Bonded to the Alpha Read online

  "Does it matter?" Callum spat.

  Nero shrugged "It would be one less obstacle."

  Not the reaction Callum would have expected, coming out to someone in Raglan, though considering what Nero was asking of him – and Callum realised that Nero really was the first person from Raglan that he'd come out to. No-one else knew. That's why he left.

  Callum swallowed. "Are you? I mean ... your, uh, Holly. She was a woman." Not that it proved anything, one way or the other, Callum knew that.

  "I have never cared to make the distinction between who I will have and who I will not based on something so arbitrary."

  Nero looked up, and his eyes– They're gray, Callum thought. Like a sky with the blue washed out to gray, a smooth sort of slate-gray that Callum really ...

  Oh, god, if it wasn't like this then Callum would tip into them and think himself lucky.

  But. It was exactly 'like this'.

  Nero shifted his feet, came up close, and Callum thought for a second that Nero might kiss him, and if he did Callum wasn't sure what he'd do. Instead–

  "You should eat something."

  And then he was at the table, pouring coffee from the pot. He'd moved away so fast that Callum hadn't seen him do it, like he'd blinked and suddenly Nero was just gone, nothing more than body-warmth now fading.

  Wolves were faster than humans, then, like he'd said. Callum wondered how much horror-story werewolf nonsense was actually true. And then mentally smacked himself; none of this was true, it couldn't be. But, if it wasn't he had no other explanation.

  "Do you have cream?"

  "I have tea," Callum snapped, and then felt the colour rise in his face; Nero was looking at him with this almost-blank expression that made Callum feel self-conscious and stupid. Still, it was tea. Tea was important. "Nevermind. Yeah, cream. Sugar. All that."

  Nero said nothing, made up a cup and then handed it over. "Sandwich?"

  Callum took one. The coffee was okay. The sandwich was better.

  "You're bitten," Nero said, watching him carefully.

  Callum swallowed his mouthful, suddenly losing his appetite. "Yeah. Am I going to turn into a werewolf?" he joked. At least, he was half-joking, but the look on Nero's face made it seem not particularly funny at all.

  "It's possible. May I see?"

  Callum hesitated. It couldn't hurt, though, could it? And shouldn't Nero be an expert?

  He sat down, rolled up his trouser-leg, and let Nero peel away the bandage. The bite looked horrible. Callum tried not to look at it too closely, but Nero knelt down to examine it, tipping his head to one side and frowning. It made his hair fall over his eyes; he blinked it away. "Mmmm. This one will heal." He looked up. "There is another."

  Callum took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the hot prickle of interest in his gut. If only Nero were ugly, or cruel or ... if this wasn't happening at all. The thought made him suddenly angry, and he pulled back his sleeve with more force than necessary.

  Seeing the wound on his arm made it obvious to him how not-actually-horrible the one on his leg was. This one looked angry. He touched it gently with a fingertip; it ached. When Nero was done re-wrapping Callum's leg he leaned up to look at it, and his nose wrinkled. He bent over Callum's lap, brushing his fingers lightly along the outline of the bite, not quite touching it. This time, when he looked up, Callum realised Nero was between his knees, one hand on Callum's thigh, the other on Callum's wrist. He was close enough to–

  "This one is worse. But I don't think you'll turn. Holly did not intend to make you one of us." He hesitated, and then, "It would heal, if we were bonded. Or, if you wanted, I could turn you."

  Callum's mouth was dry; he swallowed, wet his lip, and tried to speak. "Into a werewolf, you mean."

  "Yes."

  "And ... you wouldn't just make me one if I didn't want?"

  "No."

  The werewolf held his gaze a little longer, before he carefully wound up Callum's bandages again. Then he stood. "You can sleep," he said, backing away. "You're safe with me."

  How can I possibly be safe? He didn't say it aloud, though, just shook his head. "I'm fine."

  Nero frowned, as if he was actually annoyed by it. "Have it your way." He walked away, settled on the window-seat again, knees pulled up to his chin, looking out.

  Callum felt completely ignored. He glanced at the door, but gave it up for now. He'd have to come up with a better plan.

