Prim and Proper Fate (Twisted Fate Series Book 2) (11 page)

He let her go when she pressed against his arm so she could slide across the seat to the passenger side door. In an instant, he was there, opening the door and offering his hand to help her climb out. She placed her hand into his and allowed him to be as courteous as a man of a bygone era, back when she’d been human, and in love. She had forgotten until now that he had been blond, too.

“Thank you.”

He grinned, breaking the awkward tension that had fallen. “I’ve heard high-maintenance women like this sort of thing.”

Prim laughed, despite the circumstances. “Why yes, actually. We do.”

He kept hold of her hand. “Let’s do this.”

She nodded, and they headed toward the converted warehouse.

There was activity on the first floor. A handful of artists whose creative juices flowed best in the morning were busy at their trade. The sound of a kiln running could be heard over the background drone of the HVAC system. The scent of strong coffee and sweet pastries was heavy in the air. Fat Tuesday had recently come and gone, which in Detroit meant the dessert of choice was the paczki, a rich, cream-filled pastry that residents gorged themselves on for a brief time each year, until the self-induced guilt the Lenten holiday brought caused them to give it up again for the next eleven months.

They walked through the artists’ studio without acknowledging anyone. Prim once again used her magic in place of a key card to encourage the elevator to take them to the top floor. When the door opened, Brandon automatically stepped in front of her.

“You do know I’m the one who can’t die, right?” she asked after he determined it was safe enough for her to exit the elevator.

“Doesn’t mean I want to find out what happens when your body is destroyed. What if you end up in a different body when you come back? I mean, you’re so used to all the attention this one generates.”

She smirked. “Smart-aleck. And for your information, we return in the exact same body.”

“Has it ever happened to you?”

She nodded. “A few times, when I was trying to protect my Chala. I can assure you, it isn’t a pleasant experience.”

“I suddenly have this overwhelming urge to apologize to you. I’ve hated you and your kind for so long, and I was obviously wrong to do so.”

“Please don’t turn me into a martyr.”

“I’m not. I’m just . . . I don’t know. Humbled, maybe? I was so wrong about Fates. About you. And . . . I guess I’m sorry.”

She arched her brows. This emotional apology didn’t feel right coming from Brandon, and she felt incredibly awkward accepting it. She would rather their relationship return to the gentle teasing, comfortable friendship it had become over the last twenty-four hours. Well, if she were perfectly honest with herself, she wanted far more than friendship from the man, but this was neither the time nor the place—nor did that even make sense, between a Fate and a Light One. That wasn’t the way of their world. “Are you done now?”

“I guess.”

“Good. Now come on. Let’s do this.” She walked resolutely toward Gavin’s apartment. At the door, she paused and placed her palm on the wood.

“I don’t think he’s alone.”

“Fuck.”

Prim gave him a disapproving look.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “A woman?”

Prim rolled her eyes. “I can’t detect the sex of beings. What I mean is, he isn’t the only shifter in there.”

“Oh. Okay. I was worried . . .”

“That’s the real reason you didn’t want Sydney to come, isn’t it? You didn’t want her to see him in a compromising position.”

“What he does when he isn’t cursed shouldn’t be held against him,” Brandon said firmly. “He can’t help it.”

“I bet a lot of men wish they could use that line. So now what’s the plan?”

“Any idea how many?”

Prim shook her head. “No. Only that the feeling of evil is far too great for just one person.”

“This is Gavin we’re talking about. It could be just him.”

She shook her head again. “I made it my life’s mission to learn everything about him. This is definitely more than just him.”

“Okay. I believe you. Four or five I can probably handle on my own. Any more than that and I start worrying about my life expectancy. Let’s go in.”

“What if there’s more?”

“I don’t hear any sounds, do you? Probably, they’re all asleep. We can slip in without waking anyone, curse Gavin, and then slip out again. It’s worth a shot.”

“I should do this by myself. Regenerating isn’t fun, but at least I can. Your death is a great deal more permanent.”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t want me to die, Prim?” He arched his brows and gave her an expectant look. Or maybe it was a hopeful look. She really was lousy at reading his cues.

