Prim and Proper Fate (Twisted Fate Series Book 2)

by Tami Lund

  With one last disgusted look at his trashed bed, Brandon turned away and flung open the bedroom door. A gang of shifters surged away as he stepped out into the hall, scowling furiously.

  “Fuck off,” he muttered as they snickered and laughed and slapped each other on the back like they’d just done some great deed. He stomped down the stairs and headed toward the kitchen, barely noticing that the bitchy Fate who owned the house they were currently residing in was back from wherever the hell he’d gone on vacation.

  Not that it mattered. They were scheduled to leave the next day. Finally. Killian was difficult to live with on a good day, and they had yet to figure out just what constituted a good day for the grumpy-ass Fate.

  The other Fate-in-residence, William, was in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. Early on, when the pack was just forming and Sydney and Gavin were still dancing around the fact that they were in love, he had taken on the job of house manager. Usually, the position entailed cooking for and cleaning up after the dozens of Light Ones in residence.

  “Nice shoes,” Brandon said while snagging a beer from the fridge.

  William was as big as a linebacker and had a preference for wearing women’s clothing. And wigs. And high heels. And hot pink lipstick. Tonight he sported a yellow-and-white polka-dotted number, complete with canary yellow heels and his favorite curly blond wig. Oh yeah, and the lipstick. He looked as if he’d either just returned from or was about to venture out for a night on the town. And knowing William, he’d probably gotten all dolled up just to come downstairs to make dinner.

  “Thank you,” William chirped, preening at Brandon’s compliment.

  Killian stepped into view in the doorway separating the kitchen from the dining room. He grunted and William glanced over his shoulder, arching his painted-in brows. “Settling back in?”

  “Getting there,” Killian muttered. He headed toward the wine chiller installed next to the sink. Brandon wasn’t much of a wine drinker, but William had been impressed by the variety of bottles Killian had in there.

  “Looks like somebody enjoyed my wine while I was gone,” Killian said as he pulled a bottle out of the top rack. The label said pinot noir.

  “That bottle of cab worked perfectly with the rub I put on the steaks the other night,” William replied.

  “I’ll be so glad by the end of tomorrow.”

  Brandon suspected—no, he knew—the Fate was referring to the fact that they would all be gone by tomorrow evening. He had not hidden his displeasure at having the crew residing in his house. Although Brandon was pretty damn certain that without the pack of Light Ones, the miserable Fate would find something else to complain about. He’d never met a more unhappy person in all of his 224 years.

  “You don’t think you’ll be lonely when we’re gone?” William dried and put away the dishes from dinner as he talked, bustling around Killian’s kitchen as comfortably as if it were his own home.

  “Not a chance.”

  Killian struggled with the cork. William snagged the bottle from his grasp and easily removed the stopper. Then he filled two glasses with the burgundy-colored wine. Hefting the bottle, he silently offered some to Brandon, who lifted the beer in his hand and declined.

  “We appreciate your hospitality, Killian.” William sniffed the wine, then swirled it in the glass and finally took a slug, which he then swished around in his mouth several times before swallowing.

  “You are so repulsive,” Killian blurted.

  William lifted his eyebrows. “Oh? Because I appreciate good wine? Or because I make you dinner every night? Or because I buy your groceries? Or because I instruct Sydney’s shifters to fix your shed and your bathroom and your front door and till your garden and rake your leaves? Which part of me is repulsive again?” William’s voice was cool, as was his gaze. At least, until he spoke again. “The wine is quite lovely, by the way.”

  Brandon took a swig from his beer, lest he start laughing.

  “Thank you,” Killian said stiffly, taking his own drink. “I don’t suppose the Chala found a real mate while I was away?”

  Brandon quickly sobered. He hated when the Fate talked this way. As if Sydney would simply wake up one day and forsake her love for Gavin to do her duty as a Chala. What those two shared was too damn real. Besides, they had a plan. Gavin had been training them, mercilessly. They were ready to take on the Rakshasa. They were ready to defend their Chala. There was no reason they could not live out all of eternity, fighting the good fight, protecting Sydney, and allowing the two of them the happiness they found only in each other.

  “If she had, do you think you’d be standing here talking to me?” William asked.

  Traditionally, when a Chala found her mate, her Fate, who had been assigned to her when she reached puberty, was released from duty. Usually within a forty-eight-hour period, he was forced to pack up and say his–often tearful–goodbyes, and left the Chala to her new life with her new mate. Since Gavin was a Rakshasa, that particular tradition apparently didn’t apply.

  “Fair point, I suppose. Too bad. I might have invited them to stay, if that had been the case.”

  Brandon snorted. The other two men ignored him.

  “Gavin is good for them, you know,” William said.

  “No,” Killian said flatly. “I don’t know. He’s a Rakshasa. He’s killed more Chala than I’ve actually known in my Fate-life. He is good for no one.”

  “You went to visit Prim, didn’t you?” William sighed.

  “If you’re suggesting that’s the reason for my bad mood, you’re wrong.”

  “Really? I’ve no doubt she turned you down. Again.”

