place, I realize just how whole he makes me feel.
“Now —and no pressure, by the way— if I were to ask if you were free tonight,” he says with a devilish grin, “would you like to join me for dinner tonight?”
I make a face and pretend to think about it. “Well, I guess I don’t have any work left for today. I’m just worried that my date might be dragged off to some important executive meeting again.”
Asher frowns. “I promise I didn’t do that on purpose.”
“I was just teasing you.”
“Oh. Good.”
I give him another kiss, sweet and slow. “Dinner sounds great. What were you thinking?”
“Ever been to Canada? I could fly us up to Vancouver so we can grab some beaver tails. Although that’s more of a dessert thing. Or I could fly us across the Pacific and we can grab some sushi in Japan.”
I laugh. “As much as I love that idea, I don’t have my passport on me.”
“Ah, very true.”
“You know what? You pick. I’m sure I’ll love whatever you love.”
“In that case,” he says, kissing me again, “I love you.”
My heart skips a beat as my cheeks fill with warmth. I can’t stop smiling, nor do I want to. “I love you, too,” I reply before Asher dips me back to kiss me again, deep and true.
When we finally part, he whispers against my lips. “Let me take you home,” he says.
“OK,” I agree without hesitation.
18
ASHER
The fundraiser is going really well. Who knew that the promise of a massive poker jackpot and the knowledge of doing a good deed by supporting local animal shelters could bring in such huge crowds?
It’s been a handful months since local news outlets caught wind of our little dog delivery operation. The story has since spread like wildfire, even appearing as a fluff piece on several national networks. I adore nothing more than seeing the name Shellbrook Animal Shelter plastered on newspaper headlines, web articles, and mentioned on live television. It’s actually brought Lake’s shelter a ton of attention, and with it, hundreds of eager families come in each month to check in on the dogs.
The operation’s also done a great deal for The Grandiose. After word got out —and I’m suspecting that Todd had something to do with it— that the owner of one of the most luxurious casino and hotels on the Strip was the one operating the delivery plane, guests have been arriving in droves, more than happy to support a business with such a wonderful sense of community.
Those are all just side benefits, of course. Not at all what I was expecting to come of our efforts, but a nice surprise all the same.
The real reward is having Lake at my side, our dogs sitting respectfully at our feet.
It’s taken a long time of rehabilitation and training, but it seems that Gaga has finally readjusted. Gaga really wasn’t comfortable with any of the potential families that met with her, always skittish when someone new came in to introduce themselves. Since Lake wasn’t able to give Gaga away, so she adopted the Pitbull instead. A perfect compromise, really. Now that Lake is officially settled in my penthouse, she has more than enough space to adopt as many dogs as her heart desires, though we have agreed to keep it to two for now.
Scooter and Gaga are the terror of the penthouse, but I love them both all the same.
As the owner of The Grandiose and the host of the poker tournament, I’m obligated to meet with all of our high rollers and mingle with our most influential guests. But I always make it a point to include Lake in the conversation. I have a protective arm around her waist, proudly showing her off, though she’s more than capable of dazzling our guests in her own right.
She’s in a beautiful black dress with a modest neckline but a scooping back that stops just above her hips. Her hair is done up in loose, but elegant curls, and she’s wearing the string of pearls I bought her for our six month anniversary. Lake wears them everywhere, showing them off with pride. She looks every ounce gorgeous as she does refined. She holds herself confidently, finally appearing more at home here in my world of splendor.
“Do you ever get exotic pets at your shelter?” Ace asks her. “Snakes, perhaps? I’ve been interested in collecting an anaconda.”
“We get the occasional parakeet,” Lake explains. “But my shelter’s more equipped for animals of the quadrupedal kind.”
Ace brushes this off. “Shame.”
King joins us shortly after, handing out beers that he’s grabbed from directly behind the bar. If it were anyone else, I’d have to put a stop to that kind of behavior. I’ve hired bartenders for a reason, and I have to make sure that everyone’s following the rules. But since it’s King, I’m willing to make an exception just this once.
