Los Raintree, tres hermanos con poderes sobrenaturales, deben enfrentarse a los magos de Ansara quienes, después de ser derrotados doscientos años atrás, se han rebelado de nuevo para vencer a sus enemigos. A lo largo de esta aventura Dante, Gideon y Mercy tendrán que luchar también contra ellos mismos para no sucumbir ante una fuerza aún mayor que la de sus enemigos y sus propios poderes: el amor. Son más que humanos y siempre han estado entre nosotros...
Dante Raintree. Linda Howard ha creado, con su habitual estilo chispeante, un argumento refrescante y unos personajes sorprendentes. Este nuevo personaje de Linda Howard hará que los lectores se sientan incapaces de dejar de leer hasta llegar a la última Página.
Gideon Raintree. Linda Winstead Jones ha escrito una novela trepidante desde el principio hasta el fin. Los personajes y la historia son tremendamente originales y atrayentes.
Mercy Raintree. Beverly Barton pone el broche de oro a la historia de los hermanos Raintree. Excepcionalmente bien escrita, mantendrá a los lectores con el alma en vilo hasta llegar al final.
|Product dimensions:||5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 1.18(d)|
About the Author
Linda S. Howington is a bestselling romance and suspense author under her pseudonym Linda Howard. Before she became a writer, she was an avid reader and fond of Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell. She’s written many bestselling standalone novels including Dying to Please, After the Night, Dream Man, Mr. Perfect, and Troublemaker. Howard also wrote the Lady of the West series of books and the Mackenzie Family Saga series.
Read an Excerpt
Dante Raintree stood with his arms crossed as he watched the woman on the monitor. The image was in black and white, to better show details; color distracted the brain. He focused on her hands, watching every move she made, but what struck him most was how uncommonly still she was. She didn't fidget, or play with her chips, or look around at the other players. She peeked once at her down card, then didn't touch it again, signaling for another hit by tapping a fingernail on the table. Just because she didn't seem to be paying attention to the other players, though, didn't mean she was as unaware as she seemed.
"What's her name?" he asked.
"Lorna Clay," replied his chief of security, Al Rayburn.
"Is that her real name?"
"It checks out."
If Al hadn't already investigated her, Dante would have been disappointed. He paid Al a lot of money to be efficient and thorough.
"At first I thought she was counting," said Al.
"But she doesn't pay enough attention."
"She's paying attention, all right," Dante murmured. "You just don't see her doing it." A card counter had to remember every card played. Supposedly counting cards was impossible with the number of decks used by the casinos, but no casino wanted a card counter at its tables. There were those rare individuals who could calculate the odds even with multiple decks.
"I thought that, too," said Al. "But look at this piece of tape coming up. Someone she knows comes up to her and speaks, she looks around and starts chatting, completely misses the play of the people to her leftand doesn't look around even when the deal comes back to her, she justtaps that finger. And damned if she didn't win. Again."
Dante watched the tape, rewound it, watched it again. Then he watched it a third time. There had to be something he was missing, because he couldn't pick out a single giveaway.
"If she's cheating," Al said with something like respect, "she's the best I've ever seen."
"What does your gut say?" Dante trusted his chief of security. Al had spent thirty years in the casino business, and some people swore he could spot cheats as soon as they walked in the door. If Al thought she was cheating, then Dante would take actionand he wouldn't be watching this tape now if something hadn't made Al uneasy.
Al scratched the side of his jaw, considering. He was a big, bulky man, but no one who observed him for any length of time would think he was slow, either physically or mentally. Finally he said, "If she isn't cheating, she's the luckiest person walking. She wins. Week in, week out, she wins. Never a huge amount, but I ran the numbers, and she's into us for about five grand a week. Hell, boss, on her way out of the casino she'll stop by a slot machine, feed a dollar in and walk away with at least fifty. It's never the same machine, either. I've had her watched, I've had her followed, I've even looked for the same faces in the casino every time she's in here, and I can't find a common denominator."
"Is she here now?" "She came in about half an hour ago. She's playing blackjack, as usual."
"Who's the dealer?"
Cindy Josephson was Dante's best dealer, almost as sharp at spotting a cheater as Al himself. She had been with him since he'd opened Inferno, and he trusted her to run an honest game. "Bring the woman to my office," Dante said, making a swift decision. "Don't make a scene."
"Got it," said Al, turning on his heel and leaving the security center, where banks of monitors displayed every angle of the casino.
Dante left, too, going up to his office. His face was calm. Normally he would leave it to Al to deal with a cheater, but he was curious. How was she doing it? There were a lot of bad cheaters, a few good ones, and every so often one would come along who was the stuff of which legends were made: the cheater who didn't get caught, even when people were alert and the camera was on himor, in this case, her.
It was possible for people to simply be lucky, as most people understood luck. Chance could turn a habitual loser into a big-time winner. Casinos, in fact, thrived on that hope. But luck itself wasn't habitual, and he knew that what passed for luck was often something else: cheating. Then there was the other kind of luck, the kind he himself possessed, but since it depended not on chance but on who and what he was, he knew it was an innate power and not Dame Fortune's erratic smiles. Since his power was rare, the odds made it likely the woman he'd been watching was merely a very clever cheat.
