Bound by Fate

by Claire Cullen

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  Bound by Fate

  Evenfall Book Two

  By Claire Cullen

  Copyright © 2017 by Claire Cullen

  All Rights Reserved

  Chapter One

  It was too soon to be discouraged. Callix had visited every Pack in his territory over the past two months without finding his mate, but that didn't mean he would be like his brother Thane. Thane had spent five years searching for Fionn, and by the time he'd found him things between them were anything but straightforward.

  When Rowan Pack had made contact with him, he'd been pleased to have a distraction from his search, but their news was disturbing. The body of one of their wolves had been found in the forest. He'd been killed by a shotgun, and there was evidence of injuries consistent with being caught in a snare. For some reason, he'd been unable to free himself or shift.

  So now Cal was investigating the area they'd found him in, trying to figure out what had happened. Was it humans hunting, and an unlucky shifter became caught in their trap? Or was it something more? It would take a lot for a werewolf to become caught in a human trap and be unable to extricate themselves before the hunters arrived to check them.

  Cal could imagine what a horrible, terrifying experience it must have been for the shifter, but he forced it from his mind as he walked. It wouldn't do to get distracted, he needed his wits about him. This area of forest was close enough to humans that it was safer for him to be in his human skin, though he was barefoot, with his bow and arrows and a drawstring bag slung across his back—traveling light, as always.

  A sound in the distance caught his attention and he stilled. It came again, unusual enough that he changed direction and walked toward it. Animal or human? He tried to catch the scent on the breeze, but it was downwind of him. The ground beneath him gave him hints as he noted a footprint from a shoe. A human more than likely, though the sound they were making was odd.

  He approached with care, mindful that if this was a hunter, startling them might be fatal. What came into view amongst the trees was a male, crouched on the ground. Cal closed in, hearing the man's labored breathing and pained murmuring. An injured human. Just what he needed.

  Not one to let any creature suffer, and seeing no sign of a weapon, he stepped forward. "Hi there, do you need some help?"

  The man jerked around on hearing his voice, and Cal caught sight of a head of blond hair so light it was almost white and bright blue eyes that regarded him fearfully.

  The man's scent hit him a moment later, and Cal knew he was in a world of trouble. Definitely human. And something more besides.

  He raised his hands slowly, palms up, as he forced his focus back on the situation at hand.

  "I'm sorry if I startled you."

  The man's attention returned to his feet, and as Cal edged around toward him, he could see the problem. The human's leg was trapped in a snare, a white wire wrapped tight around his ankle.

  "I… I can't get it off. And it hurts."

  Cal stepped closer, his hands still held up in front of him.

  "I can help. Just try and stay still."

  The man looked up again, holding Cal's gaze. He seemed skeptical, but Cal could see he was considering his words.

  "My name is Cal," he offered, hoping putting a name to a face might make him more trustworthy.

  "I'm Dylan," the blue-eyed man replied.

  Cal took that as permission to move closer and knelt down next to him, reaching out slowly to examine the wire.

  "It caught around my foot and tripped me up. I tried to get my fingers underneath it but…" He held his hands up, showing Cal the red cuts the wire had left. His ankle was puffy and swollen, and Cal could see where the wire had already cut into it.

  He traced the end of the wire from Dylan's ankle to where it was tied around a tree. There would be no untangling this.

  "We'll need to cut it to free you. It's designed to tighten when you pull on it." Which Dylan couldn't have missed in his attempts to escape.

  He pulled the bag from his shoulder, setting it down and pulling out his pocket knife.

  "You need to hold really still. I'll unfold the blade from my pocket knife, slip it between your skin and the wire, then close it over to snip the wire in two. It will put pressure on the wire for a few moments. Just breathe deeply through your mouth and hold still."

  Once he'd explained it, he didn't waste time getting started. It wasn't as easy as he made it sound. The wire was so tight, and the ankle so swollen, that it took effort to slip the blade under it—Dylan tensing and hissing under his breath as the wire pressed against his skin. Then Cal was folding the knife closed, hearing the snap as the blade neatly sliced the wire in two. He peeled it gently from around Dylan's ankle, examining the reddened skin beneath.

  "How long have you been trapped?"

  "A few hours."

  "And no one's come looking?"

  "I won't be missed until lunchtime." It wasn't yet midday.

  Dylan flexed his ankle experimentally, wincing as he did so.

  "Thanks for your help."

  "You're welcome. I'm glad I found you when I did. Do you think you can walk on that ankle?"

  "I'm not sure. I twisted it when I fell."

  "How far is your home from here?"

  Dylan turned his head around, pointing east. "That way. About half an hour's walk."

  He turned back to Cal, and now they were face to face again, those startling blue eyes catching him once more. He almost didn't believe what his eyes were telling him, what the other man's scent was making clear. Dylan was his destined mate and hopelessly, irrevocably human.