“Here you are,” he says. King bends down to scratch Scooter behind the ear. “Sorry, buddy. I checked to see if they had any peanut butter, but it looks like they’re fresh out.” He tries reaching for Gaga next, but Scooter barks up a storm.
King laughs. “Like dog, like owner.”
I hold Lake a little closer. “Damn straight.”
The guests in the audience all gasp as one of the players makes a gutsy call. Our little group turns to observe. Maeve sits across the table from Jack, failing to remember her poker face and looking incredibly smug. Maeve and Ace are one of the last two players remaining, their chips —which will all eventually go towards charity— are stacked high before them.
I lean over to whisper in Lake’s ear. “Did you know she was this good?”
“Nope. But she was born and raised in Vegas, so I’m not surprised. I actually thought you were going to play tonight.”
“I’d much rather spend it with you.”
Lake kisses me on the cheek. “You’re such a flirt.”
“To be honest, I’ve thought about ditching this even several times tonight.”
“What? Why?”
“To sneak you upstairs and see if your dress looks just as pretty on the floor,” I whisper.
I delight when Lake trembles, something playfully lighting up her eyes. “Be good,” she warns, but there’s no heat behind it.
The poker tournament goes on for several more rounds. Before I know it, it’s just Jack and Maeve left standing. They stare each other down, and I have to admit that there’s something incredibly humorous about my friend —fearless businessman and casino owner himself— squaring off with a twenty-one year old with a serious win streak.
“Who do you think’s going to win?” King asks.
“Maeve, obviously,” Lake says.
“My money’s on Jack,” I say at the same time.
She looks at me with a mischievous grin. “You seem awfully confident there, Mr. Chase.”
“Jack’s a skilled gambler,” I explain nonchalantly. “I believe experience over luck any day.”
“Yes, but Maeve hasn’t lost a single hand this entire tournament,” she counters. “And I don’t think you should underestimate someone’s ability just because of their young age.”
“Sounds like we have ourselves a pretty interesting wager, Miss Shellbrook.”
“What are your terms?”
“If I win, I get to take you to Paris next weekend. I’ll have Todd dog sit.”
Lake giggles. “That doesn’t seem like much of a loss for me.”
“And what are your terms?” I ask her.
“If I win, I’ll let you do that thing you like.” She pumps her eyebrows suggestively. “You know. With the whipped cream?”
“Really?”
Lake nods. “Really.”
“Very scandalous.”
“Do we have a deal?”
“You’re so on, sweetheart.”
We hope you enjoyed The Rescue. This story is a prequel to our new series Vegas Kings. You can read the first book in the series Jack here.
For more about Mckenna James books, please visit our website.
The Beast’s Captive Bride
By Evie Wilde
The Beast’s Captive Bride
I was supposed to be his virgin sacrifice. Instead, I am the only one who can save him now.
When our elders say a famine is coming, the village doesn’t hesitate—they’ll make a virginal offering to the Beast of the Fair Forest and then everyone will be saved. I’m happy to go along with this plan—until I’m the one tied to the old birch tree in the woods, waiting for the Beast to devour me alive.
But the Beast turns out to be very different than I was expecting—he’s not an animal at all, but a handsome man who lives alone off the forest land. And once we touch, a magic within me awakens, one which I never knew was in my power.
The Beast must teach me to wield this magic before the forest dies—but also before his curse returns and he is forced to become an animal once again.
Can I accept the responsibility of my newfound powers? Or will I turn away from the magic that lurks in my blood and refuse the love of a Beast?
COPYRIGHT© 2020 The Beast’s Captive Bride by Evie Wilde
* * *
All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
ROSALINE
“Father!”
