Prim and Proper Fate: Twisted Fate Trilogy, #2

By Tami Lund

A month ago, shapeshifter Brandon Haines betrayed his pack and his Chala.

 

The dust has settled and he knows he's lucky to be alive. He had his reasons—and they were justified—but he's seen the error of his ways, and he fights for the good guys now.

 

Too bad they won't let him forget his past mistakes.

 

Suddenly, he's being thrust into the challenge of his life, and he has to work with the one woman he despises most in this world; the Fate named Prim. She's sex and candy walking, he can't get her out of his head…and now he needs her.

 

Because Gavin Rowan's curse has been lifted, and Prim is the only one who can re-curse him.

 

Otherwise, Brandon's whole damn species will be annihilated.

 

Twisted Fate Trilogy, in reading order:

Of Love & Darkness

Prim and Proper Fate

Prisoner of Fate

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tami Lund
• Release date: Jan 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201454029

Tami Lund

Romcom. Shifters. Vampires. Demigods. Dragons. Witches. Suspense. I write it all. With wine.

Book preview

Chapter

One

What if his curse was lifted?

Prim jerked from her doze and blinked dazedly at her companion. Righting the crystal champagne flute that had slipped from her lax fingers, she contemplated the dredges of the mimosa she’d been drinking before the warm sun and uninspiring conversationalist had lulled her to sleep.

What did you say?

What if he wasn’t cursed anymore?

From behind giant hater-blocker sunglasses, Prim stared at Killian, the Fate whose home in Arkansas was currently overrun with a pack of Light Ones, one cursed Rakshasa, and the only Chala the world believed existed.

If Gavin wasn’t cursed, Sydney would be dead.

He was referring to Gavin Rowan, the cursed Rakshasa who had somehow not only become leader of arguably the largest, strongest, and most organized pack of Light Ones she’d ever encountered, but who also considered himself mate to the aforementioned Chala, Sydney Amataya.

She’s surrounded by Light Ones, all the time, Killian argued. They will protect her with their lives. Especially if she takes one of them to mate.

They are Light Ones Gavin trained. And as much as Sydney is in love with him, I cannot imagine her accepting anyone else as her mate, whether he is cursed or not.

Killian clenched his teeth and blew out a breath, which Prim took as a sign of his frustration that he did not have a good comeback for her reply.

He would kill her in an instant and without remorse if he were no longer cursed, Prim insisted. She had cursed him herself, two hundred years ago. She understood that curse better than any other, save, perhaps, Gavin himself. She had also seen the look of utter devastation in his eyes when, several months ago, she had informed Sydney that she and Gavin could not truly be mates, could not procreate, because, despite the curse, he was still a Rakshasa, and Chala were not meant to mate with the doppelgangers to the Light Ones. Light Ones protected humanity. Rakshasa ate them for dinner.

We are supposed to guide and protect the Chala, she added, warming to her argument, spurred by her own fears. If Sydney died . . . She is the last known Chala in the world.

And she believes she is mated to a Rakshasa. Killian practically spat the words. I’d say we haven’t been very good guides. Have you forgotten Chala are the only fertile Light Ones? She and that cursed Rakshasa cannot even procreate. How is she supposed to birth more Chala if she remains mated—or whatever you want to call it—to him? And if she does not birth more Chala, what happens to the Light One population? The humans? Without Chala, there are no more Light Ones. Without Light Ones, eventually no more humans. The Rakshasa will dine on their bones until they are extinct. You know this as well as I.

Despite the sun beating down on her and the almost too warm temperature, Prim shivered. She wanted to plunge into the ocean gently lapping at the beach a few feet away, although that was admittedly to get away from this conversation, more so than because she needed to cool down.

They are immortal, she said. So long as they maintain the current population, there is no need for Sydney to procreate.

Killian made a noise in his throat, like a growl. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. He sounded like Gavin when he did that, although she doubted he would appreciate the observation.

"The Rakshasa have historically been better warriors than the Light Ones. They have no conscience, no guilt over killing. They eat humans, for the love of Fates. The Light One population will be decimated."

They have Gavin on their side now. He was once a Rakshasa. One of their strongest. Trust me. I was well acquainted with the un-cursed version of Gavin.

She shivered again, as the memories slid through her head, one after the other, a slideshow of all the Chala she had loved and lost.

Not to mention, he loves Sydney more fiercely than I have ever seen anyone love another. He will not let anything happen to her.

Prim recognized the irony in her own defense. Only a few short weeks ago, she had left her private island and taken a rare trip to the mainland so she could inform Sydney and Gavin that their relationship was an abomination. Cursed or not, Gavin was not a Light One, and therefore could not technically be Sydney’s mate. Despite what his heart told him. And now she defended him to the very Fate who had come to her island paradise to convince her to personally deliver that truth.