“Yes,” she said. “I suppose I am.”

“Well, hell,” he said, and then he hauled her to his chest and kissed her as if he might never have the opportunity to do so again. When he finally released her, she stumbled and collapsed against him. He chuckled, and Prim felt his chest rumble under her hands.

“Thanks for the compliment. Now buck up. Let’s get this over with so I can do that again someplace where there’s a bed and a few extra hours handy.”

“Oh,” Prim responded faintly. “Okay.” She took a deep breath and focused on unlocking the door. As soon as the locked clicked, Brandon pushed her aside and cracked the door open just enough to see inside. She crouched and peeked under his arm.

The apartment was dimly lit from the sunlight halo pushing through the vertical blinds pulled across the sliding glass doors. Prim saw two shifters in the living room: one curled up on the couch and another sprawled in a reclining chair, with the back down and the footrest up. Both were asleep. The one in the chair snored lightly.

Brandon turned around, lifted his finger to his lips, and then showed her two fingers to represent the two shifters asleep in the living room. He slowly pushed the door open wide enough for him to slip through. Prim stepped through behind him.

She shivered and he lifted his hand and cupped the back of her neck, silently offering his support. At least they hadn’t brought the Chala with them. It was bad enough she was afraid for Brandon’s life. What if she panicked and couldn’t recall the curse? What if it didn’t work this time? What if Gavin was too fast, and dodged the curse, then attacked Brandon and—

“You can do this,” a voice whispered, so close to her ear his breath ruffled her hair. Brandon’s hand was still on her neck, massaging lightly. Prim relaxed immediately. Somehow, some way . . . she believed him.

They slipped silently through the living room without disturbing the occupants, and headed down the short hall to the single bedroom at the end. The door was ajar, and she caught a glimpse of someone asleep in the bed. Brandon crept forward and Prim followed, all but climbing onto his back in her attempt to stay close and still see what was going on in front of them.

When they were close enough, she could see spiky black hair pressed against a gray satin-covered pillow. He was curled up under the blanket, his body and face hidden by the cotton material.

It was darker in here than in the living room, and it smelled faintly of old blood. Prim could just make out piles of clothing strewn around the room. How odd. Sydney had told her Gavin was a neat freak.

She took a shaky breath and tried to clear her mind. Cold and evil seeped into her soul. They were all around her, pressing in on her, pushing, clawing, fighting . . .

“Snap out of it, Prim. Now isn’t a good time for a breakdown.” She felt Brandon’s hand on the back of her neck, squeezing slightly harder than would be considered gentle. “Curse this mother fucker so we can get out of here.”

Prim pursed her lips, feeling the indignation he had no doubt intended to cause with his cursing. How did he know her so well after such a short period of time together? Why did she care? Shaking her head, she focused.

She opened her mouth to start the curse, and the shifter on the bed moved, rolling onto his back and revealing his face. She screamed.

“Fuck!” Brandon shouted. “It’s not him!”

The bathroom door pitched open and two shifters leaped out, snarling. Brandon pushed Prim behind him and attacked them.

“He fucking knew we were coming,” he shouted.

The shifter on the bed charged at Brandon. Prim tossed a spell at him and he froze in midair. Brandon didn’t even pause. He grabbed the guy and twisted his neck, and the shifter dropped to the ground, dead.

The other two shifted into what to Prim looked like bullmastiffs on steroids. Their eyes glowed as they focused on Brandon. She stifled a scream and watched Brandon shift into dog form as well. He didn’t bother with posturing or growling or any pre-fight antics dogs—or shifters—might otherwise do. He simply attacked, lunging at both animals and twisting at the last second, so that he body slammed them against the wall. While they were both dazed from the impact, he slashed his razor-sharp claws across the neck of first one and then the other, and an instant later, he was Brandon again, standing before Prim, wiping blood from his hand onto a shirt he’d picked up from the floor before grabbing her arm and dragging her toward the door.

