Bonded to the Alpha

by Robin Moray

  "Oh, no." Michael shoved the soft dun curls out of his eyes and elbowed the switch, and both of them blinked at each other in the new light. "It's okay."

  Callum took a bite, chewed, swallowed. "I don't get it, with you."

  Michael glanced up and then down again, tipping his onion pieces into a bowl and reaching for the carrots. "What's not to get?"

  Callum moved his tongue around in his mouth, picking up bits of sandwich, and thinking. He needed to get this right. "They all ... why do you do all this for them? You're," and he gestured with his free hand, trying to take in Michael and everything that he was. "Why do you let them make you?"

  Michael huffed. It was something Callum was beginning to think of as a quintessentially wolflike thing to do, and to see Michael do it too... "It's my place. I'm still part of the pack. I don't mind."

  "Don't you?"

  Michael looked up, and his eyes ... Callum was reminded, again, that even Michael was inhuman, still a werewolf, still ... a lot more than Callum could ever be. His eyes flashed silver and Callum tried not to flinch but he wasn't sure he'd done a very good job of it.

  "C'mon, man."

  Michael shook his head, focussing on his work. "In a pack," he said, not looking up, "there are three kinds. The alpha," and he didn't look as though he thought that needed an explanation, though Callum would have welcomed anything he had to say, "betas, and omegas. Even ... there are two kinds of beta." He scraped his carrot slices into another bowl, started in on the bell pepper. "The ones who could be alpha, and the ones who know they can't."

  Callum nodded, because that sounded like it made sense, sort of. "Okay."

  Michael looked up, hands stilling on the knife. "I'm omega."

  He said it so simply. Callum didn't know what to do with it.

  Michael picked up the knife again. "That means I do whatever I'm asked."

  "But why?" Callum couldn't, it sounded all wrong. "What do you get for that?"

  "I'm alive. There's nothing more to it."

  That sounded ... no, fuck, that was awful. "Why don't you just go?"

  And Michael looked horrified, as if this was the worst thing anyone could have said. "Leave the pack?" He shook his head, and his hand shook on the knife. "I'd be worse, then, worse than omega, I can't–"

  "Okay," Callum said, because that seemed to work with Nero (when Nero wasn't being a fucking asshole and just abandoning him here, but he refused to think about that). "All right. If you say so."

  Michael went on with his chopping, slid the pepper slices aside and started in on some broccoli.

  "So," Callum said, once he'd finished his sandwich, "it's a hierarchy. Right?"

  Michael nodded, but didn't look up.

  "And ... so I'm what? Just a human? Not part of it?" Though he thought–

  Michael shook his head, eyes coming up bright and startled. "No, you are. Don't you know?"

  Callum didn't. "Not really," he said, pushing his plate aside. Michael picked it up, stacked it in the dishwasher. Callum didn't like that either. "Tell me." Michael looked so skittish, glancing about as if ... well maybe someone was listening in. Callum wouldn't know. Shit, he didn't know anything.

  "You're the alpha's mate." Michael shrugged, but his shoulders were so stiff. "You're like ... you don't have to worry. About anything. Everyone should listen to you, even the alpha." But Michael ducked his head, went to the pantry and rummaged about. "That's how it goes."

  "Like Holly?"

  Michael jerked about, spilling rice-grains on the floor; Callum winced, feeling stupid.

  "Sorry. I'm sorry, I know ... fuck." She was part of their family and I killed her.

  But Michael was already measuring rice into a bowl. "I never liked Holly. She made things harder. She'd get into fights with other packs, or inside the pack. She was always screwing with people."

  "And screwing people," Callum said without thinking.

  Michael nodded. "That too." He hunched, glancing at Callum over one shoulder. "You're not going to do that to the alpha."

  It wasn't a question. Callum didn't know how to respond. On the one hand, he had a deal with Nero – once the bond was complete, Callum could go. On the other, he was pretty sure no-one else knew about it.

  And, it all depended on them actually managing to make the bond work in the first place.

  "I might not live long enough to find out," he said; he tried to make it sound like a joke, but it came off weak and flat.

  Michael's brow wrinkled, nostrils flaring in a semi-discreet sniff. "What do you mean? Hamish won't hurt you, not really."