  Brandon’s interest in the conversation was suddenly piqued. Killian had the hots for some woman? He supposed the Fate was good looking in his own way, but it had never occurred to Brandon the guy might actually possess those sorts of emotions.

  “Who’s Prim?” he asked.

  “None of your damn business,” Killian retorted.

  “The one who cursed Gavin in the first place. She was here, a few months ago. She’s actually the one who upset Sydney so much that she went running off alone, and you found her and ultimately saved her from being killed,” William explained. “But she left as quickly as she could, so it’s possible you might not have met her.”

  “I didn’t save Sydney,” Brandon qualified. “I protected her until Gavin and the pack could get to us. He’s the one who saved her.”

  William flapped his hand. “Semantics.”

  Those semantics were pretty fucking important. If Gavin hadn’t brought the damn cavalry when he did, Brandon and Sydney both would have died out in those woods.

  “I hate having a Rakshasa living in my house. It’s unnatural.” Killian apparently felt the need to explain his bad mood.

  Brandon didn’t really care. They were leaving in a day and as far as he was concerned, Killian never had to see them again. Fates existed for the Chala, and there was only one Chala. William was plenty enough for Sydney, who, now that she had Gavin and an entire pack of Light Ones at her side, didn’t really need a Fate at all anymore.

  William continued to argue with the other Fate. “What’s unnatural is your pent-up anger. You’re a Fate, for the love of, well, the Fates. How the hell did any of your charges not fall into a deep depression before their twenty-first birthdays?”

  “If I was lucky, they were mated by that point and out of my hair.”

  William shook his head and sipped at the wine. “What happened to you, Killian? You are the only Fate I know who carries around such negativity. You could not have always been like this. The First would never have chosen this path for you if that were the case.”

  “What’s the First?” Brandon asked, jumping into the conversation again despite himself.

  “Who, no
t what,” William corrected. “She is quite literally the very first Fate to ever exist.” He frowned as he struggled to explain. “She is our ruler, I suppose. When there were an abundance of Chala, she kept track of them and assigned us to our charges. Now, she does little more than settle arguments and give us permission to retire and live as humans.”

  “Retire and live as humans?”

  William nodded. There was sadness in his eyes. “Sydney is the only Chala left. We quite literally have no other purpose than to guide and protect the Chala. There is nothing left for any of us to do.”

  “Unless she mates with a Light One and starts popping out her own Chala. You’re letting your charge bed down with that–that aberration, when you should be the one to stop it,” Killian said.

  William arched his brows. “What do you expect me to do? Walk into that bedroom every time they start having sex and say, ‘Okay, Uncle William says stop.’ I don’t have that sort of control over Sydney. Nor do I want it.”

  Killian pursed his lips and grabbed his wineglass. “I’m going to go relax in my living room.”

  Brandon watched him stalk out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and into the living room, where a group of shifters were watching a hockey game on the television. He wondered who was playing. He was a diehard Dallas Stars fan, but he liked hockey enough to watch regardless of who was on the screen.

  The small pack leaped to their feet, cheering and high-fiving each other. “I hate hockey,” he heard Killian mutter, and a moment later, he appeared in the kitchen doorway again, this time holding a small, thin book in one hand and his wineglass in the other. “I’m going to my bedroom,” he announced.

  “What’s that?” Brandon asked, nodding at the book. The cover was made of cracked, brown leather and words were embossed on the spine with faded gold ink. It looked really old.

  “None of your business,” the grumpy Fate snapped. As he lifted it to hug it to his chest, Brandon caught a glimpse of the title.

  Tried and True Curses

  “Whoa, what are you doing with that?” He reached for the book, but the Fate danced away from him.

  “Nothing. I just want to read. Something wrong with that?”

  “There is when you’re reading about curses, and there happens to be a cursed Rakshasa living under your roof.”

  William jumped as if he’d been electrocuted. “What? What in the world are you up to now, Killian?” He moved closer to the other Fate, who backed away toward the stairs leading to the bedroom level.

  “I told you. Nothing. I just want to read in bed until I fall asleep. And then tomorrow all you people will be gone and I can have my life back.”

  “Reading about curses is not light bedtime reading,” William noted. “Where did you find that book anyway? It must be a thousand years old.”

  Killian tucked the book behind his back, as if he expected them to try to snatch it from his clutches.

  “Did you steal that from Prim?” William asked, surprise in his voice. “Because I cannot imagine she would let you borrow it. Whatever you are thinking, Killian, you need to stop, right now. No good will come of this.”

  “I’m not thinking anything. I’m just brushing up my job skills. You know, in the event the Chala finally sees reason and takes a real Light One to mate. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Before William or Brandon could say another word, the Fate escaped up the stairs and a moment later, the sound of a slamming door echoed throughout the kitchen.

  Brandon looked at William. “Do we have to worry about that?”

  William cast a nervous glance at the stairs. “I don’t think so. Killian has never taken his responsibilities serious enough to be at the same level as Prim. And the curse she cast on Gavin was almost beyond her capabilities. Although I do worry he might accidentally summon the First or something. I hate to admit it, but I’ll be glad to be rid of this place.” He lifted his wineglass. “I’m calling it a night as well. See you in the morning.”