I was the first one awake in my family’s modest thatched-roof hut. Usually I slept until dawn, then let the morning light prod me out from under my threadbare quilt so I could collect the eggs from beneath the hens. It had been a long winter, brutally cold, and now that the world was warming itself again, we could hope for a decent yield. Seeds were in the ground. Prayers were on the lips of everyone in Fairfront, our tiny village of farmers and shepherds. The last time it had taken until April to fully thaw, our crops had never caught up.
That was the year Mother had died.
Father still couldn’t look at me without thinking of her—my frame had grown tall and willowy, and my deep brown hair set off the green in my eyes, same as Mother’s.
Something woke me this morning before the sun had even edged over the horizon. Perhaps it was the chill from the windows. Firewood was scarce. Or perhaps I had heard a noise, but when I got out to the farmyard with a basket for the eggs, the sight waiting for me was too grisly to bear.
Our chickens, all slaughtered by violent means, blood and feathers everywhere.
“Father!” I shrieked. “Come quickly!”
Those hens provided eggs or, if we were ever desperate for food, meat, and now they were gone. Little bits of beak and talon remained, and the coop itself was damaged, the wood pried away from the doorway, the hay of their cozy little nests splayed across the floor.
My father, when he arrived at the scene, studied the smears of blood and the claw marks in the wooden slats of the coop. “A wolf,” he muttered.
It was a terrifying prospect for multiple reasons.
The wolves of the Fair Forest prowled along the border of our village, occasionally snagging a rogue sheep or an unfortunate cat that had wandered too far from home. But they very rarely left the protection of the trees because they were tied to the woods. All the creatures who roamed the Fair Forest were bound to its periphery, and for the wolves to come this far out from the cover of the branches, well … that was a sign.
And for a lone wolf to attack a coop this close to our hut, risking a human finding it and shooting it? This was also a sign.
“So the bones were right,” my father said as he squatted to get a better view of the bite marks on what was left of a big, fat biddy. “Famine is coming.”
I made sure he couldn’t see me roll my eyes. The bones, the village bones, tossed at the start of every season by Fairfront’s resident mystic, were considered gospel by many of the elderly members of our village, my father included. I had never once been convinced by a prophecy—anyone could take a collection of old bones and paint runes on them. Anyone could toss them into the grass and pretend to see something dramatic, something terrible. The prophecies were never good, not at all, and I suspected that was because our mystic knew it was easier to prey on fear than it was to create hope.
But my father had been a lifelong believer in the mystic’s abilities to predict the future. And so, of course, he brought a collection of blood
-smeared feathers to the village council that evening to seek guidance.
“I told you!” The village mystic, a decrepit old farmer, Mortas, who had sold off most of his orchards for cash and now spent all his time “divining” in long brown robes. “The wolves came out of the forest and devoured the chickens because their game is scarce! And when the famine strikes, who do you think the wolves will be licking their chops for?” Mortas glanced pointedly at a mother with a newborn babe; she cradled her child protectively and cried, “What do we do then?”
“Set up a fence,” suggested someone, quite wisely, I might add. “All along the border of the Fair Forest.”
“That border stretches for miles,” someone else said. “I say we set up a watch! Station guards along the perimeter to shoot wolves on sight.”
“No, no.” Mortas shook his head as other suggestions were hurled out into the meeting. With a frenzied energy, he shook the oracle bones and let them roll across the green grass before him.
“It is the work of the beast!” he shrieked, and a collective gasp went up among the villagers.
I had to hold back a snort.
The beast, a fabled half-man, half-wolf, was a creature who allegedly prowled the Fair Forest during the winter months, though I would have argued that he’d been spotted prowling through our local folktales more times than he’d ever been spotted through the trees.
The beast was not only a monstrous predator, he was allegedly a wizard of some sort, capable of the basest magic and the cruelest curses. Every natural disaster, every blight, even fires that were definitely demonstrably caused by human folly here in the village had been attributed to him. It looked like the villagers had already decided the famine was his doing, as well.