  "Really? Because he's a fucking psycho." Callum swiped a thumb through a drip of gravy on his plate, and stuck the thumb in his mouth. Childish. "Anyway, all he has to do is wait. Nero said–" and he covered his bandaged arm with one hand. It felt hot and awful under there. He hated it. "This isn't getting any better. And I'm not going to turn into one of you, am I?"

  Michael shook his head slowly, eyes very wide. "You still smell human. And ... there'd be signs. There were signs for me. When I was turned."

  Which sounded like a whole other conversation Callum wanted to have, but not now. "Yeah. So. Nero said it'll kill me, in the end. Full moon, he said. Unless I bond with him."

  Michael nodded. "Sorry." To his credit, he did sound sorry. "But you are, right? Going to bond with him?" He wrinkled his nose, not discreet at all this time. "You seem to be getting along."

  Because Callum stank of sex. Right. "I don't know if it's going to work. Nero–" but he couldn't tell Michael what Nero said, about Holly, about what she did to him. Instead he shrugged. "Maybe I can't." He looked up; Michael's eyes were wide, eyebrows drawn down, and there was something in his face Callum didn't understand. "What?"

  "You have to." Michael checked himself, mouth thinning down to nothing, but then he leaned forward and his voice was low and tense. "If you don't ... you know what'll happen if you don't."

  "Yeah, yeah. Nero dies, or bonds with one of you, and then you all kill me. If my arm doesn't fall off, first." It amazed him how the thought seemed more annoying than anything else, less terrifying than it had been at first. Not that he thinks they won't, he is in fact certain that Hamish would kill him in a second and maybe Ria would too, but now ...

  "No, I mean," and Michael glances over his shoulder, leaning in until he's within arm's reach. "Ria and Hamish will fight over who gets to be alpha. They'll make us choose sides. And Vera ... I don't know. If Nero's dead I don't know what'll happen to her."

  Callum blinked. "What do you mean?"

  "You like her," Michael blurted out, his face staining pink. "Don't you?"

  "Yeah? But I don't see–"

  "It doesn't matter, I just... Hamish isn't bad, and Ria's okay, but if one of them wins the other loses, and then ... we're pack. We're supposed to be pack. Without Nero we're just ..." His breathing had quickened, and Callum thought he looked like he was going to hyperventilate in a moment, so, without thinking, he reached across the counter to touch Michael's arm.

  Michael went instantly still, and Callum snatched his hand back. "Sorry, I thought ... fuck." He took a deep breath. "I think ... look, I'm trying. I just don't know how to do this."

  "You have to submit," Michael said matter-of-factly. "Everybody knows that."

  "Yeah, well," and Callum rolled his shoulders. "I did that." Because. Michael can smell him, it's not like he can hide it.

  Michael pulled a face, and, okay, neither of them really wanted to be having this conversation. "It's different for a bond. I mean, it's different in the pack." He cleared his throat, gaze skittering over the kitchen counter and not meeting Callum's eye. "I was human, before. And when I was turned I didn't get it. The alpha ... listen, Nero's okay. He's not a tyrant, or anything, but he expects us to ... you can't be insubordinate. The wolf in him won't accept it. And with you it's worse because Holly was–" he licked his lips, speaking quickly as if afraid of someone overhearing, "she was a fuck up. If she'd just lef
t him or stopped messing with him it would have been okay, but she just ... she drove him crazy. And with the bond, it wasn't like he didn't know what she was doing behind his back. She might as well have screwed Hamish on the floor of the den. And then she'd wheedle her way back into Nero's bed and it would start all over again."

  Callum tried to imagine Nero, bonded to Holly and hating her and ... but then he frowned.

  "Gabby."

  Michael let out a long breath. "Yeah?"

  "She's Nero's. And Ria's, right?"

  Michael nodded, reluctance in the shape of his shoulders, in the stiffness of his neck. "Yeah."

  "And, what? Sounds like Holly wasn't the only one bad at keeping it in their pants."

  It seemed to take an almost physical effort for Michael to look up, and even then he only did it for a second. "It was the second time Holly took off. They were ... I guess he was lonely."

