Page 70 of Brandon’s Mate

This was between him and Colt, and it was something he had to figure out on his own. It was past time he started thinking about somebody else besides himself.

They’d all been holding everything inside too long. It was time they were honest with each other, starting with him.

As soon as he got outside, he knew where Colt had gone. The same place he went when he had too much energy and no one to fight.

His axe-throwing targets.

Partway up the hill behind the house was a wooden shed, with a flattish open area next to it. Brandon had reinforced one wall of the shed and attached a thick wooden slab, about eight by eight, crudely painted with a bullseye target.

Colt had already found the box with his throwing axes. He was methodically throwing them at the target, one by one, retrieving them, and then going back to the line and throwing them again.

It hadn’t improved his mood. Brandon could feel Colt’s leopard simmering with anger and frustration.

“Hey,” he said.

Colt just grunted, and threw another axe. It thunked into the center of the target, biting deep.

“Nice shot,” Brandon said.

Colt grunted again. “You couldn’t just go with knife-throwing targets like your dad, could you? It wasn’t only Flynn you were trying to outdo. You fucking have to outdo everybody.”

Brandon opened his mouth to deny it, then closed it again. Colt was right. He’d always felt like he had to do everything better than the men he looked up to—his dad, Flynn—just to prove he was halfway good enough.

Instead he said, “I talked to Remy. He told me about the crew. That you guys have been saving money, thinking we were going to start one like we always talked about.”

“Yeah, well, apparently I take longer than Remy to get smart.” Colt threw another axe. It bit viciously into the wooden target, sending a broken chip flying.

Brandon said, “Not as long as me.”

“If you think I’m going disagree with that remark, guess again.”

He’d known this wasn’t going to be easy. Hell, he didn’t know how to talk about shit like this. He tried again.

“Remy seemed to think you all assumed I’d be alpha. Just like that.”

“Who else?” Colt said, throwing the last axe. “It’s not like you’re going to submit to one of us. Are you?”

Brandon didn’t say anything. They both knew the answer to that.

Brandon took a deep breath. “Look, Colt, when I left I was young and stupid and caught up in my own shit, okay? I really was going to come back for you guys. I just—things went to hell, like I told you last night. And after that, I didn’t know what to do. I was still bonded to the New Mexico crew, and they were dead. So how could I bond another crew? And like you said, there’s no way my panther’s submitting to anybody else. I was fucked.”

“Oh, hell,” Colt said. “Please tell me we’re not going to get all girly now and talk about our feelings.” He stalked off down the throwing alley to get the axes, yanking them furiously out of the targets.

“Fine. No. We’re not.”

Colt gave him the finger.

Brandon turned around to leave, and then he turned back. “Fuck it. Yeah, we are. I know Flynn doesn’t do that shit, but I’m not him, okay? I always thought I had to be. Hell, you were right. I thought I had to somehow be even better.”

Colt looked at him briefly, then his lips tightened and he looked away. “Huh. Sorry we weren’t glamorous or legendary enough for you to prove your superior alpha-ness with. Or enough of a challenge.”

“Ah, hell,” Brandon said. “It wasn’t like that. You were always my best friends.” He sighed. “But you were born Bad Bloods. All of you were. I was born in that psycho panther crew in Arkansas, and my panther was psycho too. I don’t remember much about the Broken Hill clan, but my panther does. He was scared all the time. Everyone was a threat, except my mom. And even when I was practically a baby, they made us fight the other cubs. We always had to prove ourselves.”

He said softly, “I guess I just never felt like I really fit in with the rest of you.”

He looked up to see Colt gazing at him, hands on hips, axes dangling from his hands. “Well, that’s fucking stupid,” he said. “You’re one of us. You always were.”

He turned and started throwing axes again. “We could still have a crew.”