  He propped himself in a chair and stared at the ceiling. It was plaster, with moulded flowers around the light-fitting. The house was old, he thought, a brick-and-wood thing. How long had the 'pack' been up here in the woods? Years? Were they here back then, before he left?

  Had his father been right? About some things, maybe ...

  What was it Aunt Ellen said? 'Even a blind pig turns up a truffle sometimes.' Which was sort of pointless, because he was pretty sure pigs sniffed truffles out. Still, comparing his father to a blind pig... it was cruel, really.

  "You were going to kill me, weren't you?" It was important, Callum thought, to remember that. No matter how silky Nero's hair looked. Nero had been going to kill him.

  "Yes," Nero said, simply, just like that. And then, "I didn't want to. But it's the law for us. You kill a bonded wolf and the pack kills you. Because if you kill a bonded wolf you're killing their mate, as well."

  "But you decided not to."

  "Yes."

  Callum thought about this. "Why? What makes me so special, then?"

  "Nothing. But when I saw you, I didn't want to kill you. Maybe, if I still cared for Holly, I would have anyway, but ... I didn't want to hurt you because of her. She doesn't deserve your death."

  Oh. Nothing, then. Typical. Callum was just there, and Nero decided to spare him because he felt sorry for him. Nothing special about him at all. But how Nero could be so cavalier about it, Callum couldn't understand. "If you bond me, though, aren't you stuck with me? You could ... just not. You could let me go, bond someone else."

  "If I let you go," Nero said quietly, "it won't be me who kills you."

  Callum didn't much feel like talking after that, so they both fell silent, Nero with his study of the fading sunlight, Callum bored now that he wasn't terrified. He thought about reading one of the books on the nightstand. He didn't, though, just moved into in a wingback chair that was less comfortable than it looked, and tried not think too much about how he was going to get away. There didn't seem to be many options. Wait, he decided. Put off this 'bonding' thing as long as possible. Try not to let his arm rot off.

  He must have dozed because he jerked awake. It was dark outside. Nero was just closing the door; he held up a hand in a soothing gesture."The pack's returned. They'll settle soon. You can sleep in the bed."

  "I'm not sleepy," Callum lied. Nero let it go, went out again. Callum caught a glimpse of a dog – a wolf – through the open-then-shut door, and decided to stay put. He hunched down in the chair, and tried to stay awake.

  When Callum woke again there was light coming in through the window, the chill gray of pre-dawn, and he knew he would have been cold if someone hadn't draped a quilt over him.

  Nero, maybe. The bed was stripped. The werewolf was on it, asleep on his side in his clothes with one hand flat on the sheet-covered mattress. It was as though he'd curled himself around someone who wasn't there. Holly, Callum thought with a pang. But ... Nero said he hated her, so... Maybe he left space for me.

  Callum wasn't sure how he felt about that so he tried not to think about it at all. Instead he shucked the blanket as quietly as he could and levered himself out of the armchair. It was old; it creaked. Callum froze, watching Nero for any indication that he'd woken. After a silent count of ten with no obvious sign, Callum let himself breathe again.

  He crept to the door, wincing at every shift of floorboard under his feet, at the tick of the door-handle when he turned it. It did turn, though, and when he pulled on it the door opened, and then he only had the hinges to wince at.
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  There was no-one in the hall. The house was quiet, dim, like it too was sleeping. Callum went out into it, not bothering to close the door too carefully behind him; Nero would know as soon as he woke up that Callum was gone.

  He had a feeling that floorboards creaked less if you trod on the ends of them instead of the middle, so he crept along the wall of the corridor. There were stairs at one end, he remembered, that led down into an entryway that faced the room where Holly's body was. He couldn't be sure, but he figured it was likely there would be someone in there, so he wanted to avoid going that way. At the other end of the hall there was another set of stairs, going down. He took those, and ended up in a hallway that opened onto the kitchen.

  It was startlingly normal, with marble countertops and a gas range. There was a loaf of bread wrapped in a dish-towel set out on a board with a knife next to it and butter under a glass lid. There was a dishwasher next to the sink. It looked so normal.