Why do you hate him so? she asked.

He is a Rakshasa. I hate all Rakshasa.

This is more than that. You are much too adamant.

Grabbing the tube of sunscreen lying in the sand next to his lounger, Killian slathered a layer onto his face and then turned away from her. I am a Fate. Our job, our entire existence, is to protect the Chala and see them mated to Light Ones. We are neither protecting her nor mating her to an appropriate shifter, and yet I allow them to live in my home, under my roof. It isn’t right.

There was more to the story, Prim was certain, but she knew she wouldn’t get it out of the other Fate, and frankly, she was tired of the conversation.

You claim he loves her, Killian said, apparently not ready to change the subject yet. But it isn’t truly love if it’s dependent upon the curse.

Perhaps, she acknowledged. "But Gavin has been cursed for more than half his life. At this point, he knows nothing else. He has become the cursed Rakshasa. He believes what he feels for her is genuine, so therefore, it is."

Prim had been battling this particular argument in her head since she’d nearly broken Gavin and Sydney’s hearts with her proclamation. The guilt had yet to ease, despite their determination to stay together. Killian’s words did nothing more than bring it to the forefront of her mind. Not wishing to talk about it any longer, she said, You said they were leaving your home soon?

A month ago, Gavin and his pack had shown up on Killian’s doorstep, seeking a place to hide Sydney, who was being hunted by a pack of Rakshasa that had picked up her scent. They’d moved into the overlarge house tucked into the Ozarks of western Arkansas, much to the owner’s chagrin. Not that Killian could have turned them away. Sydney’s Fate, William, had asked for the favor, and Fates did not say no to one another. Especially when the favor involved protecting a Chala. Fates existed for the soul purpose of protecting Chala.

Killian blew out a breath. Yes, finally. In fact, I suppose I should head back soon. I believe they are leaving tomorrow or the next day. I will have my privacy back. It won’t quite be a beautiful sandy beach and this glorious sunshine all the time, but it will be free of shifters.

He sighed, and she felt his gaze on her person, much as it had been every day for his extended visit. She knew her red-streaked, thick auburn locks, dark skin, and chocolate-brown eyes were attractive. That was before one’s gaze traveled down to her ample chest, frozen in perpetuity as a twenty-five-year-old woman, and her narrow waist, slightly flared hips, and long legs, ending in colt-like ankles. She was fully aware of her own beauty, and while she supposed she was flattered on a basic level—and had not lain with a man in more years than she cared to count—responding to Killian’s obvious interest was the very last thing she intended to do.

Killian wasn’t just a glass-half-empty guy; his glass had never been filled in the first place. His depressing personality could drag anyone down, and Prim often felt as though she barely held on to her sanity as it was. Sleeping with Killian would no doubt send her over the edge.

She’d also never been a fan of Killian and his constant complaining about everything and everyone. She imagined he could leach out what little happiness was left in her life if she let him any further into it. They were on friendly terms because they were both Fates, and their responsibilities forced them to be allies. But as far as personalities went, Prim would much rather be stranded on a desert island with the cross-dressing, eccentric Fate William any day over the depressing, gruff, and constantly complaining Killian.

Do you know where they’re going? Prim didn’t particularly care. She only intended to steer the conversation away from the memory of the look in Gavin’s eyes when she told him he was not truly Sydney’s mate. Not to mention what she knew was Killian’s hope for a quick romp before he headed back to the mainland.

It wasn’t happening. As far as she was concerned, Killian could leave sooner rather than later. The solitude did often get to her, but it was still far better than his company.

Back up north, Killian said, making a sour face. Why anyone would choose to live in such a miserable, cold place is beyond me.

His comment was amusing because first, nothing could possibly be any colder and more miserable than living with Killian, and second, Fates were immune to temperature fluctuations, so it really didn’t matter where they lived. Prim had visited the northern United States on occasion. The area was quite lovely, with four distinct seasons and the strong sense of pride the residents carried like a flag into battle.

They both fell silent, lost in their own thoughts. The waves gently lapped at the beach as tropical birds called out to one another. Somewhere in the distance, a monkey screamed. Her little slice of paradise really was wonderful at times like this . . .

Are you the only one who can?

Prim jerked out of another doze. Killian really needed to leave. She was normally neither this tired nor lazy. She glanced at the sky, judging the position of the sun. Nearly noon. She had whiled away the morning with nothing whatsoever to show for it, save the ability to say she had managed to put off Killian’s advances for part of yet another day.

Can what?

Lift the curse.

Gavin’s curse? Why on earth would you ask such a thing?

