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  HOW IT’S MEANT TO BE

  (OATH OF BANE, BOOK 3)

  By T. S. JOYCE

  How It’s Meant to Be

  Copyright © 2021 by T. S. Joyce

  Copyright © 2021, T. S. Joyce

  First electronic publication: April 2021

  T. S. Joyce

  www.tsjoyce.com

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Editor: Alyxandra Miller

  Other Books in this Series

  How It’s Supposed to Be (Book 1)

  How It Has to Be (Book 2)

  Contents

  Copyright

  Other Books in this Series

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Up Next in this Series

  Newsletter Sign-Up

  More Series from this Author

  For More from this Author

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  She’ll do.

  Oh, now his animal side had an opinion on a mate. Piss off, Grizz.

  Moore Bane had a plan. If the other Bane brothers were breaking the oath to never pair up with a female, then so was he. Why? Because his two dipshit brothers had grown too powerful with the mating bond, and now he couldn’t kill them.

  But if he paired up and gained power from a mating bond, he would be unstoppable.

  The female didn’t matter, only the bond, so here he sat on a sidewalk bench on Main Street for the third day in a row, trying to choose a mate. This was the first time the bear had perked up though, so that was promising.

  He studied the woman.

  Mid to late thirties.

  No make-up.

  No wedding ring.

  Messy bird’s nest of hair on top of her head.

  He’d studied women on the internet. This one’s roots were showing. Lack of self-care, but that was a bonus for him. He had to get one of the low-self-esteem females to go for his plan.

  She had hair as dark as a raven’s feather. Oversized glasses covered half her face, making her look like a bug. Her sweater was too baggy and turned her figure into the shape of a square, and was she wearing pajama pants? In public? Nice. She looked tired and irritated and when a man held the coffee shop door open for her, she looked at the ground and nodded her thanks. A submissive. Bonus. He didn’t need an opinionated, fiery woman throwing attitude. He just needed a quiet one that didn’t cause trouble and didn’t care about changing his ways. He was an old dog, and fuck learning any new tricks.

  Moore tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for her to emerge from the coffee shop.

  She had dark eyes and pale skin and her pajama pants had been tucked into her snow boots. She was the homeliest woman he’d seen all day. Acceptable.

  The uglier the better. That way he wouldn’t get attached or grow inconvenient feelings for her. She would be in his life for one thing, and one thing alone—the bond.

  Then he would kill his brothers, and then ditch Pajama Pants to go live her life.

  His plan was as fool-proof as a bear trap.

  Fucking Brick and Aux for forcing his hand at this. Their father was rolling over in his shallow grave right now at the oath they’d broken. The thought of his father’s grave dredged a growl up his throat.

  His dad was in a grave because of Moore.

  Gritting his teeth against the rattling noise in his chest, Moore leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, glaring at the door. How long did it take to get a damn cup of coffee?

  Having a mate was going to require patience he didn’t possess.

  A man walked too close and Moore snarled and considered biting him. Asshole looked scared and skittered to the other side of the road, dragging a yapping four-pound rat on a leash. He refused to call that frilly thing a dog.

  His bear would eat that thing in one bite.

  Moore hated being in town. Hated it with all of his being. He was uncomfortable in his own skin here and wanted to kill everyone who even looked at him. But town was where his current hunt for a mate was taking place. There was a shortage of the fairer sex up on his mountain.

  Maybe he could just avoid all conversation with her and shove her in the truck and peel out of this godforsaken place. Talking had always felt so tedious and unnecessary to Moore.

  He would feed her good and make sure she was safe and buy her clothes. Hell, he would pay her a salary if she just gave him power and let him be. Aux and Brick were doing it all wrong. They were all affectionate and protective of their mates. Sniveling wusses is what they’d turned out to be.

  Wusses with too much power.

  He and the crows had failed.

  Speaking of…Moore slid a narrow-eyed glare at the crow sitting on top of his Bronco. The white feathers on his head gave away Krome, the leader of the Crow Blooded.

  If he was here to discuss his brothers, Moore wasn’t interested. He had a plan for them, and he sure as fuck wasn’t teaming up with a dirty crow. He was better off alone. Always had been.

  Pajama Pants stumbled out of the coffee shop. Seriously. She tripped on air, and squeezed her cup of coffee so hard as she went down that the lid popped off and the hot contents sloshed onto the sidewalk with a satisfying splash.

  Ha ha.

  She stood there, splay-legged, lips parted in sorrow, her dark eyebrows drawn down like the spilled coffee was the worst thing in the world.

  He snorted. That was as close to a laugh as he got.

  The sad little creature shoved her glasses up her nose with her forefinger, then ambled toward him. She sank down on the other end of the bench and sighed heavily, stared at the street in front of them.

  She smelled sad. Another bonus. Happiness made him nauseous.

