by N. J. Lysk
Not Destiny
N.J. Lysk
[Rules to Break, Book 1]
[Second Edition]
[All Rights Reserved]
Table of Contents
Title Page
Not Destiny (Rules to Break, #1)
Prologue
Chapter One: Thomas
Chapter Two: Uriel
Chapter Three: Thomas
Chapter Four: Uriel
Chapter Five: Thomas
Chapter Six: Uriel
Chapter Seven: Thomas
Chapter Eight: Uriel
Chapter Nine: Thomas
Chapter Ten: Uriel
Chapter Eleven: Thomas
Chapter Twelve: Uriel
Chapter Thirteen: Thomas
Chapter Fourteen: Uriel
Chapter Fifteen: Thomas
Chapter Sixteen: Uriel
Chapter Seventeen: Thomas
Chapter Eighteen: Uriel
Chapter Nineteen: Thomas
Chapter Twenty: Uriel
Chapter Twenty-One: Thomas
Chapter Twenty-Two: Uriel
Chapter Twenty-Three: Thomas
Epilogue: Together
Author Notes:
Recipe
Next book: Cracking Ice
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“Biology is not destiny.”
Simone de Beauvoir.
For my sisters, always companions on the road—no matter how charged with punishments; and my readers—for sharing these worlds where the endings are always what we deserve.
An alpha who won't dominate
A beta who won't surrender
A passion that...
breaks all the rules.
Thomas knows that as a beta he cannot expect to recognize his soulmate. He’s no monk, but he’s too busy with his hockey career and helping make his sisters' lives with his overbearing parents a little easier.
Uriel is an alpha but he knows he cannot bear the responsibility of bonding an omega. He has his work as a lawyer and also volunteers at an orphanage trying to help the children there any way he can. He’s dated, but he is not willing to enter the kind of relationship an omega expects and betas never believe he will stay.
Except that betas cannot tell if someone is an alpha... And Uriel has no reason to mention it to a one-night-stand. But the fire between them might not be fated, but it's undeniable, and neither can stop at just once.
Are they brave enough to defy the world's expectations and strong enough to overcome the limitations of their own biology?
"Not Destiny" is a standalone A/B/O romance with a side of hockey and courtrooms and a sprinkle of social justice.
Just so you know:
The “Rules to Break” series takes place in an alternate universe where Alpha/Beta/Omega biology is the standard for humans. A few things have changed as a consequence of this, such as gender roles and civil rights in general.
Some other things are different by random chance, such as the usage of what we know as the Jewish calendar (2018 = 5779), the non-occurrence of War World II and the development of cleaner energy by a European Union that united sooner and with less actual barriers.
Also, British public transport is not only green but works despite the diverse weather patterns (I know this might be the one thing that you cannot believe, but bear with me, I wrote half of this in delayed trains).
Instead of Latin, French or English, sign language caught on as an international language in Europe early in the middle ages—not from deaf communities but from Christian monks who’d sworn vows of silence but needed to communicate nonetheless. It was later taken to the colonies during the European invasions of America, Africa and Oceania.
Prologue
The new guy had everyone on edge, and by 'everyone’ Thomas meant Keenan and Sven.
In all fairness, Thomas knew enough about the inner workings of the upper echelons of the team to assume both Keenan and Sven had been consulted before Johnson’s contract had been drafted. Maybe they couldn’t help being twitchy but they had said yes.
Sven and Keenan were captain and assistant captain, the very glue keeping the team together, and it was only common sense to make sure they were okay with the new guy, not even the most prodigious player was worth destabilizing your team’s dynamics.
And Johnson’s stats his previous season were not exactly impressive, either, whatever his youthful accomplishments... Well, he was here now, wasn’t he? An unexpected transfer after only one year with his first professional team.
He knew it too; he was stiff as a board as they stopped the warm up to receive the next set of instructions. Thomas risked a glance, but their coach didn’t react so he went for it, leaning in closer to whisper, “Hey, welcome to the Hell Flames.”
If anything, Johnson stiffened further and turned to stare at him with his gelid blue eyes. Only for a moment, though, lips twitching and gaze falling in a manner Thomas recognized at once.
He sighed, it was like the kid had drawn all his cards from the refuse pile and picked everything that could make his life more complicated. He kept going as if he hadn’t noticed the lack of response. “Do you want to go for lunch after this? I’ll catch you up on who the team pranksters are and you can tell me about the Titan’s defence line.”
“You’re a forward?” Johnson’s eyes were fixed on Coach Sari, but the words were said evenly.
Thomas wasn’t offended, it wasn’t like he’d have been able to pick Johnson out of a lineout himself before today. “Thomas Kiau,” he offered.
“Oh, I know you,” Johnson’s voice grew more animated even as he kept his soldierly position. “You had that sweet assist with the Hurricanes in Amsterdam.”
Thomas laughed. “What? You can’t remember any of my actual goals?”
“Of course I do, the—” He closed his mouth like someone had pressed a switch and Thomas realised Coach Sari was done talking and it was time to get to work.
