Surrender (Fated Souls Book 1) Read online

  Surrender

  Fated Souls

  Elle Lincoln

  Copyright © 2020 by Elle Lincoln

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design by Tattered Quill

  Editing by Elemental Proofreading and Editing

  Created with Vellum

  This one is for all the Dad jokes we love to hate.

  How do you properly identify a dogwood tree?

  By the Bark!

  Contents

  Surrender Play List

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  A Note From Elle

  Also by Elle Lincoln

  About the Author

  Surrender Play List

  Listen on Spotify!

  Milky Chance - Stolen Dance

  Broken Bells - The Ghost Inside

  Broken Bells - October

  Lana Del Rey - Blue Jeans

  Lorde - Biting Down

  Lorde - Green Light

  Halsey - Gasoline

  The Killers - Mr. Brightside

  Lana Del Ray - Fuck it I love you

  Lorde - Yellow Flicker Beat

  Billie Eilish - You should see me in a crown

  Camila Cabello/DaBaby - My Oh My

  Ed Sheeran/Camila Cabello/Cardi B - South of the Boarder

  Blurb

  Doughnut in distress.

  I repeat, there is a doughnut in distress.

  Wait...

  Scratch that. Reverse it.

  Damsel. There is a damsel in distress. Me.

  I had one goal, just one teensy-weensy simple goal—to figure out what happened to my dad. All I had to do was head out to his cabin in the woods, look for clues, and figure out how and why he died then go home to the city where I belong.

  Except I’m a kindergarten teacher, not a detective.

  Of course everything goes wrong, and my first night there I end up with Liam, Christian, Athos, and Nix refusing to leave my side. They think I might be in danger, but they won’t tell me why. Their eyes hold the secrets of the wild, and who am I to deny their need to keep me safe? Especially when their touch eases something foreign inside of me.

  Then I discover my dad was murdered, but no one can figure out why.

  Not to mention those hotties? Yeah, they grow fur and want me to Surrender to them.

  Chapter 1

  “Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate’s life for me.” Grandma’s tinkling laughter drifts over me like a comforting veil as she finishes her song. Her smile and steel blue eyes radiate from deep within her soul so full of mischief, I’m convinced Loki had a hand in her creation. “We kindle and char, inflame and ignite”

  That, or a real pirate.

  “Grandma,” I say. I really try to use my best chastising voice, but she knows. That stubborn old cougar knows I’ll say nothing against her set ways. Not now, especially during a time when most families grieve, yet here we are throwing an Irish wake for just us while the rest of our family sits inside drinking like pirates while forced laughter spills out from inside. “You know those boys” —I’m referring to the twin bar owners next door— “would have brought you rum, they adore you.” She had a delivery service bring her more, and when that poor woman got out of the vehicle, I knew she had no idea what to think of Grandma.

  “Of course they do, I’m a fine catch.” She gestures to her body with another mischievous laugh and a wiggle that no grandma should attempt. She should also lay off the rum, but neither me nor my cousins would dare tell her that. “However, they had to warn me that their bar patrons find my pirate persona distracting.” She squishes her face up in mild disgust.

  With a gasp, I place my hand to my chest in mock shock. “No!” Dramatic? Yes. But Grandma buys into it all the same. Her colored in eyebrows rise to her hairline, and her pink lips purse as she agrees with a nod, bouncing her dreaded wig around her shoulders.

  “Can you believe it?” She snorts in a very unladylike way. But let’s face it, Grandma is no lady. According to her, she is a bona fide pirate. Tonight, she’s dressed in her full Captain Jack Sparrow costume. She even had me dust her face with eye shadow because she needed a beard. Usually, she just wears the costume to these gatherings, but tonight she went full Captain Jack.

  Including the copious amounts of rum she consumed. It’s her coping mechanism. I can’t say I blame her. If there was a way to ease the pain of my heart in this moment, I’d take it without thinking of the consequences. Yet her laughter, and the laughter of my family, eases the sting just enough to survive another day.

  Alcohol won’t cure the pain. I know that, which is why I only sip her drinks. That, and if I drank every cup she threw at me, then my cousins would be the ones stuck picking me up off the ground all before sundown.

  No one can out drink Grandma. Many have tried, many have failed.

  “You need another drink.” I don’t. She purses her lips before leaning forward and grabbing a solo cup from under the glass porch table, her body nearly pitching onto the hard planks. I don’t move, she’ll just slap my hands away. Catching herself, she unscrews the cap with her teeth and spits it across the porch with a pop. Amber liquid then splashes over the brim of the plastic as her hand shakes just a hair—either from her age or too much rum, I can’t decide. “You think too damn much, Bean.”

  “I know I do.” I take the cup from her as she pours herself more pirate juice. I sip to humor her. It’s better this way. Being an ole city girl, she slams her rum back without a single shudder.