  He'd tried yelling for help, even though he knew it was fruitless. His grandfather was back at the house, too far away to hear him, and he rarely came across anyone else in these woods. As the minutes slipped into hours, it just got worse. His ankle swelled from the fall, and no matter what he did the wire only seemed to tighten against his skin. He was tired and hurting when the voice called to him.

  Looking up, he found himself captivated by the man in front of him. He looked young, around Dylan's age or a little older, with dark hair and dark eyes. His presence distracted him from his predicament for a moment. And then Cal was freeing him and cautiously helping him to his feet. His ankle held his weight, but only just.

  "Lean on me," the other man said, wrapping an arm around him.

  It should have been awkward and uncomfortable being pressed so close to a virtual stranger, but there was something about Cal—how he moved, how he spoke—that inspired a certain fascination in him.

  "Have you lived here long?" Cal asked as they walked.

  "All my life," Dylan replied. "What about you?" He'd never seen Cal before, but then he rarely saw other people, except his grandfather.

  "Just passing through."

  Dylan felt a pang of disappointment. Another few minutes and they'd part for good.

  "That snare you were caught in, have you see
n those around before?"

  "No. Not a lot of hunting goes on here."

  His foot hit a rock, and he stumbled. Cal caught him easily, warm arms holding him upright. "Whoa, there. Are you okay?"

  Dylan could only nod, their faces inches from one another, and he was suddenly very aware of each breath he took and of the color of Cal's lips. Cal broke into a smile. "Let's try and get you home in one piece."

  "Do you hunt?" Dylan asked when he got his voice back, eyeing the bow Cal carried on his back.

  "For food. I prefer static targets to practice with," Cal replied. "You?"

  "My grandfather hunts. I don't. But I fish."

  Speaking of his grandfather, they were getting closer to home. He wouldn't be pleased to hear what had happened to him. He'd be even less pleased if he found him with Cal.

  "I'm okay from here," he announced when he saw the tree that marked the five-minute point from his house. "Thanks for your help."

  That seemed to stump Cal. "Let me see you to your door."

  "There's no need. I've put you out enough."

  The look Cal gave him told Dylan his words weren't being well received.

  "My grandfather doesn't like strangers on our property. It would be easier if he didn't know you were here.

  That, Cal seemed to understand. "Are you sure you can make it on your own?"

  Dylan tried out a few steps. It hurt, but his ankle held his weight. "I can make it."

  He turned to leave, but Cal's hand on his elbow stopped him.

  "I'll be passing this way again in a few days. Maybe I could catch up with you, see how you're doing?"

  It was on the tip of Dylan's tongue to say no, but Cal was the most interesting thing that had happened to him in a long time, and Dylan was loathed to just let him go.

  Cal let go of his elbow and turned to leave.

  "A few minutes south of where you found me, there's a rock where you can sit and look down at the valley and the river. I go there most mornings."

  Cal nodded. "I'll come by and check on you. It was nice to meet you, Dylan." He gave him one last searching look as Dylan turned and began his slow journey home.

  Chapter Two

  Dylan hobbled as far as the gate, then leaned against it, catching his breath.

  "Shay?"

  He had to call twice more before his grandfather's head poked out of the shed. One look at Dylan, and he knew there was a problem, crossing the yard toward him.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Got caught in a tree root. Twisted my ankle."

  Shay opened the gate with one hand, steadying Dylan with the other.

  "Looks like a bad sprain. Let's get you inside."

  He put an arm around Dylan and helped him limp across to the house.

  "How did you make it back on that ankle?"

  "With difficulty," he replied, grunting from pain as they climbed the steps to the back door.

  Shay left him sitting at the kitchen table and went to get the first aid kit and an ice pack. Dylan took a quick look at his ankle, the swelling wasn't as bad as he'd thought, but the marks left by the snare looked worse—angry, fiery red lines that burnt into his skin. He touched one with his finger, wincing as the pain ran up his leg. He did not want Shay to see that.

  "Here we are," Shay said. "We'll wrap it up well and ice it down."

  "I can manage," Dylan said quickly, taking the ice pack from him. "I know you have a lot of work to finish."

  "If you're sure," Shay said, eyeing him. "Make sure you elevate that leg."

  "I will," he promised.

  "You'll need to stay off it until tomorrow. I'll do your chores for today."

  "I'm sure after a rest I can—"

  "No." Shay's sharp tone silenced him. "You'll do as I say. Stay off it until tomorrow."

  He repacked the first aid kit, slamming the box shut.

  "You should have been watching where you put your feet. Too busy daydreaming to see what's in front of you."

  Dylan bit his tongue and didn't try to defend himself. It would only lead to an argument and loud silences that lasted for days. And it wasn't like he had anyone else to talk to. Except maybe Cal, if he came back like he said he would.

  Shay put the kit away and stomped back into the kitchen. Pulling out a chopping board, knife, and assortment of vegetables, he set them on the table in front of Dylan.

  "You can make yourself useful and get these ready."