“Gotta get back to the house,” he yelled and flung open the bedroom door.

But the three shifters in the bedroom had been the easy part. The sleeping figures they had crept past had morphed into a solid wall of shifters. And there were far more than three.

The only way out was through the front door.

“Fuck.”

“I completely agree,” Prim said.

Chapter 8

Sydney was having the most curious dream. The bed felt warmer than usual, when she was alone in it, anyway. In her not-entirely-conscious state, she wondered if William had turned the heat up, which was ludicrous, of course. William preferred to sleep with the thermostat firmly set at sixty-four degrees and not a quarter degree more.

So maybe someone had covered her with an electric heated blanket. That made more sense. She rolled restlessly, trying to get comfortable, and even in her dream-state, she desperately wished Gavin were there. She missed him so much her heart ached. She’d done a relatively good job of hiding the tears from everyone, but it was getting harder and harder not to simply break down and sob herself into oblivion.

She finally ended up on her back, tossing her arm across the empty bed, and with a sigh, fell back into deep sleep. Then her mind tried to tug her into consciousness. She had the strangest sensation of something rough scraping across her skin. Like someone was rubbing sandpaper on her arm. She frowned and curled her arm under the pillow.

The sensation of a knife slicing up her arm finally drew her fully into consciousness. Sydney jerked her arm to her chest and blinked her eyes open. The shades were drawn, but the sun was up, casting the bedroom into a dusk-like light. Enough to see the shifter sitting on the bed next to her.

As she watched, his hand, which resembled a black, furry paw with long, thick, black claws, shimmered and then reformed into a human hand. And then he lifted his blood-coated middle finger to his mouth and sucked. Hard.

Sydney swallowed. “Gavin?” she whispered, her eyes widening.

“Hello, Chala.” His grin was anything but warm and loving. Sydney’s gaze darted around the room. Gavin chuckled darkly. “We’re all alone, Chala. The other shifter is currently being torn limb from limb by my newest pack. The hot little Fate is going to have to be regenerated again.” He shook his head. “She never learns. And your Fate’s in the shower, oblivious to it all. I can do whatever I want right now. No one can stop me.” He grinned maliciously.

Sydney dropped her gaze to look at her arm. Blood swelled from the slice that ran from her wrist to her elbow.

“That was delicious, by the way. Can I have another taste?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but grabbed her arm and gave it a lick. Sydney shuddered. The problem was, she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or lust.

Gavin had always been able to turn her on, whether he tried or not. And this was still Gavin. He looked the same, although there was a definite edge to him, as if he were balancing on a precept and wasn’t particularly concerned whether he fell or not. His inky black hair was still spiky, and he still had days’ worth of growth on his cheeks. His gray waffle weave shirt looked as if he’d slept in it.

The only thing that was different were the eyes. Instead of the pale blue she was used to, they were black. Black and soulless.

Gavin sniffed the air. “The smell of a frightened Chala is delicious. The smell of a Chala in heat is . . . intriguing.”

“In heat?” Sydney clutched the sheet to her chest.

Gavin sniffed again. “I can smell you. You’re wet. And hot. You want me to fuck you.”

Sydney gasped. “You–You won’t kill me?”

“Oh, I’ll still kill you,” he said matter-of-factly. “But I’m happy to fuck you first.”

Sydney screamed. “Wiiiillllliiiiaaammmm!”

The Fate suddenly appeared in the bedroom, wearing nothing but a shower cap with hot pink flowers scrawled across it. He looked from Sydney to Gavin and his eyes grew wide while his hands automatically cupped his groin.

“Gavin! Gavin!” William shrieked like a little girl. “Where’s Brandon? Brandon!”

Gavin gave him a disgusted look and then lunged at Sydney.

“Sorry, William,” she yelled, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the line of fire.

Gavin landed on top of him and they scuffled on the bed as Sydney scrambled out of it and ran for the door.

