Charmed: A Haven Realm Novel

  Charmed

  A Haven Realm Novel

  Mila Young

  Charmed © Copyright 2018 Mila Young

  Cover art by Covers by Christian

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher/author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  For more information…

  A Note From Mila Young

  Haven Realm Series

  Map

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Thanks

  Hunted

  Hunted Excerpt

  About Mila Young

  Thank you for purchasing a Mila Young novel. If you want to be notified when Mila Young’s next novel is released, please sign up for her mailing list by clicking here.

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  A Note From Mila Young

  I’ve had so much fun writing these fairy tale retellings and I hope you enjoy them just as much.

  Each story in the Haven Realm series is a standalone novel and can be read in any order, though the more tales you read, the more likely you’ll meet familiar characters.

  These are adult fairy tale retellings for anyone who loves happily ever afters with steamy romance, sexy alphas, and seductive fun.

  Join My Wicked Reader’s Group!

  Enjoy!

  Mila

  Haven Realm Series

  Hunted (Little Red Riding Hood Retelling)

  Charmed (Aladdin Retelling)

  Cursed (Beauty and the Beast Retelling)

  Claimed (Little Mermaid Retelling)

  More on the way…

  CHARMED

  A Haven Realm Book

  Arabian Nights. Three Dangerously Sexy Genies. A Deadly Sorcerer.

  Abandoned by her mother at a young age, and left to survive in the slums of the Utaara, Azar must steal for survival. Sure, a life of crime has no honour, but if it feeds her brother, she'll do whatever it takes. Whispers speak of a desert cave where the Sultan stores all his treasure. Stealing some jewels is worth the risk to afford the medicine to cure her brother's illness.

  In the depths of the Sultan's cave, she finds a brass lamp and unleashes three gorgeous genies. Except they are weakened from being trapped in the lamp for hundreds of years, and of not much use. Azar's plans turn for the worse when they are captured by the Sultan's evil vizier, who wants the genie's power to feed his dark magic. Can she defeat the vizier, resist the genie's allure, and save her brother before it's too late? Or will they all meet their fate at the hands of the vizier?

  Haven Realm

  The realms of Haven warred for ages upon ages, laying devastation upon its lands and its residents alike. To put an end to the death and destruction, the realm was divided into seven kingdoms, one for each race, ruled by nobility, entrusted to maintain the truce. Over centuries, kingdoms rose and fell as the power of the ruling noble houses waxed and waned. And the peace between the lands persevered. But a corruption is growing, bringing darkness to the realms, and threatening the return of war and suffering to Haven.

  Prologue

  “Thank you for your business,” the shop owner said in his ostentatious drawl as he handed over a brown hessian bag to his client.

  The client snatched his purchase as if his life depended on it. He lumbered his heavy frame to the left, ready to depart. A waft of spiced perfume mixed with body odor hit me in the face, making my eyes water. Talk about marinating in the stuff.

  Apparently, the rich, fat cat couldn’t see past his uppity nose and bumped into me, letting out a startled cry. His droopy, red-eyed gaze ran the length of me, and he shuffled backward. With a loud and displeased sniff, he flicked imaginary dirt off his silk kaftan stretched tight over his rotund belly.

  I pulled my cotton shirt tighter over my chest. After all these years, I still wasn’t used to the way people normally reacted to my stained and torn clothing, my grubby face, and dirty fingernails. What else did they expect when my brother and I had nothing? Bathing water was a luxury for us.

  Clutching his bag tight to his chest, the fat cat waddled past me, giving me a wide berth, as if I had the gray scale disease.

  “Rah,” I said, lunging at him with my fingers curled like claws.

  He whimpered and scrambled out the door, setting off the tinkling bell in his haste to depart the shop.

  A chuckle rumbled in my throat. Served him right for making me feel like the scum of Haven because I didn’t come from wealth like he did.

  All the while the shop owner continued preparing mixtures of herbs. Like most snobs in Utaara, he refused to acknowledge me, as if serving someone like me was below him.

  I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, sir.”

  Herbs brushed against the bag as they slid from the attendant’s metal scoop.

  Fire shot through my veins. “Excuse me,” I said louder and with more insistence.

  Still, he ignored me.

  I slammed my palms on the glass counter. “I’d like to buy oil of the dragon thistle for my brother, please.”

  The shop owner sighed and put his scoop aside. His gaze stained me with the same brush of disgust as the rich, fat cat’s. “That’s a very expensive medicine,” he said in a way that suggested I’d never be able to afford it.

  Shish kebab. Sounded as if I’d need to steal something to pay for it.

  Well, two could play at his game. I kept my cool, as if the cost didn’t bother me. “How much?” I asked, voice steady, refusing to show him he intimidated me.