  She leans back in her porch rocker, the brim of her pirate hat curving awkwardly as she closes her eyes in peace, for now, until she opens her mouth and crazy spills out. But that’s why I adore this woman with every beat of my broken heart. Her wrinkled hands clasp over her belly, her gold rings lining her fingers. They’re all heirlooms, and each has a story she won’t tell. One day when she spills those secrets, every woman in our family will sit around and patiently listen. I honestly cannot wait.

  Following suit, I lean back on the wooden slats. They give a slight squeal as I rock them back and forth. The crisp fall air wraps around me with a gentle breeze. Goosebumps pepper my skin, reminding me of my cardigan sitting behind me. I leave it, not quite ready to feel the security of warmth. The chilly air reminds me I’m alive.

  That I still breathe.

  That my heart thumps a slow, steady staccato in my chest.

  The pain has no physical manifestation, but I still feel it in my core.

  I push the thoughts aside, the pain, the hurt, and watch the sun drift slowly down over the houses on Grandma’s block. Her ancient house sits squished between city row homes and a bar. It’s beautiful and Victorian, built over a century ago, and full of characteristics from that era.

  Next to her home sits the very bar she often visits, which is a renovated mirror image of her own house. Despite her back room al
ways being stocked with beer and hard lemonade, and her own basement bar full of rum, she prefers going there. At seventy-five, her taste for life thrives in a way I can only dream of experiencing.

  She gives no fucks about what anyone thinks and lives her life with a pirate’s motto—live free. Do what you want because a pirate is free.

  Laughter spills from the house as all my female cousins and aunts play games and craft. This is an emergency ‘Buffy Moment,’ which is basically a sorority sleepover of all the female family members every time a life-changing event occurs. We named these sleepovers after the very fictional vampire slayer and her emotional drama with her best friends. In the end, they all came together after every success and every failure. My closest cousins, Ash and Pepper, planned it. They couldn’t be any more different, but they fit as only family can. Drawing together two unique worlds and merging them with blood.

  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  The front door squeals with a hinge of protest as Ash steps out, her brown curls spilling around her round face as her steel blue eyes seek me out. “Come on, Bean.” Her willowy, five-foot-eight frame stomps past Grandma and yanks me out of my chair. Dressed in a breezy skirt and a simple tank top, I can’t help but notice her quiet beauty and the freckles dotting her skin.

  Pepper darts through the door, slamming it with a loud bang that doesn’t even startle Grandma. In fact, I think she passed out. Pepper’s lime green hair wisps around her luminous face, her nose slightly red from being outside too long. A hint of playfulness blazes across her features. Wearing a crop top and hot pants, she looks like a pinup doll. “We are going for a drink.” Her brows waggle and her own eyes light up with the mischief that runs through our blood. Or maybe we are all insane and that’s what I’m seeing.

  “Oh, ladies, I’d love to join you,” Grandma tells us, opening only one eye. She has a tilt to her lips, knowing full well they did not ask her. Not that any of us feel shame when it comes to Mary—her birth name—just that we didn’t ask. “But alas, I must teach your mothers and cousins how to drink. I’m just far too busy to socialize.”

  The three of us glance at each other, not sure how to handle that one. She doesn’t even move, just rocks away in her chair. We damn well know if she challenges them like a frat boy, they will all be asleep by ten—except Carol, who is Grandma’s youngest and follows in her mom’s footsteps. Or worse, they may go streaking. No one wants to see that shit. “Grandma, why don’t you check on the meatballs?” Pepper suggests.

  Once more, Mary makes an undignified snort while blowing raspberries. “A pirate has minions for trivial things such as cooking. Go, go to the bar. Let those Irish twins know that their favorite cougar will await them in her dreams tonight. Can’t have them wasting all of their energy on work, now can we?” A smile splits her face, and once more I remind myself that there is no way Loki is a real god, but when she smiles like that, it sends a twinge of worry through my body that maybe—

  “Let’s go before she changes her mind.” Pepper grabs me and darts off the porch, the iron railing slamming against the other in our haste. Laughter spills from her lips as Ash stumbles through the next gate until we step out onto the sidewalk.

  Escape.

  We walk a whole twenty feet next door to the little Irish pub next door. Philadelphia doesn’t always make sense, but it’s home and it will always be home no matter where I end up in this world.

  Pepper links her arm through mine, her full body freckles standing out in stark contrast to my unblemished skin. It doesn’t change how perfect she is, only enhancing her beauty. Ash is her polar opposite, tall and willowy where Pepper is short and curvy at only five-foot-two. Though the freckles speckle their faces in unique patterns, it’s not weird. I used to try to trace them with a sharpie. Oddly enough, I know those spots by heart.

  I fall somewhere between the two at five-foot-four, not willowy but not curvy. Light blond hair spills down in icy waves to the middle of my back. Yet we all have the same steel blue eyes. Every single one of us. It’s an oddity, but one I cherish. No matter how different all of us cousins are, we are all the same in that small way. Marking us as family.

