Broken Bond by C.J. Primer

Read Broken Bond by C.J. Primer Chapter 12

VANESSA

I was a lot like my little sister Mia when I was her age. I was obsessed with princess movies – the kind where a handsome prince or a white knight would rush in and sweep the princess off her feet, then they‘d ride off into the sunset together and live happily ever after. As I got older, I recognized that life wasn‘t a fairytale, but that didn‘t stop me from daydreaming about falling madly in love someday and finding my own happy ending. My parents did. Their relationship is like a real–life fairytale, so it didn‘t seem far–fetched to dream of one day having something like that for myself. 1 

Turns out, relationships are far more complicated than I imagined, especially with a dark knight bent on pushing away anyone who gets too close. I took a chance on Callum because he made me feel things that nobody else ever has. He ignited something in me that made me want to take a leap of faith and see where the spark between us could go. Mates or not, he‘s the first man I‘ve had real feelings for, and despite how things ended the other night, I haven‘t given up on him. 

How can I when he‘s still taking up so much space in my head and heart? Going home with him wasn‘t a snap decision. We‘ve been getting to know each other for a couple weeks now, and I can‘t deny how much my feelings for him have grown. I‘m smitten. After the way he touched me at the hot springs, I ached for more, and when I accepted his invitation to go back to his place, I was fully prepared to give myself over to Callum, mind, body, and soul. 

Evidently, he wasn‘t on the same page– or if he was, he changed his mind when I admitted to my inexperience. I felt the sting of his rejection well into the next day, but now that I‘ve had more time to think about it, I realize that it doesn‘t change how I feel about him. If anything, it only confirmed what I already knew– that beneath that hard exterior of his, he‘s thoughtful and kind. He‘s a good man, worthy of affection. Worthy of a second chance. So even though I walked out on him, I‘m still hopeful he‘ll change his mind and take a chance on me, too. 

His timing sucks. I haven‘t called, haven‘t sent a text to him since that night, giving him space to come to his own decision of what he wants. I‘d reach eagerly for my phone each time it vibrated, hope blooming in my chest only to be dashed when it wasn‘t his name on the screen. And as luck would have it, when his name finally does appear, I‘m not the first to see it. Vienna 

1. is. 

It couldn‘t have come at a worse time. Vee stormed in this morning after spending another night with Chase, already on the warpath and unwilling to talk about whatever was upsetting her, and of course that‘s when Callum happened to finally call. She snatched my phone off the bed and held it up in front of me, showing me the incoming call on the screen while accusing me of keeping secrets from her. Everything devolved from there. We shouted at one another, she packed her bag, and she stormed out, leaving me standing in my bedroom blinking back tears and wondering when everything in my life got so damn complicated. Vee and I don‘t fight. She‘s always the person I go to when I‘m upset, so in this instance, I‘m at a loss for what to do. And then Callum calls again, almost as if in answer. I lift my phone in shaky hands, clicking the button to pick up the call with a sniffled “Hello?” 

“What‘s wrong?” he asks instantly, his low, commanding tone sending butterflies scattering 

in my belly. I draw a deep breath, trying to steady my voice enough to respond. “Vienna and I just had a big fight,” I manage. “Oh.” He sounds almost relieved. “Sorry... that sucks.” 

“Yeah.” We‘re both silent for a moment, listening to each other breathe as I continue to fight back tears, my argument with Vienna still playing on repeat in my brain. “Hey Callum?” I ask quietly, wiping a stray tear from the apple of my cheek. “Can I come over?” 

My heart pounds at a rapid rhythun while I await his response, kicking myself for even asking. It‘s stupid, considering how things went down the last time I was at his place, but for some reason, he feels like a safe harbor. Even the sound of his voice is calming. If I can‘t fix things between Vienna and me right now, maybe I can mend whatever went wrong between the two of us. 