  Callum filed it under 'things to freak out about later' and went to the back door. It wasn't latched. He supposed a house full of werewolves didn't have to worry about people breaking in. And, it was Raglan, home of the no-crime-at-all. It was like stepping into the past.

  The tap of claws on tile made him glance back. There was a wolf standing in the doorway, just looking at him. Callum froze, one hand on the door-handle. The wolf tilted its head to one side. And then it sat down, still looking, as if waiting for him to make the first move.

  Right. If it came at him he'd kick it in the head, he decided. Or ... there was a heavy-looking ceramic jar on the counter, maybe he could brain it with that. In the meantime, he leaned on the door-handle, eyes riveted on the wolf to see what it would do.

  It yawned at him.

  O-okay. Not what he expected. Boldly, Callum opened the door. The wolf lay down, settling its chin on its forepaws, still watching him. Fine then. Callum went out, shut the door behind him, and then looked around.

  He was on the back steps of a house in the middle of a clearing in the middle of the woods. Scraggly rose-bushes and lavender grew up haphazardly in the beds around the house, which one of those upright houses all over gables, and beyond that the remains of a lawn that no-one was taking any interest in. Below, a dirt road led down the hill, disappearing into the trees. This seemed to be the termination point for it, though. There didn't seem to be anywhere else. Maybe it was a driveway. Sort of.

  There were cars parked in in a cluster to one side, the blue truck that had brought him here and a few others. Callum wondered if any of them were locked.

  He tried two before the truck, but the truck opened. Oh, come on. There weren't any keys under the sun visor, but there was a set in the glove box and Callum just ... no. It was too easy.

  Did they want him to run? Was that the trick, here? Would that make it okay for them to kill him, if he ran? Some of them clearly already wanted to, had been going to, until Nero...

  Saved him? Callum wasn't sure how he felt about that. Was it saving someone when you threatened to kill them in the first place?

  Whatever, thoughts for later. He tried the keys; the engine started easy enough. Now all he had to do was find his way out of the forest. Done.

  * * *

  Nero listened to the roar of the engine until it faded into the trees. He could have stopped him, could have done something, but there was no point. It wasn't as though he could get far, or at least far enough. Nero couldn't tell him that, though, he needed to see it for himself.

  The door swung open. Shauna padded in and looked at him pointedly. Then she sniffed the chair in which Callum had slept, nosed over the quilt. Satisfied, she hopped up on the bed, and pressed her nose against his palm.

  "I know," he said. He had to get up, had to bring Callum back, but he didn't want to. "Let him have a little rope. Just for a little while."

  She whined, and stretched out next to him. He carded his fingers through her fur and she let him, wuffling up against his cheek.

  "You're shedding in the bed," he pointed out, but she ignored it, bellying up until she was practically on his face. "Callum won't like that. He's human."

  She gave him a look that said very clearly that it didn't matter what he liked or disliked if Nero let the rest of the pack kill him.

  Then there was Hamish. He hadn't tried anything yet but all his insubordination formed a pattern Nero didn't like. It would be easier, really, to let them kill Callum and then take one of the pack for his bond-mate. Ria would do it, maybe. Shauna. It might be worth it with Hamish, just to see him force himself to submit. But he wouldn't like it. He'd always hate Nero for it. Nero couldn't stomach the thought of being bonded to someone who hated him, not after Holly.

  And Callum would be dead, with his green eyes and stubborn jaw and that mouth. He was brave, a human amongst wolves, so obstinate in his refusal to give in to the inevitable or plead for his life.

  I would like to see him plead. But not for that sort of mercy.

  "Let him run," Nero said, closing his eyes and letting himself drift comfortably. "I'll catch him, in the end."

  Chapter 4

  It wasn't too hard to find his way back into town; once he hit bitumen there were signs – Raglan, 5 miles – and after a while things looked familiar enough that he managed to relax. He couldn't help checking the rearview mirror every ten seconds, though, just in case someone was following him. No-one seemed to be, but the back of his neck itched anyway, like someone was boring a hole in it with their eyes.

  When he reached the town, he didn't go to Jackie's at once. His phone and the rest of his stuff was in his car, still, so he went to the garage to get it.

