Broken Bond by C.J. Primer

CALLUM

A lot of little boys idolize superheroes. I’ve always identified more with the villains.

It’s not like I had designs on growing up to become some sort of evil mastermind, but some part of me has always recognized that desperate darkness that lurks beneath the surface of the villain in the story. The tortured soul behind the manic façade.

Nobody roots for the villain, and nobody has ever rooted for me, either. My stepdad ensured that by painting me as the black sheep of the family from the moment I took my first breath. I was always the problem child, the nuisance he was forced to live with but never wanted. The product of an anonymous hookup that my mother regretted before I was even born, because she met the love of her life when she was six months pregnant with another man’s child. A man I’d never meet, because apparently, he didn’t want me either.

Ain’t life a bitch?

The villain in the story never comes out on top, but you’ve gotta admire their tenacity. The world’s against them, they know they’re bound to lose, and still, they go all-in on their efforts. I can’t imagine giving enough of a shit about anything to risk it all like that, but hey, I’ll give credit where it’s due. When you think about it, maybe the true hero of the story isn’t always the good guy with the strict moral code. Maybe it’s really the one who keeps on fighting until he has nothing left to lose.

My childhood wasn’t all bad. Growing up as a wolf shifter, I had pack life to fall back on as an escape from my shitty home life. Shifter packs are small, close-knit communities that are often isolated from the outside world, and my own is no exception. Even without an arsenal of social skills at my disposal, I managed to form a bond with other pups my own age. The rowdy group of boys I fell in with has now become an even rowdier gang of teenagers, still wild as ever, loyal to a fault, and thick as thieves.

There are six of us that have run together since we were small. There’s Alec and Dare, a pair of fraternal twin brothers that look nothing alike but seem to share a mind; Levi, the pretty boy that can get a girl to drop her panties with a single smile; Miles, the rich kid who is always playing games and taking risks to combat the boredom of his perfect life; and Chase, the son of the Alpha, the future leader of our pack, and the unofficial leader of our little band of brothers.

Then there’s me.

The one people tend to steer clear of.

Even now, with the party at the packhouse in full swing, the hapless partygoers grant me a wide berth as I make my way to the bar in the corner to pour myself a drink. We’ve been throwing these parties every weekend for the past two months- Levi’s idea, as a way to try to pull Chase out of the funk he’s been in since his dad died. The other guys seem to think that surrounding him with a constant flow of booze, weed, tits, and ass will drag him out of the darkness, but I know better. That kind of darkness burrows deep, festering until it consumes. The others think he’ll just snap out of it one day and go back to being the old Chase, but what the guy really needs is an outlet for his rage, not a distraction from it.

The music in here is so loud tonight that it’s rattling the large windows that span the back wall of the living room. Earlier, I heard some girl complaining that she could barely hear herself think over the music, but that’s the whole point, isn’t it? That’s why people have been showing up here week after week, the crowd growing larger with each party as word spreads. They don’t come here to think; they come to lose themselves for the night, to drink and smoke and hook up. To escape reality and forget about the war that took so much from us. The war that we won, but that cost our pack its Alpha.

I sift through the liquor bottles crowding the surface of the bar to pick my poison for the night, settling on top-shelf vodka and tipping it into a red plastic cup. There’s no shortage of booze at these parties, though I don’t even know where it comes from. Miles is in charge of procuring it, so he probably just throws his family’s money around until someone looks the other way and hands it over. We’re all eighteen now, still a few years shy of the legal drinking age in the United States, but our packs tend to live by their own laws, turning a blind eye to underage alcohol consumption. Since we’re shifters, we process alcohol differently- it takes a hell of a lot more to get us drunk than it would an average human. Not that we don’t make a valiant effort.

It’s really fucking irresponsible for the six of us to be left here to our own devices, but when Chase’s dad was killed in the war against the shadow pack two months ago, the Alpha title wasn’t the only thing he inherited. The packhouse is now his; an enormous, ten-thousand square foot playground that was built to house the ranked pack members and host pack gatherings. Our weekend ragers count as ‘pack gatherings’, right?

“Yo Cal!” Alec calls out, diverting my attention from the drink I’m pouring. I glance over to where he’s seated on the sectional near the bar and Alec lifts his chin, flickering his gaze to the other side of the room in warning. Before I can even turn to follow his eyes, I hear a fucking cackle that makes my skin crawl and I know who exactly whose presence he’s alerting me to.

I slam the vodka bottle back down on the bar, my fists clenching as I slowly turn, raking over the crowd of people gathered in the packhouse in search of him. Sure enough, I find him standing right across the room, running a hand through that flouncy flaxen hair of his and flashing a winning smile at some poor girl hanging off his arm.

My half-brother. The fucking apple of our parents’ eye; the golden child they always wanted.