  We step into the dimly lit bar, the scent of fries wafting from the kitchen reaching us. Only a few patrons sit at the high, cherry wood bar, yelling at a game playing on the big screen television. One of the twins, Donovan, wipes the top of the bar down with a dirty rag. Tall, built and insanely gorgeous with a devil-may-care attitude, he will forever be the brother I never got a chance to have. His eyes land on Pepper, and that spark of interest flares. She ignores it. I don’t think that woman will ever realize those twins will always seek her out. I slide onto a seat, and Don’s green eyes soften when he sees me, his tattooed arms and body leaning on the counter.

  “Ah, Sabina, I’m so sorry to hear about your da.” His Irish accent is heavy and thick with emotion.

  “Shut your fool mouth and get us some tequila!” Pepper grabs the towel from him, swatting his bicep while making shushing sounds from her red lips. “Bean, I’m so sorry.” Her lined eyes widen in horror at the reminder of why I’m here. Why we are all here.

  I smile at her. I can’t pretend forever, but it would have been nice to for a little while longer. I press my back to the wall to face my two closest cousins, each with tears brimming in their eyes, the droplets threatening to spill over. “It’s okay, it’s not like we didn’t expect it.” I swallow past the lump in my throat, the burn attempting to scorch me from the inside out.

  “Bean,” Ash begins, her barrel curls sliding against her face, catching in her cat-eye glasses.

  I sigh, not sure if I want to address the beast in the room or if I’m even ready to. Luckily, Don slides four glasses of tequila over with salt and lime. His green eyes are full of anguish and misery that threatens to ignite mine once more. “It’s on the house.”

  “Don’t.” My voice is nothing more than a choked whisper, a plea to just let it go. I don’t want his pity. I want to pretend that everything is okay right now even when it isn’t. Dad’s funeral was just last week. The will reading only took place this afternoon. Hence the Irish wake now taking place at Grandma’s.

  I’m not ready to talk about it, not yet.

  “For now,” he concedes, and then just as quickly as his empathy springs forth it disappears. With a jerk of his head and a roll of his eyes, he announces, “Here comes trouble.”

  “Bean!” The glass door rattles as Nessa glides into the bar with a slight groan from not just my cousins, but Don and Connor.

  He points at her, stopping my hippie friend in her tracks. Her eyes widen in what I always assumed was mock innocence until I got to know her. Nope, she is that naïve. Her childlike demeanor gives everyone a run for their patience. “No trouble,” he growls at her.

  Her big brown eyes blink, and her head tilts to the side where her dark chestnut hair spills over her shoulders. “I’m not trouble.” Her hands fist in her flowing pink dress that spills to the floor where her golden sandals peek out. She looks exactly like a Greek goddess standing there in the fading light of day.

  “You—” He throws his hands up. “Leave my paying customers alone tonight.”

  Truth is, my tree hugging best friend is naïve trouble wrapped up in a recycled dress. She can’t just leave an argument, she has to have the last word. Already, the other patrons are staring at her and her duct tape purse. “Nessa.” I break her staring contest with Don.

  Her eyes light up as she comes in for a hug. That’s our thing, my family’s, which includes Nessa who has literally been around since the beginning. She’s just another cousin at this point and like a sister to me. Another woman who hugs with fierce abandon.

  We know not every day is a promise with those we love. We’ve felt that loss on more occasions than we want to admit to at this point. Hell, my grandma’s house is full once again with all of my aunts and now my mom moving home. Each of them has lost their partner or spouse, and each has
returned home to heal and lick their wounds.

  Us girls though? We made a pact to never love. Lonely? Yep. But it’s better than the alternative.

  It’s our curse to lose the men we love, even though curses aren’t real. Magic isn’t real. Shit, I don’t even believe in a god or goddess. But it’s also why I refuse to have a boyfriend or a husband. I won’t subject any of my future partners to that curse. It just isn’t fair to them, me, or any children I’d have.

  What if, right?

  Now, I suspect Nessa has somehow become included in that curse. She fell in love once upon a time, teen love. Puppy love. Yet he passed away in a horrific car accident that changed her. Currently, she shuns technology, minus her iPhone, avoids cars, and owns a yoga studio downtown. She spends most of her days meditating and helping charities and volunteering.

  Trying to forget.

  I learned then that the curse recognizes not just blood, but chosen blood.

  If curses are real, that is. They aren’t.

  Her thin arms release me, and the tears in her eyes pull all the emotion from my soul. Pain, anguish, and a deep sorrow. My own eyes mirror hers, brimming with those salty droplets I try my damndest not to spill. But one of those bastards defies my demand and leaks out.

  Three sets of arms instantly surround me, hugging with a fierce loyalty and love that leaks out of every pore to wrap my soul up in theirs. A sob breaks free from my lungs as I bury my face in the silky strands of Nessa’s hair.