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Cursed: A Dark Fated Mates Werewolf Fantasy (The Broken Immortals Book 2)

Cursed: A Dark Fated Mates Werewolf Fantasy (The Broken Immortals Book 2)

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Main Tropes

  • Dark Fantasy with a Dose of Steamy Romance
  • Fated Mates
  • Witches and Werewolves

Synopsis

A werewolf with no past, the woman of his dreams, and the curse that binds them...

Ben Logan woke up in a strange bed with a stab wound in his chest, but no memory of how he got there or what happened to him. Still, the strangest part of it all is that he can no longer shift or communicate with the wolf that lives inside him.

Haunted by a beautiful woman each night in his dreams, Ben becomes more hopeless while he spends his days as a caretaker for the Order’s wealthy elite. After performing some maintenance on his favorite house, he comes face to face with the woman of his dreams. But when the cruel hand of Fate binds you to the one who damned you, finding your soul mate is a curse.

Intro into Chapter One

A chestnut-haired beauty pressed her hands against her back and stretched away from the pain of sitting in a wagon for four straight days. “My ass is sore, Thorin. Are we almost there?”

The man beside her with matching hair rolled his green eyes away from her newest complaint while the words lingered in the sultry Louisiana August morning. “Not much longer now, Sweet Girl.”

It finally dawned on her that the only scenery they passed so far was farmland, and she sighed as her fat, red lips pouted. “Please tell me there’s some proper shopping and entertainment here. I don’t want to just sit around talking to you all day.”

The leather straps pulled tighter around his fist as he tried not to snap at his ordinarily pleasant sister. “I understand a young woman being stuck out here in the country with nothing to do can’t be easy, but we’re in hiding. Remember?”

A house came into view through the trees, and he nudged her with his elbow. “We’re home.”

With a quick yank on the reins, the horse pulled right as he made the turn for the drive, and the weeping willow trees lining the driveway presented them with a white-washed French Colonial. She gasped and threw her hand dramatically over her chest. “Oh, Thorin.” Her hands clapped together, and she pointed at the porch. “Look at that swing. I love it.”

After trotting around their driveway circle, the steed stopped at the front porch. The dapper gentleman’s perfectly combed hair fell over his eyes as he jumped down from the seat, and he gave his curly locks a push back with his hands before he gave one to Imara. “Go on in and air the place out.”

Little clouds of road dust puffed from her skirt as her palms patted it down, and her eyes darted over the old house. “Yes, sir, this will do fine.”

It took a few slaps of her palm against the key to make the lock click, but eventually, the door popped open. The stench of the dusty old house that was closed up too long poured from the door, and Imara coughed as she swatted it away. “Lord have mercy. Thorin, can you bring me my bag, please? It needs proper saging. This place is full of spirits.”

As he chuckled at her childish fears, he leaned across the buggy and grabbed her bag from the floor. “We’re witches, for Pete’s sake.”

The horse pulling down the drive whinnied, and Thorin narrowed his eyes at the wagon, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. He jogged up the stairs and tossed the bag into her arms. “Here you go.” His hands rested on his hips as he smiled and inched away. “Now, when you’re all done chasing away the boogedyman, can you come out and help us with the crates and bags? They’re coming down the road now.”

The back of her hand waved him off as she crossed the threshold and glanced around the foyer. “I won’t be long.”

With a snap of her fingers, the bundle of sage she pulled from her bag smoked, and she waved it about the rooms as she passed through each one, peeking through one eye while she navigated her way through the house. “Begone, all of you. You don’t live here anymore.”

Thorin was waiting for her with the sheets he’d removed from the furniture in his arms when she rounded the corner. “So, what are your thoughts?”

Her slightly upturned nose wrinkled as she nodded. “I got a good feeling. Better things are coming for us.”

The giant of a human wearing denim overalls carried a trunk through the door on his shoulder like a bag of feathers. “Where should I put this?”

Imara nodded to the other side of the foyer and waved her hand. “The kitchen’s this way.”

The scuffs of her soft leather shoes across the wooden floor got Shaw’s attention, and he glanced up to see her smiling at him as she inched backward. “What do you think, Shaw?”

He set the trunk on the floor as the thin, blonde butler squeezed around him and laid a crate on the table. A red handkerchief blotted the sweat off Shaw’s bald head, and he shrugged. “Not a lot of neighbors. Seems safe enough. You like it?”

Little hands came together at her chin as if she were praying he’d say yes. “I do. Maybe we could stay here a while this time.”

A smirk and a hot puff of air shot from his mouth as he wiped his neck and wagged his finger. “Don’t go falling in love with this place. This is the third time we’ve moved this year.”

Sighing, she slumped into a chair and puckered her lips in disappointment. “Who’s going to come looking for us out here in the boondocks?”

His massive hand wrapped around her jaw as he lifted it to meet his eyes when he bent down. “Things are safe when I say they are.”

A plump woman with fiery orange hair set down a stack of dishes on the sideboard and shoved her fists on her hips as she narrowed her eyes at the two of them. “Are you going to help me? We have deliveries coming and nowhere to put them.”

“Yes, Miss Sofia.” Imara tucked her hair behind her ear and stepped out the side door to find Thomas with a box ready to hand her.

His blue eyes met her green ones, and he gave her a disapproving shake of his head. “You’re far too old to have Shaw dictating your life to you. You should be off having your own adventures.”

She pulled the box against her chest and scoffed at the thought of it. “They treat me like a child.”

Shaw jerked another trunk from the wagon with the grit of his teeth and placed it on his shoulder. “Stop flapping your gums and move your ass.”

The Englishman pushed his curly blonde hair back on his head and pointed at Shaw. “You’re not her father or any kind of relative at all. It isn’t your place to talk to her that way.”

It wasn’t the first time someone reminded him of his family role, but Shaw didn’t care what anyone thought. “I’ve been watching over her since the day she was born. I’m as much her father as anyone.”

The blast of increasingly brutal summer heat slapped Imara’s face as she returned through the kitchen door, where Thorin was inspecting the home. With his arms crossed, Shaw shook his head and inched away from the limb sticking out of the roof. “We’re going to need a few workers. Someone has to climb up there, and I’m sure as hell not doing it.”

A throaty cackle came from the handsome witch as Thorin grabbed the big man’s arm for support when he bent over laughing. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.” He sighed and wiped the tears from his eyes as he tried to compose himself. “A giant ass man like you afraid of heights.”

He nearly fell when Shaw shoved his hand into his arm and pushed him away. “Shut up, asshole.”

The beating of hooves on the ground made Imara cup her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun as she peeked down the driveway. A wagon with a lone rider stopped before them, and the black-haired driver hopped down from the carriage when he saw her standing there. “It’s you.”



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