She heard a snarl from behind her and turned around. William lay on the bed on his back, his head nearly severed from his neck, his eyes staring blankly through Sydney. She squeaked and shifted her gaze away in time to see Gavin stalk toward her like the animal he was. Blood dripped from his chin and coated half his face. His eyes glowed like there were black lights behind them.

She stood, rooted to the spot, and watched him move closer. Her heart beat madly in her chest, her arm throbbed in pain, and her eyes welled with tears. Gavin’s glowing gaze never left her face.

Suddenly, the bedroom door crashed open and another animal flew through it, tackling Gavin and sending them both sprawling on the floor. Two hands reached out and grabbed Sydney’s injured arm, and jerked her out of the room.

She cried out in pain, screaming, “William!”

“He’ll regenerate,” Prim said briskly. “Right now, we just need to get you to safety.” She pushed Sydney into the hall bathroom and pulled the door closed. After saying a quick spell over the doorknob, she hurried back to the bedroom to see how she could help Brandon.

“He’s gone,” Brandon said as soon as she rushed into the room. Her gaze lifted to the source of cool air. Judging by the broken window and shards of glass everywhere, Gavin had leaped through the window and run away. Wearily, Brandon dropped onto the bed. Prim hurried to his side.

“How badly are you hurt?” she demanded.

He waved one hand in a vague fashion. “I’m okay. William wasn’t so lucky, I see.”

“He’ll be back soon,” Prim said. “He’s already regenerating.” As she watched, William’s body began to shimmer and slowly disappear. He would return, likely within a few hours, to the exact same spot, fresh as new, and likely pissed off that he’d allowed himself to get killed instead of protecting his Chala. At least, that’s how Prim had always felt.

Brandon pushed off the bed and winced, pressing his hand to his ribs.

“You’re injured,” Prim gasped, and she reached out and touched the spot, just under his hand.

He slapped her hand away. “I’ll be fine,” he snapped. “Go check on Sydney. She’s probably pretty fucked up in the head right now.”

She wanted to stay, to help him, but Sydney was a Chala. When one considered the circle of life, hers was infinitely more valuable than Brandon’s. Yet Prim felt both an overwhelming desire to help him and guilty for turning away.

Finally, she went across the hall and into the bathroom.

By the time William reappeared, Brandon had fixed the window by nailing a large piece of plywood over the hole, cleaned up the glass, showered, eaten four ham and cheese sandwiches, and prowled the perimeter of the home, looking for signs of Gavin. He’d found a trail of blood leading through several backyards, but it disappeared into a nearby field, south of the neighborhood. Brandon assumed he’d run back down to Detroit to lick his wounds.

Brandon had managed to get in a few good licks before Gavin had abruptly turned and thrown himself through the window. Without Sydney to help heal his wounds, Gavin would need time to recover from the incident. Brandon was glad for that, because they needed time to regroup and ensure Sydney’s safety now that Gavin knew where they were located.

Sydney and Prim stayed in the bathroom for a ridiculously long period of time. The first time Brandon approached the door, he caught the sound of sobbing and quickly backed off. Crying women were not his thing. Let Prim mother the broken-hearted Chala. Somehow, he knew it wasn’t Prim in there crying. It wasn’t just the obvious, that Sydney had come face to face with the man she loved and discovered he was a monster. It was more than that. A feeling that Brandon couldn’t describe or explain. Prim was frustrated, she was sad, she was upset with him for not allowing her to see to his injuries, but she wasn’t crying.

How the fuck did he know all that? And yet he did. He knew it as certainly as he knew his back was already tightening up with tension. Now that Gavin knew they were in town, the game had changed, and the stakes had just shot into astronomical territory. Brandon was good, but he wasn’t confident he was as good as Gavin. The only person who’d ever bested Gavin was Prim when she’d put the curse on him the first time. When she was finally done consoling Sydney, he would have to ask her about the circumstances, so they could figure out a way to recreate the situation and do it again.

He was contemplating making himself a fifth sandwich when William staggered out of the guest bedroom looking harried and distraught. Somewhere along the way, he’d found a robe. It was dark blue satin and only just covered his manly parts.