  Pajama Pants cast him a sideways look. “You ever just have one of those days where nothing goes right?”

  She expected him to speak back to her. He could tell from the slight arch of her eyebrows. Unsavory. He cleared his throat and did his best to hide the growl from his answer. “Every day.”

  “Huh.” She looked him up and down. “Are you wearing animal skin pants?”

  “Are you wearing pajamas?” he gritted out. God, his voice sounded like he hadn’t used it in a century.

  “Touché.” She relaxed back against the bench and stared at the sky. “I’ve decided I give up on everything.”

  Good. He opened his mouth to tell her his intentions to take her to his mountain, but she interrupted. “What is it about you men?” Oh shit, she still wanted to talk.

  “I’m not a man.”

  “Ha! Good. Men are terrible. What should I call you while I tell my story?”

 
Mate? “Uh, Moore.”

  “Moore. Nice. I’m Aurora. You can call me Rora. I thought I’d found the one. The one. Do you know what I mean? I’ve waited my whole life to find the one, and I thought I’d found him. He even made it to the third date. Do you know what the third date is?” she asked him.

  “The titty touch date?”

  “It’s the date you can celebrate that holds weight. It’s the date you can say, ‘we’re officially dating’ even if the boy doesn’t call it that.”

  She had weird rules.

  “We made it to date number three, and I planned a big romantic night, Moore. A big one. An epic one. I spent two-hundred and seventeen dollars on this celebration for the love of my life, and do you know what he did?”

  Moore just stared at her. The creature didn’t really seem to need him to talk.

  “Broke up with me.”

  “He probably dodged a bullet.”

  Pajama Pants—err, Rora—gasped and gave him a frown. He liked frowns. She had a nice frown. “That wasn’t very nice,” she said.

  “Nice is for liars.” Moore stood, tired of this conversational effort. “Do you need dinner before, or what?”

  Her dark eyes narrowed and she sipped her remaining coffee. She had to tip the damn thing nearly all the way up. “Before what?”

  “You come to my cabin.”

  Her eyes narrowed even more until they looked squinty, and she shoved her glasses up her nose again. “Normally, after a break-up, I would be up for bad decisions like going home with a semi-hot stranger mountain man wearing deerskin pants. But today I’m feeling a little raw and a bit like I want to survive. I don’t want to be on an episode of Unsolved Mysteries. No offense.”

  Moore curled up his lip, but bit back the snarl. Okay. Females required patience. That’s what the internet had said. “Do you want to go on a date?” he gritted out. “I’ll pay.”

  She tipped her chin higher into the air. “What kind of date?”

  “Whatever you want.” Jesus, this was exhausting.

  The crow behind him cawed, and he wished he could turn into a bear right now and eat the damn thing. The Crow Blooded might miss their stupid leader though, and then he and his brothers would all be dead. His brothers could go straight to hell, but Moore? Like Rora, he cared about surviving, too.

  “You take me to the nicest steakhouse in town. You don’t complain about the two glasses of wine I drink at dinner because you are understanding that my emotions are unsteady and I am going through a breakup. You wear jeans and a nice shirt, and you trim your beard because holy shit-balls, Moore, it’s down to your nipples. A beard is hot, if well-kept. A haircut wouldn’t kill you either. I like Versace Eros cologne for men best. You don’t judge me for ordering my steak well-done, and I’m not going to your cabin afterward. It’s just a date, and you accept it right now that one date is all you’ll have with this gem.” She pointed to herself.

  His sigh tapered to a soft growl. “I’ll take you to the Steak Shack, I’ll wear jeans and trim my beard, but my hair stays the same. No cologne. That shit gives me a headache, but I’ll wear the same deodorant I wear every day, just for you, since you are a gem. And I will absolutely judge you for eating a well-done steak.” He pointed to the wood chips around the landscaped tree near them. “You might as well eat that. It’s cheaper and tastes the same.”

  Rora lifted her chin primly, and stared at him for a five count before she said, “Fine. I’ll meet you at the Steak Shack at six tonight.” She stuck out her hand for a shake. Gross.

  Bring a suitcase, his inner grizzly suggested. Tell her to bring a suitcase.

  But Moore kept his lips clamped closed, because this human at least had a few survival instincts, and he didn’t want to scare her off. He needed her bond.

  He huffed an irritated sigh and stared at her fragile hand. He could crush it like a grape with zero effort. Frail little creature. He wasn’t supposed to touch her. It was against the rules, but he’d set new rules. If he was going to hell, he might as well do it thoroughly.

  He shook her hand, but the second their skin touched, an electric shock of pain rocketed up his palm. They both flinched away.

  “Maybe your deer skin pants make too much static,” Rora muttered, rubbing her hand.

  He hadn’t liked that one bit. How could Aux and Brick stand touching their mates’ skin?

  “See you at six,” he muttered, and made his way toward his Bronco parked across the street. The crow was staring at him. Moore tossed him the finger. Fuck you, crow. What are you going to do?