  He turned toward the back door, pausing to speak to Dylan over his shoulder.

  "What if you weren't able to make it back here? You need to be more careful."

  The door swung shut behind him, and Dylan pushed aside the pang of guilt as he reached for the knife.

  His grandfather was rarely happy with him, no matter what he did. Whenever Dylan messed up, even if it wasn't his fault, it took Shay a long time to get over it.

  It was much later when Shay came back inside. The vegetables had long been prepared but he didn't dare leave his seat to start cooking them. His grandfather would see that as him being obstinate rather than helpful.

  The pain in his ankle seemed to be worsening despite the bandage, the ice, and Dylan keeping off his feet. Shay read his face easily.

  "I'll get you some aspirin."

  Dylan watched as Shay moved around with purpose, taking a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water, then setting it and two pills down on the table next to him.

  He turned his attention to cooking their meal, forcing Dylan to watch as he chopped up meat, and threw it into a pot with some stock and the vegetables he'd prepared. Casserole again… Dylan often wished they could be more adventurous. He'd seen magazines with other, exotic looking foods. But Shay liked his meat and veg and didn't like to vary things. Not just food but routine. To Dylan it was stifling, each day the same, each word spoken before. He longed for something different.

  Cal stepped even more carefully through the forest after his encounter with Dylan. At least now he knew what to look for and kept his eyes peeled for more snares. He went back to where he'd found Dylan and tried to find an unfamiliar scent trail. Dylan's scent was the only one there. Whoever had left the snare was long gone and hadn't come back to check it. He decided to stay in the area, close enough that he'd hear someone if they came to check the trap—which they should. That was what hunters did.

  He scouted the area carefully for more snares, relieved when he didn't find them but perplexed to find Dylan's the only scent trail. There wasn't much else he could do but wait.

  Strolling to the river, he found the spot Dylan had mentioned, climbing up and taking a seat on the cool rock. Dylan was right, it was a beautiful view. The river wound through the valley below, he could hear the rush of the water, see the glint of the sun on its surface.

  On impulse, he climbed back down, shedding his clothes and wading into the water. He stepped in a slow circle, eyes and ears watchful for any observers. Finding none, he gave into the urge to shift, shedding his human skin. His bear relished the cool water flowing across his paws. He waded deeper, alert for movement within the water. It looked like he'd be here for a while. He needed to eat.

  The night passed slowly, his leg throbbing with more and more intensity. Shortly before dawn he got up, turning on his lamp. He couldn't understand why the injury was causing so much pain.

  Carefully, he unwrapped the bandage he had placed with such care. His ankle looked better—the puffiness less—but the skin over the cuts was red and inflamed, and he could feel the heat from it. Just what he needed.

  He tested his weight on it, relieved to find it held. His ankle was better, but now he was dealing with an infection. At least, he thought that was what it was. Making his way downstairs, he found Shay already up and boiling the kettle.

  "How is your ankle?"

  It was on the tip of his tongue to come clean about the infection, but he couldn't bear another round of guilt tripping. He could take care of it himself.

  "It feels a lot better
. The swelling has gone down."

  He mentally crossed his fingers that Shay wouldn't ask to see it. When the older man opened his mouth, all he said was, "Good. You can help me out in the yard this morning."

  While Shay cooked their porridge, Dylan snuck into the bathroom where they kept the first aid kit. He hurriedly cleaned the marks and applied the antiseptic before wrapping his ankle in a fresh bandage. That should be enough, his body would hopefully do the rest.

  He didn't stray far from home that day, the pain distracting him, and the remnants of the sprain making themselves known as the day wore on.

  Shay seemed to have forgiven him, making idle comments as they worked.

  "I'm driving into town after lunch. We're low on supplies. I might have time to stop by the library on my way back."

  "Great. I finished my last book a week ago. I could sink my teeth into a few more." Especially if his ankle was going to be giving him trouble. Speaking of his ankle, it was getting harder and harder to hide the pain. When he winced for the third time in as many minutes, Shay's heavy hand settled on his shoulder.

  "Go on inside, take your weight off that leg. Don't want you laid up for a week because you pushed yourself too hard."

  He gratefully accepted the offer but made himself useful by sitting at the table and making sandwiches for them both. Cheese and tomato. Shay's favorite. Another small attempt to make up for the inconvenience of his injury.

  They ate lunch in relative silence. Dylan knew Shay's mind was on his plans for the afternoon. He didn't like traveling from home. He suspected Shay would be content if he never had to leave, and if not for Dylan, he probably wouldn't. Dylan, on the other hand, craved adventure. He found the confines of their homestead stifling. But the world outside was dangerous for Dylan. Shay was safe enough out there, he was old and knew how to keep himself safe. So Dylan contented himself with wandering the forest that bordered their home.

  "I'd best be off," Shay said, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. "I'll stock up on first aid supplies while I'm gone."

  He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and passed it across the table to him.