  Ernie had the car hoisted up in his workshop. He frowned when he saw Callum. "People are looking for you. Vonnie said you ran off, got yourself lost in the woods."

  "Did she?" Fucking hell. Then, he supposed, they'd have 'found' a half-chewed body in a ditch somewhere and blamed it on coyotes. Not exactly the perfect crime, but not bad. "I bet she did."

  Ernie's frown deepened, eyes coming up over Callum's shoulder to the blue truck parked outside. "That's Ria Madden's truck."

  "I borrowed it."

  Ernie was quiet after that, just opened up Callum's car and stood back while Callum dragged out his phone, his bag, his spare jacket and a pair of shoes that weren't covered in mud.

  "Your sister's a nice lady," Ernie said, just as Callum was leaving. He seemed bothered by something, but Callum couldn't even guess what. "Don't go making trouble for her."

  Because, of course, it was always about Jackie. "Sure. Fine."

  By the time he pulled into his sister's driveway, it all felt like a dream. None of it could really be real, could it? He didn't have any evidence, beyond the bites, the dent in his car. And, there was always the truck. That had to be proof of something.

  The back door was unlocked; Callum remembered it always being unlocked, and again, this place was so safe, everyone was too trusting. He wasn't; he locked it behind him, and then checked the front was locked, just in case.

  "Jackie! Jacks! Where the hell are you?"

  She wasn't in the kitchen or the den. No sign of her upstairs, either. God. Damn. It.

  His phone was flat, so he got out a charger and plugged it in. Then he went to the bathroom, eyeing himself suspiciously in the bathroom mirror as he washed his hands. Would he trust him, right now? Maybe? He didn't look too manic, too crazy, just tired and pissed off and done with it all.

  Which was when he saw the knife. It was sitting in its sheath on the bathroom window-ledge where he'd left it the night he hit the dog – Holly, her name was Holly. He tried to hold the two ideas in his head at once, I hit something on the road two nights ago, and, the night before last I killed a werewolf called Holly, but they just wouldn't stick, just flickered between the two like one of those optical illusions, from faces to a candlestick and back.

  He picked up the knife gingerly. Then he cleaned it under the faucet, wiped it off and shoved it into hi
s bag.

  And now what? He had been running on adrenaline til now, sure he'd come up with a better plan than his panicked 'just get home'. Now he was here and Jackie wasn't and ... he couldn't go to her work, could he? He didn't even know where she worked. Uncle Robbie– No. None of the family. He just couldn't cope with them. And how was he going to explain about the werewolves?

  He'd just go back to the original plan, he decided. Find a motel in the next town and then just hide for a bit. Fine. At least it'd give him time to think, time to talk to Jackie. He didn't feel safe in Dad's house, felt sure that if they wanted to Nero and his 'pack' could find him here.

  His phone wasn't finished charging, but he tried calling Jackie anyway. It went straight to voicemail. "Jackie, it's Cal. I'm fine. I mean, I'm not fine, I ... shit. I'm at dad's – I mean yours." Ugh, voicemail made everything worse. "Listen. You were right. About ... the thing. It wasn't a dog. I'm heading out of town for now. Call me when you get this, okay? Bye."

  Right. Time to go.

  * * *

  The motel was shitty but they didn't ask for ID, and Callum signed himself in under the name 'Colby Keller' because it was all he could think of on the spur of the moment. He regretted it later, when he'd settled into his shitty burnt-orange room, wondered if it would throw a red flag for anyone, and then did his best not to dwell on it.

  Meanwhile he was sore and itchy, and still wearing his dad's old pants and a shirt that didn't fit him. Fuck it. He showered quickly, and then redressed his bites. The leg was looking better. Nero said it would heal. The arm, though, was bad. Shit, was it infected? Callum cracked open the antibiotics, just in case. He'd keep an eye on it, it'd be fine, or so he told himself, not feeling particularly convinced.

  Clean clothes that fit were a blessing. He pulled on fresh jeans and a navy-blue henley, a soft one with sleeves not quite long enough to completely cover his bandage. He felt better, more alert, maybe somehow able to process any of this.