  Brandon remained in the kitchen and finished his beer. He considered heading into the living room to join the guys watching the game. But he wasn’t in the mood to forgive them their stupid-ass prank just yet. Besides, if they were leaving tomorrow, tonight was his last opportunity to hook up with the hot human bartender from the hole in the wall pub they tended to migrate to when they needed a break from training.

  Decision made, he placed the empty bottle on the counter and stepped outside.

  On the porch, he paused to take a deep breath. He smelled pine and fresh dirt and water and the thick humidity that preceded a storm in these parts. It was spring in the mountains of western Arkansas, and raging thunderstorms were practically a daily occurrence. He couldn’t say he would be sorry to see the last of this place.

  Looking up at the sky, he figured he had a couple hours before the storm hit. He didn’t care if he got wet on the way home, but he’d prefer to be reasonably dry before he reached his destination.

  Time to pay a visit to the nearest town, and a certain good-looking and always-ready-for-a-good-time human woman. The rest of the pack could have their stupid used condom prank. Brandon was off to use a few condoms of his own. With a sardonic smile, he leaped from the porch, shifting into his animal form, something of an oversized bullmastiff with pale fur, as he did so. And then he took off at a run, heading south, to the welcome warmth of a good old-fashioned fuck.

  Chapter 3

  “You can’t win at this, you know. I worked at a candy store all through college.”

  Gavin frowned and refused to give up. “Tootsie Rolls.”

  Sydney rolled her eyes. “That’s just gross. And it doesn’t count. Try again.”

  Gavin puffed out a sigh. “Licorice ropes.”

  Sydney gave him a thoughtful look. “Okay. That could work. But mine’s better. Chocolate-covered cherries.”

  “That’s not even a candy,” Gavin protested.

  “Sure it is.”

  He lunged across the bed, hooked his arm around her waist, and pulled her down on top of him. She wiggled, but it was clear she didn’t really want to get away.

  “You win. I’d rather play a different game anyway.”

  She giggled. “Maybe we could incorporate candy into your game.”

  Gavin arched his eyebrows and knew his eyes were glowing in anticipation. He was certain he would never, ever, not feel the anticipation, the excitement of impending lovemaking with Sydney. Which was a good thing, considering they were immortal beings and had vowed to mate for all of eternity. Well, sort of mate. Yes, the fact that he was a cursed Rakshasa instead of a natural born Light One put something of a monkey wrench into their plans, but that was one technicality Gavin was happy to ignore. Sydney loved him and he loved her, and so long as his army of Light Ones kept the Rakshasa at bay, they would be fine. Nothing could separate them.

  “What sort of candy?” he asked, tracing circles on her back with his fingertips.

  She offered him her siren’s smile. “I think there’s a bottle of chocolate syrup in the fridge.”

  Gavin was off the bed in a heartbeat. “Your definition of candy is a little off, but I still like the way you think. I’ll be back in a sec.”

  She called out to him, and when he turned back to look at her, she tossed a gray T-shirt at him. “Better put this on, so your excitement isn’t quite so obvious.”

  Gavin looked down at the bulge pressing against the zipper of his jeans. “You think everyone doesn’t know we have an active sex life?”

  “I think you shouldn’t flaunt it in front of those poor guys. It isn’t fair, since they aren’t getting it at all.”

  Gavin dragged the shirt over his head and snorted. “Don’t kid yourself. They go into town anytime I give them more than a four-hour window between training sessions.” He strode back to the bed,
gave her a firm kiss on the lips, promised to be back quickly, and then headed out the door.

  His limbs began to tingle the moment he stepped into the kitchen, and it took him a moment to realize he wasn’t alone in the room. Somebody was muttering words that weren’t English, yet sounded vaguely familiar. He lifted his hand in front of his face and gave it a perplexed look. What the hell was going on?

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Gavin blinked at the person who spoke to him. His brain felt fuzzy, like he was drunk. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Don’t know.” He tried to reach for the refrigerator and his hand swiped at air. “What the fuck?”

  “You look ill.”

  “I feel ill. I told Sydney we should have had steak instead of shrimp for dinner.”

  “I don’t think it was dinner.”

  Gavin shook his head again. His brain finally determined the other person in the room was Killian, the Fate who wouldn’t know a good time if it slapped him in the face. While Killian allowed them to stay in his home, Gavin knew it was only because he was obligated to do so because Sydney was a Chala. It definitely wasn’t because he felt any real desire to help their cause.

  “You’re right,” Gavin acknowledged. “Would’ve hit me before now. So what the hell’s wrong with me?”

  “Have you ever thought about your curse, Dark One?”

  Gavin furrowed his brow. “Every single day of my life.”

  “Do you ever wish the curse was lifted?”

  “Of course I do,” Gavin said irritably. “That’s part of the curse. I feel every bit of my Rakshasa heritage, but I’m forced to act and feel like a Light One.”

  “I can lift the curse.”