  He folded his fingers together and tilted his head. “One thousand markos. Payment upfront.”

  My heart shuddered. Damn it. That was the same price my friend, a herbalist, had quoted me. Gods. That was a year’s wage for a middle-class workers in Utaara. I was a thief, not a worker. My regular haul usually included fruits, vegetables, and meat. I certainly didn’t have that kind of coinage lying around. Finding that amount of gold coins would require me to steal an item of significant value. Something I didn’t like to do, as there was considerable risk attached. The last time I’d stolen a golden candelabra from a rich, fat cat like the one who had left the shop, I was almost mauled by his guard dog. The time before that, I got tangled in wire on the top of the fence, and the cuts festered, and I needed medication to treat my wounds. If I g
ot caught by the palace guards, I’d leave my brother ill, dying, and all alone.

  A lump formed in my throat, making it hard to breathe. “What?” I croaked.

  “One thousand markos,” he repeated, in his oh-so-high-and-mighty voice, talking to me like I was a child.

  Sweat pumped from my body and dribbled down my back. I rubbed a hand on my neck to clear some. “That’s outrageous. Are you having me on? What’s so special about this medicine anyway?”

  The shop owner continued with his duties. “The dragon thistle requires a specific form of preparation to extract the oil.” He waved a dismissive hand at me. “Come back when you have the markos.”

  Two weeks earlier, Ali had fallen ill to a chest infection. The Avestan, the local physician, had said if my brother didn’t get herbal medicine, his condition would deteriorate and fast. Stuffy, old fool was right. Ali coughed like hell and some nights struggled to breathe. He grew weaker by the day. Rashes were sprouting up all over his skin. Each day, he ate less and less. Pounds were dripping from his already lean frame.

  “But my brother has the dark lung.” My hands squeezed the edges of the glass cabinet. “I need this medicine.”

  “Listen, my dear.” The owner’s tone lightened a little. “I’d love to help you. But I need the coins up front to purchase the oil. If your brother is ill with the dark lung, then he does not have long.”

  Tendrils of doom weaved around my heart. My brother’s life depended on the dragon thistle oil. I had to do whatever it took to get my hands on the gold coins to buy it.

  “Thank you,” I said as I exited the shop my mind raging with fear.

  Chapter 1

  Desperate times called for desperate measures. Nothing was stopping my latest heist. Not even the protests from my younger brother, Ali. Every night since visiting the herbal shop, I had thought long and hard about how to fix our situation. I was willing to do anything for my brother, no matter what the risk. If saving his life called for me to steal a few jewels from the sultan’s cave to buy Ali’s medicine, then the danger was worth it. The sultan, along with the other fat cats I pinched from, could afford to lose a few valuables here and there. This condition adhered to my one rule: never swipe from someone who couldn’t afford to feed their children.

  No one in Utaara knew about the sultan’s cave. The only reason I’d heard about it was because I’d stolen a map from the head palace guard. The scroll contained locations of all the sultan’s assets; his main residence in the palace, investment properties, homes for his family members, and temples.

  “It’s too dangerous.” My brother begged for the tenth time to give up on the idea, grabbing my arm, but he was too weak to hold on. The hollows in his cheeks and dark circles beneath his eyes aged him beyond his eighteen years. “There’s got to be another way.”

  My heart melted at how frail he’d gotten over the past week. Flu had spread like wildfire through the slums, and Ali and I had both caught it. Damn thing knocked me about for several days. Unlike me, Ali had not recovered. Even as a young boy, he was always getting sick. The Avestan, the local doctor, told me Ali’s immune system was not as strong as mine was because my mother had run out of milk and had not breastfed him.

  “You know this is the only way,” I said to Ali, turning away from those soulful brown eyes before I caved and changed my mind.

  It was hard enough, breaking the law. Yeah, the risk was there… If I got caught, I’d either end up imprisoned or lose my hands for committing treason against the sultan. A fate I couldn’t afford if I wanted to keep my brother alive. But for Ali, I’d find a way to fly into the heavens.

  My hands trembled as I dragged on a brown-cotton kaftan and pants that helped me blend in with the landscape…and into the shadows if need be. Around my face, I wrapped a shawl to protect me from the desert sand.

  “We're not living like this for the rest of our lives.” I gestured to the pitiful shack we called a house in the middle of the slums.

  Wooden shutters hung off their hinges, allowing flies to buzz inside. The pantry door had fallen off, and the mice ran rampant. Pretty much all of our recycled furniture was crumbling—from the boxes and plank for a kitchen bench, to the stained, saggy mattress Ali and I shared. And then of course, there was the sofa, which caused me no end of pain when I had to sew the frays in my clothes where the springs had caught on the cotton.