A growl rumbles in my chest as I pick up the plastic cup from the bar, tossing my drink back in a single swallow and crumpling the cup in my hand, chucking it aside. My boots clomp against the hardwood as I start making my way across the room, anxious partygoers scrambling out of my way to let me pass.

Spencer White and I may share blood, but that’s about the only thing we share. He’s your classic clean-cut, all-American kid; the living embodiment of a ken doll with his perfectly styled light blonde hair and pale blue eyes. He’s a straight-A student, a star athlete, popular among his peers… basically every parent’s wet dream when it comes to what they’d want in a son. I, on the other hand, am a parent’s worst nightmare. A grungy high school drop-out with no future, no shortage of demons, and no ability to keep his own temper in check.

People look at my brother like he’s prince charming, while cowering from me like I’m the monster that hides under their beds. What they tend to forget, though, is that monsters aren’t born. They’re created. And the same parents who molded Spencer into their perfect little golden boy are the ones who made me what I am.

“The fuck you doing here, Spence?” I growl as I approach him, my lip curling back from my teeth in a sneer.

into a mocking smirk as he greets me with a nod, like we’re old friends or some

me by my last name, a pointed dig at the fact that it’s different from his own. I don’t even

need words to intimidate. It’s the lack of words that makes people uncomfortable. My gaze stays locked on his, eyes unblinking,

finally murmurs, dropping his voice low and leaning in. Probably trying to save face in front of his stupid friends and his blonde arm candy. “Let’s just stay out of each other’s way, eh?” Spencer lifts a hand like he’s going to clap me on the shoulder, but the snarl that leaves my throat has him thinking better of it and he shoves it in

“Leave,” I deadpan.

and scoffing. “Whatever, man.” He raises his voice, gesturing around the room.

it, but he also knows that I’m about two seconds away from forcibly removing him, and he wants to

on a heel and waving a hand to the buddies

muttering under their breath. Probably something about how I’m an asshole, but I

me a phone call from his father at some point, but that’s a problem for tomorrow. For tonight, I’m ready to get back to having a

bar to pour myself another drink, but quickly think better of it and just snatch the whole damn bottle before reclaiming my spot on the huge leather sectional at the far side of the room. That’s where the rest of my boys are posted up; the perfect vantage point to keep an eye on the rest of the house while staying isolated on our own little island. The other guys in here know to keep away from our spot. The girls, on the other hand, spend all night swarming

are six in our territory that make up our alliance. The collective is referred to as the “six-pack”- I shit you not– because apparently when you’re facing down the possibility of war, all creativity goes out the window. Our pack was the last to join the alliance and claim our own piece of the sprawling territory in Colorado years ago, but in throwing these parties over the past couple months, my boys and I have made quite the name for ourselves amongst the packs that reside here. Every week, more and more strangers from other packs show up to join

bottle, my gaze lifting to the two girls that have hopped up to dance on the coffee table positioned in front of the sectional. Melody and Alexis, both from our pack. I make it my business to keep tabs

Fuckin’ Spence.

I watch Melody and Alexis shake their asses to the music in a desperate bid to capture Chase’s attention. He’s completely zoned out, but that doesn’t seem to diminish their efforts. Melody whips around, smacking

chicks might act like they’re best friends, but watching them dance, it isn’t hard to pick up on the subtle nuances of their true relationship. People are tricky beasts. Everyone’s always

that she’s trying too hard, peeling her shirt up to show off her lacy bra and using her friend like she’s nothing but a prop to dance on. Alexis is obviously annoyed by Melody’s antics, but she puts up with her because she doesn’t have a lot of other

buried in his hoodie,

the music and the roar of the crowd, my ears feel like they’re bleeding, but I’ve never liked the quiet. In silence, my own thoughts become too loud, so I

lazily toward Alexis and Melody’s grinding bodies when an annoyingly perky voice cuts through the noise, a pair of slim legs clad in dark denim stepping into my

“Hi! I’m Nessa.”

the girl who deigned to step into my space,

She’s fucking stunning.

stepped off of a Victoria’s Secret runway, stunning.

out around her almond eyes, and plush, red-painted lips frame her gorgeous smile. Stick-straight dark hair falls down loosely around her bare shoulders, the

but this girl is either a master of concealment or truly naïve enough

her eyes for any flicker of recognition. My reputation usually precedes me, but those innocent doe-eyes give no indication of fear. She just keeps smiling warmly like

Interesting.

the couch, swiping a hand over my chin and flicking a glance in Chase’s direction. I assume he’ll want to lay claim on a creature this exquisite, but historically, he’s not above

fixed somewhere behind her. Even better. I

indicate the vacant space on the couch between the two of us, eyes locking with hers again. “Why don’t

to her side. I immediately recognize who her friend is- Vienna, an uptight waitress from the Cedar Ridge ski lodge that Levi has a boner for and that Chase won’t admit he likes. I’ve only met her once, but I might’ve been nicer

my head when I inhale her scent for the first time. She smells like cherries

in question, wondering what the hell I missed between the time