Her skill could provide her with a very good living, he thought, doing some swift calculations in his head. Five grand a week equaled two hundred sixty thousand dollars a year, and that was just from his casino. She probably hit all of them, careful to keep the numbers relatively low so she stayed under the radar.
He wondered how long she'd been taking him, how long she'd been winning a little here, a little there, before Al noticed.
The curtains were still open on the wall-to-wall window in his office, giving the impression, when one first opened the door, of stepping out onto a covered balcony. The glazed window faced west, so he could catch the sunsets. The sun was low now, the sky painted in purple and gold. At his home in the mountains, most of the windows faced east, affording him views of the sunrise. Something in him needed both the greeting and the goodbye of the sun. He'd always been drawn to sunlight, maybe because fire was his element to call, to control.
He checked his internal time: four minutes until sundown. He knew exactly, without checking the tables every day, when the sun would slide behind the mountains. He didn't own an alarm clock. He didn't need one. He was so acutely attuned to the sun's position that he had only to check within himself to know the time. As for waking at a particular time, he was one of those people who could tell himself to wake at a certain time, and he did. That particular talent had nothing to do with being Raintree, so he didn't have to hide it; a lot of perfectly ordinary people had the same ability.
There were other talents and abilities, however, that did require careful shielding. The long days of summer instilled in him an almost sexual high, when he could feel contained power buzzing just beneath his skin. He had to be doubly careful not to cause candles to leap into flame just by his presence, or to start wildfires, with a glance, in the dry-as-tinder brush. He loved Reno; he didn't want to burn it down. He just felt so damn alive with all the sunshine pouring down that he wanted to let the energy pour through him instead of holding it inside.
This must be how his brother Gideon felt while pulling lightning, all that hot power searing through his muscles, his veins. They had this in common, the connection with raw power. All the members of the far-flung Raintree clan had some power, some heightened form of ability, but only members of the royal family could channel and control the earth's natural energies.
Dante wasn't just of the royal family; he was the Dranir, the leader of the entire clan. "Dranir" was synonymous with "king," but the position he held wasn't ceremonial, it was one of sheer power. He was the oldest son of the previous Dranir, but he would have been passed over for the position if he hadn't also inherited the power to hold it.
Gideon was second to him in power; if anything happened to Dante and he died without a child who had inherited his abilities, Gideon would become Dranira possibility that filled his brother with dread, hence the fertility charm currently lying on Dante's desk. It had arrived in the mail just that morning. Gideon regularly sent them, partly as a joke, but mainly because he was doing all he could to insure that Dante had offspringthus upping the chances that he would never inherit the position. Whenever they managed to get together, Dante had to carefully search every nook and cranny, as well as all his clothing, to make certain Gideon hadn't left one of his clever little charms in a hidden place.
Gideon was getting better at making them, Dante mused. Practice made perfect, after all, and God knows he'd made plenty of the charms in the past few years. Not only were they more potent now, but he varied his approach. Some of them were obvious, silver pieces meant to be worn around the neck like an amuletnot that Dante was an amulet kind of guy. Others were tiny, subtle, like the one Gideon had embedded in the newest business card he'd sent, knowing Dante would likely tuck the card into his pocket. He'd erred only in that the very power of the charm gave it away; Dante had sensed the buzz of its power, though he'd had the devil's own time finding it.
Behind him came Al's distinctive knock-knock on the door. The outer office was empty, Dante's secretary having gone home hours before. "Come in," he called, not turning from his view of the sunset.
The door opened, and Al said, "Mr. Raintree, this is Lorna Clay."
Dante turned and looked at the woman, all his senses on alert. The first thing he noticed was the vibrant color of her haira rich, dark red that encompassed a multitude of shades from copper to burgundy. The warm amber light danced along the iridescent strands, and he felt a hard tug of sheer lust in his gut. Looking at her hair was almost like looking at fire, and he had the same reaction.
The second thing he noticed was that she was spitting mad.
An Interview with Linda HowardBarnes & Noble.com: Your new book, Raintree: Inferno is the lead title in a new paranormal series from Silhouette Nocturne. Tell us how you got involved, and how it works creatively, since other authors write the later books. Linda Howard: I'm very good friends with the other two authors, and about five years ago when we were sharing a suite for a Readers' Luncheon, we began discussing continuity series and how difficult they could be. From there we progressed to writing connected stories ourselves -- though we didn't have one in mind -- so we began searching the phone book for a name that sparked our imaginations. "Raintree" was that name, and from that we began world-building. B&N.com: The love story between the powerful Dante Raintree and civilian Lorna Clay, who has extraordinary but unchanneled powers, is terrific, even as it is conducted in the midst of grave danger. There are many great moments here, but to you, which scene best represents their changing dynamic? And was that the hardest or easiest to write? LH: Ah, I don't want to give away too much, but the car crash and the reaction of each. Dante was willing to sacrifice himself to save her, and when she realized what he'd done …. It's strange, but the difficult scenes to write are never the tension-charged ones; it's the transition scenes, the necessary but undramatic scenes, that are hardest for me, perhaps because I haven't visualized them time and time again. The easiest scenes are the ones that have the most going on, because then the words just tumble out. B&N.com: What new books are you working on? What's coming up next? LH: The next book is Up Close and Dangerous, to be published by Ballantine, which is a sort of murder mystery, plane crash, survival type of thing. You can tell I'm synopsis-challenged by this description, can't you?!