  "'Lonely' is getting shit-faced with your mates and maybe flirting over Facebook," Callum snapped. "'Lonely' doesn't eat pancakes for breakfast and call you 'Papa'."

  He regretted it at once because Michael flinched, eyes down, head turned aside, exposing his neck and – oh holy shit.

  "Hey. Sorry, I just ... I'm sorry." Callum took a deep breath, thinking back over everything. "Listen. I don't get any of this, and I'm ... usually not an asshole. I think. So, sorry."

  "It's fine," Michael said, blinking and licking his lips.

  Callum couldn't help the feeling that it really wasn't. "I'm just freaking out because I don't know what I'm doing."

  "It's submission," Michael said carefully. "It's not that complicated. You're overthinking it. Just ... give him what he wants."

  "I did that!" Callum felt his face heat, and he shook his head, trying to will it away. "Jesus, I think I really did that."

  "I can't believe I'm having this conversation," Michael muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Look. You have to give him what he wants. Not what you think he wants, what he wants."

  "How the fuck do I do that?"

  Michael ducked his head. "Just let him take it from you."

  It didn't make any sense. Callum groaned, dropping his head into his hands and knotting his fingers in his hair. "Fuck! Why's it gotta be so hard?"

  "Well, there's a reason, like, nobody ever does it." Michael sounded dryly amused. "I mean, first, it's hard, and then, you know, if it works and your bond-mate dies, um. You die."

  "You're helping. Really. In no way whatsoever."

  "Sorry." He didn't sound sorry, though, which Callum thought was something of an improvement. "Stop thinking about it and just," he held out his hands, palms up and fingers spread like a plea, "submit to him. He's the alpha. How hard can it be?"

  Callum resisted the urge to snap at him. "I'm not a werewolf," he argued, "it's not like I just instinctively know how. I thought I was! But it's not working and–" and I'm gonna die.

  "You'll figure something out," Michael said, not sounding at all convincing. "You'll have to."

  Callum hoped that by then it wouldn't be too late.

  Chapter 11

  The rain that had been threatening all day finally started pattering down after sunset, but it didn't take long before it was blowing in rough gouts against the windowpanes. Everything got suddenly so much darker, and then the storm picked up, thunder breaking in the distance.

  There was a knock at the door around eight o'clock.

  "Yeah?"

  It was Vera. She had a mug in one hand, and she looked about as sheepish as Callum supposed a werewolf could. "Nero said you like tea."

  That wasn't what he'd been expecting. "You made me tea?"

  She shrugged, and handed over the cup. Callum took one look at it and couldn't help the way his face screwed up. "What? What's wrong with it?"

  "Nothing," Callum said quickly, but she just gave him one of those I-know-you're-lying looks and he took a deep breath. "You left the bag in." She frowned, and he held up a hand to placate her. "Hey, you put milk in though! No lemon. That's good."

  "Screw your tea," she muttered, and then, twisting one bare foot against the carpet, she added, "Sorry, anyway. I shouldn't have left you in the woods with Hamish, but ... it's a wolf thing." She chewed her lip, watching him with eyes pale as a stormy sky. "He snarled at me. He's bigger than me. And I did go find Nero. So you know."

  Callum eyed her, and then the mug. "So this is apology tea?"

  She made an exasperated noise, folding her arms across her chest. "Don't expect any more, if you're going to be such a jerk about it."

  "No, I mean, thanks. I didn't ... you know, if you weren't a werewolf? And a guy like Hamish was gonna beat me up? I wouldn't blame you for running for help instead of staying and getting hurt. That's just smart."

  He couldn't be sure if it had any effect on her. She studied him so flatly. "I know you're trying. Nero knows you're trying too. Don't worry if it doesn't happen straight away."

  The blood that rushed to his face made him hot and self-conscious. "I ... do you really wanna talk about this?"

  "Why, you think I don't because it's about sex?" She rolled her eyes. "I'm seventeen, I'm not twelve. I have the internet on my phone. Plus, wolf-hearing in a house with grown-ups who get worked up over the full moon? Please." She sniffed, not in a scenting way but in a regular-teenage-girl way. "Look, I just want my brother to be happy. And not die. Mostly 'not die', but ..."

  "Wait, Nero's your brother?" He looked at her, at the silky darkness of her hair, her gray almond eyes, her sharp chin, and it made so much sense he felt stupid.

