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.”
By the time I get to Callum‘s apartment, I‘m 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 there since the fight with Vienna, but navigating my way here helped to take
my mind off it and lessen the ache.
Good thing I‘ve got an impeccable sense of direction, or I wouldn‘t have been able to find 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 forest. Still, I recall
enough of our drive here after the party to make it back, and upon entering the lobby, I even remember which door is his.
Though if I didn‘t, the Avenged Sevenfold song I can hear playing softly from inside would‘ve been a dead giveaway.

I take a deep breath as I raise a fist to knock, holding it as I hear his footsteps draw closer from the interior of the apartment. The
knob turns and the door opens, and when I meet those striking blue–green eyes, my heart constricts, the scorching memories of
our last encounter flooding back
I swallow hard, then breathe out a quiet, “Hi.”
“Hi,” 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 gaze off of his body as I step around
him to enter the apartment.
His scent assaults me as soon as I walk inside; 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 I wasn‘t exactly attuned to my surroundings while he was kissing the life out of me. Now, the light of day, I‘m
seeing it for
the first time, and I‘m... surprised.
I expected it to be cold and impersonal, like the 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
created by an adept hand and a beautiful mind.
My feet carry me closer, my eyes roaming over the pages littering the wall with rapt fascination. Some of them are just black and
white outlines, while others are shaded with grey or boast vibrant colors. A single page rests on the side table beside some sort
of strange equipment, and I reach out to pick up the paper, running my fingers over the design as I feel Callum prowl up behind
me.
“Did you draw this?” I ask incredulously, turning to look at him over my shoulder as my fingertips linger on the design. He rakes a
hand through his disheveled hair, his gaze darting down to the paper in my hands, then snapping back up to meet mine. “Yeah.”
My breath catches in my throat as I glance back down at the drawing, eyes drinking in the delicate lines he sketched out.
“Callum, this is incredible.”

His warm chest presses against my 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, and I shiver at the
sensation of his lips brushing my skin. Almost involuntarily, my body melts back into his, my soft curves melding with the hard
lines of his brawny chest.
“Does that mean you changed your mind?” I ask cautiously, covering his hands with my own and leaning my head back against
his shoulder. It‘s hard to think clearly when he‘s this close to me.
The way he growls into my ear sends a shiver racing down my spine. “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 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 gaze drops to track the movement. “How?”
“Well for starters, tell me more about these.” I push off his chest and spin back around, gesturing toward the wall of impressive
sketches, “Like I said, it‘s just a hobby.” He steps around 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 paint... “What‘s
all that stuff?” I wonder aloud, watching him clear the clutter and place everything in a little box.
He raises a strange looking contraption. “What, you‘ve never seen a tattoo gun?” He drops it in the box 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 reach. “Did you tattoo this
one?” I ask, picking up the drawing from the side table again.
“I was working on it,” he replies with a shrug of his shoulder. “Can I see?”
The 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 insanely talented he is. I glance toward the

box of tattoo supplies, then back to the unfinished artwork on this thigh.” Can I watch?” “It‘s not as exciting as you think,” he
chuckles while reaffixing the bandage to his leg. I reach up to cup his jaw, hitting him with my best pleading doe–eyed expression
when our gazes meet. “Please?”
He pauses, studying my face with narrowed eyes, then slowly nods in response, sliding me off his 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 everything from the box again, preparing his equipment while I
watch in eager fascination.
Lots of people get tattoos – my best friend, included – but the prospect of watching Callum ink 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 to lower it onto his skin.
“Depends on what you classify as pain,” he murmurs. “I have a high threshold.” I watch, wide–eyed, 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 the ink is the only way to make it
permanent. Otherwise, shifter healing just forces the ink out.”
I 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 from his laser–focus on his task and the meticulous movements he makes with
the needle.
“Do 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 my neck.
Jeez, am I getting hot and bothered from watching him do this?
Something about it feels decidedly intimate, even though we‘re both still fully clothed. Well, I am, at least. Cal‘s still shirtless, and
I unwittingly lick my lips as my gaze travels up to his hard abs, lingering there for a beat.
“Never have,” he murmurs, still intently focused on the tattoo. He alternates strokes of the needle with wiping a paper towel
across his skin to mop up the little drops of blood that rise.

“Would you tattoo me?” For the first time since he started, he pauses, switching off the gun and lifting his head to look up at me
curiously. “You really want to mark up that perfect skin?” His hungry gaze crawls up my body slowly, like he‘s mapping out where
he‘d ink me, if given the chance.
I shift my weight on the ottoman, a steady thrum starting between my thighs. “Why not?”
His eyes meet mine again, his heated blue–green stare threatening to incinerate me on the spot. “Maybe someday,” he growls,
wetting his lips with his tongue. Good lord – I feel like I need to fan myself. It isn‘t fair how this man can set my body ablaze with
a single glance. I shift my weight on the ottoman again, squeezing my thighs together tightly in an attempt to relieve the ache
between them. As if he knows what he‘s doing to me, the corner of his mouth briefly lifts in amusement– but then he drops his
gaze and switches the tattoo gun back on, getting right back down to business.
I take a beat to calm my racing heart and steady my breathing, watching the disciplined strokes me makes with the tattoo gun.
“You could make a career out of this,” I murmur as I watch him work, still completely fascinated. My eyes drift up to the wall
behind him, scanning over the pages of artwork. “You‘re really talented. Have you ever showed these to anyone?”
“I‘ve posted a few online,” he mumbles. “A band from Denver contacted me recently about using one for album artwork. They‘re
playing a show in Breckenridge on Friday, so I‘m thinking about driving out there to meet with them.” 1
“Really?!” I squeal, unable to contain my enthusiasm. My lips spread into a wide smile, and when he lifts his gaze to meet mine,
I‘m positively beaming. “That‘s so cool! You definitely should.”
He shrugs a shoulder, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Maybe.” He wipes at his thigh with the paper towel again, switching
off the tattoo gun and setting it on the side table. Then he gets a fresh bandage, peeling off the adhesive backing. He affixes it to
his thigh over the tattoo, his gaze lifting to meet mine. “Would you, uh... wanna come? If I go?” My heart thumps. “To
Breckenridge?”
“Yeah. Just out there and back, but we could stick around to watch the band for a little while if you want.” He shrugs again, so
damn casual as he leans over and begins placing his tattoo equipment back in the box. I reach out and place a hand on his arm,
his eyes snapping up and colliding with my own. “I’d love that, Callum,” I reply sincerely, a wide smile stretching my lips. He
leans forward to gather me in his arms and hauls me into his lap, my knees spreading to straddle his waist. “Cool,” he smiles
against my lips, then crushes his against them in a steamy, toe–curling kiss.
Tingles spread through my body as my lips part and our eager tongues graze. I grasp his shoulders and rock my center against
him, mewling into his mouth when I feel the stiff ridge of his dick twitch to life beneath me. I start to kiss him harder, rougher, but

he suddenly pulls back, breaking the kiss before things can escalate and effectively dousing water over the flames raging inside
me.
“Hop up,” he grumbles, patting my butt. Breathless and confused, I wriggle off him, finding my footing on the floor in front of the
recliner and rising to my feet. His gaze drops to his thigh, and I follow it to see that the bandage on his leg is bunched up, two
sides having come loose from the friction of me riding his lap. He tears it off, reaching onto the side table for a new one to
replace it with.
I draw measured breaths as I watch him, steadily calming my racing heart.
We should probably cool things off until we can have a meaningful discussion about where we stand.
Right? Ah, who am I kidding – I‘m already a goner.