Inevitable (The Curse of Avalon Book 2)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Inevitable

  The Curse of Avalon #2

  Sariah Skye

  © 2018 Sariah Skye

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: sariahskyeauthor@gmail.com

  Cover by CRIMSON PHOENIX CREATIONS

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Coming soon

  About the Author

  Also by Sariah Skye

  Chapter One

  “Go ahead and live with four guys,” they said. “It’ll be fun,” they said.

  Okay, I admit I don’t know who “they” are. The voices in my head, maybe. My best friend. My father of all people. But after three weeks of living with my new…boyfriends?... I can say, with confidence, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Not because they aren’t hot, or kind, or sexy…but because they’re pigs. Pigs I tell you!

  It’s 3 A.M., and I ducked down to the kitchen to get a late-night snack. Before I got to the kitchen, I realized I had to pee. So, I slipped into one of the bathrooms on the main level. There’s a nightlight on, but still I stupidly sat without looking first. I imagined—as always when I use the toilet—that I’m going to sit down about knee level and do my business.

  So, imagine my utter dismay, when my ass hit the cold porcelain, and I slid into the toilet bowl; my ass grazing the blue toilet water. It’s cold, and I cringed.

  And, even though it was mother-fuckin’ 3 A.M., I didn’t care. I’m going to yell!

  “Okay, which one of you fuckers left the goddamned toilet seat up down here!? I swear to god, when I figure out who you are, I’m going to cut the crotches out of all your pants, you assholes!” I threatened, screaming at the top of my lungs so hard, feeling my cheeks tense with heat. Both face cheeks and ass cheeks alike. To be fair, they aren’t really assholes, but my asshole was swimming in toilet water and I’m humiliated. So, for right now? Everyone is an asshole.

  I heard the scrambling of awkward male feet as they cower in their rooms, safe and snug in their beds from my ire. “You bastards, I swear…” I muttered under my breath, as I unceremoniously propped my hands on either side of the bowl, and awkwardly lifted myself up. My buttcheeks dripped toilet water from them, and I reached for the toilet paper in the holder so I could dry off my poor, pride-stung butt.

  The cardboard roll spun in the holder, but I didn’t touch cushiony softness. Oh no, I touched…an empty toilet paper roll.

  And then, I saw red in my eyes. There was only one explanation to the culprit of this toilet travesty.

  “TRYSTAN!” I screamed bloody murder at the top of my lungs. The former eagle-shifter had a slobby streak to him, and maybe it’s because of his bird-brain, or his laziness, but I’ve caught him twice now not replacing the roll when he’s finished.

  I can’t be sure, but I’m almost positive I heard a muffled, “Och, shite!” from the game room down the hallway, as a door slammed shut. I heard him dashing away, up the stairs, assumedly to his room.

  And can we just discuss just how often men go through entire rolls of toilet paper? I’ll replace the damn thing in the morning, and by nighttime, it’s totally gone. What the hell do they do in there!? Keep in mind, they each have their own bathrooms too!

  On second thought… I didn’t want to know.

  I cringed now for two reasons: one, the image I’m trying to shove out of my mind of one of the guys doing yucky things in the bathroom, and two, trying to reach my short ass arms about three feet away to the vanity under the sink for the toilet paper. I prayed to the gods—any of them that would listen—that Xander and his O.C.D. cleaning habits haven’t disappointed me, and properly stockpiled it with plenty of toilet paper.

  I hovered in the bathroom over the bowl, ass swinging in the air, pants at my ankles, squatting at my knees, and tried to reach the handle of the cabinet. I managed to pull it open successfully, and I blindly reached in. “Success! Thank you, Xander!” I yanked out a couple of rolls and ripped off a wad to dab my ass off, sighing with happiness that I was dry.

  I haven’t even done my business yet, either.

  I plopped the wooden-toilet seat down with a bang, hoping that whoever was around got the hint. They’ve probably all scattered like scared cats now, because they know the first guy I see is going to get my wrath. Even Xander, for his obsession with putting blue bleach tablets in each tank. I couldn’t be totally for sure that my butt wasn’t blue now from it. I would go easier on him, though, because he had enough sense to make sure the bathroom was properly stocked at least.

  And yes, this was just part of the fun of living with four guys. It’s not all orgies, spankings, and afternoon delights. No, it’s actually much different than that. I now pitied the mothers out there, who have husbands and all sons—I couldn’t imagine. At least my boys were fine as hell, and it gave me something to look at.