“Where is she? Where is she? Please tell me she didn’t– Oh Fates!”

“She’s fine,” Brandon assured him. William sagged with relief. “She’s in the bathroom with Prim.” Brandon nodded at the door in the hallway.

William nodded once, and then bustled into the bathroom without so much as a knock. Sydney shrieked, but Brandon was pretty sure it was a happy shriek, or at least, a relieved one at having her Fate back.

He was in the middle of making that fifth sandwich when Prim walked into the kitchen. She pushed a clump of auburn hair out of her face and blew out a deep breath. She wasn’t nearly as put together as she normally was. Brandon imagined she’d flip if she saw herself in the mirror right now, but she was still startlingly beautiful. Except for the sadness in her eyes. He didn’t like that one bit.

“You okay?” he asked, and then offered her the sandwich. She waved it away, so he took a giant bite.

“I should be asking you. How are your injuries? I know you’re hurt. I can . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“You can what?”

She shook her head and walked over to the stove, busied herself with making tea. “I can just tell, that’s all.”

“Sydney needed you more than I did at the moment,” he said, trying to assuage her guilt or whatever the hell she was feeling.

Prim’s mouth thinned and a sense of bitterness swept through Brandon’s system. “She didn’t need me. She needed her Fate. I was just a handy substitute until he returned.”

Brandon dropped the sandwich onto the counter and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to turn and face him. “Are you fucking kidding me? You think
William
could comfort her like you were in there?”

“She was quick enough to turn to him when he returned.”

“Yeah, because you had already comforted her, and she could think rationally again. And he
is
her Fate. He’s been the one constant in her life the longest. Just like you were for all of your Chala.”

She turned her head to the side, but Brandon did not release her shoulders.

“Prim, you have to let go of this guilt, or it’ll eat you alive. You aren’t going to be able to do your job again, if we ever figure out a way to create more Chala. It isn’t your fault they died. You did everything in your power to save them. Everything, by the way, is a lot more than most would do. Than most
did
do. You went up against the most powerful Rakshasa there was, and you won. You have to feel some satisfaction in that.”

“I didn’t win,” she said listlessly. “Look what’s happened. And I’m not sure we’ll be able to curse him again in time to save her.”

“Knock it off, Prim,” Brandon said sternly. He let her go and made her tea for her. She stood there and watched with dull, lifeless eyes. When he was done, he stepped away from the counter and waved irritably. “Drink your fucking tea and stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

As her back stiffened and her brow furrowed,
he thought with satisfaction,
My ploy worked
. She gave him a disapproving look.

“It isn’t really necessary to curse at me,” she snapped.

“Drink your fucking tea.”

“Okay already. Stop swearing.” She reached for the teacup.

“Fuck.”

She made a sort of growling noise and threw a spell at him, rendering him speechless. He grinned, and she blew out a sigh and released the spell.

“Feel better?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she admitted.

“Good,” he said, and then because it seemed like the right thing to do, he hugged her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face into his chest and clung to him, and he savored the moment of companionship. For better or worse, they were in this thing together. And if they could help each other through it, he was more than happy to do whatever it took to ensure everybody came out not only alive, but in one piece, both mentally
and
physically.

“Here.” She stepped back just enough to cup his face with her hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Healing you. Just relax for a minute.”

He couldn’t relax, not with her touching him like that. Not when his body was all but tingling from that few moments of full-on contact. Not when all he could think about was dragging her back to the bedroom and scratching this itch that kept getting more and more insistent with each passing hour. And with a Fate, no less. Life was pretty fucking strange sometimes.

“Better?”

Brandon blinked. Prim had pulled away and was back to sipping her tea. He lifted a hand and touched his face. The scratches that had been there a few minutes ago were gone. He looked at his arm. Those scratches were gone, too. He touched his ribs. No pain.

“How the hell did you do that?”

Prim shrugged. “All Fates have the ability to heal others, to a small degree. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there seems to be . . . some sort of connection between you and I.”