Killian shrugged and drained the rest of his Bloody Mary. No reason. Just curious, is all. He pushed himself out of the cushioned lounge chair. A dainty female brownie named Gaya appeared as if from thin air and took his empty glass before turning to Prim and taking hers as well. She wore a skimpy, chocolate-brown bikini that was only a shade darker than her skin tone and left almost nothing to the imagination. Killian’s gaze was hungry as he watched her swaying backside while she hurried toward a small tiki bar under a cluster of palm trees on the edge of the beach.

I suppose I should go pack my things. One of your brownies will take me to that other island so I can charter a plane?

Of course. Prim watched him walk across the sand toward the house-on-stilts that was half-hidden in the small copse of palm trees in the middle of the island.

She did not miss the look that passed between him and Gaya. Undoubtedly, Gaya would make her way to his bedroom soon, to give him her own personal parting gift. Gaya was a lustful brownie, and Brokk, the brownie Prim employed to feed the few inhabitants who lived there, was the only eligible male on the entire island. Gaya had long ago grown bored with him, and Killian undoubtedly gave her a delightful change of scenery.

It is just as well. Prim settled back into the lounger. One hundred seventy years ago, she’d handpicked the three brownies she’d wanted to move with her to this small slice of paradise: Gaya and her brother Brutus, as well as Brokk. She’d chosen them for their strengths and abilities and their lack of family or other ties that might cause them to pine away here, in a paradise that often felt far too secluded. At the time, Gaya and Brokk had already been sleeping together, and Prim had erroneously assumed the affair would stand the test of time.

But 170 years was a long time, and Gaya had become restless of late. Perhaps a weeklong romp with a willing Fate was just what she needed to ensure she stayed on the island and continued to do Prim’s bidding.

Though the pair had long since disappeared from sight, she called out, Take your time.

Chapter

Two

They’d done it again. Another stupid prank, which everyone would pass off as funny but Brandon knew had an entirely serious meaning.

Got you again, traitor.

That was what they really meant by all the asinine, borderline dangerous pranks they’d been pulling since Sydney demanded they accept him back into the fold, after he’d paid a pack of Rakshasa a large sum of money to kidnap Gavin because Brandon had intended to kill the cursed Rakshasa.

He killed my mother, Brandon used to rage at them, when the pranks first started. She was a Chala, he always added. Gavin used to be the most notorious and dangerous Rakshasa in the world, he used to shout.

That was over two hundred years ago, they’d retorted, which Brandon well knew. Two hundred and twenty-two years ago, to be exact. Brandon had been two when Gavin killed his mother and his father had as a result killed himself, leaving an orphaned infant behind. If Brandon had been born a Chala, he would have died, too.

In their eyes, Gavin had more than made up for his sins. Some of them were keeping track of the number of Rakshasa Gavin had killed since he’d been cursed. Most pointed out that their Chala loved him, so he couldn’t possibly be bad.

And he’d trained them, all of them. None of these Light Ones had been a part of any formal pack before making their way to this one. Few previously had any real fighting skills. Gavin had taken a band of misfits and turned them into a well-honed fighting machine. They respected him. They loved Sydney. They would lay their lives on the line for both of them, time and time again.

And because of that faith, for the first time in centuries, they actually stood a chance against the Rakshasa who were intent upon both killing the last remaining Chala and using humans as an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Brandon couldn’t win, no matter what argument he gave. So he stopped trying, forced himself to stop reacting every time they came up with another stupid prank. They were a bunch of pansy-ass children anyway. The only one who could beat him in hand-to-hand combat was Gavin, and Gavin never got involved in the pranks. Brandon had caught him snickering a time or two, but hell, if someone else were the recipient, Brandon would probably laugh, too.

This time, they’d loaded his bed with used condoms. Disgusting fucking prank. He wondered where the hell they found so damn many of them. It wasn’t like the vast majority of them were getting any on a regular basis. The nearest town was an hour away on foot (four feet, anyway) and Gavin didn’t give them much down time. He was too damn worried about the Rakshasa attacking his mate.

Gavin and Sydney. That’s where the condoms came from. Those two were like fucking rabbits, but they carefully protected themselves every time. Sydney was a Chala, Gavin was a cursed Rakshasa, and who the hell knew what would transpire if their genes mixed. The general consensus was it wouldn’t be good, so everyone agreed it was best not to find out.

Brandon wondered which unlucky bastard had been tasked with digging the condoms out of the garbage every day. He wouldn’t mind teasing that moron a little.

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 the doorway separating the kitchen from the dining room. He grunted and William glanced over his shoulder, arching his painted-on 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, to cut off the chuckle bubbling up his throat.

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

Brandon 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