Bonded to the Alpha

  Bonded to the Alpha

  by Robin Moray

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 Robin Moray

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  First Electronic Edition

  About Bonded to the Alpha

  Bonded mates are rare, and every wolf knows that the killing of a bond-mate is punishable by death. But nineteen-year-old Callum is fully human, woefully ignorant of Pack Law, and when an accidental encounter with a frenzied beta leaves the wolf dead and Callum battered but alive, he finds himself facing the wrath of the pack – until the dead wolf's mate invokes the right to claim Callum as his own.

  With his life on the line, Callum's only choice is to bond with the troubled alpha, and carve a place for himself in the pack by any means necessary.

  * * *

  Taking the bond was the worst mistake Nero ever made. But now, with his bond-mate dead, the clock is ticking. He needs to bond again by the full moon, or his next transformation will kill him. That's all he needs the human for, just a means to an end. At least that's what he tells himself, but as the bond takes hold he finds himself falling deeper into something he swore he would never do again.

  Table of Contents

  About Bonded to the Alpha

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  "Stop being such a coward," Jackie snapped, tinny and distant over the bluetooth, and Callum nearly hung up on her right then.

  "What the hell would you even know about it?"

  "I know you're running away from a family reunion because someone made fun of your accent."

  Callum squinted through the car window, looking for the turn off in amongst all the darkness of the trees. "That's not ... do you really think that's why I left?"

  "Tell me different, little brother."

  Callum couldn't help the groan that ground its way up out of his chest. "You know why."

  "Apparently I don't."

  It was too hard to explain. Callum took a deep breath, fighting the urge to tell Jackie to leave it alone because ... well, he had just run out on a family reunion, on people he hadn't seen in four years, not since he was fifteen, for crying out loud. And why? "People kept saying they were sorry. About Dad. I just ... I couldn't."

  Jackie's voice, when she spoke, was unbearably sympathetic. "Oh, Cal."

  "No, listen," and it was suddenly important to explain because Jackie couldn't possibly understand. "They wanted me to be sad about it, and–"

  "Aren't you?"

  And there, that was the whole problem right there. "Isn't that something you should already know, Jacks? If you ever talked to me at all?"

  "Don't you dare blame me for that, little brother. You've got two hands and a cell phone, you can always call me."

  He actually didn't have an answer for that, nothing that didn't sound childish and petulant, and he took the next turn aggressively hard to make up for it. "Would you pick up?"

  "I'd do my best." Jackie had this way of sounding so sincere. She was doing it now and Callum suddenly missed her, even though he'd just stormed out of Uncle Robbie's yard without saying goodbye, and suddenly his plan to drive to the closest town that boasted a motel with late-night check-in seemed petty and ridiculous.

  "Shit, Jackie."

  "You know I love you."

  He made a face she couldn't see. "Yeah, you say that."

  "Well, one of us has to have the guts."

  He opened his mouth to argue that it wasn't about guts, it was about not being needlessly sentimental, but something dark and huge flashed across the road through the beams of his headlights, and then, before he could react, something else slammed into the passenger side of his car with the force of a wrecking ball.

  The car skidded; Callum tried desperately to get some traction, and managed not to roll the whole thing over but ended up in a ditch on the opposite shoulder, badly shaken, headlights blazing into the trees not a yard away.

  "Fuck." Callum tried to uncurl his hands from the steering wheel. It took two goes, and even then his hands shook bad enough he had to concentrate to unbuckle his seat-belt.

  The bluetooth earpiece was gone, vanished somewhere into the car, but when he grabbed his phone out of the dock the call had disconnected anyway. He redialed his sister, rummaging in the glovebox for the maglite torch he hoped still had batteries.

  She picked up on the first ring. "What the hell happened?"

  "I think I hit something. I mean, I did hit something. Or, it hit me." He fumbled the door open and staggered out into the road, knees like jelly. "I think it was a deer." Because that first dark shape flashing through the high-beams had been deer-ish, he was pretty sure. He switched on the torch (batteries still good, great) and swept the light over the passenger side door. "Shit."

  "What? Are you okay? Where are you?"

  He'd never heard Jackie sound so worried, and it tugged at him in a guilty place. "I'm not hurt, all right? There's just a big fucking dent in my door." There was blood streaked across the paint, and Callum turned the torch beam back down the road to highlight the large black shape piled up on the asphalt. "Aw, man. I think I killed a deer."

  "I'm coming to get you." The sound went muffled for a few moments. He guessed she had a hand over her phone mic, and could hear her yelling something to someone.

  "You don't have to," he protested, but she cut him off, determined and merciless like always.

  "Tell me where you are or I'll call Jennifer at the police station and get the whole town out after you."

  "Okay, okay!" He gave her directions and hung up, dropping his cell on the passenger seat. What a mess.

  He left the headlights on, switched them back from high-beam though, and then had a go at starting the car. It started okay, but made a god-awful noise when he tried to back it up. When he went around to check it out he could see why at once; the back wheels were firmly jammed down into the ditch, no chance of getting them out without, oh, planks or a ramp or something.