  Right now, I wondered why I put myself through it all. But aside from the occasional “piggery”, the guys are actually quite wonderful. Over the past month, we’ve grown close, and I’ve implanted myself into their home, and their lives—with their insistence, of course.

 
; It didn’t seem that long ago that my weird “invisible” magic was just that—weird. I just thought I was crazy.

  I, Avalon “Ava” Dawson, had lived a boring, humble life in a Minneapolis suburb in a duplex with my best friend, Summer Santiago, and my mother. And my mother wasn’t this evil, nasty witch.

  I meant that literally—she is an evil witch. My eccentric, loopy mother turned out to be Morgaine Le Fey—yes, that Morgaine from all the legends—in glamour, posing as my mother. Okay, she actually is my mother. And Sir Lancelot? Actually my father. Ain’t that a kick in the pants?

  And the guys—the four guys I now lived with—ended up saving me from a dangerous ritual my mother kidnapped me for, where I was imbued with the magic of the mystical isle of Avalon. I had no idea what’s going on inside me, and still don’t really, except the fact that it seems to be…active. I was able to heal the guys from their injuries before, but lately? It had some surprising effects. Like, I’m charged and ready to go all the time (I’m horny, okay?), but it came with a bummer of a side effect. When I become aroused—which around these dudes was all the time—it just felt… wrong somehow. I needed to learn how to control it, and hopefully the guys could help. With their varied backgrounds, they all had a bit of knowledge and supernatural life experience at their fingertips. Oh, and they’re immortal incubus demons, cursed at various times by Morgaine over the years. She’s been busy for a long, long time.

  Mathias was a former Roman gladiator, with superhuman strength and speed. Trystan was an eagle shifter from Scotland from the time of the Highlanders and clans. Sebastian—Bash—was from colonial Virginia; he is a borderline genius, and an alchemist witch who was burned at the stake for trying to save his village from illness. Lastly, Xander was the youngest at two-hundred-something years old, and an immigrant from China during the California Gold Rush, where his father sold him into slavery. He also had the amazing ability to channel the weather into magic he wielded at his fingertips.

  And wouldn’t you know it? Morgaine, with her evil magic, had cursed hundreds of men for hundreds of years, like my incubi, to steal life energies from women. The sexual energy the incubi extracted from the women when they were together, was transferred somehow into Morgaine, to help her remain immortal, until she could unleash the Avalon magic into me, and use me to remain that way. Somehow. She didn’t count on four of her lost incubi to come into my life; she’d lost track of them over the years because they denied their incubus instincts and refused to “attack” women for their life energies, only taking enough from them by not allowing themselves to orgasm during their couplings. Because her orgasm triggered the life force, the incubus’ orgasm is when they’d take her life force. I didn’t like thinking about it, but it was a reality they lived with for many years. As a result, their innate supernatural abilities are partially weakened, and they cannot have a relationship with anyone except a special kind of supernatural being. The incubus magic renders the woman obsessed and irrational afterwards, but more than one coupling between the woman and incubus, no matter if he takes her life energy or not, will always result in death. The only kind of supe impervious to their magic is a cambion; a child of a human and an incubus.

  It’s not in the history books, but Lancelot—now known as Lachlan Steele—was the first person cursed as an incubus by my mother for not reciprocating her “affections”. And later, she glamoured herself into someone different, found Lancelot again many, many years later and charmed him into sleeping with her to conceive me. So, that makes me a cambion. Convenient, huh? My supernatural heritage, and strange “invisible” abilities I got from my father also made me a prime candidate to be a vessel for the magic from Avalon. How it’s possible an entire island of magic could fit into a clay vessel that held it for so many years, or me, I had no idea. But my mother was betting on the stealth magic to help hide the magic from the outside world; at least that was the guys’ theory.

  Aside from all that, I was the first cambion any of the guys’ had encountered in hundreds of years. Because of that, we decided for now to, um, share me. It sounded crazy, but they knew there was little chance of ever encountering another cambion ever again; we were apparently extremely, extremely rare. And that brought me to here.

  As I spaced out, still sitting on the commode trying to recover from the traumatic potty situation, my full bladder reminded me that I still hadn’t done what I came in for. I shook myself out of my daze, and finally did my bathroom business. I set the toilet paper on the holder knowing fully well it would annoy someone, and placed the other roll on the back of the commode. You know, for next time. I’ll probably be using it tomorrow.