“Come on,” he told his new teammate, “Let’s try this together.”
Johnson had to look his way then, but Thomas focused his own gaze on the box of pucks in the corner of the ice rink.
“Race you, loser pays for lunch!” he said, and with that, he cheated because Johnson was fucking fast and Thomas did not like to lose.
Chapter One: Thomas
It was a stroke of luck that Valentina’s Shivaratri recital was so busy. Thomas was there to see his youngest sister sing the traditional hymns, but he preferred to avoid spending too much time with his parents. His dad was sitting at the front since he couldn’t really stand for long periods of time, and his father was right next to him, since he felt it was an alpha’s duty to escort his omega partner around. He could see his sisters’ heads next to his father. But Eira and Grace were young and had no choice yet. They were also used to putting up a façade around their parents; it would not help if Thomas approached now—it was true one could get used to anything and four years after leaving home, he was used to freedom.
It had been all too easy, even with his sisters holding him back from cutting ties completely.
He considered taking the empty seat at the end of the row they’d probably saved for Colleen. She’d already texted to say she would be late, but without her around, his ability to keep a civil tongue around his parents was limited.
He loved all his sisters equally, but Eira and Grace were fifteen and thirteen respectively and he couldn’t count on them as a buffer. He didn’t expect anything like that from them, of course, and if they’d gone out of their way to shield him, he would have told them not to. They lived with their parents by doing what they were asked to do, dressing how they were expected to dress and taking refuge in whatever v
ariety of scientific knowledge took their fancy any given week. Thomas was pretty convinced they were both geniuses, but they never spoke of their future plans—or of how Eira would start university two whole years before Grace, who could probably not cope without her.
Thomas wanted to help them both, but his parents would never agree to let Grace move in with him, not even if he didn’t spend most of the year travelling with the team. He’d considered going against their wishes, even taking legal measures... But imposing your traditional values on your kids wasn’t a crime, even if it meant they all ended up feeling like they lived in a prison.
Damn his parents for having four kids after him to keep him coming back to them even after he’d got out.
It was his job as the eldest to protect them. Not just his, Colleen might have been three years younger, but she was much better at it, as she insisted on reminding him. He had the heavens to thank for Colleen, who was nineteen but hadn’t left despite how difficult their parents were.
Selfishly, he’d been hoping she would keep him company at the recital, but her linguistics presentation at university had run long. If she didn’t make it at all by the end...
He leaned against the back wall, close to the exit and out of sight. He was tall enough he could easily see across the room to the stage where Valentina and the rest of the choir were standing in bright red shirts. The ruffles in her shirt and matching ribbons at the end of her plaits had been obviously chosen by their dad. She looked lovely, of course, but Thomas knew Val preferred to wear her hair in a single low ponytail and her clothes plain. At least Colleen was around to make sure that could happen most of the time and that their parents didn’t buy their youngest sister an all-pink flowery wardrobe.
Colleen was the expert on handling their parents. Thomas was grateful, even if he also couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. If anyone should have protected the younger kids, it should have been him... But at least he was here now and he made enough money to have a flat of his own where they could escape for a day or two when things got too much at home.
Of course, that money came from hockey, which meant he couldn’t really be there as much as they needed. But he’d keep showing up to school events, buying them the ‘wrong’ clothes and lying about Colleen spending the night at his place when she went out with friends their parents wouldn’t have approved of while she lived under their roof and ate their food.
He covered his mouth, unable to suppress a yawn. Someone older was talking to the audience about something Thomas couldn’t quite catch. From years in school, he guessed it wouldn’t have helped keep him awake. If the recital was meant to highlight the children’s talent and hard work, why weren’t they singing?
Someone pressed against his side and Thomas jumped, a rush of adrenaline going through him. “Sorry!” The newcomer gave him an apologetic look.
Thomas blinked at him, then shook his head and reclined back against the wall. “It’s fine; you woke me up,” he added with a half-smile.
The stranger seemed surprised, but he smiled back, and oh, he was pretty. He was also older—probably married with kids if he was here. “Your kid singing?” he asked.
The man repressed a smile. “Nah. Well, I volunteer at an adoption centre. Kyeran’s really cool, so...” He seemed almost embarrassed by it, which Thomas didn’t get. It did make him flush enticingly.
“That’s really sweet of you,” he told him, eyeing up the kids lined up in the stage now that the adult in charge had vacated it.
“No,” the stranger insisted. “I told you, he’s really cool. And he loves singing. Better than therapy, apparently.”
Thomas shot him a look. Valentina was nine and the kids with her all had to be under twelve, but if the kid was living in an adoption centre... “Sounds like a tough kid.”
The man shrugged, and Thomas’s eyes were hopelessly drawn to the lines of his shoulders and arms under his blue suit. Probably come straight from work to make it on time for an event programmed with children’s bedtimes in mind. Thomas could see why a kid would trust this guy, down to earth and open even to a stranger. He extended a hand across the space between them. “I’m Thomas, by the way.”