  Ali squared his shoulders.

  I kissed his forehead. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

  The wooden cart we used for a table wobbled as I put one foot on it to clasp the buckle of my sandals. Stupid piece of junk. No matter what I stuffed beneath the edge to even it out, it remained lopsided. But for something I’d found by the docks, it served its purpose, and it was more than most owned in my neighborhood.

  Without money, I couldn’t pay for food, water, clothes, or any of the basic necessities. Every few days, we snuck down to the river for a bath. We were fortunate the sultan provided this free accommodation. Run down as it was. Was it any wonder my brother got sick all the time? Living among the old slums of Utaara, surrounded by squalor, the starving, and the impoverished.

  Heck! How was I, or anyone in this city, able to afford any medicine? We were blessed if we had food for one meal a day. But…I counted myself lucky to have a roof over my head. Thank the gods.

  I collected my dagger from the table and jammed it into the sheath on my belt. Years of experience, learned from doing this job, had taught me never to leave home without it. Nothing was going to get in my way tonight.

  “Azar, please.” Ali sat up.

  His chest quivered from the hacking, wet cough gripping him. His face was grimy, like our shack, and I sat down again to rub his back.

  When Ali calmed and took deep inhales, I ruffled his hair. “Want me to make you a hot tea before I head off?”

  I squeezed Ali’s hands even though he would not meet my gaze. He reminded me of our mother. Dark-brown, curly hair. Long, thin nose. Skin like the fur of a camel. I must have looked like our father who we never met. Green eyes, lined with long, black lashes. Ebony locks, always pulled back in a braid to keep it off my face. Rounded face and cheekbones with plump lips. Our neighbor had once called me pretty, but I suspected it had something to do with them wanting to borrow money for their daily meal.

  My heart slumped against my ribcage as I got up to prepare Ali a mug of tea. At eighteen, he should have been selling silks in the marketplace, tending sheep in the fields, or building new mudstone dwellings. Not cooped up, withering away in a shack, his skin turning paler by the day. Every ounce of me wished for a better life for us both. Jobs. Families. A loving home.

  Our mother had abandoned us on the doorstep of the local orphanage when I was ten and Ali six. That place was a hellhole. Mustafa, the institution’s master, forced all the children to clean the homes of wealthy businessmen, all to line his own pocket. On the fortieth night at the home, my brother and I ran away, never to return.

  My brother was all I had left. My reason for waking up every day. Death was not stealing Ali from me. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

  “Here,” I said, handing Ali the cup of steaming tea.

  He grunted his thanks, took a sip, and put the cup on his makeshift bedside table. “Karim, come here.”

  Ali lifted the little Capuchin monkey we called our pet off the ratty, old pillow covered in holes.

  For someone roused from his slumber, Karim seemed pretty cheerful, bouncing on the bed, twittering away, then settling on Ali’s shoulder.

  Such a cute little thing. All black, except for the eggshell-colored fur around his chest, arms and face. Hands the size of a baby’s. The most expressive brown eyes I’d ever seen on an animal.

  “Don’t you go helping Azar,” said Ali. “Otherwise, no bananas for you.”

  Karim tucked his head like a scolded apprentice. He moaned and swayed from side to side.

  I tilted my head, marveling at the intelligence of the little cr
itter and how he understood everything we said.

  Like Ali and I, Karim had been deserted, too, all for refusing to perform parlor tricks for his owner. I'd found the monkey on the streets, a bony mess with matted hair and a serious flea problem. After a decent scrubbing, and a few meals, he'd come good. Memories of the day I brought him home filled my mind and warmed me. Ali had fallen in love and not stopped smiling for weeks. Damn near broke my brother’s heart when I told him it was time to release the monkey into the wild some months later. But the day Karim and I caught a boat up river up to the mountains bordering the Terra realm and I let him go, the little squeaker jumped back onto my shoulder and refused to go.

  Keeping the smart, little guy was the best decision I'd ever made. Whenever Ali got really sick, playing with Karim was the only thing that made him happy. For that, I was grateful to the little squeaker. Saved my skin, too, on more than one occasion. I owed him my life three times over.

  “Come, Karim.” I motioned for my partner in crime to join me.

  The monkey glanced from me to my brother as if torn between which master to listen to.

  “Karim,” I said with more firmness.

  Finally, the monkey scrambled over to me, scaled up my leg, and made a home for himself on my shoulder. Any excuse for him to get out of our hovel. Karim craved adventure, just like I did. He certainly didn’t say no to a banana treat for helping me steal a meal. We only ever stole leftovers that wouldn’t sell…and that included lots of juicy, sweet and ripe fruit for the squeaker.