  I padded down the hallway to the kitchen. There’s always a night light on in every room, and I’m thankful for that because I’m still not one-hundred percent confident about the layout of the house. It’s so much bigger than where I lived most of my life, and I still got turned around, especially at night.

  I entered the kitchen and go straight for the fridge. Opening the French-style steel doors, I scanned the contents. I’m not sure what I wanted, but I know I wanted something really bad for me because after the potty calamity, I was crabby as hell. Mathias refused to keep a lot of junk food in the house—which I found a bit ridiculous. With their incubus-bodies, they didn’t gain weight. It won’t clog their arteries or make them ill because they’re friggin’ immortal. Me, however —there’s still a chance, even with my half-witch, half incubus, all cambion heritage I could gain about five-hundred pounds. I was willing to take that risk, though, right now.

  “Pssst.” I hear softly from behind me. I recognize the voice.

  I slowly glanced over my shoulder; Trystan stood behind me, with his auburn-bed head all mussed and unkempt, and his green eyes pleading. He’s shirtless, and almost totally naked—as usual—wearing only plaid boxers, slung low on his hips. Just the mere, gorgeous sight of him, and all his winged-tattoos scrawled over his taut, muscular body is almost enough to make me forgive him on sight. Almost. What he did next seals the forgiveness-deal though; he produced a bag of cheddar-and-sour-cream potato chips from behind his back. “Peace offering?”

  Oh, I wanted to yell at him. But the temptation of the salty chips was just too much for me.

  “Smart man, to appease me with food.” I quickly reached out and snatched the bag from him, clutching it in my arms near my chest. I raised a brow and kept my expression firm. “This is a start.”

  Trystan puffed out his lower lip and reached out for me. “Aww, lassie. I’m sorry, I’m not used to sharing a house with a woman. I promise I’ll do better, luv.”

  I pulled away, not quite ready to admit I’ve already forgiven him. I noticed he still had one arm behind him. “I’ll think about it, depending upon what else you have back there.”

  Trystan smirked, and he produced a can of fizzy water—in orange flavor. My eyes widen, and I grabbed it away from him. “You’re forgiven!” I say quickly, popping the top, and taking a long swig.

  He chuckled. “Aye, I’m learning. There’s more in the pantry,” he said, motioning to the large door next to the fridge.

  I stifled a loud belch, setting the can down on the counter of the kitchen island we used as a table. “I don’t understand why Mathias won’t spring for this more often. I mean, it’s calorie free!” I rolled my eyes. “And what the hell are you all doing worrying about calories anyway? Doesn’t your incubus-ness naturally keep you all gorgeous?”

  A playful smile spread across Trystan’s lips. He inched towards me, placing a hand on the side of my bare arm. I fought the shiver I felt at his close proximity. “You think we’re gorgeous?” A part of his expression was flirtatious and confident, the other half cautious and insecure.

  I scoffed. “Really? You think after hundreds of years and lord-only-knows-how-many-women you all have been with, you still have to wonder if you’re gorgeous?” I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. Then I cringed. I haven’t really wanted to think about just how many women t
hey’d been with. I know it couldn’t have been helped. I know they’d certainly not been with me. Yet. Though, that was mostly due to me than anything. I was playing hard to get, for whatever reason.

  Trystan crossed his arms over his chest and puffed out his lower lip. “Lass, we can never be sure if it’s us, or the incubus magic. What do you think?” He asked, raising a brow.

  I lifted the can of fizzy water, effectively hiding behind it from his question. “What now?”

  Trystan rolled his eyes, and reached for the water, trying to pull it away. I fought him on it though, yanking it out of reach, glaring at him. “You’re back on my Shit List, boy. Besides,” I tilted my head upwards, looking down my nose at him, “your incubus wiles have no effect on me.”

  Trystan’s bright eyes shaded dark with lust. I knew that their eyes sometimes changed in accordance with their emotions, but it wasn’t supposed to work on me. Sometimes, though, when they were really emotional, it did. And I usually only saw when they turned dark red: with lust. I knew whatever was going on in that irreverent mind of his, it wasn’t anything innocent. It was dirty.

  He strode the distance between us, a slight swagger in his hips as he reached for me. Despite the toilet travesty, I found my resolve softening. His eyes were hooded, lower lip caught between his teeth; his expression on his face seductive, and heat from his skin radiated between us. “Set those down,” he commanded, his voice thick and heady as he peered down at me.