  He got in his rig and slammed the door closed beside him, then started it. The engine roared to life, and he cast a quick glance out the side window just to see what Rora was doing.

  She was waving at him, a big grin plastered to her face. He hated smiles. Shoot him now.

  He forced his middle finger to stay in place and waved back to her, then sped off to go charge his damn beard-trimmer. He only had five hours to get to his cabin and do all the stupid shit she’d requested of him. Females were exhausting.

  He was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to hurt to touch his fated mate, but whatever. He was tired of looking and she would be good enough.

  He couldn’t wait to watch her choke down some burnt steak and talk a lot tonight.

  Eyes on the prize though.

  As soon as she fell in love with him and gave him the bond, he would be powerful enough to murder his brothers.

  Chapter Two

  Why was she so nervous?

  Aurora plucked at the neck of her electric blue blouse did a quick look-around before she reached in and adjusted her boobs in her bra so her cleavage was perkier.

  “I saw that,” an old cowboy yelled from the bar across the room. His smile was missing four teeth.

  “You’re welcome,” she called back, and giggled at his cackle. He had a funny laugh.

  So, truth be told, she’d dressed up a little too much for a date at the Steak Shack. This was basically a honkytonk bar that served B- sirloin steak and beer. And she’d worn her favorite black wedges and ripped up black jeans and her fanciest blouse to meet a man in deerskin pants. That was where her mental state was at.

  Moore was probably standing her up.

  “This will be the last date for three months,” she muttered to herself as she deleted the dating app off her phone. “This dating pool has turds in it.”

  The plan was to take three months of self-care and get her business back on track. She was probably going to buy some plants and try to keep them alive, and build up to buying the Corgi puppy she’d always wanted. She was going to put her focus on herself and her friends, who were all tired of her dating these guys on the apps anyways. But you know? The tight knit group had all been friends since high school, and every one of the girls had gotten married and had kids, and Aurora had just…treaded water. She’d moved a couple towns away and started her interior design business and hadn’t met ‘the one’. Taryn, her best friend, said she needed to stop looking, and that all good things happened when they weren’t forced.

  So, here she was, having a free mediocre steak dinner with a weirdo as a last goodbye to her dating life for one quarter of a year.

  She checked her phone. Exactly six o’clock. Yep, he’d stood her up. She scooted her chair out, and it made the most ear-screeching sound she’d ever heard on the old uneven wood floors, and then she rocked backward on two legs and barely caught herself by flailing her arms like a pissed-off chicken.

  She even squawked.

  That was the moment when she saw a giant man filling up the entire doorframe and staring at her like she actually was ruffled poultry in a bar.

  Settled on all four legs of the chair once more, her mouth popped open as she realized who he was.

  Moore didn’t look like a mountain man anymore. His beard was trimmed, and his longer hair on top was flopped over to the side just right. His eyes looked even lighter than she remembered from this morning, but maybe it was
the dim bar lighting and his dark olive skin that made the contrast different. He was taller than the doorframe, and had to duck under it to enter. His powerful legs were encased in a pair of dark wash blue jeans, and his boots made hollow thuds on the wooden floors. A white, long-sleeved shirt hugged the strong curves of his muscular shoulders, emphasizing his broadness and tapered waist.

  Holy mother of moose nuggets. If the dating pool had turds in it, this was the shiniest turd she’d ever seen.

  “H-hillo. Hello. I mean hello.” She stood as he pulled his chair out. Like she was a gentleman? She didn’t know what she was doing with her body right now. Could a woman get pregnant with a look? Maybe. She was definitely having triplets. She offered her hand for a shake. Why? She really didn’t know what she was doing with her appendages right now.

  He offered her hand a grimace, sat down and clamped his hands in front of his face, then looked her up and down with an air of disappointment. “You aren’t what I signed up for.”

  She checked herself quickly. She’d thought she looked nice. “Pardon?”

  “You have eyelashes.”

  “Oh yeah,” she said, sitting down in her chair. She scooted it loudly closer to the table and ignored it when Moore hunched his shoulders and cringed. “I put on false eyelashes for our date.”

  He leaned forward and studied her eyeballs. “How did you put them on?”

  “With glue?”

  His dark eyebrows aimed straight for his hairline. He had a great hairline. “Why the hell would you glue something to your face?”

  “To look hot?”

  He offered her a grumpy frown and muttered, “I need a beer.”

  “You know,” she whispered leaning forward. “You could tell me I look nice instead of being rude. I dressed up for you.”

  “I liked you better with glasses and no make-up and looking like you hadn’t showered in three weeks.”

  She flinched back like she’d been slapped and placed her hand on her chest as she scoffed. “Excuse me, Mr. Judgy Judgerton. I showered two days ago. It’s not healthy to wash your hair every day!”