“Uri.” The guy’s smile didn’t get any less stunning with repeated exposure, apparently. “Um, Uriel.”
“So do you live with them?”
“Oh, no,” Uri said at once, his eyes were brown. No, not brown... Hazel? Only that seemed too common. Honey and mustard, the colour of some rare mineral. “I’m a lawyer, I represent them when they need help. I sort out adoption paperwork and stuff like that. Well, when they can find parents that are crazy enough to want to jump through all the hoops.”
He sounded a little jaded and Thomas swallowed, suddenly aware he knew nothing about adoption centres beyond what their name indicated. “Um, I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about this stuff. Why is it so hard?” He shifted in place, suddenly hoping the concert would start and save him the embarrassment. “I play hockey. For a living, I mean,” he explained.
The stranger blinked his thick dark eyelashes up at Thomas—he was a little shorter and built in the way men who didn’t spend half their lives at the gym could be, healthy and strong but not designed—and Thomas realised his words didn’t quite make sense out of context. He loved hockey, of course, but it was a little hard to explain that he didn’t know what happened to kids in his own neighbourhood when their parents couldn’t take care of them, or simply weren’t around. It seemed like something everyone should be aware of, like how to call the police or the fire brigade. And maybe they were and Thomas had slept through that Civics lesson, too.
Uri was quiet for long enough that Thomas risked a look. “Most people don’t know about it,” he said kindly. “But kids cannot be adopted if their biological parents are alive and might be able to take them back. Or grandparents. Any close family, really. The law says we must do our best to get them back where they belong.”
“But what if the parents aren’t... fit or something?”
“If they are dangerous, they are disqualified, but if they’re just drunkards or too out of it to remember to buy the kids clothes and school supplies and check they go to bed? Well, it’s their kids and they have parental rights, so they get another chance.”
Thomas’s stomach twisted; he’d wanted to get out of his house since he could remember—desperate to avoid his dad’s exact schedules and rules and his father’s menacing presence both—but he’d never lacked for anything he truly needed. Not anything anyone could see, anyway. “But then what’s the point of an adoption centre?”
Uri sighed, pressing his lips together for a moment. “Good question, and I’ve had a few kids ask me, too, to be honest. I guess the point is to get that lucky. Some of us do,” he added with a conciliatory smile.
“Oh, so you...” Thomas didn’t finish, lost in the fantasy. What would it have been like to move out of his parents’ place and somewhere where he could choose his friends, his books, share his thoughts without fear of punishment? It had never even occurred to him, really; he’d just figured he had to put up with it until he was old enough to get out.
Uri nodded. “I was six, and my mums are amazing.” He stole a look to the front of the room. “But most of the time, luck needs some help, I’ll admit.”
“You can say that again,” Thomas agreed wholeheartedly. It was only when the other man’s gaze returned to his face that he realised he’d have to explain the comment. “Um, just—” He exhaled, resigned. Why couldn’t he not overshare for bloody once? “My parents aren’t...” His eyes searched them out, a part of his brain always keeping track of whether they were close enough to overhear. “They are very traditional,” he settled for, which was true but didn’t explain why he’d brought them up when Uri was talking about being adopted, probably after losing his own biological parents somehow, if the process had been the same back then.
He almost jumped when he felt the other man lean against his side, intentionally
this time. But at least in this, his body didn’t mess up. He turned his head to check the other’s reaction and found him staring towards the stage like an attentive guest; Thomas thought he might have been blushing, but even as close as he was, his darker skin made it hard to tell. “So, who are you here to see?” Uri asked him.
It was an innocuous enough question; except it wasn’t asked at an innocuous time. “My little sister. The littlest, actually, I’ve got four.”
Uri’s eyes flickered his way—in surprise?—and he nodded. “Sounds like fun. I only got one brother. David, same age as me.”
“Uriel and David...” Thomas repeated.
“My mothers aren’t traditional,” Uri clarified. “But ethnicity is one of the criteria for adoption.”
Thomas swallowed the question on the tip of his tongue, torn between wanting to know—he’d known the man for less than thirty minutes and he’d already made him want to know more about several things he’d never even thought about... Uri let the pause stand, then gave him a nod. “I mean, we don’t know for sure. My grandmother was too busy with me after my mum died to go to the temple or anything, but based on my name...” He shrugged. “Adoption counts as conversion anyway,” he explained.
“Well, you look the part,” Thomas offered, then immediately winced. It was true, which was to say that he conformed to a stereotype that had some basis on biology. “Fuck, I—”
Uri covered his mouth, bending over a little as he laughed. Thomas watched him, half fascinated, half dreading what he’d said.
“I’m sorry,” he insisted. “That was... rude.”
Uri’s dark eyes were still full of mirth when he straightened. “I like it,” he told Thomas. “You say what you think.”
“Well, I don’t think saying racist shit is a plus, really—”
“No,” Uri cut him off. “It’s not racist to acknowledge I look different from you. And, anyway, it’s... I kinda like that I look the part, I suppose.”