  "Yeah," she said, as if he really was stupid. "God, pay attention. Anyway. You don't have to rush it, is all I'm saying. Maybe ... you just need more practice."

  "Maybe I'm not talking to you about this." Callum protested, more high-pitched than he liked.

  "Ugh, fine." She didn't stomp her foot but it looked like a close thing. "If you do, though–"

  "I won't! So, thanks for the tea! You can go back to whatever werewolves do when it's not a full moon."

  "Pre-calc," she told him, pulling a face as she reached for the door-handle. "And you're welcome."

  He waited til she was gone to take a deep breath, letting it go long and slow.

  Fuck. Nero's sister.

  And the thought of that gave him a pang of guilt about his own.

  He called Jackie but she didn't answer. "I'm staying here," he told her voicemail, not bothering to elaborate on the 'here'; she'd work it out. "I'll come by tomorrow. Stay dry."

  He sat on the bed in the dim light of Nero's bedside lamp, drinking his terrible tea and waiting for a light-bulb moment that never really came.

  Michael and Vera made it sound so easy. Just give him what he wants. Let him take it. Don't try so hard. Yeah, well, Callum was pretty sure Nero had already tasted everything Callum had to give him and it hadn't been good enough so what the fuck was he supposed to do?

  Except ... Nero didn't seem especially interested in Callum that way. Sure, he sniffed Callum up and stiffened in his pants when Callum was rubbing up against him and he was weirdly possessive of a guy he'd known all of five minutes, but ...

  Callum thought about it, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them. What was it he really wanted?

  The trick to it, Callum decided (and he was fully aware that he had no actual idea how any of this worked) was whatever Holly had done to Nero. But Nero was the only person alive who knew how that had gone down, so Callum supposed he must already have done it. If he knew what it was. So maybe the trick was in whatever Nero had done.

  Submit. Yeah, but what did that mean?

  It was, Callum decided, all Holly's fault. And she was dead so there was no point in blaming her. But Nero ... he didn't seem stupid. He really wasn't. So how did he get mixed up with someone who, from what Callum could tell, had been pretty much a powder-keg ready to blow? Why did he trust her? How could he–

  It wasn't exactly a light-bulb moment, but Callum felt the t
hought unfold in his head like great feathery wings and, okay, yeah. Yeah, that made sense. And every time Callum doubted him, he was so upset.

  Trust me.

  The thing, Callum thought, was that he did. Trust him. Somehow. It was ridiculous, but Nero had only treated him with some kind of oddly old-fashioned chivalric (and deeply worrying) regard, as if this were a fairy-tale in which people really could just make a magical soul bond with someone because they decided to.

  And with all that, he hadn't told Nero what Hamish had said, what he'd asked, and how Callum wouldn't do it. Not that he'd actually considered doing it, not at the time and not after, he just wouldn't. So. Was that loyalty? Or something else. Maybe trust needed to go both ways. Maybe Callum needed to prove he deserved it.

  Well, in that case.

  When Nero came in it was almost midnight, and the storm was still rumbling overhead. His hair was wet, plastered to his face, and he had a towel in one hand; Callum resisted the urge to make a wet dog joke, instead–

  "Hey," he said.

  Nero's head snapped around and he stared, eyes flashing in the dim light.

  "Whoa! I didn't mean to," scare? "startle you."

  "I thought you would have gone," Nero said in a quiet, even voice.

  "Didn't you sniff me out?"

  "The house smells of you already. I didn't hear your heartbeat through the rain."

  Makes sense. "Uh .... you're wet."

  Nero nodded, and then he started stripping off his clothes. He was absolutely soaked; they peeled off like wet paper, and Nero looked cold underneath but also beautifully smooth.

  Callum licked his lips. "You, um, want me to ... I could dry your hair."

  Nero gave him one of those unblinking stares that Callum didn't know how to interpret. Then he huffed. "I can dry my own hair."

  Well. So much for that. Nero was in only his skin now, rubbing himself down with the towel, and Callum tried not to leer at him even though Nero didn't seem in any way self-conscious. "You know, I was kinda worried about you. I didn't know where you went."

  "I needed to think," Nero said.