Page 15 of Bound

“Yeah. Like we don’t know how that’s going to go down.”

“Give him a chance. You’ve got this constant doomsday narrative playing in your head where we’re all planning to betray you. Which, I swear to god, outside of karaoke night, you’re good.”

I growled. Typical Caldwell. And there was that smirk again. Kill me now.

“Your brother is counting the days until I screw up badly enough that he’s got an excuse to kick me out of the pack for good.”

West sighed, voice softening. “You think I’d ever let that happen?”

I said nothing.

“But I need you to swear to me that you’re all right,” he continued. “That this isn’t like… before.”

“For real—”

“Can you be serious for once?” He was frowning now, the sugar packets folded in two so many times they were practically pulverized.

“I’m not trying to hurt myself.”

A car drove by, washing our table in the blood-red glow of taillights. Caldwell waited. The bond flared open, and as his stare burned into mine, I knew he was testing my sincerity, remembering the day the previous winter back at the Christmas tree farm when I’d lied to everyone in the pack, tried to go with the vampire we’d been holding captive in the snow, wanted to let them take me. According to Cal, I’d been suffering from extreme PTSD with a side helping of Stockholm Syndrome. Somewhere in the twisted fog of my thought processes, I’d been convinced that the moment I was back with the undeads, they would take me to Kieran. You know, rather than bury a knife in my throat. It was why all these months later, Brody still didn’t trust me, was convinced I was still being controlled, that I was a plant.

I gritted my teeth, flashing back to the shipping container where I’d been held. There had been no sense of time, only of rage, helplessness and pain. It was impossible to shut out the sounds as the others fought in the corner, mad with newborn wolf madness. It didn’t matter how many times we tore each other to shreds. Short of ripping out a throat, the virus would heal our wounds within hours. Our handlers kept six of us in there, all males, seeming to enjoy the constant battles for dominance, savage, brutal fights that could last for hours the week the moon called to our blood.

I drew several deep breaths, forcing the memory away.

“Topher—”

In the seat across from me, Caldwell had gone very still. His power pulsed hot as a star, every breath, every heartbeat suddenly hard to draw for how badly my body craved to be synched with his, my wolf desperate for the connection that was like breathing to other bonded wolves, and that we’d both fought tooth and nail against giving into since the moment he’d bound me to him. Heat shivered across my skin, my gaze dropping involuntarily to his mouth.

“Don’t.” West inhaled sharply. “I can’t breathe when you look at me like that.”

Instantly my skin came alive, gooseflesh forming on the back of my neck as if he’d laid me out on his couch and kissed his way slowly down my stomach.

“We need to talk,” I said roughly. “We can’t just keep ignoring this—"

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Grabbing his messenger bag, West slid from the booth.

Outside on the street, the muggy August night slammed into me, sticking my faded gray Henley to my skin. Down the street at Dark, live music was playing, a crowd spilling out onto the patio.

“Curse this fracking moon,” West mumbled, staggering into a parked car.

Gripping him by the arm, I steered us past Zombie Books, past Blair’s Bakery, down a back alleyway. My heartbeat roared in my ears, the bond crackling with a fierce wild energy. Caldwell shivered, and I felt the sensation snake up my spine like a kiss. I wanted to peel away his shirt and chase this new feeling with my lips, until we both forgot about all the reasons this shouldn’t happen, even if only for one night.

West slumped against the cold bricks. “You should go.”

“Like hell I’m leaving you here.”

“Get out of here, Topher,” he panted, doubling over so that the messenger bag slipped from his shoulders. He let it slide to the ground. “Please. I’ll be fine.”

I reached out to trace the hair back from his eyes, feeling it damp with perspiration. Wincing, he knocked my hand away.

“Don’t. I know you mean well, but just don’t touch me right now, okay? I’m not… safe.”

I scraped a hand down my face, his pulse slamming in my veins so hard I could barely see straight. “How long has it been this bad?”

“Do you really want to know the answer?”

Something dark and forbidden flared in places I knew I shouldn’t want it to at the raw edge to his voice, because yes, I fucking wanted to know the answer, wanted to hear him finally admit aloud that the things I imagined in the dark when no one else was around weren’t one-sided. That he’d thought about it, too, pictured what it could be like if we gave in to this twisted thing we’d been dancing around for the better part of a year.