  "Wonderful," he muttered, and really, the whole weekend was a disaster. It couldn't possibly get any worse.

  He panned the torchlight back down the road, picked out the sad heap of shadows lying down there, and felt a pang of guilt. He'd never hit an animal before, not even a cat, and it wasn't like he was vegan or anything, but he also wasn't a psychopath.

  Callum figured he should probably go drag it off the road, or something. Were there laws about that? He had a vague idea that road-kill attracted scavengers who then got cleaned up by other cars, but he honestly couldn't imagine a coyote being stupid enough to keep chomping on
a deer carcass when cars were just whizzing by. Still. It would be the responsible (and gross) thing to do. He didn't want anyone else to hit it.

  When he got close he saw that it wasn't, actually, a deer. It looked more like ... a dog? Some kind of savage looking, what were they? Borzoi, maybe, sort of hellhound-ish, the kind of dog you'd find in the Marianas Trench. Whatever it was, it was a mess of blood. Callum wondered if maybe it was somebody's pet running loose, and crouched down to check its neck for a collar.

  Which was when the thing twisted up, snapping nasty deep-sea teeth just short of his fingers, and Callum jerked back with a yell. He caught himself on one palm, almost toppling over, and then, "Oh, fuck," he breathed, because it wasn't dead. No shit, Sherlock.

  "Hey there, buddy," he said soothingly, because injured animals were dangerous, he knew that. "You're all right." It was a lie. Nothing that left a dent like that in a car could be even remotely all right. "It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you," and he held up a hand that was supposed to show he wasn't a threat, but that was when the animal jerked up, finding its feet, snarling like, well, like it meant business. "Okay, so you really are all right." Impossibly. Somehow. "I'm just going to ... back away slowly."

  The dog-thing shook itself from head to toe, and ... okay, its leg had been broken, he was sure of it, but now it just stalked toward him on four perfectly good legs, and Callum didn't know much about dogs but this one? Scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

  "I'm sorry I hit you," he babbled, crabbing backwards and very, very aware that he was alone on a road at night, miles from any kind of help. "Nice dog? Good boy?"

  He could have sworn it sneered. but then it lunged at him, all teeth and blood, and he definitely didn't scream, but he did slam the torch into its mouth as hard as he could.

  The thing yelped, but came back at him at once, and he just swung again, putting all his strength into it. There was a sickening crack, like bone breaking, and then the thing made a high-pitched sound before backing up, turning tail and disappearing into the trees.

  Callum stared after it for a moment. What the fuck? Then adrenaline kicked in and he was on his feet, sprinting back to the safety of the car. He hesitated with the door open. It was just a dog, he thought, and then, Yeah, Cujo was just a dog, too. Well. That was comforting. That definitely wasn't terrifying at all.

  The maglite was still working, astonishingly, but he switched it off to save the battery. Then he got back in the car, closing the door behind him (for no particular reason, he told himself) and rummaged around in the back seat. Somewhere ... there.

  "Your father would have wanted you to have this," Uncle Robbie had said, offering the thing up with a blank but altogether familiar expression. Callum had just stared at it at first.

  "Dad's hunting knife?" Not that his father had been much of a hunter. Callum remembered the knife, though, as something his father had kept with him more and more toward the end, before Callum's mother had thrown up her hands and left, taking Callum with her. Paranoia, she'd called it. Part of his delusions. Still, looking down on it in the gloom of Uncle Robbie's den, Callum hadn't known how to say he didn't want it, had taken it, and then thrown it in the back of the car to deal with later.

  Callum took it out of the sheath now, feeling ridiculous but not ridiculous enough to put it away. It was six inches long, serrated along one edge, inlaid with long curls of silver, and sharp as fuck, still. It didn't make him feel much better, but he hung onto it anyway, settling back in the driver's seat to wait for his sister.

  * * *

  "Holy hell, little brother." Jackie grinned at him, eyes flickering down to the knife and back up in amusement. "You look like a serial killer."

  It was still so weird to see her in that ruffled shirt, with earrings in, for fuck's sake. The Jackie he grew up with didn't wear earrings, didn't grow her hair long and let it fall loose around her shoulders like she had at the cook-out. She had it back in a ponytail now, had pulled a worn denim jacket over her smart shirt, but the earrings were still there, little silver hoops catching the gleam of his headlights. She was wearing lipstick. Most of it had come off but there was enough left to make her look ... wrong. Not really Jackie, just someone with her face pretending to be someone Jackie wasn't at all.

  Still, people changed. "Yeah, I know," He rolled his eyes at her, trying for 'calm and collected' but probably falling short just this side of 'nervous jerk'.

  She shook her head at him. "Let's see the dent, then." He showed her, and she let out an appreciative whistle. "Wow. Poor deer must never have known what hit her."

  "Well..." He had to explain, and by the time he was done Jackie's expression had shifted from amused to serious. "...and then I waited for you."

