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.” 

a gnawing feeling of regret in the pit of my stomach that‘s been there since the

and I didn’t make use of the roads since I shifted and ran home through the forest. Still, I recall enough of our drive here after the party to make it back, and upon entering the lobby, I even

Avenged Sevenfold song I can hear playing softly

interior of the apartment. The knob turns and the door opens,

hard, then breathe out

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 gaze off of his body as I

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 I wasn‘t exactly attuned to my surroundings while he was kissing the life out of me. Now, the

and

vibe that Callum puts off, but it‘s not. The living room is crowded with mismatched furniture that appears comfortable and inviting, and the wall behind the sofa is even painted 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 recliner and a clunky side table. It‘s cluttered with pages taped to the surface; stunningly detailed sketches that could only have been

or boast vibrant colors. A single page rests on the side table beside some sort

shoulder as my fingertips linger on the design. He rakes a hand through his disheveled hair, his gaze darting down to the

catches in my throat as I glance back down at the drawing, eyes drinking in the delicate lines he sketched

around my waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of my neck and inhaling deeply. “Sorry about the other night,” he murmurs, and I shiver at the sensation of his lips brushing my skin. Almost involuntarily, my body melts back into his, my soft curves melding

leaning my head back against his shoulder. It‘s hard to

his sharp jaw in a palm and staring into the turquoise depths of his eyes.” Don‘t push me away, Callum,” I implore, searching his eyes with my own. “I want to know you, but you have to let me in.” He lifts a hand to my face, tracing the curve of my lower lip with his thumb as his

me, reaching to the side table to gather up the strange array of objects scattered across the surface– a pair of latex gloves, a razor, a stack of paper towels, little jars of what looks like

with the other stuff while my eyes fly wide, my brows 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 like strange placement when the rest of his body is a blank canvas – unless he‘s been doing them himself. Those would be the easiest places for him to

a shrug of his shoulder. “Can

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 insanely talented he is. I glance toward the box of tattoo supplies, then back to the unfinished artwork on

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 everything from the box again, preparing his equipment

himself 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 vials of ink and starts

as he sinks the needle into his thigh and starts to drag it, etching a thin black line into his 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 awe. “Adding liquid silver to

just forces the ink out.”

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 from his laser–focus on his task

you ever tattoo anyone else?” I ask, and from the breathy way it comes out, I suddenly realize that I‘m panting, heat crawling up