“Yeah, babe,” he replies without hesitation. “C‘mon over” 

1 blow out a relieved breath, my tense shoulders relaxing. “Okay,” I sniffle. “Be there soon.” 

already feeling marginally better. I‘ve stopped crying, at least. There‘s still a gnawing feeling of regret in the pit of my stomach that‘s been

my way back. I wasn‘t exactly thinking clearly when I left the other night, and I didn’t make use of the roads since I shifted and ran home through the

song I can hear playing softly from inside would‘ve

apartment. The knob turns and the door opens, and when I meet those

hard, then breathe out a

he rumbles in response, pulling the door the rest of the way open and stepping aside to allow me entry. His hair is messy like he recently woke up, sticking out haphazardly in all directions. He‘s shirtless – because evidently I haven‘t been tortured enough by the mere thought of his chiseled physique– and I feebly try to keep my thirsty

juniper, leather, smoke, spice. It‘s a delicious combination that I can‘t get enough of, and although I‘m trying my best to remain calm and composed, I can‘t control how my pulse picks up with every step. I glance around curiously as I wander further inside, taking in the interior of Cal‘s residence. Even though I‘ve been here before, it was pitch black–

and

in an accent color– a deep blue, like the ocean. What draws my eye the most, though, is the wall across from that one, behind an overstuffed

fascination. Some of them are just black and white outlines, while others are shaded with grey or boast vibrant colors. A

design. He rakes a hand through his

I glance back down at the drawing, eyes drinking in the delicate lines

back, his arm coming around me to take the paper from my hand. “It‘s just a hobby,” he replies, returning the drawing to the side table. I struggle to breathe when he wraps both arms around my waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of my neck and inhaling deeply. “Sorry about the other night,” he murmurs,

his hands with my own and leaning my head back against his shoulder. It‘s hard to think

“It means I‘m not ready to let you go.” My lips spread into a grin, warmth blooming in my chest. I twist around in his grip until I‘m facing him, pushing up on my tiptoes to brush my lips against his. “Then don‘t,” I whisper, reaching up to cup his sharp jaw in a palm and staring into the turquoise depths

me, reaching to the side table to gather up the strange array of

practically hitting my hairline. “Seriously?” I gasp, blinking as the pieces start to slot together in my brain. He‘s got tattoos crowding his thighs and forearms, which seems

it,” he replies with a shrug of

corner of his mouth lifts in amusement at my eagerness. “Sure.” Cal blows out a breath, sidestepping in front of the recliner and dropping down onto it. He lifts the leg of his gym shorts to reveal a white bandage taped over his thigh, peeling it back to show me what‘s underneath. Sure enough, it resembles the drawing on the paper in my hands, though it‘s not nearly as detailed. It‘s just thin outlines, like the start of a sketch. “How do you do it?” I ask, shuffling closer to get a better view of the ink of Callum‘s thigh. He scoops an arm around my waist, spreading his legs wide and tugging me in to sit on his other thigh. “Just freehand,” he purrs into my ear as I lean forward to get a closer look. “I draw it out on paper, then use that for reference when I tattoo it.” He describes his process with such nonchalance, like he‘s completely unaware of how

lap and rising from the recliner. I barely contain my squeal of delight as he drags an ottoman over, dropping it in front of the recliner and gesturing for me to take a seat. I‘m giddy with anticipation while he removes

in his own living room feels oddly titillating. He retakes his seat on the recliner beside me and removes the bandage on his thigh, and I flinch at the buzzing sound the tattoo gun makes when he turns it on, inhaling sharply. “Does it hurt?” I ask as he dips the tip in one of the little

skin. “The silver burns a little, but I think it feels good,” he continues, still moving the needle across his skin as I watch in

shifter healing just forces

watch him silently for a little while, marveling at the slow, controlled strokes of the tattoo needle and the beautiful image that starts to take shape. I‘m basically hovering over his leg from the ottoman beside his chair, but he doesn‘t seem to mind. If I‘m distracting him at all, you wouldn‘t be able to tell

ask, and from the breathy way it comes out, I suddenly realize that