  Yeah, that was her serious face. Even if she didn't dress like his sister, she still made the right faces. "You said you hit a deer with your car, Cal."

  "And I did, except it wasn't a deer, it was a dog."

  "Damn it, did you even ... fuck. Did it bite you? Are there scratches?" She yanked him into the double cone of the headlights and then started tearing at his clothes.

  "What are you doing? I'm fine, all right? Stop that!"

  "Did it bite you?" She looked so serious. It was awful.

  "No, it didn't. I ... it snapped at me, so I, uh," he mimed a swing. "With the flashlight."

  "And then what?"

  "I think I broke some of its teeth? Or its jaw, maybe." He shrugged, uncomfortable in the intensity of her gaze. "It took off into the forest, anyway. Why? If you're worried about rabies–" but Jackie wasn't paying attention anymore, was staring up at the night sky and scowling.

  "We've gotta go. Get your gear, you can crash at mine. But we have to go now."

  "Okay! Jeez, it's been, like, a day and you're already..." but he trailed off as he rounded the trunk of the car and saw the bright eyes staring straight at him out of the shadows.

  Everything happened so fast. He registered the teeth and the growl, and opened his mouth to shout out to Jackie, but then it launched.

  He had his hands up to protect his face, but instead felt the sudden shock of pain in his calf, and then, fuck, the pain bloomed into agony.

  Someone screamed. It might have been him. There was a wrench and he caught a glimpse of something trying to chew off his leg before losing his balance. His back hit the ground, knocking the air out of his lungs, and the creature was up his chest, lightning fast, breath hot and rank, all teeth and foam.

  There was an almighty thunk. The monstrous head reeled back with a yelp. Callum thought Jackie must have kicked it in the skull. He tried to shove the thing off but it weighed a fucking ton. Then the (slavering? definitely slavering) jaws were back in his face and he barely registered the sharp stab of pain as they closed on his arm; he still had the knife and–

  Holy hell, he'd never have thought a knife could go in so easy.

  The beast made a noise that was oddly surprised, and then suddenly went limp, crashing down on Callum's chest.

  Jackie was yelling something, and the whatever-it-was, dog, thing, was even heavier now it was, well, maybe actually dead this time.

  "Oh my god," Jackie kept saying, dragging the wolf off him and dropping to her knees by his shoulder. "Oh my god, Cal, your arm."

  "Oh my god, my leg." He tried to sit up, but Jackie was yanking at the sleeve of his shirt, her face ashen in the moonlight. "Leave it, will you? Just ... help me up."

  She did, and then she dragged him to her truck, leaning him up against the bonnet while she pulled the passenger door open. "In. Now."

  "Okay, okay. Get the lights on my car, will you?"

  "Fuck that. What if that thing's still alive?"

  "I think it's dead, this time," he argued, but she wouldn't listen, just shut the door on him and hurried round to the driver's side. "Jacks, the battery'll go flat."

  "Really don't care, little brother."

  "All my stuff is in there. Can you get my bag at least?" But she refused, just gunn
ed the engine and started back into town.

  Callum tried to catch his breath. What. The. Fuck. "Jackie." She ignored him, eyes fixed on the road, and she wasn't driving recklessly but her hands shook on the steering wheel in a way that was so unlike her it made him feel sick. Or, maybe that was the bites making him dizzy. "Jackie," he insisted, but when that didn't work, "Jacks, c'mon. Just ... take it easy, will you?"

  "Take it easy?" She shot him a furious look, mouth tight with it, before focussing on the road again. "You just got mauled by a, a thing. Christ, Cal. You really know how to put my heart through the wringer, you know?"

  "Oh, yeah, that was all my fault. I planned it. Just to piss you off."

  The glare she sent his way was venomous. "Wouldn't put it past you."

  "Really? Really?" He poked at the wound in his arm, and then hissed because it hurt. "If I was half as clever as you reckon I am–"

  "If you were clever you'd have stayed in the fucking car. Who goes playing with wolves on a full moon? God, you're an idiot, but I never thought you were that much of an idiot."

  "It wasn't ... that wasn't a wolf. It was just a dog."

  "It wasn't 'just' anything." She pulled into the driveway of their father's house. Or, Callum supposed, it was her house now. She hesitated before opening her door, glancing out as if afraid there might be something out there.

  "It's dead, Jacks, not waiting for us in the bushes," Callum said, meaning to mock her, but her glare was withering this time. "Sorry. I mean ... it was just a dog."

  "Stop saying that. You know what that was." And then she sat there, looking at him, as if waiting for the penny to drop.

  "A wolf, fine, maybe." Except that was impossible, or at least really unlikely. "Or a coyote. Coywolf?"

  She sighed, running a hand through the long dark tangle of her hair, now come loose from its tail. She looked so tired, so old, and he felt bad for her. Up until she punched him in the thigh. "You know when you're watching a movie about vampires, and the main character says 'there's no such thing as vampires', and you know they're an idiot because they're in a movie about vampires?"